#posting this late bc writing's been rough and this probably isn't the best

[apprenticestanheight]

Work Stress- Adam Stanheight x gn! reader

ALLLLLLL RIGHT, welcome to the monthly "my mental health is shit" fic that I bestow upon the people whenever my mental health isn't as great as it could be, which--in fairness--is nearly all the fucking time.

Two of these might be coming out this month, though! I have not had the greatest streak of days without anxiety lately and I write fics whenever it gets really bad. The day I finished this one, I was like "I am going to write something. for chainshipping (again)" so a chainshipping fic will probably be out by the end of the week

On some other notes, A: while it's not explicitly stated, the reader is what's traditionally considered midsized as that's what I am and I wanted to write a fic with my body type. As per usual with me, the reader is generally gn but as I know the anatomy best, they're AFAB. B: requests are starting to get looked at! I have one waiting to be finished, edited and posted sitting in my drafts but otherwise will have probably looked through and decided which requests I will do vs which ones I won't by the time this has been posted. Things will probably start coming out at the end of this week and keep coming out into next.

Fic type- this jumps into a lot of differing areas, but the main genres are quite possibly the oddest combination I've ever written--smut and angst.

Warnings- as this fic contains smut it caters to an audience of people 18+, so minors, DO NOT INTERACT. There is A LOT here--p in v, oral (both recieve, even if on Adams end the oral is only mentioned), doggy style, fingering, petplay kind of (I was trying to think of a gender neutral petname and puppy was the only thing my brain could think of at first. It's literally just used as a petname and gets overshadowed by 'baby' after a point bc I remembered that that word existed--I wrote a lot of this while tired, pls take some of the stuff in it with a grain of salt), as for sfw warnings: there's a mention of loss of appetite in relation to extreme stress

It's no secret to Adam that you've been having a very, very rough year.

You've been living together since just a couple weeks after he'd escaped the trap--he was taken from his apartment and found it too anxiety inducing to stay there so you let him move into yours.

You'd been dating since you were twenty one and at twenty six, moving in was bound to happen eventually, but getting out of his lease was taking a hell of a lot more time than Adam had originally anticipated.

He noticed every rough day in the bags that you'd begun to sport underneath your eyes, how late you came to bed and your reluctancy to be very affectionate with him--whenever things got bad, be it at work or with stuff going on in your head, you withdrew and pushed him away--and in the fact that you weren't eating as much, in that you always looked like your mind was somewhere else, wandering off completely.

So, one day near the middle of November--where he'd started to notice your bad days in very early March--he joins you in the kitchen while you speak to one of your bosses via phone call.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, grabs your hand, gives it a squeeze. He wants to cheer you up--you're prone to bad days due to insecurity and because of a long-standing not so great track record where your mental health is concerned--and, in that particular moment, finds himself willing to do anything.

You give your best go at grinning back at him, but it comes out looking like more of a grimace. You let Adams hand go to run a stressed hand through your hair, returning your hand to Adams and letting him interlace your fingers thereafter.

"Yes," you whisper. "I understand that things are always tough in the last quarter, but--" you sigh dejectedly as your boss cuts you off, and Adam presses another kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger for a minute.

"Yes, Earle--but you're not seeing the point here. I'm eligible for the raise because I've kept the teams afloat! The only reason you're not also eligible for the raise is because you took an eight month vacation with PTO that you quite literally stole from other employees, myself included, and just because Monica isn't willing to fire you over that doesn't mean your actions didn't warrant alternative punishments," you lean forward, press a kiss to Adams shoulder. Adams grin widens slightly as he notices that you're visibly relaxing from his touches.

A solid two minutes of shouting pass by on the other end. Adam gives your hand a supportive squeeze whenever Earles voice raises another octave in his shouting, pressing kisses against your temple when you let him pull you into a half hug. He keeps hold of your hand when the position changes, your torso pressing against the counter as Adam stands in front of you.

"Earle--I am eligible for the raise because you took six weeks of PTO from me, which I only get thanks to our companies union," You snap. "Now, because I had to spend so much time doing my fucking job, unlike you, I'm eligible for enough of a raise to make me capable of buying a home by '06, and if you're pissed off at me for that, I genuinely cannot help you any further. I have a boyfriend who I would much rather be talking to over your sorry arse, so I'm going to hang up now and if you call me back, I will ignore it. Have the day you deserve, asshat."

You hang up the phone and sigh, gaze meeting Adams in an instant.

"'M sorry," you whisper, biting your top lip for a few seconds as you look at him. "Work has been a fuckin' mess since like, the end of February. I just--damn it all."

"Eh, Earle sounds like a dickhead," Adam laughs. "How does one even get away with--eight full months? Of PTO? How?"

"Per the union agreement we have, we get six weeks a year," you start. "It's why I'm always off in December--I like staying home when it gets cold, gives me an excuse to read and drink more tea than I should--but we've moved to digitizing off time recently. Took the six weeks I'd planned to pace between the end of this month and all of next and switched them up for himself. Did that with five other employees and still, Monica doesn't fire him. Just makes me eligible for a raise of fifteen dollars on company dime because the off time I lost out on forced me to do more while I was there. Our company has one hundred and eighty-six employees in the Jersey branch and a bunch of 'em like taking spaces in the last six months of the year off, so it was me managing two teams of eighty people. Not easy work at all."

Adam blinks. "Did Monica even offer to give you the PTO back?"

"She gave me hers," you shrug. "Earle can have a lot of fuckin' fun managing one hundred and sixty people by himself. I'll find out if I get the raise tomorrow morning and my PTO will kick in then, too. He can eat shit as far as I'm concerned, I have a long list of books and two boxes of my favorite tea to drink my way through as of tomorrow."

You let Adam lead you into your shared bedroom, humming as you lay down on your bed and close your eyes.

"Are you okay?" Adam asks.

"Been a very, very stressful eight months," you laugh. "Trying to think of what I need and only one thing continually comes to mind."

"What's that?" You can hear the eagerness behind the teasing tone in Adams voice.

"I need--uh--" You laugh, suddenly feeling a little awkward. Propositioning Adam for sex was not typically done with words but kisses and your hands on his chest, relishing in the way that he looked when he lead you to your bedroom and fucked you senseless.

"Go on, baby," Adam whispers, his lips suddenly near your ear. "Gonna say it?"

You hum, suddenly embarrassed at yourself, and Adam laughs.

"Use your words, puppy," He whispers, pressing a kiss against your earlobe. "How am I supposed to know what you want me to do if you don't use your words?"

You moan helplessly in response.

"You really are cute," Adam says. "Tough while at work, one phone call later and now you're helpless that you can't even speak. Can't even say one word."

"Adam," you breathe, both because it's the one word that's coming to mind and also because you know he loves the way you say his name when all you want is for him to fuck you.

