#this is the longest “would fix” i think ever

[ghostly-bat]

Ok I’ve thought about this for a while but what about bad boyfriend Jon.Hear me out Jon and Damian are dating and they’re going strong, they’re affectionate, they sweet and eve try one knows they’re the it couple. A lot of hero’s know of their relationship including their family and you’re very supportive. Jon and Damian are close and people can be rude to Damian at times and he takes it because they’re not the one dating Jon. Damian is the one setting up dates, remembering anniversaries making, buying gifts weeks if not month’s s ahead, and of course always paying, for anything and everything their apartment, Jons school, Jon’s hobbies, anything. Damian is a great an amazing boyfriend to Jon. And Jon is a good boyfriend he’s nice, he gives flowers, he knows everything about Damian, loves to be around him, remembers their anniversary, he’s a good boyfriend. At least to other people. Jon and Damian made a team after Jon insisted that the super sons should expand to a team and they did and on that team is a boy ,same age as Jon, who is very close to him too close, but if Damian says anything Jon calls him crazy for being that insecure and after a while Damian stops because Jon loves him flaws and all. Then Damian sees Jon and this team member together. In their bed. And he freaks out but not in the way Jon thought he would, Damian begs Jon not to leave, not to forget him, to tell him what’s wrong with him to fix it, because who else besides Jon would ever love cold ,heartless, ex assassin Damian Wayne. Jon’s apologies and tells him it would never happen again. But it doesn’t stop and Damian just wants to be loved so he doesn’t say anything doesn’t tell anyone anything but the fact Jon is a good boyfriend. It doesn’t change the fact that Jon misses date nights for his side piece, or leaves early, or uses the money Damian gave Jon for him, or uses their apartment when Damian out, but Damian knows he would never be loved after this relationship so he doesn’t say anything. Jon knows Damian knows and he keeps doing because he does love Damian but he can have breaks and Superman is stressful and someone else can help him cool off( Jon knows this is a weak excuse but continues anyways). So this just continues with different people that Damian can see entered their home and the colons and perfumes from Jon’s suit and shirts.

No ever finds out. and when they brake up most people assume it’s Damian’s fault and Damian lets them believe that because he still loves Jon and would never hurt him. Jon’s family is sad to see Jon so heartbroken but it’s just Jon being sad that he didn’t appreciate and love Damian when he had the chance and gets offended when anyone says something bad about Damian because he was the one to mess up not Damian.

The truth comes out when Lois almost sends out an article about Damian being a bad person and Jon can’t take it anymore. Can’t take being seen as a saint when Damian is seen as the devil reincarnation. So he tells his family and stops Lois. And soon many fine out including the bat family.

And Damian still doesn’t see himself as a worthy person Jon and Jon knows he’s the reason for it but can’t even fix it.

Reading this and I'm like damn do I know what that feels like. To want to beg someone to stay because you don't think you'll find anything better, so afraid of being left by someone who means everything to you that you're willing to put up with anything just so they don't leave.

But get this! Damian does find someone new, finds someone who does appreciate him the way Jon 100% couldn't.

Damian is healing, he's moving on, and Jon sees this happening in real time.

He knows it's not his place. Knows that he has no right to feel jealous, to feel betrayed cus he thought despite everything Damian would always love him.

For the longest time Damian is heart broken. The bats look at him with just as much hurt but more anger cus they also trusted him to not hurt Damian, to treat him with care and kindness but then he goes and messes it up. They completely shut him out. They don't even confront him and that almost feels worse.

And yes Jon's parents love him but they're also disappointed.

Thanks anon, thanks for this thank you for bringing this angst into my ask box 😔 💔

[nerdinyourarms]

Some soft, intense making out. Losing ourselves in the sweet kissing sounds our mouths make in rhythm as you're subtly pushing me back, your hands gliding over me until I'm just moaning into your mouth as you keep your magic going your tongue dancing down my throat. Until I'm so worked up that my minds gone completely fuzzy and not even noticed that you're now straddling me, pinning my hands to the headboard and holding them tightly. Maintaining your gorgeous eyes on mine, carefully undressing me. A smile appearing on your face as you watch my already delirious, bright red expression become enraptured as you start sliding me in gently, grinding yourself back and forth on it and once again.. putting your mouth to mine, my sweet sounds, and gasps lost in there, taking it all in.

Would fix me just saying.

[flythesail]

Me thinking I can quickly reread my fic before writing chapter 8 but all I'm seeing is missing and misplaced commas

[volfoss]

Long time no faceup...

Under the cut cause my number 1 hobby with doll faceups is to talk 700 years about the process and well. I was talking a LOT this time around lol

I am so kind of notoriously bad at not finishing a doll. Like ridiculously so. In my defense with this doll- his face sculpt was SO ridiculously out of my comfort zone (I usually have more cartoonish dolls > realistic) and he was massive (and his body had a lot of mods that I in turn wanted to modify) (on top of my pain increasing a lot which caused me to not be able to work on projects often the last year or two). I would have kept his faceup if it wasn't scratched badly in certain places but, here's the before (blank, I am NOT showing how bad my previous faceup attempts are..it's bad) and then I'll get into processes and such!

[ID: A large ball jointed doll sitting up. His face is blank with no eyes or wig and his body has multiple sculpted blue sections on it. A cat is sniffing his shoulder. /End ID]

The mod work was easy (thankfully! Pin that says I ❤️ my dremel) but I am not done with that so I will be focusing on his face! I watched a lot of realistic faceup tutorials and came away with a few takeaways:

1. Watercolors and a skinny nail brush WILL be your best friend. Also water in general to fix the mistakes

2. Take your time <- you'd think this was obvious but I'm soooo bad at rushing a faceup ok. I'm so bad at slowing down

3. Pastel before watercolor makes it go on smoother (the vid recommended using white which worked well bc this boy is very pale lmao)

4. Be brave and get the worst bit done first so if you fuck it up it's no big deal

So, with that knowledge I began sealing the head (was doing him along w 2 other heads Ive been putting off) and that was when the trouble started. I use sponge on sealant (liquitex matte varnish. Works like a dream always and no respiratory gear or weather conditions needed) but it was applying glossy. I assumed it was too cold in my room and after a few layers of hoping that would fix it, it didn't! Thankfully it had happened to me before and I shook it up VERY aggressively (like 1-2 minutes of shaking) and it went on fine minus some exaggerated texture on the resin from the few bad layers. Now this is one of the issues w this method, the other is it can trap dust/hair or whatever in there (you can easily pick it out if you notice it before it dries tho). These are both pros for me, I like when the doll looks more textured skin wise (realistic) and if I'm getting a little too lost on what direction to take the head, the dust or hair can make moles, freckles, or even scars! Prefacing all of that with the sealant was kicking my ASS and I was fighting for my life, which wasn't giving me much hope when this was a faceup style greatly out of my comfort zone and skill set, so it was just really a bad start. Also important to note that I did like absolutely no mockups for this which I usually do. I did a very vague basic realistic faceup and that was it, which was not really setting myself up for success, one may say.

But, somehow, the first layer was ok! I put white pastel down under the eye, around the eyebrow placement and then after some mishaps with the watercolor on the brows, I went to my old tactic. Usually with brows, I lay a layer or two down of pastel (FAR lighter than I want the brows to be) to kind of carve a rough shape out because I'm so atrocious at getting them even (like to a comical level. The amount of times I've had to redo a full brow to match the other makes this be my default method bc I'm SO bad at them).

I did one layer of that, and then decided I would try again with the watercolor. I don't want him to have super obvious eyeliner or anything (statements I've never said before. I have dolls where the liner covers the entire eyelid, I love a big eyeliner) so I just did the top waterline in a dark brown watercolor on a skinny nail art brush. This went... Suspiciously well? To the point where I just decided hey, we're going in and doing the eyelashes on the same layer.

Eyelashes are another point I'm so bad at, to the point where of all of my dolls I've painted, I've done bottom eyelashes 2x like ever. 3 at most. I remembered the tips from the video (not too much water but not too much paint, steady your hand, take it slow, and not doing just straight lines (hard to do that because I default to that often lol)) and just dove in.

The first eye went so well that I just went right into the second one and it was so much less bad than I thought it would be. It's crazy that practice and research helps? After that dried, I mixed pink and peach acrylic paints together to paint the lower waterline, and after THAT dried, I covered the bottom lashes with the same white pastel. It muted it a lot but the main thing I've learned working with this sealant method is that it WILL take stuff off. So in theory, I hoped that it would take the white pastel off and not fade my very painstakingly painted eyelashes.

Somehow it did work (thank you makeup knowledge or something) and the first layer was done. It felt SO wrong to have a first layer with NO blush???? Like absolutely makes no sense to my brain but it was so relieving to be done with the worst parts (minus the brows. I was not looking forward to those).

[ID: A three quarter view of the doll head shown above. Instead of being blank, it has very faint blonde eyebrows and dark brown lower eyelashes. /End ID]

This is the time in which I admit that I was wrong that it was so bad to do a realistic faceup (which could easily change when I do the blushing, you do not want to see the 80s blush situation I had on the first faceup attempt), as having the brow bones so prominent made the painting so much easier. I was very mad about this as this is my first proper* attempt at this sort of faceup and it was going so well (* proper meaning I actually attempted to adapt my style to the sculpt instead of putting my usual methods to use here on a head of a different style). Honestly I just kind of locked into the brows, and since my brush is a nail brush, there's a little ball stylus (I think that's what it's called? Dotting tool may also be what it's called) so when I messed up, I got that wet and very gently cleaned it up, dabbing the excess water/paint with my finger. This was SO much less painful than using acrylic paint on brows (that is MISERABLE to remove if you fuck up with black acrylic. That does not budge ever) or using watercolor pencils (like with doing my own eyeliner, I do much better with a brush than pencil).

Genuinely never will go back to using a different material for doing the brow strokes, this was such a breeze. Even getting it even wasn't too bad, I just cleaned the brows up with that same technique until I got it close enough. While I was waiting for that to dry, I used the same dark brown (I have a very small watercolor palette and no clue how to blend it lol, so I just used the same color this whole faceup so far) and same brush to add some paint to the eye crease to add some more dimension to the face. While that was drying, it started to bother me that all the dust was just not covered up, because my brain is used to when I break the paint out, I'm nearly done with the faceup, so it should be covered and cleaner by now. Which honestly I'm glad I did! It looks a lot better with most of it covered, although I do still.plan on doing a scar from the left eyebrow up to the forehead as well as others on the forehead but those are 3d sculpt projects and not flat paint projects (I use Elmer's glue to build it up and then blush/paint over top) so it is not my problem now lol.

[ID: A front facing picture of the head above. The head has dark brown curved eyebrows, moles dotted at random around the face, and the eye crease is filled in with dark brown. /End ID]

As if this project wasn't driving me crazy with stress enough, when I powdered the brows, one of them just didn't get as powdered as the other and so when I applied the sealant, about half the brow came away with it! Absolutely devastating but it is just the nature of water colors and liquid sealant! The next layer now had to include a patch job on the brow, as well as blushing (or if I was a little smarter, one layer for the brow repair, seal again, and a layer for the blushing so I didn't mess it up again!). It was such an incredibly frustrating set back especially with how long it took me to do the brows initially.

At THIS point, I was so relieved I had done a mockup digitally (even if not super accurate to what I ended up going with) because thinking of doing the blushing the next layer did make me want to cry a little bit for a couple reasons (on top of the already immense frustrations that sealing the brows on the start of day 2 brought).

As I said earlier, very different head type than what I usually do (usually can just slap some pink on the cheeks, brown elsewhere etc), but the bigger issue was how pale he is. I find it a billion times easier to paint a yellowed doll or a doll with darker resin (I am SO excited to get to my Dong next (his resin is so pretty (and has been really fun to work on while I was in white boy shading hell)) than a white unyellowed doll. If you know color theory or like any makeup at all, paler skin makes things show up so much brighter, which is a pain in the ass when you're trying to make a doll not look like they have clown makeup on with the blush alone. And with how sculpted his face is, I had to place the blush just right to get it to look ok, as well as somehow get the shading to look clean and decent.

I used a combination of a brush directly against the pastel and shavings and slowly built up some flush to the cheeks and shading around the nose.

[ID: The same doll head as above, but with a more peach color to the lips and cheeks, with slight definition around the sides of the nose bridge. /End ID]

I added the tiniest bit more blushing (my favorite hobby is procrastinating sealing. #1 thing ever) and then felt really unsure if I was somewhat close to being done or not, so decided to try it on his body with random eyes and wig to see what else needed to be there, which confirmed a couple things!

[ID: The same head as before, now shown on a seated large ball jointed doll body. He has a long lilac center part straight wig on and dark eyes. There is a doll to the left and right of him./End ID]

The first thing was somehow ALL of the messy forehead was covered by the wig, which was such a relief in of itself. The second thing was all of the blushing looked really good and natural which was such a big relief honestly.

He really just looked like some guy which was very funny as I really um don't have any dolls in my collection that have a normal faceup (guy addicted to getting too silly with it voice: Well surely getting MORE goofy won't hurt! I think the closest to a normal guy would be Theo? Cordelia perhaps too but she's also so pink lmao) and look like just a guy that you could find at a gas station. This will probably not last as I wanted to turn the forehead marks into silvery scars (I feel we could get a little silly with it and have it be magical or something like that, provides the scars look ok lmao. Future me's problem). I definitely need to add some more shading under his eyes (under eye bags are PERFECT when his eye bags are actually sculpted, I'm not used to that on a sculpt lol), accents to the lips (MAY do lip lines. May just add more color. No one ever knows what my go to is with lips because I hate doing them), add highlights (and maybe use some pearl x powder on the eyelid area... I kind of want him to look MOSTLY natural but I cannot lie, the lure of men with eyeshadow. It's a slippery slope) and mess with his eyes a bit as he looks really good with that purple wig, so I'd like to use colors that coordinate with that if possible (same with the eyes probably?). All in all, this was a lot of work for a low energy day and I feel I'm entering the home stretch a bit!

Day three, and despite how horrendous I was feeling like the entire day, I locked in and got a lot done!

[ID: The same head as above, with silver scarring on the forehead and nose and slightly more pigment on the lips. /end ID]

In pictures the scars look a LOT like leeches to me but it's ok or something. I wanted to do silver as I felt it would be fun to do a more magical twist with the characters and having some funky colored scars would work with that! I started with a layer of light grey paint and Elmer's glue mixed together, then added layers of a silver paint with the glue until it was more pronounced from the resin, how a scar would be, and then shaded with watercolors (before then adding the blushing to make it look like actual scars instead of weird metal globs). Honestly I really liked how the eyebrow and nose ones came out but the forehead ones were more of a cover up job rather than where I wanted to place them, so they may get adjusted later.

Other than that, I started work on his eyes (and most of the day was laying in bed in pain so I didn't get a ton done sadly)! It's not very visible in photos but I also used a glittery powder (pearl ex) on the eyelids to add some sparkle.

All that was left is a bit of scar work, figuring out if I'm going to do lines on the lips (my worst debate always tbh, I feel they rarely look good with my faceup style and are often a pain in my ass), finish the eyes (admittedly this is just because I'm very slow with it as I don't really like working with the resin a ton), and gloss the areas that need it. There is definitely a chance I remove the forehead scarring (the great part about it all being glue is well. It removes easily) and do something different there that's a bit bigger and less small blobs but that is tomorrow's problem. Honestly really excited about the eyes, they look REALLY good from when I've tried them in!

I then proceeded to procrastinate for about a week maybe (time is odd for me rn) because I was so unsure about the forehead scarring but when I picked it back up, I did the finishing touches I planned on here and then wrapped his eyes up and he's done! 2 heads to go (sadly. I'm so scared doing them to be honest cause it's so much work always) but very happy with him!

[ID: The head shown previously, but on his body. His lips and scars are now glossy, he has eyes with a dark blue sclera and bright purple glittery iris in, and is wearing a long straight lavender wig. His body is wearing a teal and purple camo shirt that is tight fitting. The doll is sitting between two other dolls on a shelf. /End ID]

[sunsburns]

honestly i feel like joaquin gives best friends to lovers vibes. and the moment you realize he likes you (meanwhile you've liked him for years) is gonna be in the middle of one of those heated arguments you have with each other bc he's jealous of the new guy you're seeing but one of you is stubborn and doesn't wanna admit it. idk if this counts as a request but if you like the idea i'd love to see you write something abt it!!

yes yes! i feel like it would be even better if the two of you had been working together for soo long too. like you’re in the middle of a stakeout or a mission and he’s suddenly bringing it up for the first time, trying to be all suave and subtle and you’re like ????

the stakeout had been dragging for hours.

the two of you were stationed in an unmarked van on a dimly lit street, watching the back entrance of an old warehouse where your target was supposed to show. you and joaquín torres had done plenty of missions like this before—long hours, bad takeout, and enough banter to keep you both from losing it.

except this time, he wasn’t talking.

not really, anyway. he was pretending to be busy, fiddling with the comms setup even if it had already been working fine since the start of the op.

the van was cramped, parked just far enough from the target building to stay out of sight. the only light inside comes from the dim glow of yours tablet and the occasional flicker of streetlights through the tinted windows.

and then, out of nowhere—

“you never did tell me how your date went last week.”

you barely heard him over the quiet hum of the surveillance feed. your attention is fixed on the warehouse across the street, waiting for movement, but his words pull you out of it.

you glance over, catching him looking away the second you do. subtlety had never been his strong suit.

“i didn’t think you’d want to know,” you said, testing the waters.

“of course i do.”

something in his voice made you pause. it wasn’t the usual teasing or lighthearted prodding—it was earnest. which was odd, considering the first time you brought it up there had been no jokes and joaquín had not been this curious. if anything, he’d gone uncharacteristically quiet, then changed the subject entirely.

but you’d brushed it off at the time.

still, you decide to humour him. “it went well.”

silence. then the soft creak of leather as he shifts in his seat.

“so, is there a second date coming?”

the casual tone didn’t fool you.

you smiled, mostly to yourself. “maybe.”

you expect some kind of quip, a halfhearted joke to brush it off. but you didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened, how his fingers flexed against his knee.

for someone who was an expert at recon, joaquín was terrible at hiding his tells. always had been. every thought he had crossed his face before he could stop it, which is why you’ve never had to second-guess him.

but that? that was weird.

“why? do you care?” you ask, turning slightly toward him.

“i don’t,” he said too quickly. “just wondering if i gotta learn this guy’s name or not.”

your smile grew wider. “oh? so you do care.”

he finally looked at you, “that’s not what i—“ he exhaled sharply. “forget it.”

you couldn’t.

you studied him for a moment, the furrow in his brow, the slight clench of his jaw. this was the longest conversation you’ve had outside of mission chatter in a week. and now he suddenly wanted to know about your love life?

“joaquín,” you started, voice slower now. “if there’s something you wanna say—“

“i only care when it affects our work.”

that made you bristle. “oh. am i too distracted for you?”

“that’s not what i said.”

“it’s exactly what you said.” you turned toward him fully now, forgetting about the stakeout for a second. “you didn’t have a problem last week when i was watching your six, but suddenly i go on a date and now i’m not focused enough for you?”

“that’s not—“ he stopped himself, dragging a hand down his face. “tu—you’re impossible.”

“like you’re any better,” you fired back. “you’ve been acting weird ever since i mentioned this guy, and now you’re bringing it up in the middle of a mission like it’s relevant intel? what’s your deal, torres? what’s going on? what are you trying to say?”

he pressed his lips together, clearly debating something. you knew him well enough to see the war happening behind his eyes, the push and pull of something he'd been trying to keep locked down.

“i’m not—i’m not trying to say anything,” he muttered.

your eyes narrowed. “bullshit.”

his lips curled into something sour, “i don’t get you sometimes.” his voice was lower now, “you’ll pick up on the smallest details in the field, but when it comes to this?” he gestured vaguely between the two of you, frustrated, “it’s like you’re choosing not to see it.”

that stopped you cold.

because for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you let yourself think about it. really think about it.

like the way joaquín always made sure you had the last protein bar on long missions, even if it meant going without. or the way he always covered your blind spots in a fight, positioning himself between you and danger without hesitation. the way his voice changed when he spoke to you, softening in a way it never did for anyone else.

the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

god.

your stomach twisted. you had spent so long convincing yourself that none of it meant anything. that it was just who he was—loyal, protective, a damn good partner. that was the only way you had managed to push your feelings down, to keep yourself from ruining what you had with him.

because the truth?

you had been in love with joaquín torres for years.

and it had been eating you alive.

the only reason you had gone out with someone else at all was because you had needed to move on. you couldn’t keep wanting something that wasn’t yours. couldn’t keep looking at him like he hung the damn moon when he was always just out of reach.

but now—now—he was looking at you like he was waiting for you to say something. like he wanted you to see it.

like maybe you hadn’t been crazy all along.

“joaquín.”

he just shook his head, frowning like he was mad at himself for even saying anything. “doesn’t matter.” the frustration drained from his voice, leaving behind something hollow. “forget i said anything.”

then he turned away like the conversation was over.

but it wasn’t.

because now, there was no taking it back.

and you weren’t sure if you even wanted to.

before you could respond, sam’s voice crackled over the comms.

“guys," he said, slow and unimpressed. “you do realize your mic is on, right?”

heat flooded your face.

joaquín scrambled to reach for the radio, red in the face. “sorry. must’ve turned it on by accident.”

“glad we’re getting some entertainment while we wait, sam continued, and you could almost see that grin on his face. “but unless you two wanna keep broadcasting your love confession to the team, maybe save it for after the mission?”

[jimilter]

the ferrari guy | jjk.

You hire an assistant – and Jeon Jungkook loses his mind. Is that irrational of him? Not when the guy you’ve chosen flirts like a hooker, looks like a runway model and dresses like he’s Giorgio Armani himself. 

pairing: jungkook x reader rating: pg-15 genre: humor | fluff | chaebol!au | fwb!au | ceo!jungkook warnings: swearing + implied sex + jealousy + insecurity + a certain loml charming everyone’s pants off <3 word count: 3 k note:  helloooo fam! i am alive and still writing apparently lmao. jimilter is still a safe space, a wonderful escape from real life and i have no plans of quitting this in near or far future (: no comments on the occasional disappearances tho bec real life has been hectic af! anyways, enjoy this humorous lil drabble from jk's pov (set between part 3 & 4) while i work on the massive angst in part 5! <3

— masterlist | feedback!

↝ the damsel & her knight ⁘ 01 02 03 [3.5] 04 05

On Thursday evening, while leaving work, Jeon Jungkook finds a flashy, bright red Ferrari convertible blocking his car in the parking lot of his office. An office in a building his father owns. 

Needless to say, he is beyond mad.

"Who the heck even drives a Ferrari in our company?" he barks into the phone, scowling when his secretary gives an exasperated sigh.