"Good puppy," Adam presses a kiss to your cheek. "Tell me what you want me to do, mm? I'll do whatever you want, but if you want me to fuck you, know that you'll be in bed for a long time once we go to sleep. You're going to come a lot tonight, puppy. You deserve it."

You moan in response. "Please," you whisper.

"You want me to fuck you, puppy?"

"Yeah," you nod. "Adam--I need you to. Don't wanna think anymore. In eight months, I've thought enough for eight lifetimes. Fuck me senseless, please."

"Whatever you want," Adam says, pulling you into a long kiss that has your head spinning.

You spend the next few minutes like that, in a kiss that's so intense, so loving and so fucking good that you wonder how you've been able to go so long being fine with quick kisses and self gratification.

The first kiss reminds you of how amazing it is to be kissed by Adam whenever the more dominant side of him comes out for a bit of fun, the way that his hands anchor themselves on your hips before one slides up your torso to cup your face, the sureness of his tongue in your mouth--everything feels amazing, and it's almost like it's too good to be true.

And then Adam pulls away for air and your eyes are opening and his lips are against your clothed shoulder, breathing in deeply with a smile on his face.

"I'm sorry we've not been--well--" you start. Adam tilts your chin upward and presses a kiss on the underside of your jaw. "I've been a terrible--"

"I've missed this, sure," Adam says, pressing another kiss against the underside of your jaw. "Yeah. Of course I've missed it, Y/N, but I absolutely understand that you've been busy. Work has kept me busy, too, so I'm just glad we can have tonight. I've missed you so much and I just wanna make you forget about how shitty the past months have been. Wanna make sure the only word you remember how to stay is my name, and that's what I'm going to do tonight, puppy. Sounds good?"

You nod eagerly, which makes Adam laugh as the hand that's on your hip gives it a squeeze.

Your gaze becomes affixed to a random point on the ceiling as Adams kisses rove across the scope of your neck, one hand on your jaw to move your head whenever he wants better access.

After a point, you start to realize that his kisses are getting longer and not too long thereafter you realize that Adam is carefully laying hickeys over your neck and is taking his time with doing it.

You want to murmur a quip, do something to jab at the possessiveness hickeys usually carry, but right as you go to do so his lips and tongue find a home on the pulse point on the right side of your neck and all you can do is moan softly, one hand finding his hair.

"Adam," you whisper. "Fucking hell, Adam--you're going to drive me insane. Please don't stop."

You hear Adams laugh, slow, amused, a little sadistic. "Well, if I'm the one who drives you to insanity, I think that means I'm the one who has to pull you out of it, doesn't it, puppy?"

With the use of that one, silly nickname, you're reduced to what is basically a human shaped puddle, and Adam knows it. Whenever he calls you his puppy in a slightly dominant tone, your knees are at risk of giving out and the look you give him is tantamount to torture if he intends to tease you until you're begging.

"Mhm," you hum, moaning as Adams lips press in a peck against your pulse point. "Also means the same if you put me into subspace with all this foreplay, Adam."

Adam grins, and you let him tilt your chin so that your head turns to meet his gaze.

"Of course," he says. "I'm basically an aftercare god, despite the fact that Scott dunked on me for it while believing a cigarette afterwards is anything less than the bare minimum--I'll take good care of you once the session is done, puppy. I promise."

Your shoulders relax at the reassurance, and you grin as Adams lips press against your forehead.

You nod after a second. "Okay," you say. "I--thank you, for this. Pre-emptively."

Deep enough into subspace and you'll borderline on mute, only able to focus on how Adams ministrations feel. You have no doubt he intends to take you there tonight, so you feel the need to thank him before you slink that far in and have to wait for it to wear off to speak a coherent sentence to him again.

"We both need it, so it's my pleasure," Adam says, starting to undo the buttons of the black long sleeved button up you'd worn to work and had yet to take off that day. "And yours--it's both of us. I promise I'll start getting more dominant in a sec, these buttons hate me."

You laugh a little, helping him undo the rest of the buttons. "They're square. They hate everybody, me included. Getting this shirt on was a nightmare this morning and I've been reminded as to why I never wear the damn thing."

Adam uses the small of your back to guide you off the bed just enough to be able to completely take the shirt off, following it by the oddly quick--Adam is very, very good at undoing the pesky little hooks that hold bras together, oddly--removal of your bra.

His lips are on yours again, one hand on your bare hip while the other finds itself cupping your face, tongue gliding across your lip in asking for entrance which you grant as your arms wrap around his shoulders.

Kissing Adam in moments like that is always amazing--kissing him has been one of your favorite things since your romance started, even quick and chaste kisses that don't last more than a few seconds. Kissing Adam has never ceased to be an absolute delight, whether it led to sex or was used as an alternative form of "hello" "goodbye" "good night" or "good morning."

And then his lips start traversing down your neck once more, and then they go further.

Adam starts draping kiss after kiss across your torso, lips pressing against you in a way that allows his tongue to poke through his teeth as he kisses you with his mouth slightly open. Every single touch of his cold tongue against your warm skin makes you clench around nothing, quickens your heart rate and feels so impossibly delightful. Adam is kissing you in a way that damn near drives you insane, and you feel yourself sinking into how good his lips and tongue feel against you as he delivers praise between kisses.

"Such a good puppy for me, mm?" Adam murmurs when he's close to your belly button. "Taking all of this so well even though you probably just want me inside you already. Such a good cumdump for me, puppy. Perfect."

You hum in response, eyes drifting down to meet his gaze as he looks up at you. He smiles, briefly, before continuing with his kisses, letting himself spend a lot of time on your hips before his kisses rove across your stomach.

He kisses along your v-line slowly and in a way that makes you want to start begging, hands roving up from your hips to your biceps.

He glances at you for a second in the asking, waiting for you to nod. You do so and Adams hands move to your pants, taking them off along with your underwear before laughing at himself.

"I've got you here, lookin' fucking perfect," he says, kissing your bicep. "And yet I'm still clothed."

Your hands go to the hem of his shirt and he lets you pull it off, kissing the side of your shoulder as he watches you toss it near the laundry hamper in the far left corner of the room. Next come his pants and his boxers, which Adam takes off in a manner that's somehow effortless despite his continued kisses to your biceps throughout the process.

"I forget how much I love your arms until I'm kissing your biceps again," Adam says, laughing a little. "Fuck, baby. Your arms are fucking gorgeous."

You hum, pressing your head into the pillow behind you as Adams kisses start up again and his hands start wandering. One settles against your face, cupping it softly, and the other goes wandering delightfully down your torso, not stopping until his fingers are millimeters above your clit.

He pauses, gaze meeting yours in a way that feels almost a little sadistic.

"Gonna make you come so many times tonight, baby," he says. "Safe word?"

"Hibiscus," you whisper. It's a precaution for when you get really kinky, a word you came up with but, five years into your relationship, have yet to actually use.

Adams lips press against the center of your collarbone, "good puppy," he whispers against the skin.

His fingers start making slow, tantalizing circles around your clit, and his kisses continue, roving down your torso and staying in the general area of your hips and stomach.

A few minutes pass you by, and right when Adam has picked up the speed and is bringing you to the edge of an orgasm, he stops.

When he notices the disappointment in the way your head falls back onto the pillow, he wastes no time in licking his fingers clean of the wetness spread across them.

"Didn't think I'd let you come so soon, did you, puppy?" Adam moves up, lips near your ear. "I did say I'd make you come multiple times tonight, but I said nothing of letting you do so without a little edging first. Gonna edge you until the sun goes down, at least, and then make you cum until at least one or two in the morning. Gonna call in sick tomorrow, too, so that I'm not worrying about waking up and going into work."

"How much more time until the sunset?" You ask. It's four--the sunset can't really be so far off, can it?

"An hour," Adam says. "But--to be fair, a lot more can be done in an hour than one might think. Also--eight hours between five and one am. Assuming that the session exhausts you, you'll probably wake up close to noon tomorrow, but there's snow in the forecast and I'll probably make you a cup of tea if I wake up before you do."

You hum. "Thank you, Adam," you whisper. He kisses you deeply, and you can still taste yourself on his tongue.

"Don't thank me," he says when he's pulled away. "It's what good partners do, especially when I'll have practically rearranged your guts and it'll be a reward for doing good anyway."

You laugh. Adam presses a kiss to your forehead as his hands once again ground themselves on your hips and yours find his shoulders, holding him close.

"I love you, baby," he says. "Sorry that work has been shit."

"I love you too," you respond. "And--that's not your fault. Please don't blame yourself for mistakes that aren't yours, Adam. Please, just kiss me. Wanna forget about work and stupid fucking Earle--just wanna think about how good it feels to be touched and kissed by you. Please."

Adams lips press against your forehead again, his hands cupping your face.

"Gonna make sure you do," he says. His lips move to your biceps again, and you shudder an intake of breath as he leaves a hickey in the wake of one of his kisses.

You have a thought to call him a hickey fiend but don't--the risk of joking with him when Adam is in dom mode is not worth the reward even slightly.

His kisses trail down your face to your neck, and from your neck to your chest. You moan a little when his lips find your nipples, biting gently as his hands give your hips a contented squeeze.

Your head falls back onto the pillow beneath it, and you smile slightly as you hear Adams contented hum as he kisses along your chest from one nipple to the other.

The next several minutes are spent in pretty much the same state. Adam kisses your chest and neck with an open mouth, tongue all too eager to leave a trail of saliva behind his kisses. He's mostly quiet as he goes about it, but every time he does something to make you moan his hands squeeze your hips in acknowledgement.

And then his lips move to your stomach, spending an absurd amount of time leaving hickeys in the less obvious places. He spends more time on your hips which tells you you'll have dark hickeys to look forward to once you have the time to investigate the state of your body in a mirror, but he's not always the dominant one when you two are having sex--you'll find your moment where he's in a particularly submissive mood and douse his body with light-ish hickeys in some very obvious spots.

His lips move down to your thighs, and his gaze meets yours.

"You're feeling all right?" He asks, lips pressing gloriously against the top of your right thigh. "Need you to make space for me, puppy. Haven't paid your thighs attention in so fucking long--'nother minute of waiting and I will go insane."

You laugh as you spread your legs and Adam positions himself in between them, lips moving across your thighs as his arms slip under them and his hands find your hips.

The amount of attention he devotes to your legs alone is almost a little excessive--it takes him ten minutes before he's content to move from your right leg to your left, and then he's focusing on that leg just as long.

Then again--Adam has always loved your thighs. You've had moments of insecurity that they were too big to handle but he's always met your insecurity with reassurance, promised that he'd tell you if he was having trouble breathing whenever he asked you to sit on his face. He loves your thighs and your biceps, which are two of the areas where you find most of your insecurity.

And then you feel his breath against your folds, and you breathe in deeply while clenching around nothing.

"Wanna taste you, puppy," Adam says. You're nodding eagerly before he can even finish the sentence, wondering how it was that you managed to go eight months without feeling Adams mouth over your folds, his lips on your clit.

Adam is good at giving oral--he is fucking amazing at it, and as his tongue presses flat against your folds, his gaze holding yours, you find that it seems he's still as good as he was eight months ago.

His tongue runs through your folds for a very long few seconds before it presses against your clit. You moan at the contact, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head as his tongue moves in circles around the bundle of nerves.

His tongue moves back to your folds, and your hand goes to his hair. You don't hold him in a tight grip or anything, just enough to ground yourself and keep yourself from slipping away.

It's hard not to slip into it, though. The grip that Adam has on your hips, the way he's eating you out like a man starved and that goddamned nickname he always uses whenever he's domming. All of it is so much combined, so much after eight months, and all you want to do is slip into subspace and just let Adam use you however he wants.

He keeps going until you're so close--teetering on the edge, nearly ready to come on his face--and then he stops, pulling away with a glistening mouth to take a breath.

And then he's lifting himself off of you, pulling himself up to press kiss after kiss after kiss to the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, and his hand is cupping your face.

"Please, puppy," he says. "Don't wanna go eight months without this ever again. Missed it."

It takes everything in you to drum up a response, still working through the second almost-orgasm of the evening.

"Never," you manage to mumble as your head turns, seeking Adams lips. He kisses you slowly, meaningfully, and you have a moment--just a moment--where you hate yourself for letting sex get away from you for such a long time.

Work has been eight months of never ending stress, eight months of managing one hundred and sixty people, dealing with a boss who claims to care about the team but only offers a raise to the five people from whom a guy stole off time rather than firing the idiot. You feel bad--work has taken the majority of your head space since March, and that doesn't feel fair in the fucking slightest.

"Adam," you whisper. He presses a peck to your lower lip and darts his tongue out to wet his own.

"Yeah, puppy?"

"Missed you," you respond. "'M sorry about work. I promise I didn't mean to get so busy, it's just--Earle and his fucking scheme, and Monica refusing to fire his sorry ass while he has the time of his goddamned life in Monaco, and--ugh. I don't mean to ruin the mood but it's just not leaving my head."

Adam laughs, presses a kiss to your forehead. "I know how you get, Y/N," he says. "I'm too drunk on the thought of your thighs around my head to even get slightly turned off right now but that's not the point."

He laughs again, thumb gliding across your bottom lip. "I've been worried about you but I knew work was probably the reason for your late nights, baby. I promise, it just made me cherish our lazy mornings even more. If you don't like working there, you can always quit, too--you've got your rainy day savings, and my job lets me cover the rent and have money left for groceries if you don't get something right away. Has anything else been bugging you or is it just work?"

"Just been in a funk," you respond. "The sex is helping a lot, but I've always found that being with you helps me like nothing else can. Needed this, Adam. Even if you've kept me from orgasming twice so far."