"President ma'am interviewed some people today, sir. Maybe it's one of the candidate's cars?" 

"What kind of a douchy person comes to a job interview in a convertible?" Jungkook is still scowling at the vermillion vehicle when his brain catches up with the rest of the information Haeri imparted. His mouth dropping open, he raises his free hand up in front of his face, as if to stop time. "Hold on – did you say President ma'am?"

"Uh, yes, si—"

"She interviewed people? Why? What for?" he cuts his secretary off, frowning.

"She is hiring an assistant, sir."

"Wha—why does she need an assistant?"

Haeri is quiet for a while. Then she clears her throat. "I would suggest you to not ask her this, sir."

Jungkook sighs. Haeri is always so straightforward with him. Sometimes a bit too straightforward. But she’s always guiding him around making stupid decisions, and maybe that is why he's had her in his office for nearly two years now. The longest he’s had a secretary ever since he joined the company as the CEO. 

There’s also the fact that Haeri actually has a boyfriend and is immune to all of Jungkook’s charm… Not that he’s actually tried them on her, per se. He’s been otherwise occupied in that department for a while. Very happily and proudly so. 

Clearing his throat, "Yeah, sorry," he grumbles to the girl, turning around to eye the offensive car again. "I'm texting you the license plate number, will you make an announcement on Prez's floor?"

"Sir, I—"

"Good. Thanks, Haeri, you're a gem!"

Even as a security guard comes and removes the obstructing vehicle within minutes and Jungkook is free to leave, his mind doesn’t feel settled. At all. He isn’t sure what it is that irks him about you hiring an assistant, but it is something for sure. Maybe he fears you’d pay him even lesser attention at work than the scant amount you do now. Maybe he thinks you won’t need his help with the integrated Firewall-VPN project anymore. Maybe he… Well, he isn't sure.

But something about this just usettles him. Which is what has him texting you close to midnight, casually dropping his question without offending you with a ‘why’ just like Haeri instructed him to.

↪ hey prez ↪ heard you’re hiring an assistant?

Your reply comes exactly ninety-four seconds later. Yes, he counts.

You heard that in the middle of the night?

He bites his lip, rubbing his reddening cheeks against the cold cotton of his pillow in embarrassment, but doesn’t lose hope because you’re still typing.

I have actually already had the interviews today The guy joins tomorrow You wanna drop by with a welcome gift basket? :)

His glare stays fixed on the little, taunting smile for a long while, before it moves to the word ‘guy’ in your text. You’ve hired a guy assistant.

Jungkook wonders if the bile suddenly roiling in his stomach has any correlation with the explicit images his brain suddenly conjures up of you and a faceless male making out in your office.

God, he’s going insane.

The next morning, Jungkook is barging into Yoongi's office with a frown. "Prez hired an assistant."

Min Yoongi very slowly looks up from his computer screen, gaze wary. "Good morning to you too, Jeon. I’m doing well, thanks for asking.”

Jungkook ignores the man’s sarcasm and instead drops into one of the couches placed on one side of his office, groaning. “It’s a guy.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Head whipping up faster than the blink of an eye, Jungkook gapes at your Creative Director. “You have heard?”

Yoongi gives him a tired look. “My office is on the same floor as hers, Jeon. I have more than just heard.”

“Have you seen the guy?” he quickly rushes out, wide eyes boring into Yoongi’s disinterested ones.

“Met him. Kid’s jovial and efficient. She’s gonna love him.”

What? Jungkook stalks up to Yoongi’s table with a scowl. “Kid?”

“Oh, he’s probably older than you.”

“Jovial?”

“Yeah, always got a smile on his face; not a word out of his mouth without giggles.”

Giggles? Jungkook's pinky finger twitches in irritation because giggling is supposed to be his thing. How dare you.

“And he's really freaking efficient too, man." Yoongi continues when Jungkook has stayed quiet for too long. "He's got a typing speed of 96 wpm, can speak five languages, is capable of charming every guest with a grin and some sweet words—oh! And he’s quick on his feet! Delivered five coffees on two different floors with the steam still coming out of the cups.” Yoongi has a fond, dreamy look on his face, and if it wasn’t for the wedding band on his finger, Jungkook would have assumed the guy has fallen in love with your new assistant.

Which doesn’t sit well with Jungkook at all. Teeth gritted and fists clenched, he gazes out of the glass doors of Yoongi’s office to yours. 

You aren’t in, yet. Should he pay your oh-so-wonderful assistant a visit before you are?

You’d surely have his head if you catch him threatening the dude – not that he plans on it; he just feels like he might – but it’s a risk he is very much willing to take.

And so, over Yoongi’s protests, Jungkook marches out of the guy’s office and, crossing the long corridor, lands at yours.

There’s an additional table placed perpendicular to yours within the glass cabin and Jungkook wishes he had laser vision so he could incinerate the damn thing in its place. He looks around the office for the guy of the hour, grunting at the small trinkets he finds adorning the new table.

Who keeps a freaking potted plant on a desk? What if it fell off and died?

Jungkook doubts this guy is as efficient as Yoongi talked about him being. He chokes in the middle of the accompanying scoff, though, because his eyes suddenly locate, well, keys.

Sleek, black, no bigger than a matchbox, with a silver, galloping horse engraved on the obviously custom made leather surface. Keys to a Ferrari. What are the odds?

“Ma’am, you’re in earl—oh…”

Jungkook twists on heels at the voice, coming face to face with a guy that honestly doesn’t look much older than him despite what Yoongi said. His eyes are wide and lips rounded, brown hair brushed off his forehead to display the perfect arch to his thick eyebrows. He wears a – Jungkook hates to admit – gorgeously tailored dark brown suit that Jungkook knows to be Armani because he just made the same purchase a week back.

The guy, simply put, doesn't look assistant-material at all. He could be on Vogue's cover with those plump lips and shapely eyes of his. Or perhaps pose for swimsuit commercials with that bubble butt. Or walk the ramp for Armani, Patek Philippe or Chanel, given the brands Jungkook can spot on him.

But he isn't in any of those places – he is here, in your office, as your assistant.

“Good morning, sir!” he suddenly exclaims, and here’s the jollity Yoongi talked about. “You must be Mr. Jeon, the CEO?”

Jungkook gives him a jilted nod, hating the flawless mannerism the guy displays and the accompanying subconscious twitch his lips give in response, and inches back towards the door. “Um, yeah… I was just leaving…”

Your assistant’s smile falls and a concerned look overtakes his face. “But you just got here?”

And something about the innocent pout with which he looks at Jungkook has him rooted to the place. In wonder? Confusion? Shock?

Awe?

He can't freaking tell.

“I can get you some coffee, if you’d like? Everyone’s been telling me I brew a killer espresso!” He flashes a proud smile while Jungkook just helplessly gapes. “I can also get you some snacks? Sandwiches? Cookies? Ooh, would you like some pastries? Our office canteen has some amazing Danishes, would you like one? Ah, your forehead is all misty. Here!”

Before Jungkook can react, the guy is in his face with a tissue, dabbing the sweat away from Jungkook’s arched eyebrows. His smile is blinding, dear God, Jungkook cannot articulate a single word out of the storming confusion in his head. Since when do men have such pouty lips? 

When he steps back, he immediately gestures to a couch. “Make yourself comfortable, sir! May I lower the temperature? You still haven’t said what you need.”

Finally, finally able to collect his thoughts, Jungkook releases a long exhale. 

Who the actual fuck is this guy? A witch? A siren?

Jungkook needs to get out of here and he needs to talk to you.

“Uh, no, thank you, none of that. I, um, I’m good.” Quickly flashing the guy a tight lipped smile, Jungkook slips out of the doors. “I came to see Prez, but she's obviously not here, so… I’ll – I'llcome back later. Good day.”

Even as Jungkook immediately storms out of the office and rushes to the elevators to hurry back to his own floor, your assistant calls out a very happy sounding, “You have the best day, sir!”

Well-mannered, fashionable, charming in a very alarming way. Dude literally had him gaping for a whole minute with his head pretty damn empty. Jungkook's head is never empty.

This guy is so weird and… dangerous. Where did you find him?

And, in fact, why did he come here?

The guy's obviously rich, given all the brands he wears like second skin, so why the heck does he want to work as your assistant? In the same office as you?

Jungkook roughly swallows as the images he conjured last night make a return to his head – this time, with your assistant’s regrettably very handsome face on the previously faceless guy you were making out with. 

He wants to punch a wall.

What he does, instead, is shoot off a text to his secretary, telling her he isn’t feeling well and is going back home. And then another one to you, asking you to pay him a visit tonight. And possibly stay the night because he bought some extra alcohol.

He hasn’t, but the first stop he makes after leaving the office will be to pick up some expensive red wine.

Everytime Jungkook pulls out of you, spent and sweaty and satisfied, after the deed is done, he is left in disbelief. Every single time. Is this really happening? Are you really sleeping with him? Do you actually feel attracted to his body?

He is smart enough to not delude himself into thinking there's more to it, but it doesn't matter because whatever there is between you both is enough to astound him every time the two of you have sex.

Right now, as you sit with your back to him, pulling on his t-shirt over your bare frame – Jungkook's mind is caught onto something a little different than his usual daze of disbelief, though.

And even though he’s risking it by questioning the ‘why’ despite his secretary’s warnings, Jungkook can’t help it when he brings it up. "So… Hiring an assistant. Why so suddenly?"

You hum and give a noncommittal shrug. "I can't be in the office all the time. It's high time I hired one, don’t you think?"

Jungkook doesn’t think so. But he’d definitely be dead meat if he said it out loud. “Sure… What tasks will you give him?”

That earns him a confused look from you over your shoulder. “Do you wanna tell me something, Jeon?”

Wide-eyed, he gapes at you. “What?”

“Did something happen with Haeri? Is that why—”

“Oh, no,” he exhales, beyond relieved, then shakes his head with a smile when you continue to eye him suspiciously. “I just… Well. I’m always making Haeri pick up after me as if she’s a babysitter and not an office worker, you know? So I thought I could use some tips from you…”

You nod at that, turning back around to pull on your panties, and Jungkook breathes easier. He has sold his lie and you’ve bought it. “That’s actually thoughtful and mature of you. Where was this maturity when you had me running after you, though?” you grumble with a playful glare, and he just laughs. 

“It is because of all of that that I’ve finally learnt to be mature, Prez.”

Straightening after having covered your lower half, you inch back on the bed and rest your back against the headboard. “Well. To be fair, he has been running around for tiny errands for the two days he’s been here, so I can’t really lecture you, right now,” you admit. “But I wanted someone in the office for the meetings-season that is about to arrive as we near the launch, you know? Both you and I will be busy with the project. Poor Yoongi will need all the help he can get.”

Jungkook frowns. “Why doesn’t Yoongi hire an assistant then?”

You snort at that and gesture to the bottle of wine on the nightstand. “Why’re you pressed about it? You said you need tips, right?”

“Ah, yes, of course. I just want some tips.” Quickly catching his slip, Jungkook pours you a glass and settles next to you, bare, with the covers thrown across his lap for modesty. “So… will he be accompanying you to meetings, then? Or fill in for you while you’re busy with other stuff?”

“Well, initially he will shadow me for a week or so. And then when I get busy overseeing the launch event and coordinating with the Lims and other investors, he can switch between locations around the city to ensure everything is in order because Yoongi can’t be doing everything, you know?” You take a sip from your glass of wine and shrug a shoulder. “He’s our Creative Director, he needs to hold the fort while everyone runs around like headless chickens.”

Jungkook sips at his wine and musters a thin smile. Because yes, it definitely makes sense why you needed to hire an assistant. Speaking of, Yoongi probably needs one as well. 

Damn, when he used to work as a Software Analyst at a different company, he had no idea the executives of a company had so much to do. It always looks like an easy life looking in from the outside. But as CEO, he has come to learn that if someone in a higher up position makes a mistake, they initiate a dominoes’ fall all the way down.

“You met him, didn’t you?”

His surprised eyes fly to yours at the question. You’re looking at him with a smirk, and Jungkook’s heart gives a thump at how sexy you look. Your question, though, throws him off. "I… How did you—”

You roll your eyes. “He told me you came in to see me and then left. I checked in with Haeri and she said you weren’t feeling well.”

Wow. They both snitched on him. Just great.

And now you're looking at him with barely contained laughter as if you know how jealous he feels. Who is he kidding, of course you know how jealous he feels. You always know this kind of stuff, ugh.

“Don’t be getting insecure, Jeon, my assistant will remain only an assistant.”

He doesn’t know why you say that, but he appreciates it all the same. The twinkle in your eyes expresses playful adoration and the way it makes his heart race kinda scares him.

But then you lean in with an exaggerated kissy face to press a wet smooch on his mouth. When you pull away, he looks at you with a slight pout on his lips. You tilt your head to the side with a squint.

"What?"

"It's… Why did you pick the Ferrari guy?" Jungkook sounds a little whiny, but he can't help it.

You look at him over the rim of your glass, eyebrows nearing your hairline, amusement spilling from your gaze. "Uh, what's wrong with the Ferrari guy?"

"Nothing, of course, that's not what I meant," he tries to amend with a chuckle, but given the way you narrow your eyes at him before putting your glass away to cross your arms, you probably don't buy it. So he speaks on. "It's just that he doesn't look like an assistant, you know?"

"I… don’t actually. What does an assistant look like?"

Are you being purposely difficult or is Jungkook being completely weird? He's not exactly sure how to explain it better, but he's definitely sure that any other way would have been better than what comes out of his mouth next. "I mean, a bit… less… flirty, I guess?"

"What? What the hell did he do to you?"

He groans at your excited expressions. "Dude had me gaping at him for fifteen minutes while he talked about God knows what, because I couldn't focus on his words! I don't even like men like that!"

You give a loud snort and then break into loud peals of laughter. "Well, Jungkook, maybe you do! Maybe you just haven't had your awakening yet!"

"Not funny," he grunts, even as a humored smile slips on to his face at your loud giggles. "What did you say his name was, again?"

You raise an eyebrow. "I didn't."

He rolls his eyes. "Well, my dear Prez, what is your new assistant's name?"

"Park Jimin." Your smile turns goofy and eyes almost dreamy. "Pretty name for a pretty man. Right?"

He rolls his eyes at your suggestive wink, grumbling as he finishes his glass of wine in a large gulp.

You give a small sigh. "He's a nice guy, give him a chance. Heart of gold, or whatever they say."

Jungkook decides that he, for reasons way beyond his supposed homoerotic awakening, absolutely hates Park Jimin's guts. He's going to convince you to fire him. And soon.

© jimilter | 2024

[fixated-cookies]

Hey! I absolutely love your work! I want to share this little scenario I keep thinking about, cause I'm dying to know what your thoughts on it are! (May I be 🖤 anon?)

I like to think Shadow Milk has a roleplay kink, and somehow he always manages to rope Pure Vanilla into it. I imagine one of his favorite scenes would be the classic damsel in distress.

Shadow Milk naturally plays the villain, tying you up all pretty and exposed, teasing and edging you relentlessly while waiting for Pure Vanilla to find you both.

When he eventually does, Shadow Milk challenges him to a "duel." The duel is different each time, but your body is always the battlefield. Sometimes it's to see who can fill you up the most, or make you cum the most, or who can hold off from cumming the longest. Whatever the case, Pure Vanilla simply can't refuse since that would mean leaving you all pent up.

thank goodness someone thinks the same as me, shadow milk would have a roleplay kink and I KNOW IT. this man loves to perform, to act, to flesh out scenes, ahh just imagining it!!

The ribbons shimmer faintly in the low light—silver and slippery where they coil around your wrists, binding them snug above your head. Your arms ache just a little from the stretch, but it’s nothing compared to the slow, aching need between your legs.

Your thighs are slick. Breath uneven. Your chest rises and falls in shallow pulls, nipples perked from the cool air and the humiliation of it all.

Shadow Milk Cookie crouches at the edge of the bed, elbow resting on the mattress like he’s settling in for a show. He’s not even touching you right now, which somehow makes it worse. His eyes drink in every inch of you—bare, squirming, wet—and he smiles.

"Such a delicate little hostage," he murmurs, dragging a finger up the inside of your thigh without ever touching where you need him most. "Gods, you're a vision. Tied up so sweetly, flushed pink…"

His voice drops lower, more amused. "And all this for our dear, righteous hero. He really does bring out the best in you." You turn your head, cheeks hot. “You’re—crazy—”

"Mmm. Not crazy. Committed.” His fingers circle your thigh again, never quite dipping into your slick, just skirting the edge. “And you love it, don't you?" You whimper. Not yes. Not no.

He chuckles.

“He’s probably already on his way, you know.” His eyes flick lazily to the door. “Sensed your little cries echoing through the ley lines. How romantic.” You shudder when he finally leans in, breath grazing your neck, his tongue flicking out just to taste the salt of your sweat.

“He’s going to barge in like the hero he is,” he whispers, lips ghosting over your skin. “And do you know what he’ll see?” His hand slides—finally—between your legs, stroking slowly through your folds, gathering your wetness on two fingers.

“He’ll see you dripping for me. The oh, so handsome, and frankly intelligent villain! ”

You moan, involuntarily, biting down on your lip as his fingers toy with your clit. He tuts. “You poor thing. This must be so confusing for your sweet little heart.”

You buck your hips, trying to get more friction, but he pulls his hand away just as quick—licking your arousal off his fingers with a delighted sigh.

“You’d better hold out a bit longer, flower,” he says, grinning. “We haven’t even gotten to the part where he challenges me for your honor.” He stands, fixing his coat, his cock already straining in his pants as he watches you pant and writhe.

“I do hope he gets here soon, though,” he adds, voice light. “Because you’re already halfway ruined.”

And from the doorframe, soft and dangerous—

“Step away from her, Shadow Milk.”

The voice is quiet. Dangerous.

You lift your head—barely. Your vision is still hazy with tears, slick, and embarrassment. But you see him.

Pure Vanilla stands in the doorway, staff gripped tight in his hand. His robes ripple faintly with the power radiating off him, his eyes locked on yours.

Shadow Milk doesn't flinch. He only turns his head slightly, that cruel, glittering smile already spreading. “There you are, my sweet little nilly,” he says, as if greeting an old friend. “She’s been calling for you, you know. Moaning your name so prettily.”

Pure Vanilla doesn’t answer. He just steps forward, his gaze dropping to your tied wrists, your exposed, trembling body, your thighs still slick with Shadow Milk’s teasing. His jaw tenses.

“Let her go.”

Shadow Milk sighs dramatically. “You’re so dull, truly. Don’t you ever get tired of making threats without flair?”

Pure Vanilla raises his staff.

“Now now,” Shadow Milk says, wagging a finger, “no need for lightshows. I’m offering you a chance.”

Pure Vanilla stills.

“A duel,” Shadow Milk says smoothly, stepping aside to motion at you like you’re a prize on display. “The classic. Hero versus villain. You know how this works.”

“What are the terms?” Pure Vanilla asks coldly.

Shadow Milk’s grin sharpens.

“Her.”

Your breath catches.

Pure Vanilla’s eyes flick to you again. You’re panting softly, cheeks burning, arms trembling in their binds.

Shadow Milk continues, smug and slow, as he circles the bed. “Let’s say… we compete. Not with swords. Not with spells. But with this—” His hand slides over your slick, ruined cunt, and you sob as your body jumps. “Let’s see who can bring her more pleasure. Who she cries harder for. Who fills her better. Who she breaks for first.”

Silence.

Then, Pure Vanilla steps forward. His expression doesn’t change—but his fingers flex at his side.

“If I win,” he says calmly, “you will not touch her again.”

Shadow Milk laughs. “And if I win? You’ll watch.”

Another pause.

Pure Vanilla kneels beside you. His fingers touch your cheek, gentle. Reverent. He brushes a strand of hair from your forehead, and his voice—soft, steady—makes your heart break.

“I won’t lose.”

You whimper as your binds shimmer and release—not for your freedom, but so they can reposition you. Your legs are lifted and spread between the two of them, your body now the center of a quiet storm.

“Ready, princess?” Shadow Milk whispers, palming himself through his pants.

Pure Vanilla leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs. “I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

And then the duel begins.

Your legs shake where they’re spread, one ankle hooked over each of their shoulders. Your body’s been pulled down the bed, hips propped up on a pillow, wrists free but too weak to move. You’re soaked—shaking—done, but the duel hasn’t ended.

Because you haven’t said who won.

“You’re moaning louder for me,” Shadow Milk purrs, licking a long stripe up your breast before closing his lips around your nipple and sucking. “I think that’s one for me, Vanilly.”

Pure Vanilla doesn’t even look at him. His fingers pump into your cunt—two of them, deep and slow, curling just right to make your hips twitch and your thighs spasm.

“She came harder on my fingers,” he says softly, lips brushing your cheek as he kisses you between shudders. “She clenched so tight I could barely move.”

You can’t even speak—your voice is a breathy mess of broken sounds and swallowed cries. One of your hands claws uselessly at the sheets, the other tangled in Shadow Milk’s hair as his tongue swirls and teases your other nipple.

“Her chest is so sensitive now,” he hums. “Must be all that attention I’m giving her. Maybe she’s a titty girl, Vanilla.”

“Stop calling me that,” Pure Vanilla says calmly, but his voice trembles slightly.

“Vanilly,” Shadow Milk sings, grinning against your skin. “Come on~ admit defeat. My mouth and my hands were working overtime while you were still finding your rhythm.”

Pure Vanilla slides his fingers deeper, his palm grinding perfectly against your clit. Your head snaps back and you let out a sharp cry, hips jerking.

“Rhythm,” he repeats, curling his fingers again. “Which you’ve never had.”

Shadow Milk chuckles and latches back onto your nipple, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. You sob.

“Oh? Because she seems to be enjoying herself quite a bit with my mouth on her.”

You’re writhing between them now—cock-drunk and oversensitive, your cunt leaking down onto the sheets and your chest shiny with spit and attention.

Your body rocks between the two of them—Pure Vanilla’s fingers stroking deep inside your soaked cunt, curling up to press perfectly against that sweet, aching spot, while Shadow Milk’s tongue circles your nipple again and again, lips warm and wet, pulling whimpers out of you like he’s playing an instrument.

Your thighs twitch. Your spine arches. You feel it building, again, the pressure curling tighter and tighter in your belly, your toes curling from the sheer overwhelming heat of their hands and mouths and words.

“That’s it,” Pure Vanilla breathes, voice shaking just a little. “Come for us again, sweetheart. Just one more time.”

“Mmm, scream for us,” Shadow Milk purrs, teeth grazing your chest. “And tell him it’s me you break for.”