"Fifteen more minutes til sundown," Adam says. "You'll be so sick of coming when I finally start letting you, baby. I think I have it in me to last eight hours, but that's because I'll be giving myself a reprieve. You, however, might not get one. Dunno--it depends on if you'll want one, really."

"You'll know I do if I use the safe word," you respond. "Just--be soft with me, mm? I don't think I can handle being degraded too much, if at all. I'm scared that if you call me a slut with a mean tone I'll just fall to pieces and start crying."

Adam laughs, presses a kiss to your temple. "Think I've done enough edging," he says. "Kind of just wanna kiss you until you're begging me for more, baby. Sound okay?"

You nod, arms wrapping around his shoulders. "You really wouldn't be mad if I quit my job?"

"I would be the opposite of angry at you if you just announced it and didn't even give your two weeks," Adam says. "You've spent the majority of the last year giving them an arm and both of your legs in the effort it's taken to keep things afloat. You're up for a significant raise which I would wait to see if you got, but there are places that pay the amount you'd be getting after your raise as the starting salary, which only goes up after the first six months. I'd start applying to those places if I were in your shoes and I didn't get the raise I fuckin' deserved."

Adams lips drop to your collarbone. "'M so in love with you," he says. "And I'm sorry that work has been such a shitstorm lately. If you want, you can switch from a marketing job to working for a salary that covers rent and groceries with me at the bookshop? They're hiring all the fucking time and it means I can basically just...spend the entirety of my break just kissing you relentlessly if you do decide to join up."

You laugh, pulling a hand through his hair. "Maybe," you say. "If I don't get the raise."

Adam laughs, gently biting against your collarbone as his hands find your hips again.

"Love your hips, puppy," he says. "Will probably have to put lotion on the hickeys I left on 'em. Got a little carried away."

"I'll get my revenge somehow," you respond. "If you ever find yourself in a submissive mood, I will absolutely cover your neck in them."

"I like hickeys in obvious places, so long as you keep them light,"

"Oh, they will be. Everywhere but your pulse point--I happen to like your pulse point, Adam. Might get carried away worse than you did with my hips."

Adam bites your collarbone again, kissing up the center of it to the underside of your jaw before his lips are once again against yours.

"I love you so fucking much," Adam says into the kiss, giving your hips a hard squeeze. "Fuck, Y/N. Gonna make sure all of your stress is gone from your mind completely. Just want you to be thinking about me, puppy."

All you can do in response is moan into Adams mouth, closing your eyes and moaning once more as he uses your moaning to slip his tongue into your mouth, one hand coming up to cup your face.

You spend the next little eternity kissing, moaning whenever Adams hands squeeze whichever part of your body they've ended up near or on--typically your ass, just below it on your thigh, your hips, or your tits--and occasionally tugging at the hairs near the nape of his neck, where one of your hands rests.

And then, Adam pulls away. You gaze at him as he holds himself up by his elbows, a handsome smirk on his face.

"You're all right?" He asks.

The truth is, all you can think about is the memory of his cock inside you and you're convinced it's slowly driving you nuts, but by all other accounts, yeah.

You nod. "I'm amazing, Adam," you say. "Need to feel you."

As you speak the words, Adam is already reaching for his night stand on his side of the bed, grabbing a condom.

You roll it onto his length, one of your hands overlapping the hand he places on your hip as you lie back down.

Adam positions himself at your entrance, pushing into you slowly even despite how wet you are--you're more than ready to feel him, but Adam still goes slow to be cautious.

When he bottoms out, both of you moan. Your lips are almost right next to Adams ear, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, so the sound of you moaning just makes Adam want you more. One of his hands is on your breast, and he squeezes it, rolling the nipple between his first finger and thumb as you clench around his length.

After a minute, you're telling Adam he can start moving and his thrusts come to a slow start as Adam figures out the pace he wants to start with.

His lips have dipped close to your ear when he whispers, "you're so wet for me," and he kisses the side of your head before adding "such a good puppy. Fuck--you're amazing."

And you're moaning in response, starting to get cockdrunk as Adam moves in calculated thrusts, one hand propping himself up by the elbow and the other against your hip.

Your thighs wrap around his waist to keep him in place, and Adam laughs as he lifts the hand on your hip to cup your face.

"You like this, baby?" He asks. You moan, nodding slightly as your eyes close, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"Such a good puppy for me," he says. "So good, baby. You're doing so good."

And then you moan again, and Adam presses a kiss to the corner of your lips. He quickens the pace of his thrusts, lips moving to your neck as the hand that was on your face moves to your clit, rubbing circles around it and delighting in the moans it brings from your throat.

Your release spurs his on, and while you moan and release around him Adam releases into the condom, thrusting his way through the aftershocks and the way that your legs start shaking with them.

He pulls out and discards the condom, heading back to you quickly and peppering your face with kisses.

You find yourself in a state of complete and total relaxation and euphoria. Adams hands on you make you sink further in, and Adam laughs a little--you're looking at him like he's the love of your life while you're practically drowning in post-orgasm bliss, which is a delightful and meaningful addition to the times in which you've looked at him like that, particularly whenever he's decided to surprise you with breakfast or when you wake up to find him admiring you as he'd woken up before you had.

"You're feeling all right?" The orgasm had been a little intense.

You nod, and Adam presses his nose against the apple of your cheek, pressing a quick kiss there as his hands find your face.

"Going quiet?" He presses his lips to your forehead. "Not for long, baby. I have at least seven more hours with you, yeah?"

You nod, and Adams lips are on yours again.

A lot of the time, you start to realize, will be passed with Adams lips against yours, his hands going somewhere on your body as you moan and whine at his touches.

You don't hate the idea, though--Adam is a damn good kisser and absolutely knows what he's doing with his lips and tongue. You've proven yourself capable of lazily making out with Adam for hours several times, though that was when the two of you were kiss fiends in the honeymoon phase and couldn't go more than twenty minutes without it.

But then, Adams lips trail from your lips to your chest, paying attention to it as his hands move from your face to your hips. Once he's paid satisfactory attention to your chest, he moves to your stomach, where, per the presence of your hips close by, he stays for a long ten minutes.

Then his lips are on your inner thighs and your hand is in his hair and all you can do is moan, one word waiting and ready at the tip of your tongue but not falling off of it.

You watch through half lidded eyes as Adams eyes lock on your cunt, nod fervently when his gaze meets yours and his head tilts in the asking.

His tongue finds your clit and he moves one finger, slowly, into your hole as his lips follow his tongue. You turn your head and moan into the pillow in an effort to silence yourself, but the noise level at which the moan sits is still so obscene that Adam chuckles, shaking his head as his left arm slips under your thigh and his hand finds purchase at your chest.

Adams tongue moves around your clit in evenly paced circles, finger moving at a calculated pace as he adds another. Adams fingers curl around your g-spot once every fifteen-ish seconds, and every time your moans get louder because of the action, Adam laughs a little and presses his tongue flat against your clit.

Adam has you pushed to your orgasm in fifteen minutes. You barely have time to warn him before you're coming over his mouth, chin, and his hand, but Adam hardly cares. He only licks his fingers to clean them and juts his tongue out to run it over his lips, all while holding your gaze.

And then he's kissing you and you're tasting yourself, humming into the kiss as Adam reaches one arm out and fumbles for the nightstand in search of another condom.

Adam gets it and rips it open, sliding it onto his length and motioning for you to get on your knees and turn around. You do as he says and Adam slowly slides into you, the both of you moaning slightly as he bottoms out.

Adam waits a minute for you to adjust to him, and once you have he starts thrusting. He sets an even, quick pace and moves a hand to your clit, moaning as you lean back and press your back against his front.

Adams lips find a spot in the space between your neck and shoulder, and every last one of the sounds you make spurs him on. His moans are low, typically comorbid with yours, and they come in between the praise he manages to mumble out as he moves and you start moving back onto him.

"So good," he mutters, biting gently against your shoulder. "Fuck--"

You moan in response, unable to form any coherent thought other than Adams name.

"Adam," you whisper as the pace at which Adams finger touches your clit increases. "Adam--"

You feel him smile against your skin, a cocky grin taking up his face.

"Yes, baby?" He asks, moaning as you clench around him. "Gonna use your words for me, mm?"

"Adam," it's the only word that comes to mind right now, though it'll be one of ten, at best, once he's pushed you to orgasm again.

"Adam, oh--" You moan as he snaps his hips up into you.

Adam keeps the pace he's set and it's not long before you're moaning loudly as Adams lips and tongue suck a hickey into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, your release occurring just seconds before his own, before he's a moaning mess as he thrusts into you through the aftershocks.

Adam pulls out and lays you back onto the bed before rolling the condom off and tossing it into the trash.

The cycle continues that way until you find yourselves nearing one in the morning. Your lips are wet with your own saliva after you've pulled off of Adams length and he's being sweet, your face in his hands as you start moving to sit on the bed.

"One more for me, baby," he says. In eight hours, you've come more than eight times, your legs are basically jelly, and all you have on your mind is Adam. "Just one more, mm? Then I'll run us a bath and we can just relax, I promise. Aftercare god, remember?" He laughs a little at the tail end of his sentence, cringing at himself a little bit.

And you're nodding, smiling at Adam as his lips find your inner thighs and you're blissed out on post-orgasm euphoria--Adam had let you touch yourself while sucking his dick, and you'd come over your hand as he shot his load into your mouth, which you'd agreed to let him do--and it's fifteen minutes til one and Adams lips against your thighs is absolutely amazing.

And then his lips and tongue go to your cunt, and you're moaning as your thighs wrap around his head, which leads to him laughing and squeezing your hips.

And Adam eats you out carefully, slowly, moaning as he does so. He's taking his time with you because you're blissed out and will definitively need to be easy on yourself in terms of walking after all that's been done. He's moaning, tongue moving through your folds in a way that feels incredible to both you and him, and his lips find your clit as he moves to start fingering you.

Adam sets a good pace, quick but not too quick, and curls his fingers at your g-spot with every thrust. You're moaning loudly despite the time and Adam is loving it, and then you're coming on his lips and his tongue and Adam is licking it off your cunt and his lips with a focused precision.

Then Adam is getting up, pressing a kiss to your forehead and telling you he'll be back in a few minutes. He tells you he loves you but doesn't expect a response--you're absolutely too blissed out to say much of anything, and he loves it because it's the first time in eight months where you've looked so relaxed, the first time in eight months where you've felt it.

Your eyes close as Adam leaves your shared bedroom, and you hear him starting up a bath. You smile to yourself, pressing your cheek against the pillow, having a brief, floaty thought of I am so lucky before Adam comes into the room again, smile on his clean face.

He kisses your eyelids, hands finding and interlacing themselves with yours.

"C'mon," he says. "I've run us a bath, baby. Gonna relax your legs, which are definitely sore by this point."

And then your eyes are opening and he's helping you stand as he tells you how much he loves you and how amazing you were during the session, and his lips are against your forehead in a kiss.

You're mostly quiet as Adam leads you to the bathroom, humming as you get into the tub with him.

You press your chin against Adams shoulder and in the next few minutes, you're still tired but the water is still hot and you're starting to form coherent thoughts again.

"Thank you," you whisper, pressing a kiss to Adams wet shoulder. He hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"For what?" Adam asks.

"For the last nine hours," you say. "For making me forget about work stress and for the sex."

Adam laughs, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "The sex was enjoyable for both parties, then," he says. "And--you're welcome, but you don't need to thank me. Just wanted to help you de-stress a little, and I'm glad I could do that."

You're in the bath together for thirty-ish minutes after that, and you let Adam wash your hair as he peppers your hickied neck with kisses and his hands run along your biceps. You wash his, and you spend the time waiting for the conditioner to set talking about your plans for the day as the day has turned.

Adam intends to let you sleep in and to make breakfast, and you intend to at least move from the bedroom to the living room after you've woken up so that you can read from the comfort of your couch.

You get out of the bath and, because your legs are still pretty sore, have barely any choice but to let Adam help you back to your room and sit on the bed as Adam gets dressed and grabs you clothes.

You get dressed into a pair of black boxers--they, Adam decides, will be comfier than sweatpants--and a hoodie Adam had during his baggy clothes phase that's baggy on you, too, and covers two thirds of your thigh before your knee amidst laughter and kisses that you share in the relative dark.

You and Adam end up going to sleep on the couch anyway so as to avoid halfhearted fighting about who sleeps on the wet spot on the bed from the sweat emitted during sex, curled up in each others arms with a thick, warm and fuzzy blanket covering you both up to your shoulders.