Their voices blur as your climax crashes over you—your vision whites out, your thighs clamp around Pure Vanilla’s hand, and a sob breaks from your throat. You come hard, juices dripping down onto the sheets, your chest heaving, limbs jerking like a puppet whose strings just snapped.

They slow.

They pause.

You’re gasping—sweating—your head lolling to the side.

Shadow Milk leans in first, grinning. “Well? Who did it better, flower?”

Pure Vanilla kisses your temple, still composed but hungry. “It’s alright. Take your time. We want your honest answer.”

You try to speak.

You do.

But your mouth opens… and nothing comes out but a breathy, wrecked whine.

Your eyes roll slightly as your hand grips the sheets again, trembling.

“Oh, for—” Shadow Milk groans, pulling back with a dramatic toss of his head. “I broke her before we even finished the game.”

“I broke her,” Pure Vanilla corrects, softly but firmly.

“You wish.”

“She came on my hand.”

“She came with my mouth on her tits.”

“She couldn’t even say your name—”

“She couldn’t say anything, Vanilly!”

They both turn to you again—slumped between them, eyes glassy, chest still rising and falling like you just ran a marathon.

You try again to say something—anything.

It comes out as a garbled, breathy, “…too much…”

They look at each other.

Silence.

Then Shadow Milk smirks.

“…Rematch?”

Pure Vanilla sighs. “We’ll go slower this time.”

Your legs are lifted again before you can even protest. Shadow Milk kisses your cheek while Pure Vanilla slides his hand back between your thighs—his voice low, careful, and so, so sweet.

“We’ll take our time, my love. Until your body can speak for you.”

---

I didnt mean to make it this long hahah

[sailoryuns]

INAMORATA ─── PSH

genre. idol!sunghoon x model!f!reader | established relationship

warnings. angst, fluff (moreso towards the end), smut, accusations of cheating, hoon being lowkey toxic, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, some mentions of crying, not proofread wc -> 1.5k

ps. the position i’m referring to is this (nsfw link), i usually hate vids but this was rly good imo.

“i think we should take a break...” you admit, voice growing shakier as you spoke. this was never something you wish to say in a million years, you wanted this relationship to work more than anything. but you were at your wits end with everything, talking to sunghoon was like conversing with the wall, never fully grasping any of your concerns.

you noticed the cracks beginning to seep in the midst of six months of being with him. he would often be dishonest of his whereabouts, saying he was out late due to “work” but was actually out drinking at some bar with jake or something. it made no sense for him to lie about such trivial things but he does it without even thinking. this was supposed to be a lovely vacation in paris together but lately you’ve grown tired of feeling like you’re unappreciated. a break from each other might be the best solution in getting his act together once and for all.

sunghoon felt his whole body turn limp as you uttered those words. not only was he blindsided by your decision, but you never indicated before to him that you were ready to propose such a drastic idea. “but why though? don’t you think this is a bit random? i mean this came out of nowhere y/n, i thought everything was good between us, why are you suddenly saying this now?” his thick, bushy brows furrowed in confusion, he wasn’t letting you off this easy and you know it.

“i just think it’s for the better right now hoon, we’re both so busy. we have a lot on our plate, especially you… and this relationship is just— it’s only putting more strain on everythi-”

“are you serious y/n? do you hear yourself? i knew what i was getting myself into the day i asked you to be my girlfriend. i’m well aware that i can’t be with you 24/7, and neither can you—however, i don’t expect that anyway. all i ever wanted was to have you by my side, i want to work through the hardships with you but if you’re so willing to give up like this then… i don’t know. i don’t even know what to say to this honestly..” sunghoon couldn’t help but cut you off, once his emotions take over, all sense of logic and reasoning is thrown out the window.

he was never one to question his worth in the eyes of his partner, but you were his longest relationship, he saw you as his first and only true love. it never occurred to him that he could lose you, the possibility of this break lasting long enough to make your love fade away was a scary revelation. there had to be a way he could fix this, he couldn’t bear to be without you.

“are you seeing someone else? maybe that’s why you’ve been so distant towards me lately…” he wanted to scream for saying that out loud but at least he got it off his chest. he knows how petty it sounds but he didn’t care, he wanted you to give him answers.

“no! i’m not seeing other people, i don’t have an interest in anyone but you sunghoon. i want to do this for the sake of us, we’re clearly not where we need to be and this break could help with getting us back on track and spending time apart could be beneficial.” you try your best to articulate your words properly but he remained unconvinced, he wasn’t on board with any bit of this.

how could you even be okay with something like this? spending time away from you drove him absolutely insane, he couldn’t fathom taking a break—not from someone as important as you in his life. he just needed to remind you that the love was still there, though it may be but a dull flame, he could ignite the spark again, with the little bit of hope he had left.

the foundation of your relationship was built from shared interests, since you both are part of professions that rely heavily on looks, you refused to see each other based solely off those superficial aspects. instead you got to know each other’s minds, your core values and beliefs, what mattered to you the most. you cherished every one of those deep conversations you shared together, it was a beautiful experience, an indescribable memory that shaped your bond forever.

so why is it now that you feel this way? was he really that oblivious to everything? he should’ve done more to prevent this but now he fears it’s too late. he’s faced with the conundrum of losing you and there wasn’t much time for him to stall or ask for a chance of redemption, he couldn’t waste another second.

“fuck that,” sunghoon angrily spat, his face contorting into a look of pure disgust. “you’re not going anywhere.” he reaches out to grab your waist before you could walk away, aggressively pulling you into his chest.

no matter how much you attempt to escape his hold, he’s not letting you go in the slightest. he’s much stronger than you, could easily lift you up without breaking a sweat. there was no use in fighting, you had no choice but to give in and let this conversation go. once his lips crashed into yours, everything faded to black. as if a simple kiss was the cure-all of mending this decrepit relationship.

sunghoon’s forehead pressed against yours as he pulled away, “shhh, lye down baby,” he hushes your quiet mewls, instructing you to do as he says. “gonna make you feel so good,” his hands slid under your skirt, gently rubbing over your clothed core “you’ll forget everything.”

* :.･ﾟﾟ･ ✿

“oh my- fuckk, sunghoon!” you cry out, almost on the verge of tears just from how skilled he is, rutting your hips upwards into his mouth as he devours you whole.

the pace of his tongue is relentless, roughly lapping up all your juices like he’s the most starved man alive. you’ve lost count at the amount of times he’s already made you come undone just from his mouth alone. your body’s buzzing with titillation, all you can do is scream and clench your pussy around nothing while he fiercely sucks on your clit.

you couldn’t stop twitching, feeling yet another orgasm approaching. your legs anchored over his shoulders, unable to think or speak coherent sentences as his face was fully buried into your sloppy cunt. he relaxes his jaw a bit more, going all the way from the bottom inching further up as he comes back in contact with your puffy clit. at any given moment it feels as if your heart’s about to stop.

“hoon-” your heads thrown back into the pillow, digging your nails into his shoulder blades from how overly sensitive you are. “n-need to cum.. can feel it. m’so close.” it surprises you when you’re able to even express such words.

a low grunt can be heard underneath, sunghoon loves hearing you— it’s arguably the best part about going down on you. the hand that wasn’t occupied went straight to gripping a fistful of his ebony hair, continuously moaning his name so loud that you genuinely feel bad for whomever the unlucky people that got to hear this.

just when you thought it couldn’t get anymore intense, he slips 2 of his slender fingers inside, making you gasp from the overwhelming sensation. flashes of white invade your vision, violently shaking as your lips form an “o” in the throes of ecstasy. sunghoon knows your body so well that this is nothing for him, he’s got it all down to a simple science. no one knows your body like he does, and especially no one can make you cum as hard as he can.

“go ahead, make a mess for me baby,” he strongly encourages, picking up his pace as his digits fuck into you faster. “just gonna clean it up with my tongue all over again.”

your eyes roll back to the depths of oblivion, feeling an out of body experience when reaching your climax. a string of curses leaves your shaky breath, limbs trembling and faint tears stain your flushed cheeks. sunghoon slows his movements, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently to make you even more sensitive. you love the way he calls you “good girl” and how proud the look on his face becomes while you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. he doesn’t stop showering you with compliments, only ramping up his affection as he plants fleeting kisses to your thighs, hips, and stomach.

once he’s finally come back up for air you grab his face to pull him into your lips again. moaning in his mouth while getting a taste of yourself was probably the hottest thing sunghoon’s ever witnessed.

“can’t believe this is all mine.” sunghoon whispers against you, gently massaging your aching thighs. “i love you so much, baby.”

“love you too hoon.” you instantly say back, feeling more at ease now that things are somewhat back to normal.

maybe a break isn’t necessary after all, how else would you be able to have such earth shattering orgasms?

- 完 ♡︎

[museaway]

✍️ yet another list of fic writer asks

You all seem to like these, so here is another batch of writer asks! These questions are a little more relaxed than the last two. Followers can send an ask with a number OR you can reblog and answer everything like a Q&A. I always see a lot of “idk if i’m a writer” in the tags for these so let me just say in advance, yes you are and you can play.

What is the crackiest* thing you’ve ever written? (*I mean this with great affection)

Has writing a fic ever changed your opinion of a character?

Tell us about a headcanon you invented for a fic

Have you ever written a fic inspired by a tumblr post?

How do you know when you’re finished writing a fic? At what point do you call it done?

When do you title your fics? Before you write them? As you write them? While posting to AO3 and that “Work Title” field is staring at you?

Navigate to your complete list of works on AO3. What are your top 5 Additional Tags?

Tell us your shortest and longest titles of all time

The two fandoms you’ve written the most have been suddenly crossed with each other! What AU are you writing?

What’s a phrase you catch yourself using in multiple fics, not necessarily on purpose?

Oh no! You’re posting a fic to AO3 and completely forgot to write a summary. What is your summary-writing strategy?

Do you write in order, jump around the draft, or a mix? Something else?

Congratulations, you’ve just finished the WIP you’ve been working on for months! How are you going to celebrate?

Is there a word or phrase you intentionally use in every fic?

How many times has someone nodded in your current WIP? This is for posterity so be honest

Describe your current WIP with just emojis

When you get a new fic idea, what does that look like in your mind? Does it play out like a film? Do you imagine lines of dialogue or a certain moment? Does a character just sit there staring at you?

If you have noticed themes emerging in your writing, what are they? What broad themes and topics do you enjoy exploring?

It’s a lovely morning in fandom land and a horrible goose is running rampant through your folders. How many WIPs is it going to step on?

What’s the story behind your pen name?

Without getting into any discourse, just thinking as a writer approaching characters, would you ever write about your NOTP? If you did, do you think that would change how you feel about it? (If you’ve done this, how did it go?)

Do you have a fixed writing routine, or do you write when you have time? Is there a time of day when you prefer to write?

What is your #1 distraction when you’re trying to write? If it’s a pet, post a pic

What colors, sights, sounds, textures, etc. inspire you? Do certain environments make you feel more creative than others?

Someone you know outside of fandom has heard that you’re a writer. “I’d like to read something of yours!” they say with sincere enthusiasm. “Where can I find it?” What’s your answer?

Do you have a routine you run through before you write?

Share a random sentence from a WIP. The less context, the better. Be confusing.

You’re out and about, nowhere near your home, when a fantastic story idea pops into your head! What do you do?

Have you ever actually remembered one of those 3am “I’ll remember it in the morning” ideas?

Finish this sentence with your fandom’s variation(s): No beta, we die like _________

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 9 - off the bench]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: The spotlight follows Paige, but Azzi’s eyes never leave her. Between rooftop parties, silent understandings, and a coffee table no one asked for, the shape of their relationship starts to shift. What was once careful becomes comfortable, and what was once tentative turns certain—with nothing left to prove.

Warning: Jake is here

Author's note: I hope it met your expectation. Probably the longest chapter I wrote for this series.

Word count: 6,412

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. June 2025. 

The sunlight cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows didn’t soften the edge in Nika’s voice as she flipped through the printed contract. 

“If we fast-track this, we’ll need the final numbers from legal before Wednesday.” 

Azzi sat at her desk, posture perfect, pen poised over a draft that had already been signed twice. She didn’t look up. 

“I’ll have Ines coordinate with compliance.” 

A buzz sounded from the corner of the desk. 

Neither woman acknowledged it at first. Azzi’s eyes remained fixed on the page, but her hand hovered slightly, as if instinct wanted her to reach before her mind allowed it. 

Another buzz, longer this time. Then two in a row. 

Nika raised her head. 

“Someone’s persistent,” she said lightly. 

Azzi didn’t move. “It’s nothing.” 

Nika set her papers down. “That didn’t sound like nothing.” 

Before Azzi could stop her, Nika reached across the desk and picked up the phone. 

“Nika,” Azzi warned, but it was too late. 

Nika’s eyes scanned the lock screen. She let out a low whistle. 

“Instagram, Twitter, ESPN, even Bleacher Report. All Paige, all day.” Nika raised an eyebrow as she held out the phone. “You really weren’t going to say anything? Or were you hoping no one would notice you’ve got alerts turned on for your favorite All-Star?” 

Azzi stayed quiet, her face unreadable. 

Nika arched a brow, still grinning. “You really keeping tabs on her like that? Thought you didn’t care for social media.” 

Azzi leaned back, voice smooth. “It’s in my job description. Player oversight.” 

“Player oversight my ass.” 

“Language, Muhl.” 

Nika gave a short laugh, “Come on. You really going to sit there and act like that’s all it is?” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Azzi finally took the phone back, clicking the screen dark with a touch that was sharper than necessary. She slid it face down on the desk. Her voice was calm. 

She hesitated, gaze lingering on the turned-over phone like it had asked her something she didn’t want to answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was even, but softer than before. 

“Admitting things complicates them.” 

Nika leaned back in her chair, arms folded, eyes sharp with amusement. 

“Or maybe it just makes them real. You ever think of that?” 

Azzi didn’t respond right away. She reached for her pen again, clicked it once, then set it down without using it. 

Nika’s grin widened. “You know, for someone who built a multi-million-dollar roster from scratch, you’re really bad at pretending this isn’t obvious.” 

Azzi finally looked over, brows raised. “You finished reviewing the clause?” 

Nika laughed. “Sure. But you might want to start reviewing your poker face, boss.” 

The phone buzzed once more. This time, she didn’t stop herself from reading it.  

Paige’s name flashed on the top banner.  

Just a tweet — a screenshot of the announcement, her own words captioned underneath: 

wtf y’all. okay i’m crying. 

Azzi’s thumb hovered over the notification. She didn’t open it. 

But the corners of her mouth lifted, just barely. A quiet smile, not meant for anyone else in the room. 

She turned the phone over slowly, face down again, and set it aside. Then reached for her pen, signing the next page without a word, the smile still lingering, soft and unmistakably proud. 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. June 2025.  

Azzi tied her hair back loosely, letting the silk tie settle at the nape of her neck as she leaned toward the mirror. Her movements were methodical, practiced. The soft white light of the bathroom washed over the marble counter and the screen propped beside the sink. Paige’s face lit up the phone, cheeks flushed from excitement, expression animated even through pixels. 

“…and then the trainer told me, ‘You’re going to have to start charging people for autographs now.’ I swear I almost choked on my milkshake.” 

Azzi reached for her cleansing balm, the container cool in her palm as she unscrewed the lid. Paige’s voice filled the space, fast and unfiltered, words tumbling over each other. 

“I mean, I knew people liked me, but number one? Babe, that’s insane. Over actual legends. This is like, not real. Are they sure they counted the votes right?” 

Azzi smiled faintly, dabbing the balm across her cheekbones with her fingertips. Her voice was calm, but there was warmth under it. 

“They were right. You earned it.” 

There was a pause on the other end before Paige laughed again, head falling back onto what looked like a hotel pillow. 

“I swear, I don’t even know what to say. I’ve been smiling all night.” 

Azzi began to massage the balm into her skin, small circles along her jawline, voice steady. 

“You should. I’m proud of you.” 

That quieted things.  

Azzi didn’t notice at first. She moved to rinse her hands under warm water, the faucet humming low. It wasn’t until the absence of Paige’s voice stretched too long that Azzi glanced toward her phone again. 

Paige wasn’t talking anymore. Just watching. 

Azzi blinked once, turning the tap off before reaching for a towel. 

“What?” 

Paige tilted her head slightly on the screen, lips tugging into a lazy smile. 

“You look really pretty.” 

Azzi exhaled, soft and exasperated. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

Paige shrugged, chin propped against her knuckles. “Maybe. But you do. That robe is kind of cheating, though. You look like you should be drinking wine and reading poetry.” 

Azzi glanced down at her ivory robe, expression unreadable. “It’s my skincare robe.” 

“Right. Your skincare robe.” Paige grinned, teasing now. “God, even your skincare routine is hot, ma.” 

Azzi shook her head, but the faintest smile curved her lips as she reached for her toner. 

“Do you ever stop?” 

Paige was still smiling. “Only when you make me.” 

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She swept the cotton pad gently over her cheek, gaze flicking to the screen again.  

Paige hadn’t looked away. Her expression had softened, a little slower now. A little closer to something that mattered. 

Azzi took a breath. “You should get some rest.” 

Paige smirked. “I will. Eventually. You staying on the line again?” 

She just set the phone back against the sink, making sure the camera still caught her face. 

“Wash your face first, Rookie.” 

- 

And then, just barely, her smile returned. 

Conrad Indianapolis, Indianapolis. July 2025. 

The couch was soft enough to sink into, which Paige had already done with her usual chaotic sprawl. One leg hooked over the backrest, the other stretched long, toes nudging a pillow that looked designer. Her hoodie was half-zipped, and the All-Star patch stitched on her sweatpants caught the gold of the suite’s warm lighting every time she moved. 

“That lamp’s gotta be a thousand easy,” she muttered, eyes scanning the room. “And that side table? Solid marble. Top five, easy.” 

She rolled to her stomach, chin propped on a throw pillow. 

“I’m ranking the most absurd things in this suite. Right now, it’s a tie between the curved art sculpture and the fruit bowl that looks like it’s never seen fruit.” 

From the kitchen island, Azzi’s fingers hovered over her laptop. She hadn’t typed anything for minutes. Paige’s voice filled the space like she belonged in it. 

“I thought you had press,” Azzi said. 

“I did.” 

Azzi turned her head slightly, enough to catch Paige’s smirk over her shoulder. 

“I needed to recharge,” Paige said. “With my non-girlfriend girlfriend.” 

Azzi looked back at her screen, but her lips gave her away. The edge of a smile, impossible to hold down. She clicked once, then again, more to keep her hands busy than anything else. She didn’t answer right away, and Paige caught that too. 

“You like when I say that,” Paige teased as she sat up on the couch. “Admit it.” 

“You’re delusional,” Azzi murmured. 

Paige grinned wider. “And you’re blushing.” 

Azzi closed her laptop without replying. She walked over with that composed stride she always carried, then knelt beside the couch and brushed Paige’s hair from her face. 

“You’re anxious.” 

Paige didn’t deny it. Her fingers tugged at a loose thread on the blanket as she sat up, gaze drifting past Azzi to the windows behind her. The city view blurred with night, unfamiliar and too far away. 

“I’m excited. But it feels like everyone’s expecting me to prove something. Like one wrong step means I was a fluke.” 

Azzi climbed onto the couch, one knee sliding between Paige’s thighs before she settled directly in her lap. Her hands rested at Paige’s shoulders, fingertips brushing the base of her neck. 

Paige leaned back into the cushions, body already relaxing under the weight of Azzi’s presence. 

“I’m trying to hold it together,” she said. “But I just wanted to see you first.” 

Azzi shifted closer, thumb tracing over the edge of Paige’s jaw. 

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “You belong there.” 

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s back, slow and certain. 

“I want to kiss you so bad.” 

Azzi didn’t move away, but she didn’t lean in either. Her eyes held steady. 

“You said you didn’t want to share,” she said quietly. “That was your term.” 

“And you haven’t ended it,” Paige replied. “With him.” 

Azzi nodded once. “I know.” 

The air between them stretched. Paige didn’t fill it. She just watched her, fingers curled gently into Azzi’s waist like she was trying to be patient. 

Azzi took a breath. 

“I want you. But I want to come to you clean. I don’t want our first anything built on someone else's name still in the room.” 

Paige pressed her forehead against Azzi’s collarbone. She didn’t speak, just stayed there with her eyes closed and her arms wrapped tighter. 

- 

Azzi stayed right where she was, holding on just as hard. 

Astrea Rooftop Bar, Indianapolis. July 2025. 

The rooftop bar was already warm with too many bodies and expensive cologne. Strings of low lights crisscrossed above them, casting soft shadows over gold glassware and open jackets. The crowd was loud in a familiar way, full of players riding post-game adrenaline, media professionals lingering near the most photogenic faces, and agents circling like polite sharks. Everyone wanted to be seen. 

Paige was impossible to miss. 

She stood near a heat lamp with her sleeves shoved up, drink in hand, a group of players pressed around her. Her All-Star teammates flanked her like an unofficial security detail, but it didn’t stop people from drifting in and out, trying to catch a word, a smile, a picture.  

Paige kept laughing. Shoulders back, confidence effortless. The light caught the All-Star patch on her chest, and her grin made it look earned. 

From across the deck, Azzi watched. She stood near the bar with a drink untouched in her hand, nodding occasionally as someone in a linen blazer droned on about sponsorship deliverables. Her posture didn’t falter, but her attention clearly had. Her gaze kept returning to the same point, always landing on Paige. 

The woman beside Paige was older, polished. Hair sleek, heels impractical for the wood floor. She laughed too loudly, touched Paige’s elbow like they were already familiar. Azzi saw the way Paige didn’t move away. She leaned in, said something with a crooked smile. The woman laughed again. 

Azzi’s grip on her glass shifted slightly. 

She didn’t hear the end of the man’s pitch. When he finally excused himself, Nika slid into the space beside her. 

“You look like you’re working,” Nika said, eyes tracking the same scene. 

“I am.” 

Nika took a slow sip of her drink. “Is that what we’re calling jealousy now?” 

Her lips parted slightly, then closed again, whatever words she considered left unsaid. 

The woman leaned in closer to Paige. Something she said made Paige tip her head back and laugh. Then Paige looked the woman in the eye, hand resting on her own chest like she was setting a boundary and not apologizing for it. 

“Can’t,” Paige said loud enough to carry. “I’ve got a scary-hot non-girlfriend back at home who would absolutely murder me.” 

It drew another wave of laughter from the crowd. Paige raised her glass like a punchline. The woman laughed too, then slipped back into the flow of the party. Paige’s grin didn’t falter, but she turned toward the bar, eyes scanning the deck until they found Azzi. 

Azzi’s expression didn’t change, but the fingers around her glass eased. 

“You going to talk to her?” Nika asked, amused. 

“I have nothing to say.” 

“Right.” 

Nika lingered only a second longer before she disappeared into another group. 