[didididraws]

my tablet is currently halfway across the country for repairs (my brother's the most tech-savvy in my family and asking him to take a look at it was cheaper than taking it to a shop) so i haven't been able to draw lately. i've made a bunch of traditional sketches in the meantime, but none of them are presentable enough to post here, so i decided to take a trip down memory lane and fill out one of foxorian's influence maps!

below the cut are the names of the artists featured here, as well as a little bit of director's commentary on how they've influenced me :]

yugo limbo (website, tumblr, twitter) - some time last year, i realized something profoundly unnerving: i actually... don't like the art in smile for me's original release all that much? that's not to say it's bad, just that there isn't a whole lot about it outside of maybe its architecture that stands out to me. which is REALLY WEIRD, considering i wrote a whole retrospective about how much this game means to me. art-wise, however, it was only after smile for me's release that yugo limbo's art evolved in a way that really resonated with me; i love how textured everything is, i love the way they simplify clothing folds and the way that skin wrinkles around the joints, i love their love for puppets; all of those things ended up worming their way into my art style and tastes one way or another, and i couldn't be happier!! it didn't feel right to leave smile for me out of the equation entirely, though, so i chose a piece that was both related to that game and that i felt reflected a lot of what i love about yugo's more recent art.

echobsilly (twitter, tumblr) - oh god, speaking of yugo limbo - god. i fucking love echo's art so much i have no idea how to even do it justice in writing. like many people i first found him through his smile for me/limbolane fanart and animations - and those are some of his best work, don't get me wrong, but i really wanted to include one of his original designs to make a point that he's just fuckin great at art in general. character design, facial expressions, body language, composition, LIGHTING... he makes it all just. so so so gorgeous. i always liked "painterly" art styles for lack of a better word, but i think his art is what first pushed me to embrace that more in my digital art. i also like how he talks about dr. habit like he's his dead wife. i'm very proud to call him a friend these days :]

japhers (tumblr, twitter, instagram) - i first found japhers' art in high school and he very quickly became a HUUUUUGE influence on my taste in character and costume design. one of the big reasons i never fully bought into the idea that men's fashion is inherently harder to design is bc so much of his art is already dedicated to exploring fashion Without the restrictions of a gender binary in place which is to say that he's really good at drawing buff dudes in frilly outfits. i also think he gave me more confidence to draw more intricate costumes without having to worry about super dainty and clean lineart, bc a lot of his art looks like it's kinda been carved/rendered out of sketches, and it is Gorgeous.

moe suppe (website, tumblr, cohost) - another artist i found in high school, albeit originally from a long-gone instagram account. his art is what kickstarted my desire to have some Roughness in my art, some Texture. it may not have stuck to my lineart, but it Definitely stuck to my rendering. it helped that i was going through a pretty big angel/demon phase at the time, which meant i was pretty immediately drawn in by his delightfully weird worldbuilding. i should probably read fear not now that it's an actual serial...

val wise (website, itch.io, twitter, instagram) - a more recent influence, but a pretty significant one nonetheless. i featured the cover of délicatesse here because it was the first thing from him that i had ever read, but in general his grasp on the human body really blows me away given how deceptively simple his style looks at first glance, especially his faces. the way fat and hair sits on her bodies, and how much it varies from character to character... it's beautiful without being So glamorous that it feels untouchable. his costume design is also great. i recommend his comics for low fantasy/ursula k. le guin fans who are Dying to see more fat characters in leading roles. i also just found out that i am of two hearts is free on itch.io, so i'll be treating myself to that over spring break.

partycoffin (tumblr, twitter) - if you have known me for any amount of time at all then this should not come as a surprise to you. i actually wasn't going to include partycoffin in this map at first, because while welcome home has inspired me in Many creative pursuits, i didn't think visual art was one of them? i definitely picked up some of clown's love for dramatic lighting and thinner lines with just a smidge of well-placed hatching subconsciously, though.

ryoko kui - probably the most recent artist featured here? anyways i have a confession to make: i have yet to read dungeon meshi. i just know that when i saw a post compiling a bunch of ryoko kui's sketches from her daydream hour series, i was so overwhelmed with this feeling of, like… "oh, yeah, these capture almost everything i love about women as flesh and blood people. when i draw women this is the kind of beauty that i want people to see in them." of course, ryoko kui is a great character designer in general, but something about her women specifically really speak to me. the earthier color palettes and rendering also do a lot to endear her art to me.

shuzo oshimi - specifically his art in blood on the tracks. something that really stood out to me in that series was whenever the shadows would get really intense, and you'd get these big blocks of black with just the faintest bit of hatching to soften out some of their edges. it was always very effective in creating this sense of claustrophobia. i really want to keep incorporating that in my more intense pieces!

person918x (tumblr, instagram) - i don't work with 3d art often and i don't see myself doing so any time soon, but the composition of person918x's pieces is something i take a lot of inspiration of. i also love his sequential art, as someone who does a lot of dream journaling it's sick to see the exact Vibe of a dream be put to (digital) canvas. i also firmly believe that he's one of the only people out there who knows what he's doing when it comes to using generative AI in art.

oops i made this list too long so now i have to put the last two artists in a new block.

10. meatgiri (twitter, instagram) - definitely the artist i've known about the longest out of this selection. i think i've been following her since…. oh god. since i was in middle school. way before she was meatgiri, even. i think her influence probably shows up the least in my art, but there are definitely some characteristics that stuck with me for a very long time (the lil block of black accompanied by one or two lines for shading on the neck, the looser lineart making it really easy to incorporate soft curves and sharp edges, the Eyes, etc etc.) i chose this drawing of her oc juniper bc i thought it was both reflective of her current art And a good embodiment of a lot of things i wanted to emulate from her art as a young'un.

11. dragan bibin (website, instagram) - specifically his 'deimos' series. much like with person918x, it's his compositions that really stand out to me the most, and you probably know by now that i'm a sucker for high contrast. i find it interesting though that he uses high contrast to obscure more than he does to highlight... helps a lot with giving the deimos paintings that air of Quiet Unease. another thing i want to incorporate in my horror-adjacent art! manmade environments gone wrong!

[mugenloopdalove]

I agree that this community is rough sometimes if you arent a bigger account. I think im probably one of the people you would say has an easy time coming up with daydreams or imagines, even though i dont post "imagine your f/o" type things. So maybe i can offer some help with that? My first suggestion is to engage with the source material and get those good lovey feelings- why you fell in love in the first place! And then literally just write that! Dialogue comes easier for me, so i imagine my f/o's or others in their source material saying things to/about me, and how my f/o would react. Ive been selfshipping for 15+ years and ive NEVER "finished" a fic. I just write what feels good! Sometimes its just quotes, sometimes its bullet points, sometimes its a bunch of notes with one line each that end up getting put together. It might not be easy the first or even the tenth time, but i promise it will make you feel better the more you open yourself up to "im just going to write how i feel" rather than "i need to write a fic" or "i need to world build." Youre awful hard on yourself sometimes i think 🥺

-🪼anon

Thank you for the advice

CURRENTLY engaging w the source material has the cevat of my current main source is to rlly hard stuff that has just caused me more frustration cries so hard. Late act 3 my beLOATHED (I could pot the difficulty down but I'm stubborn. This game is lucky I played on balanced and didn't go straight for tactician LMAO)

I should have kept some of my earlier saves so I could go back to like. Meeting Astarion or the hug scene that breaks me or meeting Karlachs parents or Jaheria talking about her losses, but it is so hard to hold onto saves in bg3 u don't rlly get a lot. I GUEEEESS I could watch things on YouTube but then it would not be w Theil :( I should have saved more clips

That last advice is. Really helpful and good though. I've been writing since uuuhh elementary school and I never really let myself just do something lazy and self indulgent that isn't a true "fic" and just some random stupid points. I rarely even leave wips for one shots unfinished (long form is another story but that's why I don't rlly... Do long form anymore. Bc I've realized one shots or 2-3 chapters are what I do best.) I. Don't think it even ever occured to me to just scribble stupid shit down and leave it at that bc everythings gotta be a grand art piece w me ya know. That's actually. Smart to just scribble whatever down w out it being a fic. Thanks.