Later, Paige approached alone. Her sleeves were still shoved up. Her cheeks were flushed from too much attention or maybe just the heat. Azzi hadn’t moved far, still half in the shadows near the edge of the rooftop. Paige leaned beside her on the railing, facing outward toward the skyline. 

“You looked like you were about to commit a felony earlier,” Paige said lightly. 

Azzi didn’t look at her. “And you looked like you wanted me to.” 

“I was being good.” 

Azzi’s voice was even. “I doubt that.” 

Paige turned toward her, expression teasing but something sharper beneath it. 

“Jealousy looks good on you.” 

“It doesn’t suit me.” 

“Still. You looked ready to ruin her life.” 

Azzi’s gaze didn’t waver. “She wouldn’t have been the only one.” 

Paige didn’t laugh. She reached out, fingers brushing Azzi’s wrist before dropping away again. 

“You know I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

Azzi looked down at the half-full glass in her hand, then back at Paige. 

“I know,” she said. “But that doesn’t make it easier.” 

Paige’s voice softened. “Then why are we still here? Stuck like this?” 

Azzi exhaled, slow. “Because I haven’t done what I need to.” 

“Then do it.” 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. July 2025. 

The sound of heels on polished hardwood echoed faintly through the open-concept condo. Nika moved through the entryway with a familiar ease, her arms full of slim folders and a small parcel wrapped in navy paper. The late afternoon light stretched through the windows, casting long shadows across Azzi's sculptural furniture and untouched white walls. 

"I brought the updated contracts from Boston," Nika called, placing them carefully on the marble counter. 

Azzi stepped out of her home office, barefoot and understated in a charcoal sweater and fitted slacks. Her hair was loosely pinned, a single strand tucked behind one ear with casual precision. She glanced at the documents without moving closer, then lifted a hand in mild thanks. 

Nika turned to speak again, but her eyes caught on something unusual. 

A large brown box sat by the wall near the couch. Its sides were unmarked except for the taped shipping label, creased slightly along the corner like it had been dropped. It looked completely out of place in Azzi’s space. A raw, cardboard rectangle in a room made of intention. 

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that... from Amazon?” 

Azzi moved toward the sink and poured herself a glass of water. “It’s a coffee table.” 

Nika walked over, inspecting the box like it might be mislabeled. “Since when do you buy furniture from Amazon?” 

Azzi’s voice remained even. “It was recommended.” 

“By who? Your interior designer having a breakdown?” 

There was a pause. Azzi’s eyes shifted toward the box, then back to her glass. “Paige sent me the link.” 

Nika blinked. She stepped away from the box and crossed her arms. “Hold on. You mean Paige Bueckers Paige?” 

Azzi gave the smallest nod. 

Nika stared. “You’re letting your starting point guard pick your furniture now?” 

“She mentioned the table I had was a hazard.” 

“Well, she’s not wrong. That thing looked like it belonged behind velvet rope.” Nika’s eyes narrowed. “So she just... replaced it for you?” 

“She offered to help. I didn’t object.” 

Nika circled the box once, grinning. “And you’re letting her build it?” 

Azzi hesitated. Her fingers traced the rim of the water glass without lifting it. “She said it would make the place feel more like a home.” 

That landed heavier than either of them expected. 

Nika gave her a look, somewhere between amused and affectionate. “You let someone tell you your space feels inhuman and your reaction was to let them fix it?” 

Azzi didn’t respond right away. She picked up one of the folders and turned it in her hand, even though she wasn’t reading the label. 

“She said the table was cold. And that real people live around clutter and scratches and things they built themselves.” 

Nika watched her, something like wonder blooming in her expression. “You’re letting Paige build you a life.” 

“It’s a coffee table,” Azzi said quietly. 

Nika smiled. “Sure. And next, she’ll be moving your wine glasses lower because they’re not reachable for people under six feet.” 

Azzi didn’t look up from the folder. Her lips curved slightly, barely there. 

“I’m bringing wine next time I visit,” Nika said, heading for the elevator. “I want front-row seats when she uses the Allen wrench like a power tool.” 

She left without another word, her laughter echoing faintly down the hallway. 

Azzi stayed at the counter, eyes on the box. She didn’t open it. She just stood there, picturing the way Paige had smiled while adding it to the cart. How she’d said it would be easy to build. That she wanted to help make the place less of a showroom and more of a space where people could laugh and exist and feel. 

It was only a coffee table. But the weight in Azzi’s chest told her it might be more than that. 

- 

Steak 48, Los Angeles. July 2025. 

The restaurant was lit in a curated kind of warmth, the kind that softened sharp edges and helped people forget the weight they walked in with. Tables were spread apart with intention. Conversations were low but not hushed, each table a small world, unaware of the others. Somewhere near the bar, a piano filled the air with notes that tried their best to feel elegant. 

Azzi didn’t remember the name of the place. Jake had made the reservation after knowing she will be in town for the Sparks versus Valkyries game. He mentioned it earlier in the week with the kind of confidence that came from Yelp reviews and corporate dinner experience.  

She had said yes out of habit, not excitement. That was the pattern lately — her calendar was full, her days structured, and Jake had learned how to slot himself in with efficiency. 

He sat across from her in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to look casual. His watch caught the light as he gestured, recounting the chaos of a server failure during a mid-tier client presentation. He was good at this. Charming in a low-maintenance way. Polished, but not flashy. The kind of man who knew how to invest, how to explain blockchain to aging board members, how to turn minor annoyances into compelling stories. 

Azzi heard the shape of the story but not the details. Her attention hovered somewhere above the table, above the candlelight, above the space between them that felt increasingly hollow. 

She wasn’t present. And she hadn’t been for a long time. 

Across from her, Jake smiled. “The whole system nearly crashed. I stepped in, rewrote the line in real-time. CTO was impressed, told me I saved the pitch. Got a bonus out of it.” 

She nodded, the motion small and polite. 

Jake picked up his glass, took a sip, then shifted the conversation. “I’ve been thinking about us.” 

That made her look at him properly. 

He didn’t hesitate. “After the season ends, maybe we take a few weeks. Get out of the city. You’ve been in overdrive, Azzi. You need air. We both do.” 

She said nothing. He took that as permission to go on. 

“I can work remote, so I’ll block off the time. Doesn’t have to be anywhere dramatic. But we’ve talked about Japan, right? Or Portugal? Somewhere new. Somewhere that lets us stop being... whatever this pace has turned us into.” He paused there, watching her. “I want to be with you when things slow down. Really with you.” 

Azzi was motionless, watching him. 

He’d said it with hope, not desperation. But the words hung between them, and in the stretch that followed, she felt a slow tightening in her chest. Not because she was moved — but because she wasn’t. 

He wanted stillness with her. She only wanted to leave. 

The realization wasn’t sudden. It had been unfolding for months, slow and private. She had told herself it was stress.  

Pressure.  

The newness of the team. That she didn’t have space to be open, not now, not with all eyes on her. But those were excuses dressed as logic.  

The truth was more precise. She didn’t feel anything for Jake beyond appreciation. Gratitude. Politeness. 

And he deserved more than that. 

But what haunted her most was that she hadn’t even missed him when she had been away. Not once. Not even in the kind of way that felt obligatory.  

She had thought of someone else instead. Not in theory. Not as fantasy. But as the first person she wanted to call when her day went well. Or badly. Or when it was so heavy that only one person’s voice could cut through it. 

Paige. 

That name didn’t exist at this table, but it was everywhere inside her. 

Jake was watching her now, waiting for the kind of response that might unlock something. 

Azzi lowered her eyes to her plate, then back up to him. Her expression stayed careful. But inside her chest, the decision solidified. 

She wasn’t going on a vacation. She wasn’t planning a future with someone she didn’t ache for. She wasn’t lying to herself just because it made sense on paper. 

When she finally spoke, her voice didn’t falter. 

“I can’t go with you, Jake.” 

He tilted his head slightly, confused. “Go where?” 

“On that trip. Or forward.” 

He blinked once. “Azzi…” 

“I’ve tried,” she said gently. “More than I probably should have. You’re everything someone would want. But I don’t feel it. I’ve been trying to make sense of it for weeks. But I think I’ve always known.” 

He sat back in his chair, processing. The waiter approached, then wordlessly retreated. Azzi didn’t shift. She let the weight of what she’d said settle. 

“Is there someone else?” 

She hesitated, just for a second. “Yes.” 

The word landed without embellishment. 

He didn’t flinch. Just looked at her with a kind of tired understanding. “Of course there is.” 

She wasn’t cruel enough to say it wasn’t what he thought. That it was complicated. That nothing had happened the way people assume it would. 

“I didn’t mean for it,” she said. “But it’s not going away.” 

Jake exhaled, jaw tight. “You could have just told me. Earlier.” 

“I was waiting for the feeling to change. I thought maybe I was just tired. Or closed off. But the truth is, I’ve never really been in this the way you deserve me to be.” 

Jake leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “That’s the worst part. You mean that. And I can’t even be angry about it.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, searching hers like he was piecing together a puzzle she hadn’t finished. 

After a moment, Jake’s gaze sharpened. “Is it that rookie? The one you always pause for, even when you act like you don’t notice?” 

She looked away for just a second, and when she met his eyes again, she nodded. 

Jake let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen the way you light up whenever her name is mentioned. It’s different. Real. Something I’ve never been able to reach with you. I thought maybe I was missing something, that it was just me not being enough. But seeing you react when she’s the topic—it’s like you become someone else. Someone alive.” 

Her jaw tightened, tension pressing behind her words. “It’s not like that, Jake. You make it sound like I’m chasing after a prize, or like I’m throwing you away for some fleeting thing.” 

He shook his head, voice low but firm. “This isn’t a game. I’m not stupid. You’ve been distant for months. And I see it in your eyes when you talk about her. Don’t pretend it’s casual.” 

Azzi’s voice softened, the edge of regret clear in her tone. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t know how to say it before. I thought if I waited, if I tried harder, maybe I’d feel something. But I can’t lie anymore—not to you, and not to myself.” 

Jake took a moment to absorb her words, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough. “Thank you for saying that.” 

She swallowed hard, the mix of guilt and relief heavy in her chest. “You deserve more than I’ve given.” 

He nodded slowly, voice steady but carrying a hint of sadness. “Yeah. I guess I do.” 

Azzi’s throat tightened. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That he’d never done anything wrong. But words tangled somewhere deep inside. 

Jake stood, brushing a stray crumb from his shirt. “You also deserve to be with someone who makes you feel like that all the time. Not just sometimes, or in moments you’re not trying to hide it.” He looked down at her then, the smile faint but genuine. “I just hope you find that, Azzi. Even if it’s not with me.” 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. July 2025. 

The sun filters in through the tall windows of Azzi’s sleek downtown condo. Half-assembled pieces of an Amazon coffee table are scattered across the floor, cardboard and Allen wrenches everywhere.  

Paige is cross-legged on the rug, sleeves rolled up—well, no sleeves really. Just a faded tank top clinging to her back in the July heat, collar tugged loose from wear. Her arms flex slightly each time she tightens a bolt, jaw clenched in mock frustration. 

Azzi sits nearby, leaning against the couch, holding a bag of screws she’s forgotten to hand over. She’s trying to stay helpful, but her attention keeps drifting. She tells herself it’s just the light or the novelty of seeing Paige out of her usual game-day gear. But the truth is, it’s distracting.  

Unfairly distracting. 

There’s something about the casual way Paige exists in her space, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She’s cracking jokes and cursing the instructions, a thin sheen of sweat on her collarbone, and Azzi can’t help but watch her.  

And not just watch—want her, in a way that’s starting to feel impossible to ignore. 

Paige mutters, “I swear this thing came with thirty-two bolts just to test my patience.” She bites her lip, adjusting her grip on the wrench. “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve cursed Amazon this week, I could retire early.” 

Azzi hums, distracted, trying not to stare. She fails. 

Paige glances up and grins, her mouth quirked, teasing. “Wonder what your boyfriend would think if he saw me doing manual labor in your living room. Might start to get jealous.” 

Azzi’s smile falters, and for a second, she debates brushing it off. She could make a joke, deflect, like usual. But something about the way Paige says it—so light, so easy—makes it harder to keep hiding. 

“I ended things,” she says quietly. 

Paige’s hand stills. She blinks, surprised. 

Azzi keeps her gaze low, voice steady but soft. “I broke up with Jake.” 

Paige straightens up a little, trying to read her. “When?” 

“Last week when I was in LA.” 

“When we played against the Sparks?” 

Azzi nodded.  

Azzi had said it so quietly. I ended things. 

She’s still crouched on the floor, tank top clinging to her back in the heat, sweat glinting along the line of her collarbone. Her breath is shallow—not from the work, but from the shift that just happened in the room. 

The Allen wrench slipped from Paige’s fingers, hitting the hardwood with a soft metallic sound that seemed louder than it should have. She didn’t move to pick it up. She stayed crouched where she was, hands braced on her knees, breath uneven.  

She looked up slowly, her voice losing its usual edge of humor. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Azzi sat curled on the edge of the couch, her legs folded up, arms wrapped around her knees. The packet of screws she had been holding crinkled under her fingers. She didn’t look at Paige right away. Her eyes followed the lines of the floor like she could find the answer in the pattern of the grain. 

“I didn’t know how,” she said, her voice small and steady. “It felt like unraveling something I hadn’t dared to look at too closely.” 

She paused, her throat working through the words. 

“It’s not like I’m not over him. I didn’t love him like that—not the way you’re supposed to when you say forever. But we were together for a year. He saw me through shit most people don’t even notice. And he cared. Even when I pulled away, he stayed. That kind of steady doesn’t just leave quietly. Even if it was never right.” 

Paige’s mouth parts slightly, heart kicking up in her chest. She leans back on her heels, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. “I didn’t mean to come between anything,” she says. Her voice sounds too big in the room, like it doesn’t belong in this hushed, aching space. “If I hadn’t said all those dumb things, kept pushing maybe you guys would’ve worked it out.” 

Azzi looked at her then, eyes soft but steady. There was something delicate in the way her expression shifted, a sadness not for what was lost, but for how long she had waited to let it go. 

“You didn’t take anything from me,” she said. “You were just the mirror. I couldn’t keep pretending once I saw what I actually wanted. Once I realized I was reaching for my phone every night hoping it was you.” 

Her lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but something close. 

“And maybe,” she added, her voice lighter now, “I dragged it out because I liked that you kept flirting with me anyway. Like I was yours already.” 

Paige let out a laugh, half breath, half disbelief. “I was committed to the bit.” 

Azzi tilted her head, amused. “I know.” 

The space between them grew warmer, softer. Paige’s teasing faded, replaced by a gentler tone. “I’ll flirt with you forever if you let me.” 

Azzi moved without a word, crawling across the floor. She didn’t look at the mess around them. Her eyes were locked on Paige. She reached out and casually brushed a screw from Paige’s lap, then another, until all the clutter was gone between them. 

Then she climbed into her lap. 

Paige’s brows lifted, just a little, her whole body going still as Azzi straddled her thighs. “Oh,” she said, breath catching. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?” 

“Should I stop?” she teased, her lips brushing close. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” 

Paige grinned slowly, cocky and amused, but there was a tightness in her chest she didn’t know what to do with. “You’re lucky I like bossy women crawling on top of me. Kinda my weakness.” 

“Yeah?” Azzi leaned in, her voice warm at Paige’s ear. “Thought your weakness was getting beat by furniture instructions.” 

“You wanna talk or kiss me?” Paige asked, hand already sliding up Azzi’s thigh like it had been waiting for this opening all week. 

Azzi laughed, not backing off. “You always this smooth?” 

Paige tilted her head, eyes flicking to Azzi’s mouth. “Only when I actually want someone.” 

That made Azzi pause. Just long enough for the weight of Paige’s words to settle deep in her chest. Her gaze dropped to Paige’s mouth, and her restraint thinned in the space between them. Something shifted in her eyes, softening, like the wall she always kept so carefully in place had finally started to lower. 

Then she kissed her. 

Azzi leaned in slowly, not out of hesitation but intent. One hand lifted to cradle Paige’s cheek, her thumb grazing the skin just beneath her eye. Her lips found Paige’s with a tenderness that carried everything she had never said out loud. It was a kiss that held its own kind of gravity, pulling Paige in without urgency, just certainty. 

She kissed her like she meant it. Like she had thought about this moment so many times she knew exactly how to make it last. Her mouth moved with purpose, firm and slow, her other hand sliding around the back of Paige’s neck, holding her steady, holding her close. 

Paige melted into it, drawn to her like breath to lungs. Her fingers tightened on Azzi’s waist, grounding herself in the reality of this—of being wanted, of being chosen. She kissed her back with a kind of awe, every motion an answer to a question neither of them had dared to ask. 

Azzi deepened the kiss. Not to take more, but to give—her quiet, buried feelings spilling through every press of her mouth, every inch of closeness. She tilted her head, fitting herself closer, and Paige responded with a soft sigh, her body instinctively angling to meet her. 

When Azzi finally pulled back, her hand lingered at the curve of Paige’s jaw. She rested her forehead against hers, her breath still mingling with Paige’s, lips parted from the closeness. 

Her fingers stayed curled at the back of her neck, unwilling to let go just yet. Holding on like the moment might slip through her hands if she stopped touching her. 

Then, like there was no caution left, Azzi moved like she had been holding back for far too long. The restraint had burned away.  

Her mouth found Paige’s with a kind of urgency that left no room for doubt. Her lips pressed firm, her breath warm, and when Paige opened to her, Azzi deepened the kiss until it was everything she had been trying not to want. 

Her other hand slid beneath Paige’s shirt, splayed against her back, drawing her closer. Paige let out a low sound in response, hands curling into Azzi’s neck, holding her right there. 

“Fuck, baby.” 

When they stopped for air, Azzi’s lips were swollen, her pupils dark, and her voice was teasing but breathless. “What?” 

“You’re ridiculous. You’ve been sitting next to me all day acting like we’re building a table, not dancing around this.” 

Azzi shrugged, pretending to be innocent, though her fingers were already on Paige's defined abs. “I thought we were building tension.” 

Paige laughed, short and low, chasing her mouth again. “Well, congrats. You built it. Now you’re dealing with it.” 

She kissed again her like she meant it. Azzi kissed her back harder, hips shifting again like she wanted to feel every inch of Paige pressed beneath her. Her shirt rode up, and Paige’s hands found bare skin, her touch rougher now, her breath uneven. 

“You know,” Azzi said between kisses, “I kind of hate how good at this you are.” 

Paige smirked against her mouth. “Told you I had talents.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

Paige’s hand slipped up Azzi’s back, holding her firmly as she shifted their weight. Azzi let herself be guided down onto the floor, her back hitting the rug with a soft thud. Paige hovered above her, a smug glint in her eyes and breath hot against her mouth. 

“Why don’t I show you?” Paige murmured, her voice thick with heat. 

Then she paused. Smiled. Slower this time. 

“Or better yet, why don’t I take you out for dinner first?” 

Azzi blinked, caught between the tension thrumming through her body and the sudden, unexpected softness in Paige’s voice. She stared up at her, lips parted, flushed and confused. 

“Are you seriously trying to be romantic right now?” 

Paige shrugged, one hand resting lazily on Azzi’s waist, the other brushing hair away from her cheek. “Yeah. I am. Sue me.” 

Azzi let out a noise of protest, half frustration, half disbelief. “You’ve got me like this—” she gestured between their tangled bodies “—and now you want to go on a date?” 

Paige grinned, entirely unbothered. “Exactly. Because if I keep kissing you right now, we’re not stopping. And I actually want to do this right.” 

Azzi squinted up at her. “Right? You mean like, feelings right?” 

“I thought we already established I like you?” Paige leaned down, nuzzling along Azzi’s jaw, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, just barely not kissing her mouth. “Don’t wanna sneak around, not acting like it’s nothing. Just you and me. I want to know what it’s like to take you out, not just take you apart.” 

Azzi sucked in a breath and turned her head slightly to hide her face, but Paige caught the hint of a smile anyway. 

“It’s not a good idea,” Azzi murmured. “Us going out. Not in public. Remember our terms?” 

Paige’s expression softened. “It’s not gonna be public. Just dinner. My place. Your favorite food. Me pretending I know how to use the stove.” 

Azzi turned back to her, her frustration melting into something gentler. Her voice was quiet, and the edge was gone. “Okay. Yeah. Yes.” 

Paige smiled, satisfied, and kissed her again before Azzi could second-guess it. Slower this time, deeper. Less frantic than before, but no less hungry. It was a kiss full of promise, and Azzi kissed her back like it meant something. 

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Paige smirked and glanced sideways at the mess around them. 

“You know,” Paige said, glancing at the half-built disaster beside them, “that coffee table is gonna need therapy after this.” 

Azzi snorted, her fingers idly tracing the hem of Paige’s shirt. “We didn’t assemble it, we emotionally damaged it.” 

“Pretty sure we voided the warranty just by looking at it wrong,” Paige muttered, shifting to dislodge a rogue Allen key from under her thigh. “It’s definitely judging us.” 

[fanfic-ya-know]

I Guess You Got the Feeling

This is part 2 of this fic: Did You Get the Feeling?

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader 

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, afab!reader, not beta read, brief mentions of a previous relationship, language, idiots in love, reader is described as being smaller than Bob, PDA (kinda? Idk what else to call it), SMUT under the cut - oral (f!recieving), use of pet names (pretty girl, baby, honey) slight praise kink, p in v, unprotected sex (pls be safe), reader gets a little cock-drunk, softdom!Bob, switch!reader, slight description of bodily fluids - please let me know if I missed anything!!!

AN: Okay this took me forever, but here it is! I’m in the process of moving and this is the longest fic I’ve ever written - I just got so carried away!

Also, this is my first attempt at writing smut, so please be kind, but constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged!

Days went by, and you started to feel normal again. There would be a few in a row where you didn’t even think about your ex. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, you would wake up with that aching sense of dread in your chest – the feeling that you had made a huge mistake.

You would climb out of bed a little slower, roll your shoulders, and press the heel of your palms against your face, trying to push the feeling out of your system. On those days, after you had gone to the gym in a failed attempt to work out your frustrations, you’d enter the kitchen finally seeking the two things you knew would actually help balm the ache: food, and Bob.

Sometimes it felt like those things went hand-in-hand, considering how often you found him in here. Bob was always hungry. His metabolism had been heightened by the serum, so it seemed like he was constantly snacking.

You liked the predictability of it. His consistency - you always knew where you could find him. He’d be sitting at the bar with his book in one hand and food in the other. In the mornings, it was usually a piece of fruit. Bob liked apples – pink and yellow ones. He always said those were the sweetest.

You’d grab a protein bar from the pantry, seeking a quick fix, and lean against the counter, waiting for Bob to look up from his book. When he finished whatever page he was on, he’d mark his place and set down the book, offering you his full attention. On those bad days, Bob’s gaze would soften at the sight of you, immediately understanding what you needed. He’d stand from his place at the bar and pad over to you. Bob would open his arms and allow you to just lean into him. It wasn’t quite a hug; you wouldn’t put your arms around him in return, you’d just stand there and let him wrap himself around you. He’d stand there as long as you needed, waiting to feel your tense boy relax. Bob never complained about how sweaty you were, even though you were sure you smelled. He would rest his chin on top of your head, and you’d listen to the sound of his breathing, calming you by proxy. Eventually, after he felt like you’d stood there long enough, Bob would ask you the same question. “Wanna get comfy?”

You weren’t sure how this routine started, whose idea it had been, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world. You’d follow Bob down the hall, passing your own room and entering his instead. You’d stand by the door to his en suite bathroom and wait for him to press some of his clothes - a loose pair of boxers, an oversized sweater, and a pair of his socks - into your hands. Then you’d go into his bathroom and shower to wash yourself away, using his shampoo and body wash to clean yourself. When you emerged from the steamy bathroom, you’d find him in bed, sitting against the headboard, having returned to his book while he waited. Wordlessly, you’d cross the room and crawl into bed next to him. You loved the feeling of being completely engulfed by him, like your body wasn’t your own. 

The rest of the day would be spent in Bob’s bed, watching movies and listening to him talk about the book he was reading, or anything else that was on his mind. You were so happy to turn your brain off - to be consumed by Bob.

As time went on, your low days became further apart. The ache in your chest no longer formed because of some emptiness that your previous relationship had left behind. Instead, it felt more like a craving for the closeness, the fullness that Bob provided.

You discovered that no longer being with your ex came with some benefits. When you weren’t being called away on a mission, you had more time for yourself. You picked up long-forgotten hobbies, you read more, you had more time to spar with your teammates, honing your fighting skills. Overall, you were improving. 

And you loved the freedom you felt when you spent time with Bob. Your clear days were spent by his side, but instead of hiding away in his room, the two of you went on outings. To anyone else, they must’ve looked like dates - going to the movies together, walking in the park, trying new restaurants. They felt like dates, save for the physical intimacy that usually came with the territory. Bob was giving you all the time and space you needed before taking that next step. And you were getting sick of it.

You had waited out of respect for the breakup, thinking you needed time to heal. Plus, you didn’t want Bob to feel like a rebound. But because you both knew about the other’s feelings, some lines were getting crossed. Everything about your relationship with Bob felt intimate, but he barely touched you - the most constant you’d get were the long hugs he gave you on difficult mornings. You were ready for more, but you weren’t sure how to tell him.

“Just rip off the band-aid,” Yelena said from your bathroom. She was rummaging through your drawer of nail polish, trying to decide on a color. You had the best selection, which is why she came to you, but the options were borderline overwhelming. “Tell him what you want and get on with it.”

“Oh sure,” you snorted. You were sprawled out on your bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for Yelena to pick a color for you to paint her nails. “I’ll just walk right up to him and say ‘Hey Bob! Remember that weirdly sexually charged night we had a few weeks back, when I told you I needed a little time? Well, times up, and I’d like you to fuck me now if you’re interested. If not, totally cool - we can just hold hands or something.’”

“Right,” Yelena responded. “Maybe not quite like that.” You heard the drawer close, signaling that she had finally selected. You sat up in your bed as she came back into your room. “Don’t you guys hold hands all the time?”

You adjusted your position and unfolded the towel you had brought in earlier, queuing Yelena to sit across from you on the bed. “Not really,” you said, taking the bottle of polish from her and shaking it. “And when we do, it’s more like a comforting ‘I’m here for you,’ or a ‘let me help you warm up,’ or to just pull each other in the direction we want to go. I want him to hold my hand like he means it - like he thinks it belongs there.”

Yelena just made a sound in response, something between an understanding hum and a judgmental grunt.

You knew she was right, that you were being dramatic, but there was still a small part of you that feared his rejection. The thought was silly but persistent, weighing on you every time you were near him without so much as a brush of his fingers.

“Fine,” Yelena finally said as you finished the first coat of paint on her nails, breaking you out of your train of thought. “You don’t want to tell him? You’ll have to show him.” She said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. Noticing the confusion on your face, she continued. “You need to give him every possible opportunity. You initiate contact, and he’ll follow suit. He’s probably just worried that you changed your mind about him.”

You’d laugh at the notion if it weren’t so completely aligned with how you felt. You understood that fear, and you knew Yelena was probably right. Still, you didn’t want to look at her, knowing she would see right through you. Instead, you focused on her nails, starting on the second coat.

Yelena clearly wasn’t satisfied with your lack of an answer, so she kept talking. “Okay, so we come up with a plan,” she offered. “When is your next ‘not-a-date’ date?”

“Tomorrow,” you mumbled, still focusing on not screwing up her nails. “We’re going to the MoMA.” You looked up at her finally, noting the glint in her eyes, like she was scheming. “Bob’s never been before,” you said, finishing the thought.

“Great,” she said excitedly, “and then you’ll go to dinner, yeah?”

“We hadn’t really discussed that part.” You eyed her hesitantly.

“No.” She narrowed her eyes at you, looking at you as if to say ‘don’t fuck up my plan.’ “You go to dinner after, and then for a walk. And don’t wear a jacket.” 

You smiled slightly, understanding, but still unsure. “That’s a lot of time out of the tower. And if I don’t wear a jacket, Bob will want to come back - he won’t agree to a walk if he thinks I’ll be cold.”

Yelena thought for a moment, then she said, “Let me handle why you can’t come back to the tower. I’ll think of something.”

The following day started the same way as all your days had recently. Wake up, think about Bob, get dressed, go to the gym to hit things and try not to think about Bob, go to the kitchen, and, of course, see Bob.

“Hey,” you greeted as you entered, still a little out of breath from your workout. Bob’s eyes shot up to you, watching as you went through the motions you made every day. You grabbed your protein bar and leaned against the counter across from where he sat, bracing yourself on your forearms.

“H-Hey,” he replied, smiling at you softly.

“We still on for later?” you asked, biting into the chocolate-coated bar in your hand.

“Yeah,” he said breathily, still smiling at you.

“Great!” You gave him a smile of your own, wide and toothy. “I’m really looking forward to it.” Bob blushed slightly at your admission. Your smile deepened at the sight. “I figured we could head out just after lunch?”

Bob just nodded at you, no longer trusting his voice. Something about your energy was making him nervous - not in an anxious, uneasy way, but in a way that made the butterflies in his stomach flutter more intensely than usual.

“Okay,” you said excitedly, pushing off from your place against the counter. “I’m gonna go shower and get ready, but I’ll see you later.”

Bob’s gaze followed you out of the kitchen and as far as he could see down the hall. 

The hours of your morning passed by quickly, spent showering, shaving, doing your hair and some light makeup, and sitting in front of your closet, stressing about what to wear. You’d texted Yelena, seeking insight, but had yet to hear back.

Suddenly, your door opened without warning. “Shit!” You exclaimed as you scrambled to your feet, having been seated on the in just your underwear, as Yelena and Ava entered your room. “Don’t you knock?”

Yelena completely ignored your question, just moving to sit on your bed. “I brought reinforcements,” she said, gesturing to Ava.

“I see that,” you sighed.

“Y/N,” Yelena looked at you sternly, “you need to take this seriously.”

“I am-”

“This isn’t just any ‘not-a-date’ date,” she said, cutting you off before you could defend yourself. “This the ‘fuck me’ ‘not-a-date’ date.”

“Jesus Christ,” you groaned, taken slightly aback by how intensely she seemed to care about you getting laid. 

“Okay,” Ava finally cut in, “considering the goal, you need to wear something hot, but casual.” You turned to find her rummaging through your closet already. “You don’t want to freak him out, so nothing too revealing…” She trailed off, rambling to herself about all of the guidelines your outfit needed to follow. You sat on the edge of the bed next to Yelena, waiting for Ava to finish selecting the options. She started by throwing a pair of jeans at you without so much as turning around. “Put those on!”

You stood to shimmy into them, having to jump slightly to get the denim over the curve of your ass. Ava returned from the depths of your closet with a few tops in her hands. You tried each of them on, modeling for your friends and staring at yourself in the full-length mirror on your wall. Finally, you settled on a simple black top. It had a wide neck that left your collarbones exposed, and it hugged your figure perfectly, not leaving any of your shape to the imagination. You opted for a pair of sneakers to complete the look, thinking about how much you would be on your feet for the day ahead.

“Thank god we’re done,” Yelena said as you laced up your shoes. “I’m starving.” You chuckled as she basically launched herself off your bed, heading toward the door. The three of you emerged from your room to join the rest of the team in the kitchen. Often, lunches were had together - Alexi insisted it encouraged team bonding. You didn’t mind, you liked your teammates, and the opportunity to spend low-stakes time with them was nice.

When you approached the gaggle of men surrounding the kitchen island, they quieted suspiciously. It wasn’t until you saw Bob that you started to put the pieces together. His cheeks and ears were flushed with embarrassment, likely from some form of teasing he had received from the rest of the group. Your eyes scanned the rest of him, and he looked good. You were never bothered by Bob’s typically more casual style - it fed into his endearing teddy bear aura. But today, Bob stood in the kitchen in a white button-up and jeans. His hair was pushed back behind his ears, and it looked like he had just shaved. It was the most clean-cut you had ever seen him.

“H-Hey,” he said as your eyes finally met his, having sufficiently taken in the view.

“Bobby here cleans up pretty good, eh?” Walker clapped a hand onto Bob’s shoulder, ignoring the way he cringed from both the nickname and the contact.

“I think you always look great,” you said, disregarding John and maintaining the eye contact you had established with Bob. “But yeah, this is a good look.”

Bob’s blush deepened at the compliment, and his eyes shimmered with appreciation. Yelena broke up the moment, exclaiming that she was going to die of starvation. Bucky directed her to the large salad bowl that sat in the center of the counter, waiting for someone to dig in. Yelena grumbled about the fact that when Bucky was in charge of lunch, it was always something gross and healthy, and that she would have to order something else later. Nevertheless, she was the first to pile a helping onto a plate. 

The rest of the team followed suit and gathered at the large dining table in the adjoining room. You each took your usual spots, leaving you sitting next to Bob. You smiled, watching your teammates break into their typical conversations as you ate your food quietly. You chanced a look over at Bob, who seemed to be fighting some internal battle. Slowly, as not to startle him, you reached for his hand that was gripping his thigh tightly.

“Hey,” you whispered, trying not to draw any attention to the two of you. You pushed your hand under his, lacing your fingers together comfortingly. “You wanna get out of here?”

Bob gave you a thankful smile and squeezed your hand in his. He nodded before releasing your hand and rising to his feet. The rest of the team turned to face him, but he seemed at a loss for words.

“We’re gonna get going,” you said, gathering your plate and Bob’s. “See you guys later.”

Bob followed you back into the kitchen, where you set your plates in the sink. “Thank you,” he breathed. “I just got kind of in my head.”

“No problem.” You smiled at him kindly. “Let’s go.”

Bob nodded at you again. He picked up a black jacket from the back of one of the bar stools, and you walked to the elevator together.

All afternoon, you stayed as close to him as possible, brushing your arm against his as you stood in front of paintings, grabbing his hand to lead him from room to room, even leaning into him fully as you sat on a bench taking a short break. The truth was, you could do this all day. You loved spending time with Bob. You loved watching him examine the art in front of you. You loved being the person he was experiencing this with for the first time. It all felt special - almost sacred.

When you had finished exploring the museum, you stepped out into the crisp evening air. The warmth of the day had dissipated as the sun gently set over the horizon. There was still a golden haze washing over the street. Bob tugged on the black jacket that had been folded into his elbow until now, more for a sense of comfort than warmth. He turned to face you, noticing how you twisted the ring around your thumb nervously. Neither of you were ready for the day to be over, but you hadn’t yet come up with an excuse for it to go on. He reached for your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts, and his mouth opened like he was about to say something, when your phone rang. You offered Bob an apologetic smile and reached into your back pocket for your phone.

“Lena?” You said, knowing whatever this was, it was going to be good. “Before you say anything out of pocket, just know I am with Bob, and he can almost definitely hear you.”

“Whaaaaat?” Yelena replied, offended by the implication that she would do anything of the sort. “I was just calling to tell you not to come back to the tower for a while.”

“Oh?” you asked knowingly.

“Yeah,” she continued. “Something happened that we don’t have to get into right now, but basically, the power is out.” Bob’s eyes widened at you, and you had to stifle a laugh. “So, you know, Bucky is losing his shit because the elevator is out of comission and he’s saying that I trapped everyone here. Anyway, I’ll text you when the power’s back on. Have fun on your not-a-date date!” She hung up before you could say anything else.

You blushed, knowing Bob heard everything she had said. “Well, you wanna get something to eat?” you asked, looking up at him sheepishly. 

Bob returned your gaze lovingly, and you realized that your hand still rested in his. “Yeah,” he said, giving your hand a small squeeze. “I’m starving.”

You found yourself seated across from Bob in a booth of a small pizza shop. You talked about nothing and joked back and forth. It felt so natural, like this was how things had always been. But there was the unmistakable feeling that something had shifted between you two. You knew he felt it too from the way he looked at you, filling your chest with a warmth you hadn’t dared to allow yourself in so long.

You finished your food and wandered back out into the New York evening. The sun had fully disappeared, leaving only the moon and the streetlights to illuminate your path. You shivered slightly as a cool breeze whisked by. Bob stopped walking and began removing his jacket, realizing how rude he had been.

“H-Here,” he said, wrapping the warm garment around you. 

“Thanks,” you replied, looking up at him. You maneuvered your arms into the sleeves and hugged your sides as you continued the slow walk home. You lifted your hands to your face, inhaling the scent of Bob from the sleeves of his jacket. You didn’t catch how Bob looked at you, eyes full of adoration with a hint of possessiveness at the sight of you in his clothes. The way his jacket hung loosely around you made his heart pound in his chest with the feeling of mutual belonging - that you belonged to him, in his jacket, just as much as he belonged to you.

Your conversation slowed, but never stalled. You both took more time to think about your responses and which topics to bring up in this moment that felt too important to mess up. 

Somehow, you ended up back in front of the tower. Having yet to hear from Yelena, you weren’t quite sure what to do. You stood in front of the large glass doors and peered in. All of the lights inside were indeed turned off, no sign that the building was occupied at all. 

You turned back to face Bob, who had been standing just behind you, looking into the building over your shoulder. “Well,” you started, but you weren’t really sure of what to say next. You started to mess with the ring on your finger, but Bob reached forward to push a piece of your hair out of your face. The soft gesture caused you to look up at him. His hand trailed from your face down to the collar of his jacket against your collarbone, the skin underneath tingling as you felt the warmth of his touch through the fabric. His eyes followed the motion of his hand as if it didn’t belong to him. Your own eyes trained on his face, you broke the silence once again. “What now?” you breathed out, voice barely above a whisper. Bob’s eyes returned to yours at that.

“I-I think I’d like to kiss you now,” he said softly, “if that’s okay.”

You nodded, unable to respond properly, taken about by his sudden forwardness. You thought you were going to have to do a lot more to coax such a thing out of Bob, but here you stood.

He dipped his head, stopping just before reaching your lips. He wasn’t hesitating, he was giving you the chance to change your mind. When you didn’t, he leaned in fully. His hand moved back up from the collar of his jacket to cup your cheek gently. He kissed you softly, like if he used too much pressure, you might dissolve in his hands.

When he pulled away, you felt yourself leaning forward, not quite ready to lose the feeling of his lips on yours. He let out an amused breath from his nose and stood back to his full height. When your gaze focused back on him, you saw the loving look in his eyes and the smile that tugged on his lips. You could practically feel the word ‘finally’ as it hung in the air between you. You couldn’t help the smile that broke out across your features. 

You both just stood there staring at each other, grinning like idiots, before something snapped between you. It was simultaneous, as you both reached for each other. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and Bob’s hands grabbed at your hips, pulling you flush against him. Your mouths crashed together in a kiss that was nothing like your first. The one before had been sweet, reverent. This kiss was all heat and passion; it was all the pent-up emotions from the last few weeks of quiet desperation for each other. 

The rest of the world suddenly faded away as Bob kissed you. His tongue brushed your bottom lip, and you immediately granted him entrance. The kiss was a little messy, and it felt like you were devouring each other, but it was perfect. You got completely lost in it - in him. 

It wasn’t until you felt your phone buzz in your pocket that you remembered where you were. Bob must’ve felt it too, because he pulled away from your mouth expectantly, but still holding you against him. 

You quickly pulled your phone out of your pocket and looked at the text from Yelena. “Power’s back on,” you said breathlessly, looking back up at Bob. Sure enough, the building next to you had come back to life without you noticing. You both laughed lightly at the realization. “So, should we head upstairs?”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob smiled at you. “Works for me.”

When you exited the elevator, you were grateful to find the common area empty, not quite ready to deal with the endless teasing that would likely come from your teammates. You made the familiar journey to Bob’s room, passing your own door without a second thought. Your hand was firmly held in his, neither of you ready to let go. Like all those times before, you entered his room wordlessly, but once you were inside, you weren’t sure what to do - suddenly in uncharted territory.

You stood just inside the door, looking up at Bob, who also seemed to be searching for what to do next. You remembered that you still had on his jacket, and that seemed as good a place to start as any. “Here,” you said as you started to remove the garment. 

Bob stepped forward, taking the jacket from your outstretched hand. He tossed it to the side toward a chair in the corner of the room. With zero hesitation, he grabbed the sides of your face and kissed you again.

This was a whole new kind of kiss, with the softness from the first and the heat from the second, it held something new - a question. When he pulled away, his hands remained on your face, and his eyes searched yours.

“W-Was that okay?” he asked, some of the confidence from before having faded. The man who stood before you was the Bob you had come to know and love. He was complex, he had high days and low days, he was awkward and shaky and careful and sure. And you loved every bit of him.

“More than okay,” you replied with possibly the widest grin you’ve ever managed. “It was perfect. You’re perfect.”

Bob blushed at your words, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. He was still searching for something. “I-If you don’t want to do anything, that’s okay,” he started, “but I’d r-really like to-”

“Bob,” you cut him off. “I’d like you to fuck me now.”

That was all it took. Your back was suddenly firmly planted against the door behind you. Bob’s hands held the backs of your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. His mouth was on yours, and the bulge in his pants was unmistakable now that he was fully pressed against you. His kisses moved from your mouth to the side of your neck and just below your ear. Bob started nipping at the tender skin there, earning a whimper from you. Without realizing it, your hips started to roll against his, and he let out a low groan against your throat. Bob continued working his way down, now peppering kisses over your chest and exposed collarbones. He began sucking a briuse there, then soothed the sore spot with his tongue. Bob pulled back, lifting his head to admire his work, noting the other marks littering your neck and the already fucked-out expression on your face. Your breathing was ragged from how worked up you were, and it hitched as you noticed the glimmer of gold that flickered in his eyes.

With little effort, Bob peeled you off the wall and carried you to his bed. You struggled to push your shoes off with your legs still wrapped around his waist. Bob just chuckled softly and helped you out of them, dropping the sneakers as he walked. He set you down gently on the edge of his mattress and gave you another, shorter kiss. He tugged at the hem of your shirt, signaling you to remove it. As you did, he kicked off his own shoes and began unbuttoning his shirt. Once you had discarded yours, you reached up to help, and Bob simultaneously sank to his knees before you, giving you better access to him. You pushed the fabric of his shirt over his shoulders, your hands resting against his chest as he finished removing it from his arms. You took a moment to admire him. Sure, you had seen Bob without a shirt, but never this close, never with this level of access to him. You leaned forward and began kissing the pale, yet golden, freckled skin before you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you said finally when you had finished your small act of worship, looking into his eyes so that he could see all the emotion behind your words. You wanted him to know how intensely you felt, how devoted to him you were.

Bob’s gaze held the same affection for you. He grasped the back of your neck, just at the base of your skull, and pulled you in for another kiss, this one again softer and passionate, like he was trying to convey the magnitude with which he cared for you all in one kiss. It was a level of tenderness you had never felt before.

You detached again but remained close, panting into each other's mouths. “Lie back,” Bob said finally, releasing you from his grasp. You followed his direction, but propped yourself up on your elbows as you watched him unbutton your jeans and take hold of the belt loops. He looked to you again for permission, and you nodded.

Bob slowly peeled the jeans down your legs, kissing the tops of your thighs as he went. He alternated between your legs, showing them equal attention. His lips stopped their slow descent at your knees as he finished removing your jeans. Then, he ducked inward. He made his way back up your legs, now placing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. When he finally returned his attention to your apex, his hands began toying with the waistband of your underwear.

“Bob,” you whined. “Please.”

“Please, what?” The question came out rough. It was like he was just as wrecked by his actions as you were. And he was, just the taste of your skin was driving him crazy. His lips were red and kiss-bitten, and his eyes were glassy with desire. “Tell me what you want.”

You groaned at the sight of the ruined god between your legs. “You.” It was all you could say at first, but the look Bob gave you told you he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. Sure, he was flattered, but he wanted you to be more specific. “Your hands. Your mouth. Fuck - I don’t care. I just need you to touch me. Please.” Your voice cracked slightly on the last word, desperate for him. You noticed the golden hue around his irises intensify at your words. 

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” The words hit you right at your core, Bob’s warm breath fanning over your clothed center. He leaned down and placed a kiss right where you were craving him, your hips jolting slightly at the contact, and he wrapped his fingers more firmly around the fabric. Bob began pulling down your panties as he held your gaze, never faltering. You could see the hunger behind the swirling blue and gold, and you let out a small whine as he finished removing your underwear, tossing them to the side gently.

Bob’s gaze fell to your now exposed heat. “So fucking beautiful,” he said, more to himself. The rasp in his voice was unmistakable, his typical hesitance gone completely. You knew what was taking over, and you needed to make sure he was okay.

“Bob?” You reached for him, hand landing on his cheek as your silent request for him to look at you.

When he did, his gaze softened, the gold dimming in his eyes, but not fully going away. “I-I’m still here,” he reassured. His hands flattened over your hips, grounding both of you. Bob swallowed before he continued. “But he is too. Is that ok-kay?”

You smiled. “Yeah, I just wanted to make sure,” you said, brushing your thumb over the apple of his cheek. “I want all of you. But I don’t want this to be something I have to tell you about later because Sentry took over.” He nodded, understanding.

Bob turned in your grasp, kissing the inside of your palm before learning forward again. “I'm gonna remember this,” was all he said before he dove into you. 