[kokkoro]

Okay I have a funny prompt for you: Clarke gets a flat tire and doesn’t know how to change it and doesn’t have a ton of money to call someone. She orders a pizza and in the special instructions says she’ll tip $20 if they help her change her flat. Two workers arrive and she thinks it’s gonna be the tall muscled dude (Lincoln) but he’s like oh no, idk I’m not into cars, she’s gonna do it, and out comes Lexa. Clarke is gay the whole time watching her biceps as she works

“Absolutely not.”

“And why the heck not?” Raven asks. “Do you really want to sit on your butt until my 4 o’clock class gets out and I can come save your ass?”

“No,” Clarke says dejectedly, watching cars fly by on the highway.

“Then what’ve you got to lose? The worst that can happen is you're stuck there for another three hours with some pizza.”

“I guess,” Clarke mutters, glancing over her shoulder. She stares at the deflated shape of her rear passenger side tire and exhales a pitiful sigh, bringing up her right hand to rub her forehead.

“Alright, then. Keep me posted, ‘kay?” Raven says. “I’ll check in on you during break.”

“Please,” Clarke replies, but it’s quiet and lost to the wind the second Raven hangs up the line. And with nothing but the highway and her thoughts, it only takes a minute for Clarke to google the nearest pizza place.

Polis Pizzeria. Just fifteen minutes away despite being in the next town over, and Clarke’s pleasantly surprised to find there’s even a deal for a five dollar small two topping pizza when purchased in pairs. It’s easy enough to pay for with the little bit of money still left in her checking and altogether manages to scrounge up 20 and change from various nooks of her car. A couple of ones under the seat, one ten and a five in the glove compartment, and then another random dollar bill in between the center console and the passenger seat. Combined with what was left in her wallet, it gives her the necessary courage to press the order button, this short note in the comments section stating a nice tip for anyone willing and able to change a tire. 

Two small pizzas and a Pepsi later, Clarke opens up the passenger door of her beat up sedan and waits, scrolling through various feeds on her phone and ignoring the way her car rattles as cars fly by on the highway. A little bit of a breeze filters through the open windows, cooling the otherwise warm interior as the sun overhead finally begins its descent. Autumn could not come fast enough.

Clarke catches sight of the red hatchback in her rearview mirror what feels like a second too late. Taken off guard, she scrambles to right herself from her recline with her feet kicked up onto the dash and loses her phone somewhere in between the seats. She hears a door behind her close, and manages to pull herself upright onto solid ground just in time to see a tall muscular man most likely only a year or two older than herself, round the corner of her car holding two boxes of pizza. His smile is warm, his shaved head hidden under a black and red baseball cap sporting a now familiar looking letter P.

“Hey,” Clarke manages, clearing her throat.

“I’m guessing you’re the one with car trouble, huh?” he says, not even bothering to hide the amused quirk to his lips.

“Is it that obvious?” Clarke says, giving an awkward half shrug as the embarrassment takes hold.

He chuckles, handing over the pizza. “We’ve all been there, trust me.”

Clarke cracks a smile, the boxes warm under her arms. “Is this something you do often, then?”

He raises a confused eyebrow, and Clarke's stomach drops. It’s at this point that, if she had been paying more attention, Clarke would have heard the sound of the hatchback trunk as it swings shut. “Do what?”

“Change people’s tires?” Clarke says, voice a pitch high as her heart drops.

The man laughs, reaching up to scratch the back of his head underneath the hat. “I don’t know anything about cars, sorry. I’m not into that kind of thing.” He pulls his hand away, pointing back over his shoulder with his thumb. “That’s why Lexa is here.”

“Lexa?” Clarke repeats, eyes narrowed. She leans to the left to peer around the tall bulky form in front of her, and feels her jaw drop. Just for a second at least, as Clarke takes in the sight of the woman with a hat between her teeth as she deftly gathers up the thick mane of her hair using the reflection in the window.

The heat of the day is already curling the hair near her temples and the woman named Lexa tries unsuccessfully to tuck the pesky strands behind her ears with little success. She gives up, taking the hat from between her teeth and tugging her hair through the back, adjusting the bill until it sits comfortably on her head, shading her eyes. When she turns toward them, picking up the duffel bag near her feet, Clarke scrapes her jaw off the ground, catching a hint of green as Lexa’s eyes dart in her direction.

“Need any help?” the man asks. Lexa snorts, quiet, shaking her head, and Clarke's stomach swoops.

“You’ll just get in the way,” Lexa says as she comes to stand by her coworker. “No offense.”

“None taken.” He waits a second and then, “You two okay if I hang out in the car? I brought a book.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m not--” Clarke says, fully aware that the end of this sentence is just as much a mystery to herself as it is to everyone else. Coherency lost somewhere between flustered and too bi to function.

Lexa sets down her bag of tools and they clamber against the pavement near the flat tire. The man nudges her in the shoulder. “I’ll be back at the car then.”

“Sure,” Lexa replies, bending down to pick up the wrench. She squats, and Clarke watches her pop off the five plastic caps covering these large bolts with her free hand. Once they’re all off, she looks right, and Clarke straightens under the stare. “Do you have the car in park?”

Clarke nods.

“Good.” Lexa looks away, lining up the wrench with one of the large bolts. There’s a little bit of force required with the initial twist as Lexa leans into the wrench with her weight and Clarke isn’t blind to the way the veins in her hands and wrist become subtly more pronounced, the muscles in her forearms flexing.

Clarke clears her throat. “You, uh, do this often?”

“You could say that,” Lexa grunts, putting her weight into the next bolt. It loosens and she turns the wrench a couple full rotations before moving on to the next.

The sun seems warmer now, mid afternoon and the breeze all but gone save for the passing cars along the highway. A little bit of shine catches Lexa’s upper lip as she continues to work and she turns her head to wipe it off against her sleeve, the bill of her hat blocking her eyes from view.

“I take it you’ve never done this before?” Lexa asks, her focus elsewhere as she rummages through the bag at her feet.

“Uh, no, not really,” Clarke says, watching as Lexa pulls out a brick from the bag. Satisfied, she gets up to place it diagonally opposite the flat tire before returning to her spot. Squatting down, Lexa rolls up the sleeves of her work shirt, in preparation for what Clarke isn’t sure, but she isn’t going to say no to the view. Especially when the black ink of a tattoo pokes out beneath the sleeve.

“Do you want to learn?”

Clarke blinks, eyes darting up to find Lexa watching, arms draped over her thighs.