Your hand moved from his cheek to tangle into his hair, grasping desperately at the soft brown strands. Bob’s mouth closed over your mound, instantly finding your throbbing clit. He sucked lightly before moving down to lick through your folds. His tongue moved against your entrance, causing you to clench your thighs around his head. Bob’s hands moved from their place on your hip to hold your legs open. He lifted from his ministrations to look at you spread before him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. You let out a choked gasp at the loss of contact, and as Bob returned, he smiled against you.

“S-So sweet,” he said with a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss against your core. “You taste so good, Y-Y/N.”

You fell back from where you had propped yourself on your elbow, one hand still holding Bob by the hair, which you tugged on. That prompted a low moan from Bob, sending vibrations through your whole body. You were incapable of holding back the sounds coming from your throat - moans, whimpers, and broken pleas echoing off the walls of Bob’s room. He was lapping at your soaked center, tongue flicking perfectly against your clit. You felt him detach once again, and you were about to protest when you felt him swipe a finger through your folds. You lifted just enough to watch as he slid the slick digit into his mouth, sucking your juices off and wetting it further at the same time. His eyes closed in reverence to the taste, savouring it on his tongue. When they reopened, he looked at you, blushing softly, like he had been caught. But in all honesty, that was one of the hottest things you had ever seen. 

His embarrassment didn’t last long, likely seeing the pure electricity behind your eyes at the sight of him, because before you knew it, he was back on you. Now, his lips and tongue fully focused on your clit as his thick finger circled your entrance. Slowly, he eased it into you one knuckle at a time, giving you time to adjust to the feeling. His fingers were so much larger than yours, so even with just one, there was a delicious stretch. His mouth never let up, keeping your focus on the pleasure. Once he had fully inserted the digit, he began to gently rock in and out of you, only pulling out about an inch before you were sucking him back in, the tip of his finger curled against your walls.

“You’re so tight,” he hissed.

“P-Please,” you choked out, “I n-need more.” It came out almost as a sob, not realizing how desperate you sounded.

Bob let out a soft breath of amusement, and the feeling of it against your sensitive clit caused you to jolt with a cry. “Yeah?” He smiled against you, his finger still moving inside of you, pulling out further and pushing in with slightly more force now. “Y-You think you can handle it, pretty girl?”

“Please!” You practically wept, the nickname affecting you more than you’d care to admit.

Bob didn’t say anything in response, his mouth just returned to its place on your clit, but he pulled his finger almost fully out of you, a second one joining now at your entrance. You let out another broken moan as he pushed them inside you. Both of your hands moved to grip his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks. Your sobs were uncontrollable, bordering on screams raking through you. 

“Shh shh shhhhh,” Bob comforted, lifting his mouth from you completely but continuing to work his fingers in and out of you. “You’re d-doing so good, baby.” He watched as you thrashed slightly above him, head thrown back in ecstasy, muscles taught with anticipation for your impending orgasm. 

You mewled at the praise, easing slightly as Bob once again returned to stimulating your clit with his tongue. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening, your walls fluttering around Bob’s fingers. He sped the pace of his fingers and curled them against the tender spot inside of you. Your moans turned to broken sentences, praises for how good he was making you feel, and pleas for him to keep going. So he did.

Even as you fell apart, he didn’t let up, working you through it. He was completely in awe of you. You looked so beautiful like this - the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. Bob couldn’t help but think about how pretty of a painting you would be. The innocent-enough not-a-date date you had been on earlier seemed like a lifetime ago. Because here you were, in his bed, and nothing else mattered.

When you came down from the high of your orgasm, Bob slowed his movements, pulling away from your throbbing core. Your hand shot to his wrist as he removed his fingers from you, and he looked up at you with a questioning expression. You held his gaze and pulled his fingers to your mouth. You wrapped your lips around them, drinking in the taste of yourself.

Bob groaned in response, lifting from his position between your legs like a man standing from an altar. “You’re unreal,” he breathed as he pulled his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop, and he kissed you, the taste of your release on both of your tongues. Your hands moved to the button of his jeans, and he moaned into your mouth, heating the kiss even further. Bob gripped your hip as he helped you move up the bed and lay back against his pillows. He finished what you had started, kicking his jeans down his legs, left only in his boxers. 

Bob reappeared above you, placing loving kisses all over your face and neck, interspersed with small praises. Your hands rested gently in his hair, your nails raking against his scalp soothingly. Only the dim light from the window illuminated the room, the cool silver glow catching on the ridges of your bodies. It made the man above you look heavenly in a way you had never seen before. Bob was always golden, shining like the sun, but now, he was celestial. His skin looked like it had been flecked with starlight. You wondered briefly if you were dreaming.

Then, Bob’s roaming mouth stopped, finding the spot just below your ear that made your breath hitch when he kissed it. He tucked his face fully into your neck and sucked a bruise into the tender skin, eliciting a deep moan from your throat.

His body settled into yours, lowering from where he had been hovering above. His hips notched themselves between your thighs, and you could feel the weight of his erection through his boxers. 

When he was satisfied with his work on your neck, he released the skin with a soft pop. He blew on the mark he had made, the cool air making you shiver. He lifted back up onto his elbow that was braced next to your head to look into your eyes, his own swirling with emotion. You could see the hunger, the awe, the desire to worship and please you. His other hand brushed the side of your face affectionately, then moved slowly lower. It traced down your neck, to your collarbone, briefly across the still-covered swell of your breast, and then it rested near your shoulder, loosely toying with the strap there. “C-Can I-“ 

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, before he could even finish the request.

His hand moved again, now behind your back, to unclasp your bra. He fiddled with it for a moment before successfully releasing the material. You lift slightly to help drag the straps down your arms. Bob looked at you with pure awe.

“Y-You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, his warm hand palming the newly exposed flesh. “I can’t believe this is happening. C-Can’t believe you want me.”

Before you could respond, to tell him just how much you wanted him, he dipped his head and took your hardened nipple into his mouth. He suckled at the sensitive bud, pulling a breathy whine from you, his hand still fondling the other. He switched to pay equal attention to each.

You felt thoroughly worshiped, skin burning with desire, his hands and mouth leaving a scorched path in their wake. And still, you needed more. Suddenly feeling impatient, you pulled him back up, your noses brushing. Bob gave you a questioning look, a small crease forming between his brows, but you gave him no time to ask what you were doing. Instead, you kissed him hungrily, your teeth tugging on his bottom lip. Bob let out a whimper into your mouth at the sting. 

Your hands made their way down to the waistband of his boxers, leaving behind red lines that quickly faded into his skin as your nails raked down his chest and abdomen. You ran your hands over the edge of his underwear, nails scratching lightly at the ridges of his hip bones, but Bob gave no acknowledgment of your clear intention. You pushed a little further, dipping just the tips of your fingers beneath his waistband, seeking some sort of go-ahead.

“Is this… okay?” You asked between kisses, mouth still very occupied by his.

The broken, whispered “yes” was all you needed to reach in fully, wrapping your hand around him with as much gentleness as you could muster. You started to stroke him, pulling low moans from him before he finally broke out of the heated make-out session you were engaged in. “N-Need to-“ he was struggling to get the words out.

“What do you need, Bob?” You were just as desperate as he was, but you couldn’t throw away the opportunity to tease him slightly, like he had done to you earlier.

“Y-You,” he said, just as you had before.

“You have me,” you said earnestly, “however you want me.” He groaned at your confession, dropping his head to your shoulder. “Tell me what you need, Robert. I’ll give you anything. I’m completely yours.” Each sentence was a prayer, an offering laid before a god you wished to serve. It made his cock twitch in your hand.

Bob lifted his head from its place on your shoulder and looked into your eyes. His irises swirled with gold once again, still blue, still Bob, but with Sentry’s power bubbling beneath. “Need to be inside you,” he said finally. “Now.”

You removed your hand from his throbbing erection, and Bob hissed at the loss of contact. You wordlessly pushed his boxers down his hips as far as you could reach, and he kicked them the rest of the way off. And then you saw him - thick, with a pulsing blue vein on the underside. He was larger than anyone you’d previously been with, and you were immediately grateful for all the foreplay, working you up to be ready to take him.

You gingerly reached for him again, and he lowered from where he had lifted to hover over you, his hips slotting between your open legs once more. One of your hands braced against his hip, the other wrapped firmly around his aching member, guiding him forward. 

“W-Wait,” he stopped you, all movement pausing as you looked up at him. “Should I… should I get a condom?”

You smiled at his words, realizing that nothing was wrong. “It’s okay,” you said. “I’m on the pill, and I’m clean. You?”

He nodded in response. “Y-Yeah, okay.”

You resumed your previous action, lining his leaking tip with your entrance. Bob choked at the contact, you had somehow gotten even more wet since he last touched you, and the feeling almost shattered him on the spot. You released your grip on him as he slowly entered you, your other hand still splayed against his hip, pulling into your waiting heat.

The stretch was perfect, your legs widening to accommodate, and you gasped when his pubic bone brushed your clit as he fully inserted himself. Your hands moved to cling to his back, nails digging in like you were holding on for dear life. He braced himself on one arm as his other warm palm came to rest on the back of your thigh. He stilled, fully seated in you, holding you open, letting you adjust to the feeling of him.

Once you had, you opened your eyes as you hadn’t realized you closed them in the first place. Bob was already looking at you, waiting for you to be ready. You were already panting, and a choked-out whine left your lips as he shifted his hips, sinking impossibly further into you, his tip brushing that your g-spot.

“S-Sorry,” he murmured.

“D-Don’t be,” you rasped, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’re p-perfect - just a little… bigger than I expected.” You laughed a little at the last part, and Bob visibly relaxed at your half-joke, settling more of his body into yours. You groaned at the contact, his bare chest pressing against your already sensitive nipples. The sensation caused you to roll your hips against his, urging him to move.

Bob took your queue and slowly began to pull out of you. Your breath caught in your chest as he pushed his hips forward again. “B-Breathe, baby,” he instructed, finding a rhythm to thrust in and out. You nodded dumbly and did as he said, taking a stuttered breath. “You’re t-taking me so well.” He was talking you through it, reminding you to inhale and exhale, telling you to open your eyes and look at him every time they fluttered closed, giving you praises as the pressure in your core built. Bob could feel you tightening around him, walls pulsing with your impending release.

“I-I’m-” Bob shushed you before you could get it out.

“I know, honey,” he reassured, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’m g-gonna take care of you.” 

He moved his hand from where it had been gripping your thigh to press into the place between your legs. His thumb rubbed tight circles into your clit, matching the rhythm of his hips. You yelped at the sensation, his name falling from your lips over and over again in a broken prayer. You were so blissed out, you didn’t notice the way his hips stuttered, his own release not far behind yours.

“C-Can I - fuck Y/N, you feel s-so good.” He knew you both wouldn’t last much longer, so he needed to confirm while he still could. “W-Where do you want me t-to-”

“Inside.” You said with complete certainty, and suddenly, you were begging again. “P-Please, Bob - need to feel you - oh fuck - want you to…” It was all too much; you were a babbling mess, pleas and whines of his name falling from your lips as the coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. 

Bob could feel it too, and he gave you permission to let go. “Cum for me, pretty girl,” he directed, and so you did. Bob worked you through your orgasm again, his thumb still stroking at your abused clit, his hips still rocking agaist yours as he chased his release. The feeling of you pulsing around him was enough to send him over the edge, and he came with a cry of your name. His mouth fell to yours, stifling the pornographic sounds coming from both of you. His hand detached from your clit to trail over your quivering body in an attempt to comfort you. It came up to cup your cheek, holding you in Bob’s kiss. His hips slowed their movement and eventually stopped altogether, leaving him still fully inside of you.

Bob pulled away from the kiss, his hand moving from your cheek back to the nape of your neck to support your head as he looked at you. You both just stared at each other for a long moment, your chests heaving into one another, and then you started to laugh, light, breathy chuckles spilling from you both. You looked up into his eyes, and you were met with his pure blue irises staring back at you - fully himself, fully Bob. You smiled.

“I-I should - I’m gonna pull out now,” he said, looking to you for any sign of discomfort. You nodded, not yet trusting your voice. He pulled out of you slowly, stopping every time you winced. Once he was out, you could feel the result of both of your releases dripping out of you. Bob looked at the mess spilling out of you, clearly turned on by the sight, which you noted for later, and said, “I’ll be right back.”

Before you could protest, Bob disappeared into his bathroom. He returned shortly later, having cleaned himself quickly, with a warm washcloth to do the same for you. He leaned over you, fingertips brushing the insides of your thighs gingerly. You flinched, slightly overstimulated, but eased into his touch after a moment. He cleaned you with careful hands and then pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

Bob left your side again, wordlessly, and you lifted to rest on your elbows as you watched him toss the washcloth into his hamper and rummage through his drawers. He pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and grabbed a pair for you, along with one of his t-shirts. You sat up fully as he approached you with the fresh clothes. 

This part felt normal, familiar. You had gotten used to Bob taking care of you, and despite the change in your routine, he helped you into his clothes like it was the most natural thing in the world. You lifted your hips to allow him to slide the boxers onto you and lifted your arms as he draped the loose shirt over your frame.

Before today, you would’ve sat a foot apart from each other on his bed, but now, Bob crawled directly into your waiting arms. He tucked his cheek against your chest and intertwined his legs with yours. His arms wound around your torso, holding you like you were his favorite stuffed animal. 

After a while of comfortable silence, Bob looked up at you, resting his chin against you. “I-I’ve been thinking,” he started. “And I t-think you should know… that I’m in l-love with you.”

You beamed. Your smile hurt your cheeks with how wide it was. Still, you couldn't waste the opportunity to tease him. “Yeah, I got the feeling,” you said with a small chuckle, strained by the weight of him on your chest. Before Bob could have any doubts, you dipped your head and caught his lips in a quick kiss. “I’m in love with you too, Bob.”

[lucy-literates]

Time to Unwind

Synopsis: He might act confident in front of the cameras, but behind closed doors, Lando’s a completely different story — especially with you. After a chaotic race weekend, you find him in his hotel room, already stripped down to his boxers, waiting for you like he always does when he needs to let go. “Been good,” he whispers, eyes wide, needy, hands in his lap like you’ve trained him. But you can see the way he’s squirming, desperate for your attention. You take your time — make him ask for it properly. Maybe even make him beg. After all, Lando might be in control on the track, but tonight? He belongs to you.

Warnings: semi-sub!Lando, embarrassment/shame, begging, oral (f receiving), p in v

Requested - no

💌 - open

It had been one of the longest weekends that Lando had ever put himself through. It poured down all weekend, causing Lando to slide and DNF in the final race of the weekend. You could see it in his eyes, his disappointment, while he acted calm and cool in front of the camera. He talked about the unfortunate events, bouncing back and fixing the teams strategy while cracking jokes and flashing smiles.

You were messaged a couple hours later:

Lan 🧡: Hey my love, I'm heading back to the hotel room now

Me: Hey baby, I'm just out getting groceries to make dinner, so I'll be back about 10 minutes after you

Lan 🧡: See you then, gorgeous 😘

You paid for your groceries, called a taxi, and made your way back to your hotel. You thanked and paid the taxi driver, entered the hotel, and headed towards the elevator. You reached your door, unlocked it, and slipped your shoes off. You placed the grocery bags on the table while you called out "Lan, I'm home. Where are you?" You heard him quietly call "In the bedroom".

You made your way up the stairs and opened the door. "I was thinking of making your favourite din..." You spotted Lando on the bed, in his boxers. "I was good" he whispered "I really was, I promise". His hands were in his lap, just like you had trained him to do when he needed to let go.

You make your way over to him, trailing your nail across his chest. The shiver that runs down his spine, and the trail of goosebumps that follow your movement are the telltale signs, you know he's needy but he doesn't want to say it. His pupils are blown wide, lips pressed together tightly. Your nails trace around his back and slide up through his scalp. "You know what you need to do" to tell him.

He blushes a deep shade of pink, shame covering his face. "Help me" he whispered. "What was that?" you asked him. "I need help, I need you", tears of desperation pricked his waterline. You move back around to stand in front of him. You used your finger to lift up his chin, forcing him to back eye contact as you leaned in. You both closed your eyes as you connected your lips to his. He moved his lips against yours. His lips followed yours as you pulled away, a small whimper left his mouth at the loss of contact.

You stood up, slowly stripping in front of him. Your tits bounced as you removed your shirt and Lando followed every movement. His eyes raked over you, following the same path his hands would if he was allowed. You took his hands out of his lap and put them behind his back. You sit on his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders, "do you remember the rules?" he nods. "Use your words, baby" you remind him. His cheeks flush up again as he says "I remember. No touching unless I'm told you, no speaking unless I'm spoken to, keep eye contact" You nodded at his answer "good boy" you told him.

You felt his dick twitch in his boxers. You leaned in and connected your lips once again. You had one hand scratching his scalp, and the other hand trailing towards his boxers. "Hips up," you told him. He lifted his hips up and you slipped his boxers off. His tip was red and angry, precum was leaking out and down his shaft which stood tall. He shivered at the cold hair brushing his dick.

His lips and arms twitched, just wanting you to do something, anything. You wrapped your hand around his dick and pumped your hand up and down. Lando's head rolled back on his shoulders as he let out a near-pornographic moan. A tear streaked down his cheek, the desperation was evident in the way his body shook in an attempt to keep his hands to himself.

"Anything to say, baby?" You asked him "You can speak". With your granted permission, fist pumping his shaft, and your bare tits staring him in the eyes, he started babbling. "I need it, I need you so bad. I need to be in you. I wanna touch you, I needa feel you, please y/n!" he cried desperately. You gave him a peck and whispered "Do what you need" into his ear.

His pupils became pure black, not a shred of his gorgeous greenish/blue could be seen. He removed your hand from his dick, picked you up, and threw you on the bed. He dove after you, lifting your legs up and dragging his tongue through your folds. He was absolutely devouring you, like he had been starved. He crawled up to you, licking his lips while he wrapped your legs around his waist. He trailed kisses down your neck, suckling and biting.

He positioned himself at your entrance, slowly pushing himself in. He let out a high-pitched moan at the warmth that spreads through him. He looks at you, pure desire and desperation in his eyes. You give him a nod of approval and he leans down to whisper in your ear "Thank you". He pulls out so his tip is just breaching you, then slams back in. He keeps his brutal pace, slamming into you with ferocity.

Your nails rake down his back, leaving deep red scratch marks, something he would find later on and love. His hand left the bed, moving to tweak your nipple. You felt yourself rapidly approaching your high "L-Lando, I'm gonna cum". This causes Lando to lift your leg up, opening you up. You felt like you were splitting open. He leaned down and kissed you, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

It overloaded your senses, your body shivered and convulsed with the incoming orgasm. You finally let out a loud moan, causing Lando to reach his high. He buried himself deep inside you, his warmth filling you up. His eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed on top of you, passing out from the intensity.

You gently pulled him out and rolled him over. You walked over to the bathroom and got a warm washcloth. You cleaned yourself before getting another one and heading to Lando, who was still passed out and slightly snoring. You wiped all the sweat off his chest and stomach, he woke with a start as you started gently cleaning his shaft. "Welcome back my love" you said to him. He sat up slowly, taking the cloth from your hand and throwing it in the clothes hamper.

He smiled sleepily as he said "wanna shower". You nodded and took his hand, leading him to the bathroom. He leaned his head on your shoulder as you turned on the shower. You helped him in and closed the door, prompting Lando to let out a little whine. "Whats wrong" you ask him. He just looks at you with a pout, and makes grabby hands through the glass of the shower. You chuckle and get into the shower next to him.

You took your time getting both of you washed and then dried. You left little kisses all around his shoulders and his neck as you dried him with his towel. You got him a clean pair of boxers to put on, and you got an oversized shirt for yourself. You both crawled into bed, your head resting on his chest as his arms circled around your waist. "Thank you" he whispered "I love you". You turned your head and kissed his cheek. "You're welcome" you whispered back "I love you more". you settling into him as he settled into the bed, both of you drifting off, ready for the day ahead.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it; inbox is open if you have a request :)

[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.)

[ddejavvu]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part Six) (18+) / SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 8.3k / navigation / inbox / summer of series

A/N: another very late installment! I am really, truly sorry that it has taken me this long to update this series. it's very near and dear to my heart but unfortunately I was just having a very hard time with my life and there wasn't much motivation for me to write anything. but i'm back and better than ever, and you can check out my 'summer of series' to see more upcoming content! thank you to those who waited, and welcome to any new readers <3 this is our longest chapter yet :o

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Plowing through pizza has never been easier than it is now, because you’re so intent on stuffing your mouth full to impede your ability to answer prying questions that your lunch is gone in a matter of minutes. You consider swiping from Jake’s plate considering he’s taken at least ten percent of your lunch every day for as long as you’ve known him, but reciprocating any of this ‘love’ that Danica deludes may not work in your favor. 

You’re left to sit awkwardly back in your chair, no food to eat while the rest of your companions finish theirs at a reasonable pace. 

It’s noticeable, because everyone else is still making their way through pizza that’s thinner and stiffer than it should be, but not altogether bad. Jake and Daniel both side-eye you, but Daniel shifts forwards as he notices pizza sauce smeared over your cheek.

“Y/N, you’ve got-”

“I got it.” Jake cuts in, reaching out and nearly smacking you in the jaw in an effort to get his thumb over the stain. You jerk away, startled, but Jake already has red sauce on the pad of his thumb that he’s offering to you like you’re going to suck it off.

“Want it?” He grins, and your lips remain firmly sealed as you shake your head no.

“Fine, picky.” Jake shrugs, raising his hand to his mouth and taking his thumb between his lips himself. You watch as he sucks the pizza sauce off of his finger for longer than he needs to, eyes fixed so intently on yours that you’re almost certain he would rather be licking it directly off of your cheek.

You’re glad he hadn’t- you’d have smacked him with how wound up you are. You feel like a prey animal, cornered and shaking with nerves that could morph into aggression at a moment’s notice.

You turn back to your empty plate, ignoring the way that Jake tips a half-eaten piece of pizza your way.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about cooties.” Jake raises a brow, “We accidentally used the same towel once after the beach.”

“And I showered twice when I got home to clean myself.” You recall the incident with grave resignation, remembering the look on Phoenix’s face when she’d spotted the sherbet stain on the corner of the towel you were wearing, one that Jake had put there earlier, just after his own shower. You’re not surprised he’s still bringing it up- just one more thing to needle you with, but you wish he wouldn’t.

“More for me.” He acquiesces, voice almost awkward before he takes another bite, and you look at Danica to see if she’s noticed only to find that she’s staring hard at Jake already.

Interesting.

You don’t know how to fill awkward silences with Jake, because there almost never are any. You’re too used to his loud, brash voice that once he gives in and rolls over, a sight you’ve rarely ever seen before, you feel unequipped to talk. You don’t talk to Jake- or you barely ever do, you mostly quip. And tease, and jab, and rib, and mock. Everything’s a dogfight with him, and the first to run out of bullets crashes and burns.

Jake’s not the type to crash and burn.

“I’m done.” Daniel leans back in his chair, a hand slung lazily over his stomach, “I think cruises are bad for me. I always overeat.”

“We could walk,” Danica suggests, “There’s some shops a few decks above us.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about the shops,” You scoff, feeling Jake’s shit-eating grin despite refusing to look at him, “I’m not interested, thank you.”

You expect pushback from Jake, but what you don’t expect is Danica, who seems to be making it her sacred mission to force you out of your comfort zone.

“Oh, come on. Please? You can shop with me.” She promises, reaching out a hand adorned with a delicate golden bracelet, “We can leave the boys behind.”

You’re still wary about her insistence into butting into your rivalry with Jake, but you wonder if perhaps she doesn’t want to be alone with Daniel the same way you don’t want to be alone with Jake. Maybe there’s pressure there that she can’t handle, or maybe there’s not and she doesn’t want to face the implications. 

You’d think signing up for a sex cruise would really take the emotional turmoil out of having sex.

“They’ll kill each other,” you take her hand, letting her squeeze yours tight, “And we can’t get new roommates so that’d really take the fun out of the whole sex cruise thing.”

“We can start at the candy shop,” She grins, tugging you to your feet, “I owe my niece some gummy bears.”

Danica reaches for her purse, a sweet baby blue over-the-shoulder bag that Daniel gently pushes her hand away from.

“I’ve got it.” He offers, smiling up at the both of you, “You two just have fun browsing and I can hold whatever you get.”

There’s an unmistakable grin on Danica’s face that she turns around to hide, something akin to a giddy schoolgirl at Daniel’s chivalry. It’s sweet, admittedly, but what’s less sweet is the way that Jake makes a grab for your own bag, already hooked over your shoulder.

“Gimme that.”

“What- no!” You scoff, stumbling backwards to avoid his grip, “That’s my bag!”

“I’m trying to carry it for you.” Jake insists, as stubborn as a mule, “Let go!”

“You’re mugging me!” You shriek, dragging Danica along with you when you finally wriggle out of his grip and making a mad dash for other side of the deck, “Danica, if we can make it to the stairs we can push him overboard!”

She giggles as you two run across the deck, probably something you shouldn’t be doing considering you’re poolside and adults, but something you do giddily anyways. Daniel and Jake jog to keep up, and neither wants to be around each other, but both want to be first to reach you. This means they keep pace, and when you pass a netted-in basketball court, your head turns to watch the players.

They’re nice to ogle. There’s men and women, but your eyes are drawn towards a particularly muscled man, tall and thick around the arms and thighs. He has your attention until he fully misses a shot, feet away from the basket, and you and Danica cringe in unison.

“He had me until that throw.” Danica admits, trying not to laugh so as not to attract any attention and hurt the man’s feelings, “Can you boys do better than that?”

It’s such clear bait that you assume both men will scoff at her, tease her for wanting to see their sweaty muscles and continue towards the interior door. Instead, Danica’s purse is handed rather unceremoniously back to her and Jake strips of his shirt. He doesn’t need to, but he does. Of course.

“I can run laps around him.” Jake vows, beelining for the entrance to the court while Daniel takes his flip-flops off for better leverage.

“Just sit and watch.” Daniel grins, pointing towards benches opposite the court, “Get some sun, and we’ll show you how it’s really done.”

“Men are dumb,” You sigh, watching the two you’re stuck with integrate themselves into the game already going, “They couldn’t tell that was on purpose?”

“Jake wants to show off for you. And Daniel, too.”

“They wants to show off for you, too.” You level her with a look that’s half exasperated, half self-conscious, “I’m not- I’m not trying to steal him away from you. Daniel, that is. You can have Jake- no returns.”

Danica grins, her smile glowing, “I’m not angry that Daniel likes you. I like you too. I just think you’re stupid.”

“Thank you.” You nod, hoping the conversation ends there. You turn towards the court, trying to track Daniel’s movement among the crowd, but latching onto Jake instead. He towers over most of the men on the court, and with his military muscles, most of them have no chance.

“I’m- sorry. For pushing. I just think,” Her voice takes on a wistful note, “I think you two could really be soulmates if you tried.”

“Soulmates don’t try,” You laugh, “That’s the whole point. They’re intrinsically made for each other. Perfect from the get-go.”

“You are made perfect for each other. You’re just acting stupid.” She clarifies, “You’re both stubborn, but that means you’ll match wits with him. He wouldn’t want someone who just gives in every time.”

“That’s certainly what he’s wanted in the past,” You scoff, “Woman after woman after woman who doesn’t bother to save herself from the most obviously sleazy pilot in the bar.”

“That’s why he never sees them again,” She nods, “Because they only satisfied him short-term. Men mature slower than women, did you know that? They’re still figuring things out, bless them. I think he’s starting to realize that hookups aren’t sustainable, and that he wants something long-term. And that’s not to say you can’t resent his dating history,” Danica gives you a meaningful glance, “I can understand why you would be slow to trust him. But he’s trying. He backed off at lunch, right?”

“Right before he tried to steal my purse.” You grumble, despite knowing she’s right. But still, attributing his uncharacteristic lack of an argument to love- that’s a notion you don’t want to even begin digesting.

“Men are dumb.” She reminds you, “I think he’s trying to show you that he’s changed, and that his ideals have too. You just need to let him. Give him a chance.”

“I’ve given him plenty of chances before,” You sigh, world-weary as you watch Daniel snake the ball from Jake, “How many is too many?”

“You might not know until you get hurt.” Danica levels with you, placing her hand atop yours once more, “But you won’t know how many it takes to work, either. Just- be casual.”

“Casual.” You raise a brow at her, “With Jake? He’s incapable of being casual about anything. Even when he tries you can see the muscles in his neck about to pop.”

“Yeah, I saw him almost jump Daniel in the pool.” She admits, watching as Jake slam-dunks the ball despite three pairs of hands clawing at him, attempting to slow or stop him, “Has he ever started a fistfight before?”

“He’s not- mean. Not like that, not- he’s classy, I guess.” It’s a word you wouldn’t normally attribute to Jake, but he doesn’t go around starting fights like a teenage boy, “He swears up and down he’s a southern gentleman.”

“A gentleman!” Danica laughs, “A gentleman who was staring at your ass in that bathing suit, earlier.”

“I figured. Whatever,” You shrug, “I chose it because it makes my ass look nice. It’s not Jake’s fault we ran into each other, I guess.”

“That’s why I’m sure you’re soulmates,” Danica confesses, “The same cabin, on the same sex cruise? And you hate each other? I see some sweet, sweet angry sex in your future.”

You laugh, despite yourself. You let yourself get carried away in girly giggles, and seeing the warmth in her expression makes a twinge of guilt flare up in your chest about the way you’d snapped at her earlier.

“Hey, I’m- sorry. I’m really sorry for freaking out on you earlier, Danica.” You murmur, eyes downcast as your smile fades, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, if I did.”

“It’s okay.” Despite the way your face had dropped, hers only grows more tender, “I understand. Like I said, I shouldn’t have pushed. But I hope you know I’m not trying to make your life harder. I suppose I don’t have any business butting in, I just see two people that are afraid to be vulnerable around each other despite maybe having the capacity to love each other for eternity.”

You glare at her from beneath your lashes, and she throws up her hands in mock-surrender, “I said maybe!”

“Eternity is a long time.” You muse, focusing again on the basketball scrimmage happening before you. The nets blur your vision, but it’s clear that the men are working up a sweat. Jake makes another basket, and you notice desperation in the way that Daniel lunges for it after it falls.

It’s not his fault- navy men just do it better.

“That’s why destiny gave you a free trial.” Danica grins, “This week, you don’t have to wear your heart on your sleeve. He won’t, either. Just- be casual, like I said. Be receptive, I’m not asking you to fall all over him, just- watch him. Notice him. Look at what he does and think about why he does it. Yes, he did try to liberate your purse from your shoulder earlier like he was getting at your wallet. But he did it because Daniel did it for me much more gracefully a few seconds before. He’s trying simple things: sharing food, holding bags-” She grins conspiratorially at you, “Five bucks says he’ll try to hold the door for you when we go inside later. He’s testing the waters, okay? He’s trying to change, but like I said before, he’s afraid of being vulnerable around you just the same as you are around him, even if he doesn’t seem like it.”

“How do you know all of this?” You ask her, eyes narrowed as you study her from across the bench, “Are you some sort of all-seeing eye?”

“I asked him,” She blinks, simple as that, “And I’m not going to share everything he said, because I think it’ll come better from him, but I can at least tell you with one-hundred percent certainty that he’s trying. Just- be gentle with him, okay? Let him try.”

“He can try,” Your voice is weak as you watch Jake sink a third shot, “But I can’t guarantee I’ll care.”

“That’s okay. You’re afraid of him hurting you, he’s afraid he’s already hurt you too much. If you don’t want to be with him, that’s fair. Just give him one more chance.”

“One more.” You sigh, “But not for him. For you.”

“I’m glad I met you, Y/N,” Danica smiles, standing from the bench and offering you a hand, “Now, let’s get them out of there before they start punching each other.”

Jake and Daniel are, in fact, facing off. Daniel shoves roughly at Jake’s chest but he stands shorter than his opponent, so it looks almost comical when Jake doesn’t move an inch. His strong thighs keep him steady, and his eyes blaze with a challenge.

“Jake!” You call, but both heads turn your way, “Guys- let’s go shopping.”

“Fine.” Daniel grunts, elbowing past Jake towards the entrance to the court. You’re sure Jake has thoroughly gotten on his nerves- you know the feeling, but something about the way his tensed muscles make him look like a coiled spring makes you gravitate towards Jake instead.

“What did you do to him? He looks like he might punch someone in the face.”

“Yeah, me.” Jake redresses himself, fixing the asymmetrical waistband of his shorts and putting his shirt back into place, “He’s just mad he’s too short to dunk.”

“Poor Danica.” You hum as Daniel stalks three steps ahead of her, “I’m gonna walk with her.”

Jake doesn’t provide any arguments when you rush to catch up with your newfound friend.

“Men are scary when they’re angry.” You nudge your side against hers, speaking in a hushed whisper “Did he say anything to you?”

“No, but he’s sure not offering to hold my purse anymore,” Danica grins, “Men are so dramatic.”

“It’s part of our charm, ladies.” Jake pushes between you, gentler than Daniel would have done in his angered state, “And it seems Danny-boy has neglected his manly duties, so I’ll take this,” Jake plucks Danica’s purse carefully off of her shoulder, “And can I please hold your bag too, princess?”

“Thank you for not tackling me this time,” You glare at Jake, letting him sling your tote over the same shoulder Danica’s bag hangs from, “See? When you’re nice to women they like you.”

“Some of ‘em like me mean.” Jake shrugs, “But you lure more flies with honey, I guess..”

Jake watches Daniel push his way through the doors, and makes a grand gesture out of catching them before they can close and holding them open for the pair of you.

You owe Danica five bucks.

“After you, ladies.” Jake says, loud enough for Daniel to hear. It only tightens the muscles in his shoulders, and it makes you slow your pace, putting even more distance between you and him. 

Jake doesn’t realize until he’s already slamming into you from behind, and he steadies you with a hand on your shoulder, “Woah! Sorry. I thought you’d be beelining for the sex shop. What’s the holdup?”

Danica shoots him a lethal glare over her shoulder, and tugs you closer to her side.

“We are beelining for the sex shop,” She announces, and Daniel seems to remember he has company as he slows down, chest heaving with adrenaline, or rage, or indignance, or whatever Jake has injected into his veins, “We are going to have a lingerie fashion show and there are no boys allowed.”

“No, come on! I can squeeze in the dressing room with you guys! I’ll fit!” Jake protests, but you level him with a stern glare.

“If you come into the dressing room, you’re putting on a thong.” You warn him, but nothing can rattle Jake Seresin.

“No part of me would fit in a thong,” Jake declares, herding you all towards the elevators, “Front, back, wherever- I’ve got too much goin’ on down there.”

“A bra, then.” You counter, walking backwards into the empty elevator and letting your back hit the wall, “You’ve got a bigger chest than I do.”

“If that’s what tickles your fancy,” Jake shrugs, your bag and Danica’s pressed against the wall of the elevator as he plants himself opposite you, faced away from the doors, “Everybody’s got their thing. If yours is me in a bra, so be it.”

Danica giggles. Daniel presses the button for the floor that you need.

“I’d send it to the rest of the daggers.” You threaten, hearing the doors slide shut behind Jake, “Rooster would show Mav. Phoenix would obliterate you.”

“Don’t spread it around, it’s for your eyes only.” Jake scoffs as the elevator begins its ascent, “Keep it in your spank bank, Y/N.”

Instead of lifting five floors, the elevator only moves one. The doors open again, and Daniel groans almost inaudibly at the sight he’s met with. You peer around Jake’s side to see- a lot of people. There’s a lot of people trying to board the elevator, and you pair off, parting like the red sea to fit them in.

Danica slides over to Daniel’s side, who squishes himself into the corner closest to the buttons, offering to press them for the new passengers. Jake steps closer to you, caging you into your own corner.

He raises his brows, clearly suggestive, but you know he’s teasing. That’s the thing about Jake- his constant teasing irritates you, but you know it’s just that. Teasing. He’s kidding, which is why you roll your eyes when he presses himself flush against your body.

“O-kay. Do we really need to be this close?” You ask, but chancing a glance around his shoulder reveals that, yes, you do. You’re sure he’s shimmied closer on purpose, but the woman backed up against him hasn’t given him much of a choice either.

“Does this remind you of anything?” Jake murmurs under his breath, as the elevator doors scrape closed and you begin another ascent, hopefully four floors this time, “A certain tryst with a certain bearded man yesterday?”

“He wasn’t stepping on my toes,” You glance downwards, “And I wanted to kiss him.”

“Ouch.” Jake huffs, but he shuffles his feet backwards off of yours, “What are you really gonna look at in the sex shop?”

Be vulnerable. Danica’s voice echoes in your head, as dramatically as she’d been hoping, He’s trying, be open, be casual, let him.

“Maybe just a vibrator or something.” You mumble, taking care to keep your voice between the two of you even if it’s an adults-only environment, and meeting his eye with honesty you don’t often showcase around Jake, “I can’t say I really need anything but it’d be nice to browse, I guess.”

He nods, slow and attentive, taken aback because he’s just as new to listening as you are to conversing.

When you finally, painstakingly make your way up four floors of passengers trying to squeeze on and off every second, Jake lets you and Danica exit the elevator first. It had been uncomfortable, but convenient when Daniel was storming ahead of you- he and Jake had been kept apart, but now the two nearly bump shoulders again as they trail behind you.

Their array of shops is, admittedly, impressive at first glance, considering you’re in the middle of the ocean. You take pictures of the glittering lights to have as keepsakes, but far away from any cell service, you can’t show them off to your friends just yet.

“Gummy bears,” Danica reminds you, before you can wander off into whatever store catches your fancy, “You can get duty-free booze later, for now let me make sure my niece won’t kill me for coming back empty-handed.”

She pulls you towards the candy shop, and any doubts you’d had about a fanciful confectionary on board an all-adults ship disappear when you step inside.

There’s sex candy. 

You shouldn’t be surprised, because even an ice sculpture you’d spotted from across the deck earlier was shaped into a male torso with well-defined abs. There’s gummy candies in the shape of genitals, there’s chocolates meant to throw you into a hormone-fueled sex craze, there’s flavored condoms, there’s candy lingerie. 

There’s a very small section of actual candy, but it’s where you and Danica have to look for her niece’s gummy bears.

“These are fine,” She eyes the package warily, “There’s nothing adult I’m missing about these, is there?”

“No penises.” You promise, looking over the matte-plastic bag to ensure that even the patterning isn’t crude, “But I think it’s just about the only thing in there without them.”

“Y/N! Look at these!” Jake calls, proving your point when he holds up phallic lollipops, “Dick suckers!”

You suppose if there were ever a time and a place to shout that across a store, it’s here and now. But that doesn’t mean you don’t still cringe, and you duck behind Danica to examine a package on a low shelf, near the corner of the store.

It’s those sex chocolates you’ve seen advertised online, in greatly-exaggerated tiktok videos or tweets. All of the posts you’ve seen about them have been sponsored by the company, so you doubt its efficacy.

Still, you pick a package up and tuck it into a basket that’s stacked in the corner of the room.

“Good idea,” Danica grins, throwing her gummy bears into the cart, “We should see how much Jake’s willing to pay for.”

“If he buys them he’ll want to share,” You make some convoluted sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a laugh, “And I’m not sucking the same dick as him.”

Your basket slowly but surely starts to fill, until one of the packages falls when you turn to look at something Daniel’s pointing out to you.

“Oh-!” You turn to grab it, but there’s already someone there, and Jake shoots you a heavy glance from where he’s kneeling on the floor beside you. It’s a sight- you’re not sure he’s ever looked up at you instead of down, and something in your stomach tightens as he stands back up.

“It broke,” He nods to the chocolate Danica had added into your basket, a piece molded so that it can be tucked between your legs and cover your sex. It’s meant to make someone eat through it before they can eat you, but it’s snapped in half now, completely useless.

“We’ll pay for it,” Danica keeps it in her own grip, grabbing another one and reaching for a new basket, “But I do want one that’s still intact.”

“Don’t bother with one of those for us.” Jake tells you, heaving the basket out of your arms and into his own, “Wouldn’t hold me back for very long at all.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t, Pussy Eater Extraordinaire,” You scoff, “Men always think they’re better at it than they are.”

“I’ve had nothing but glowing reviews,” Jake boasts, but his eye twitches slightly as he reconsiders his statement, “But- I’d trust your input more than theirs.”

“Why’s that?” You bite, “I’m a harsher critic?”

“Exactly.” Jake nods, “I’ll even take pointers if you’ve got any.”

“I’m pointing that way.” You raise your finger towards the cash register, “If you buy the candy lingerie I might be more inclined to let you see me in it.”

He blanches, “You’re serious?”

“See me, Seresin,” You point again to the register, “No touching, no eating.”

“I’ll take it.” He nearly trips over his feet, and Danica erupts with laughter as he pulls out his wallet.

“He really did it!” She gushes, “See? He wouldn’t be buying cherry-flavored condoms if he didn’t want you to use them on him.”

“I have no doubts that he wants to have sex with me.” You remind her, “It’s what comes after that I’m afraid of.”

“After one condom there’s another.” She points to the big number 10 on the side of the box, “In between rounds you can ask him what you guys are.”

She can tell you’re about to groan, because before you can she grabs both of your hands, looking imploringly at you, “Y/N, this is a sex cruise! Let loose. Even if he does tell the whole navy about you- which he won’t, you can tell the whole navy it happened on a sex cruise. That’s a completely valid reason to let him fuck your brains out! You came here to fuck, so fuck.”

“We’ll see,” You grumble, “Cherry’s not my favorite flavor.”

Jake’s total at the register is comically high, but you don’t feel bad because you two get the same paycheck, and as a specialized squadron you’re not exactly down on your luck. He makes no complaints, and pointedly keeps the bag in his own hand instead of letting Daniel fulfill his earlier promise.

“If I let him hold it he might throw it down on the ground during one of his temper tantrums,” Jake murmurs conspiratorially to you, and you appreciate that he has the good sense to keep his voice low, pitched only for your ears as you meander towards the next store, “The chocolate underpants don’t deserve to snap a second time.”

“He’s not gonna throw a temper tantrum,” You groan, “You have a way of getting on people’s nerves, you know that?”

“Okay? And I’ll admit I riled him up, but that’s no excuse to act like a kid. Stomping around, taking it out on you and Danica.”

You raise a brow at him, unimpressed, “Eerily similar to the way you used to act on the tarmac whenever one of us beat you in an exercise?”

Jake’s mouth tightens, “Used to. I grew up a little. When’s the last time I threw a fit?”

You want to reference one of his bursts of antagonistic energy from the past 48 hours, but you have to admit, he’s much more controlled than he would have been a few years ago. You promised Danica you’d give him a chance, so you’ll give him credit where credit is due.

You settle for a reluctant, “You’re getting better.”

It’s another awkward dance, his jutted-out chin pulling back and loosening from the way it had been clenched tight in irritation. It’s your wayward eyes, not meeting his own but not looking at the floor either, just- roaming behind him.

It just so happens that behind him is a very intricately designed vibrator.

You hadn’t paid much attention to your surroundings, but Danica and Daniel had given you and your apparent bickering a wide berth as they’d headed into the next store in the row. It’s the sex shop, you realize now, and you and Jake are facing off in the entrance.

It’s an awkward thing, debating character growth between a display of vibrators and a display of fleshlights. You suppose there’s one for each of you if this doesn’t work out.

“After you.” Jake offers, prodding your limp form into the shop when your legs struggle to work, “We can shop for tonight.”

“I’ll be using that tonight,” You point at a ball gag, “I don’t want to hear a word from you.”

“That won’t shut me up. Y’know, When Harry Met Sally is my sister’s favorite movie? I could take a page out of Meg Ryan’s book and start moaning loud enough for the neighbors to hear.”

“She did that in a diner,” You correct him, “And she did it with grace. You could never be Meg Ryan.”

“I couldn’t be Billy Crystal either.” Jake laments, “Turtlenecks don’t look good on me.”

Before you can fall back into the familiar pattern of quipping back and forth with Jake, an old rut in the road that’s familiar even if it digs its own trench deeper, he catches sight of something behind you and his face twists.

“What’s that supposed to do?”

It’s not technically a rose toy. It’s something similar, adjacent maybe, still made for suction and vaginal pleasure. 

“It stimulates suction. Y’know, on the clit?” You explain, and Jake’s face blanches on top of his aghast expression.

“It sucks on you? That sounds dangerous. ‘Sounds like someone’s gonna get their clit ripped off.”

“I’ll test it out and let you know,” You grin, plucking it off of the shelf and adding it into the handheld basket that Danica’s started, “Maybe I’ll do it when you’re sleeping tonight.”

“I’ll hear you anyways. I’m a light sleeper.” Jake reveals, and your stomach drops. Did he hear-? 

No.

He’d have made it known if he’d heard your.. predicament.

It’s Hangman, after all. If he had something on you, he’d use it.

You shake yourself out of your funk and watch as Danica and Daniel contemplate getting a strap-on. You respect him for being open to trying it, if he hasn’t already. Jake’s face hasn’t pinkened from its earlier shade of sheet-white, so you make the very mature decision to not teasingly suggest that you use one on him. 

Instead you turn towards the lingerie, eyeing a red set with stereotypical lace lining the edges.