“It might save you some money in the future,” Lexa adds, the slightest of smiles at the corner of her lips.

“Sure,” Clarke says, a little breathless. “Yeah, I guess.”

The smile spreads just barely. “You might want to put the pizza down then.”

Clarke looks down at her hands, the warmth from the underside of the boxes seeping into her skin. A blush rushes to her cheeks. “Right.” Clarke turns towards the front passenger seat and the still open door and sets the box inside.

“All set?” Lexa asks once she returns, watching as Clarke crouches down beside her.

Clarke pushes the hair back from her face, brows pulled together. “I’m ready.”

Their knees bump as Lexa shifts, tugging off a hair tie from around her wrist. She offers it wordlessly, and after a second of thought, Clarke holds out her hand. Lexa drops the elastic into her palm.

“Thanks,” Clarke says, reaching back and gathering her hair in a loose bun.

“Don’t mention it.”

Lexa starts off by naming the little bits and pieces, gesturing to each of the tools in her duffel bag and explaining their intended use. She helps Clarke find the appropriate spot underneath the car for the jack using the user’s manual Clarke never thought she’d actually use, and from there, it's relatively simple.

The tire comes off easily once the car is jacked and the rest of the lugnuts are removed, set in a neat little pile by the bag. Lexa does most of the heavy lifting, removing the now flat tire while Clarke attempts to wrangle the spare from the trunk.

She doesn’t get far before Lexa appears in her peripheral.

“I can grab it,” Lexa says, stepping close. A pleasant scent fills Clarke’s nose, their shoulders touching, and it feels far too warm.

Clarke pulls away, and Lexa steps into the now unoccupied space at the back of the car. “All yours,” Clarke replies, but Lexa is already finishing the job, hefting the spare tire from where Clarke had managed to prop it onto the lip of the trunk and up under her arm with a grunt.

Clarke follows without anything else to do, standing by as Lexa fits the new tire into place. “See this?” she says, pointing to a nub along the rim once the tire is fitted back onto the axle. “It’s the air valve. This should always face out.”

Lexa reaches down beside the nearby bag, picking up the lugnuts. She double counts them in her palm and then looks up. “Would you like the honors?”

“Okay,” Clarke says. She takes her place down by Lexa's side, holding out her hands for the bolts. Lexa carefully deposits them into her hands before reaching down for the wrench and with her help, the spare is secured and stable and the car is back on four wheels in no time. Lexa stores her tools back where they belong in her bag, slinging the strap over her shoulder as she stands. She reaches up to tug off the hat, and Clarke has the misfortune (pleasure) of seeing Lexa run her hand through it, scratching at her scalp, before pushing it all over her left shoulder in one curly wave.

“Hey,” Clarke says, the word stumbling from her lips. Lexa looks in her direction and for a second her heart stops. Clarke clears her throat. “Thanks.”

Lexa’s lips tilt upward. “Anytime.”

When she turns to leave, Clarke acts on instinct. “Wait--” She reaches for the first thing within range. Which just so happens to be Lexa’s shirt. There’s a specific kind of mortification that seizes the air in lungs, but she pushes through it. “Wait,” she says more firmly before letting go and bolting back over to the passenger side door. She leans in over the seat, scrounging up the pile of money left in the center console.

She scrambles back outside in a rush, almost knocking her head on the door frame, but Lexa patiently remains where Clarke saw her last. Her shoulders are relaxed and she looks almost bored. It’s the sparkle in her eyes when she catches Clarke's stare that convinces her otherwise.

“Thanks for saving my butt,” Clarke says, handing over the money.

“You don’t need to,” Lexa says, her eyes not leaving Clarke's.

A blush burns gently under her cheeks, pleasant and warm all the way down to her neck. “Uh, yeah I do.”

Lexa’s fingers close around the money, folding the bills in half and then fitting them into the back pocket of her jeans. “Thank you…?”

“Clarke,” she answers.

Lexa’s smile is small but infinitely soft. “Drive safe, Clarke,” she says, and turns around toward the red hatchback idling behind her car.

“Bye,” Clarke replies. It's barely an exhale, lost completely beneath the wind.

--

“You have some explaining to do,” Raven says, startling Clarke where she’s sat at the kitchen table, her phone slipping from her fingers and hitting the table with a loud thunk.

Clarke scoops it back up, quick to close out of the recent calls section of her phone app. “I already told you what happened.”

Raven hums, looking wholly unconvinced as she sets down her laptop bag and various books onto their already crowded table. “And I’ve known you long enough to realize when you’re withholding juicy information.” She takes a seat across from Clarke, and waits what seems like minutes before continuing. “You can’t just mention that a pretty girl showed up to help you change your tire and expect me to leave it at that.”

“Yeah I kinda am.”

“Did you get her number?”

“What?” Clarke blinks. “No, of course not. She was working, I’m not going to do that to her. Besides she’s probably not even gay.”

“She showed up to change your tire, Clarke. And not to stereotype but that’s pretty lesbian of her.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, busying herself by checking through her emails. Nothing holds her attention long enough and she soon finds herself back where started. The Polis Pizzeria number stares back at her and for once in her life Clarke decides not to think.

It’s probably the worst decision of her life.

Even without the phone pressed to her ear, the ringing is undeniable and Raven’s eyebrows shoot up as her eyes dart between the phone and Clarke’s equally surprised face. A second and then two pass and Raven stands up from the table just as Clarke raises the phone up to her ear in time to hear:

“Polis Pizzeria, how can I help you?”

“Yeah, hi, uh...” Clarke swallows, her cheeks burning. A feeling she thought she had long since abandoned back in high school. “I’m looking for Lexa. Is she there? This is Clarke.”

“Speaking.”

It’s like a shot. The sudden nerves that come hurtling back and her palms go clammy with sweat, tongue thick and sticking to the roof of her mouth, and all rational thought decides to leave her in an instant. On the other side of the room Raven falls into an insistent fit of giggles.

“More car trouble?” Lexa says, breaking the awkward, drawn out silence.

“No. I mean, yeah, I--” Clarke swallows around the lump in her throat. Raven wheezes. “Maybe? I don’t know, I--”

Raven lets out a squeak of laughter, and Clarke picks up the closest pen and chucks it in her direction. It unfortunately misses by a wide margin.

“Clarke?” comes Lexa’s voice over the line.

Her attention returns immediately. “Look, I’m...I’m sorry, I don’t know why I called you.” Clarke stops, dropping her head into her hand. “Do you want your hair tie back?”

Lexa chuckles and somewhere in the background Clarke thinks she hears someone call Lexa’s name.

“How about this,” Lexa says softly, and the sound of that voice in her ear nearly makes Clarke melt. “I’ll give you my number. Feel free to text me if you have any car questions.”

Clarke picks up her head, staring out across the kitchen. “Really?”

“Yes,” Lexa answers, and for some reason Clarke can picture her smiling. “Really.”