“That’d look nice on you.” Jake follows where you lead, and though his comment is suggestive, it’s almost respectful, “I think you should get it.”

“It’s too expensive,” You wrinkle your nose, “Not for something paper-thin that you’re probably meant to rip off anyways.”

“I’ll be careful,” Jake vows, and now the cracks in his facade start to show, “I promise I’ll handle you like a gentleman, darlin’.”

You turn on your heel and glide over to Danica.

“He’s trying to disrobe me,” You inform her with a sigh, “When am I allowed to conclude that he’s not changing?”

“Just-” You miss the way that she glares daggers at him from across the store, “He’s trying to change. He won’t be a completely different man, remember- you have to adapt too. It’s a compromise.”

Unfortunately, she has a point. If Jake is changing- and that’s a big if, you’ll need to meet him somewhere in the middle. But this whole Jake-changing-for-you thing is still highly suspect, and though Danica’s insistence is beginning to wear through your hide, you’re not fully convinced.

“Fine.” You sigh, “But I’m still getting the rose toy in case he doesn’t work out.”

“I love my rose toy.” She admits with a grin, “But there’s nothing like getting woken up between your legs. It’s different when someone surprises you with it instead of you shoving the toy down there yourself.”

“I’d love to be woken up by oral.” Your teeth sink into your pillowy bottom lip, and Jake’s footsteps stop behind you where he’s caught up to your group. You miss the look he shares with Danica over your head.

You browse the sex shop for a fair amount of time, but there’s not as much fun to be had as there was in the candy shop. They had variety and exciting things you’d never seen before, and here- well, they have a lot of dildos, that’s for sure. There’s a bland feeling that comes over you as you pace shelves and shelves of the same sex toys, and you wind up with only the suction-based rose toy ripoff at the counter.

“Scoot-” Jake comes up behind you, gently pushing you aside instead of elbowing you out of the way as he extends his own card towards the reader, “I’ve got this one too.”

“No- you don’t have to buy me a sex toy, Jake!” You argue, but the reader is already beeping, having accepted his payment, “I was mostly teasing about the candies. I’m not using you as a sugar daddy- you don’t have to keep picking up my tabs.”

“I’m picking up this one,” Jake carefully tucks the bag into the larger one from the confectionary, “I want you to think of me every time you use it.”

Something terrible, horrible, and unwanted in your brain supplies that you’d already have done that. That the experience of being stuck with him on a boat, of waking up grinding against his thigh, of being at each other’s throats for days on end would have cemented itself into the fucktoy whether you wanted to or not. But that’s an intrusive thought you have no desire to express, and instead you fall silent, taking Danica’s advice of meeting in the middle.

This silence, and the troubling thoughts that induced it, follow you through the next few shops in the row, showcasing duty-free liquor, off-brand ‘designer’ purses, and perfume that all smells the same. Danica holds up samples and swatches, shows you jewelry and handbags, but there’s not much she can do to shake you out of your spiral.

Do you want to fuck Hangman?

No, you certainly don’t want to fuck Hangman. 

But Jake? 

This Jake, the one who’d splashed around with you in the pool and sensed your uneasiness towards Daniel’s outburst, offering his own soothing presence as a distraction. This Jake, the one who’d muscled down decades of manly Texan pride to call for a truce- something you never thought his competitive spirit would be capable of. This Jake, the one who tilts his chin towards the section of books he knows you prefer in their sparse bookstore- this one you could certainly attempt to get used to.

It’s a hard thing to swallow, when something threatens to upend the life you’ve precariously crafted for yourself. When something challenges your notions of true and false, when someone changes. Can people change? Can he change, can Jake really fix his behavior to the point where you’d want to not only fuck him, but date him? Dating Hangman is laughable. Dating Jake is- something you’ve never considered before.

It’s troubling, and your brow remains creased for the remainder of your shopping trip. There’s an underwhelming amount of stores, and you wander further out, down towards the casino at the end of the deck.

“I didn’t bring cash,” Jake’s hand flies to his wallet, “And I don’t trust a casino on a fuckboat with my credit card.”

“We should go back,” Danica agrees, turning to grab Daniel’s hand. He’s calmed now, perhaps embarrassed for his temper earlier, and turns soft eyes towards her as she asks, “Should we go get couples massages?”

Jake waits on you for an answer- that’s new. You tuck the information aside for processing later, and you shake your head wearily, “I need some fresh air. You guys can go without me.”

“Couple’s massage with an empty bed’s pretty sad.” Jake hums, the drawling lilt of his southern accent sweet like honey, “You two enjoy yourselves. I’ll take our stuff back to our room.”

There’s a chorus of agreements, and you bid Danica goodbye with a soft squeeze to her hand, and a sheepish smile from beneath your lashes.

“Trust him!” She urges in a whisper, disguising it as a hug, “We can meet up again later.”

“Tonight for drinks?” You ask, glancing at your phone and seeing that it’s hours into the afternoon, “I think I’d like a casual dinner after last night.”

“We can do casual.” Jake agrees, and you don’t miss the way he says we.

“Drinks,” She nods, and Daniel tries to meet your eyes where you’re trying to avoid his. 

Everything’s so complicated now. You wish Danica hadn’t managed to get into your head- you wish Jake was still the cocky pilot he was yesterday, or three years ago, or since the dawn of time. You wish you didn’t notice his strange behavior, you wish he’d go back to being irritating so you could be irritated with him. You wish you weren’t thinking more about Jake than you are about Daniel, your perfect man, and when you finally do meet his soulful eyes you can’t offer him anything more than a weak smile.

“See you later.” You hum, and there’s nothing to go in for- a hug seems sad, and a kiss seems showy. You fall back a few steps instead, bumping into Jake who’d been stationed behind you.

“Let’s go,” He hums, “Elevator’s at the other end.”

You walk in silence, and discomfort roils in your chest the longer Jake says nothing. Nothing, nothing at all, no poking, no prodding, no comments about the candy penises in the bag he’s carrying for you. Just- dead silence, and you’re still not used to Jake taking social cues from you. He’s loud, and he worms his way into every situation, so why is he failing to do so now, when you crave normalcy the most?

You’d almost forgotten that you were swimming before this, but your bikini resurfaces in your mind when someone in the elevator pays attention to it. His eyes glance downwards towards your chest, and the way that they narrow in focus makes your skin crawl. His gaze isn’t warm like Daniel’s or like-.

He’s eerie, long, sharp facial features making him look like the human equivalent to a dagger. His sharpened point needles at you, and you’re already shuffling back on your feet in the elevator when Jake throws an arm over your shoulder, effectively covering your breasts.

Glancing up at him reveals that he’s locked into a staring match with the man who’d been looking down your top, and Hangman always wins staring matches. His skin grows warm against your chest, and you marvel at the way his single arm manages to shield every sensual detail of your torso.

When the man finally looks away, defeated, Jake uses the arm to pull you back into his embrace, and this time, you don’t fight him on the proximity. You feel a rush of affection for him, uncommon but not unheard of, and you remember that deep down, he’s a good guy. He’s got faults, he’s got faults that you’re not sure he could ever mend, but at his core he’s got a heart worth loving. 

You don’t have time to thank him, because there’s still people in the elevator when the man disembarks, and Jake gets out only one floor after him.

“You’re going to the top deck?” He asks, having seen you press the topmost button on the panel, and you nod.

“I’ll let you get your fresh air.” He walks backwards out of the elevator, “I’ll stash this in our room and come meet you. Mini golf?”

“I’m down,” You nod without thinking just to agree with him, your throat dry as your skin chills in the absence of Jake’s body heat, “Jake-?”

He stops, brows raised. There’s people around you, waiting for their floors, and you sheepishly give up any hair-brained scheme you’d have planned for having an awkward heart-to-heart with the man who’d just protected you with his body.

“My bag.” You gesture to his arm, your tote still slung over it, “Can I have my bag?”

He grins, wide and pearly white, fumbling with the bags in his arms while keeping his foot in the door to stop the elevator from closing. You take it and he steps away, the doors instantly sliding shut on him. You watch as they close in front of his face, and retreating back into your corner of the elevator seems lonely now that there’s no one accompanying you.

No one says anything- why should they? They don’t know you. But the last thing you need is more silence, and the second the doors slide open on the top deck you’re rushing out onto the slippery flooring, beelining for the railing overlooking the water.

It’s the top deck, so it’s shorter and thinner than the rest below it. But it doesn’t matter- you’re afforded a truly stunning view of the ocean as you drink in lungfuls of sea air.

It’s never this pretty on a carrier ship. Maybe that’s because it’s work, or maybe that’s because of where you work, or maybe that’s because you’re always below deck anyways. This kind of a sunset is something you usually can’t find unless you’re soaring into it through the skies, and here you’re able to relax without being in control of an aircraft.

The clouds act as a Rorschach test. The longer you stare at them the more your mind runs wild, and you seem to find all of your problems in the sky despite having landed to get away from them.

Now you’ve got new ones- one day ago your biggest concern was getting laid. Now- well, you suppose your biggest concern is still getting laid. But now you wonder if you could ever muscle down your nerves enough to fuck Jake, or if you’re going to lay yourself bare for Daniel while thinking about your fellow pilot like you had in your dream last night.

This was meant to be an escape. A thoughtless, lust-driven week-long party that would cure you of your sex block and get you back into the groove.

How’d it all go so sideways?

You don’t hear the footsteps behind you, but you do feel Jake’s hand on your shoulder. His fingers, more like it, because two are perched on your shoulder and three are holding a yellow golf club and a pink ball. He’s got a green and blue pair in his other hand, and you try making your face look like you hadn’t just been searching for answers in the clouds.

“‘You ready for golf?” He asks, his voice far more chipper than yours, “They said they won’t charge us if we shoot one into the ocean.”

“Let’s try not to anyways,” You take the club from him, but swap him the pink ball for the green, “There’s people on the first hole. You wanna go backwards?”

“I’m a pro at mini golf anyways,” Jake scoffs, “Don’t need those practice courses.”

Pro Golfer Jake Seresin loses his ball right away.

It’s important to note that you hadn’t gotten a hole-in-one either, but Jake’s shot is especially horrendous. It veers so off-course that it ends up rolling off of the green altogether, and before either of you can reach it it drops from the deck onto the one below. It doesn’t go as far as the ocean, but it does happen to land right in some unfortunate woman’s drink, and she’s not happy about the bright pink disturbance to her mai tai.

“Sorry!” Jake calls, and you know any apology from him is sincere, or he wouldn’t say it, but she takes less-than-swimmingly to his seemingly casual tone, and she launches the ball with much better aim than he had.

Jake nearly tumbles over the railing as he crumples, groaning in pain at the way the ball had solidly whacked him between the legs. You’re torn between laughing, congratulating the woman, and helping Jake back away from the edge of the deck, so you do some convoluted mixture of all three.

You shoot the woman a dry smile as you tug him away from the railing, and he takes a minute just to breathe as you support his weight. He grimaces, but tries to turn it into one of his signature smirks, though it’s clearly forced as he remains doubled over.

“Hell of an arm on that chick.” He comments, voice heaving with either a laugh or a sob, but probably the latter, “Jesus, darlin’, y’think you could kiss it better for me?”

“I’ll make it worse,” You vow, brandishing the golf club in your fist for extra emphasis, “Sit down before you puke, Hangman.”

He listens, dropping to rest his back against the railing and tilt his head back towards the sky.

It just so happens that you’re skyward to him, and his head rolls so that he can gaze up at your face.

“This is not how I envisioned golfing to go.” He admits, his club laying defeated in the fake grass beside him. “For the record, I was going to tell you that your form was off, and then I was going to come up from behind you and grab your hands and guide you through a swing, all while hoping I could control the big guy downstairs.”

You snort at his admission, but for some reason it doesn’t make you indignant like it might have a day ago. You’re not sure what exactly has changed, just that it’s still changing, and that it would be far easier if it never had.

“How romantic.” You drop a hand onto his head, jostling it side-to-side now that he can’t stop you, “And I suppose this is us staring at the sunset together?”

“Sort of,” Jake shakes his head free of your palm, short-cut hair now wildly out of place.

“It is- funny. How we fly every day but can still stare at the sky.” You note, trying to lose yourself in the watercolor hues of the sky again, “Clouds aren’t any less captivating now than they were when I was 10.”

“It’s different here. We’re relaxing.” Jake hums, “Even if I’m gonna need to ice this later. We’re not doing a timed drill that involves tactical missiles.”

You suppose Jake’s not standing anytime soon so you hit the deck yourself, landing defeatedly beside him and letting your club rest in front of you, “I didn’t come here to relax. Or- I guess I kind of did? In between rounds.”

Jake laughs, and stretches his leg out to rest beside yours, “I came here to fuck. Obviously. But this is nice too.”

You feel a sudden rush of guilt. You’re secure in the fact that you don’t owe Jake anything, even if you’d been assigned as his roommate on this sex cruise. Of course, you hadn’t known he’d be your roommate, or you’d never have signed up, but neither had he. He’d been expecting some woman of his dreams, someone hot, curvy, and ready to open her legs for him, and he’d gotten you. You’re both, in your own ways, disappointments to each other.

“I’m sorry. By the way. That you got stuck with me.” You interrupt the silence after a moment, and only afterwards do you realize that it was a comfortable silence, not one of those tense, awkward things that shatter when broken. 

“Stuck with you?” Jake questions, but before he can spit out some half-baked, cheesy line about never being stuck with you, darlin’, you finish your speech.

“You came here to fuck.” You parrot his words, “And I’m not letting you, and I don’t have to let you, but you wanted to. So I’m sorry we’re each other’s roommates. I came here to fuck, too. And it sucks that we know each other, and that things are so complicated, and that we can’t just fuck like rabbits for a week. I’m sorry.”

Jake stays silent for a while, something that rarely happens with him. But it’s sincere, and when he finally speaks, it’s with a sigh and a nudge of his foot against yours.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to let me,” He agrees, “But- I’m enjoying myself even if we’re not fucking like rabbits.”

“You are?” You give him a sideways glance, “Even though we just drained your credit card and you’re unlikely to be able to reproduce?”

“Free vasectomy,” He grins, “And shopping was fun. And swimming was fun, and drinking was fun, and dinner was fun, and- being with you is fun sometimes.”

“You just had to throw the ‘sometimes’ in there, didn’t you Hangman?” This time, when you refer to him with his callsign, it’s not venomous. Instead, it’s almost fond, and you share a quiet laugh in unison as people mill around you, drinking and kissing and playing mini golf.

“I’m glad you’re having fun.” You sober up, “I’m- I think I’m having fun too.”

“I hope so. ‘Gotta get somethin’ out of this cruise, even if it’s not sex.”

“Jake?” You ask, keeping your head forward and ignoring the sense of deja vu that comes over you.

“Hm?”

“Thanks.” You hum, “For- for understanding that I’m not going to- and, for stopping that guy from looking at me earlier, and for buying me stuff at the shops, and- just. Thank you.”

His response is the thunk of his forehead against your shoulder, and he turns his head to watch the sunset with you through the railing at the opposite end of the deck.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[itsnotsunnyy]

to be so lonely

pairing: paul lahote x female!reader

word count: 1,3k

summary: she was warmth. he was wildfire. it started soft, but nothing ever stayed that way. he didn’t know how to love without ruining, and she didn’t know how to stay when it hurt. now, all that’s left is silence, and a name he can’t stop tasting.

content: angst, jealousy, slow burn, emotional repression…

a/n: a little gift for you guys! i’ve had this sitting in my notes for the longest time, so i finally decided it’s time for it to see the world. it’s inspired by ‘to be so lonely’ by harry — shocking, i know! i’ll always find a way to bring his songs into my life. anyway, hope you guys enjoy!

i’m not good at nice, never was. i don’t say shit like “i miss you” or “you looked pretty today” or “it hurt when you left.”

but god, you did. you do and it fucking did.

you fell first and i let you, watched you do it. watched you look at me like i was something worth falling for, and i didn’t stop you, because i liked it. i liked the way your voice got softer when you said my name. i liked the way your fingers brushed against mine like it was on accident, even when it wasn’t.

i liked that you smiled at me like you knew something i didn’t.

you fell first, but i fell harder and later. way, way too late.

you were already gone by the time i figured it out. not gone gone, not dead. but gone in the way that matters. gone in the way you’re still here, still breathing, still smiling at everyone but me.

you still talk to jacob, of course you do. he was your best friend before he was mine, but now when you laugh at his jokes, i wanna rip out my fucking teeth, because he gets the softness. he gets the easy version of you and all i get is cold, short sentences, a nod when i pass you in the clearing.

i did that. i know i did.

and the worst part is, i don’t even remember the moment i lost you. it wasn’t one thing, not some explosion. just a slow burn. a hundred little things i never said and a hundred more i shouldn’t have.

don’t blame me for falling. i swear i didn’t mean for it to happen. i thought if i kept it all locked down, if i didn’t say how badly i needed you, it would pass. it didn’t. it never does.

every time you walked away, i told myself not to care. every time you smiled at someone else, i swallowed the acid.

every time you stood too close to jake, and looked at him like i used to look at you.

i clenched my fists so hard i drew blood.

and still. still. i said nothing.

do you think it’s easy being of the jealous kind?

because it’s not. it’s hell. it’s torture. it’s wanting to scream when you sit next to him instead of me. it’s watching your eyes light up when he tells you some dumbass joke.

it’s knowing he gets to call you at 2 a.m.

and i don’t. it’s pretending i don’t care when all i ever do is ache.

i hear your laugh in my sleep. i see your face every time i phase. i taste your name like it’s ash on my tongue.

you were mine. you were never mine, both those things are true and maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

you told emily once, when you thought i wasn’t listening, “i know he’ll never love me the way i love him, but i think i’d rather drown in him than live without him.”

i remember the way your voice cracked when you said it. i remember thinking, fuck, she means it and i remember staying silent.

because what would i have said?

“i’m sorry”?

“i’m not ready”?

“i’m too fucked up to love you right”?

i didn’t say anything and you stopped waiting.

i think that’s what killed me the most, not that you gave up, but that you had to, because you tried. you reached for me.

so many times and every single time, i flinched. looked away. pushed you back with words that cut sharper than claws ever could.

i didn’t mean them, not the way they sounded.

“you don’t get it.”

“i’m not your project.”

“stop trying to fix me.”

but you weren’t trying to fix me. you were just trying to love me and i didn’t know how to let you.

god, i wish i had.

don’t blame the drunk calling.

that night, the one you blocked my number after. i meant every word i slurred into the receiver.

“i miss you.”

“come home.”

“he’s not me.”

“i never stopped.”

i woke up the next morning and puked in the sink, not from the whiskey. from the shame, because even wasted, i couldn’t say what really mattered.

i love you.

i love you.

i love you.

i’m just an arrogant son of a bitch who can’t admit when he’s sorry.

and i am. so fucking sorry.

for making you wait. for letting jake take the spot i never claimed. for not saying it back when it could’ve saved us.

you still come to the bonfires sometimes.

you laugh with quil. you braid claire’s hair.

you press your fingers into jacob’s shoulder when you walk by, casual and easy, like it doesn’t gut me every single time.

i thought i could live with it, but i can’t. not when i know what your hand felt like in mine.

not when i remember the sound you made when you laughed at something stupid i said. not when i wake up reaching for a body that’s not there.

i think about that night. the one you kissed me.

you didn’t even ask. you just looked at me like you were tired of waiting and when your lips touched mine, everything else fell away.

it was soft.

tentative.

hopeful.

and i didn’t kiss you back. not really. just stood there, letting you pour your heart into it while i kept mine locked tight. i still dream about the way your face fell when you pulled away, like you already knew.

and you did, didn’t you?

you always knew i’d break your heart, but you loved me anyway.

how the fuck do you still smile?

how do you laugh like you didn’t give everything to someone who didn’t know how to hold it?

i don’t deserve it. you, but i want you. so badly i shake with it. burn with it. ache so hard i can’t breathe when you’re near.

i tried to hate jacob, but i don’t. not really, because he was there when i wasn’t. he caught you when i let you fall.

but sometimes i wanna scream at him, tell him he’ll never know what your laugh sounds like at 3 a.m. he’ll never know the way your lip trembles when you’re about to cry but trying to be strong. he’ll never know that you used to trace the lines on my palm and whisper “i think we were meant to find each other.”

he doesn’t know because i never told him,

because i never told anyone, because if i said it out loud, it would be real.

and if it was real, i’d have to admit i lost it.

that i lost you.

but if there’s even a small part of you that still waits, still hopes, i’d do anything.

i’d fall on my knees. i’d scream your name into the woods. i’d pull the stars from the sky if it meant you’d look at me like you used to.

so here it is. the thing i never said.

i love you.

i never stopped.

i don’t think i ever will.

i’m sorry i let you go. i’m sorry it took losing you to understand what i had. i’m sorry i made you think you weren’t enough when you were the only thing that ever made me feel whole.

please.

please.

don’t walk away forever, don’t let him keep the pieces you gave to me. just tell me there’s a chance, even if it’s a thousand miles from now. even if i have to wait a lifetime.

because i will.

i’ll wait.

i’ll burn.

i’ll ache.

i’ll love you from the shadows if that’s all i get, but if you turn around, just once, i’ll be there.

i’ll never stop being there.

[mistiell]

Oh, Your Love is Sunlight

summary: While on a supply run with your (insanely attractive) neighbor and friend, Joel, you nearly die twice. Once to an infect, and second to hypothermia, when you fall through the ice while trying to take a short cut home to Jackson. Joel spends the night trying to warm you up and keep you alive, and the morning after, you both come to a realization.

wc: 8k (Yikes, sorry y’all)

warnings: VOMIT (For my fellow emetephobics, I put ** at the start and end of the part), Fem! Reader, canon typical violence, graphic description of killing an infected, hypothermia, near death experiences, body heat as a survival tactic, like brief indirect mention of Star Wars that might be inaccurate bc I’ve never seen it (DONT COME FOR ME, I JUST HAVENT GOTTEN AROUND TO IT), Worried and protective Joel, very very briefmention of original characters towards the end bc i needed people and didnt feel like searching the wiki, slightly jealous Joel but it passes quickly. if i missed anything lmk. NOT PROOFREAD (will likely come back to fix any mistakes later)

a/n: Hello i have returned with a fic i started last year and just finished (oops lol), and it is my longest fic to date so enjoy! This will likely have a smutty part 2 if i ever get around to it.

**NOTE: I've linked ways to help Palestine here. If you're in a position to donate anything at all, please do! If not, you can reblog the post that's linked so it gets out to more people.

---

You don’t hate Joel Miller, but you really hate him right now.

Tommy was supposed to do this run with him – something about guitar strings for Ellie that they couldn’t get awhile ago – but something had come up. Joel had come to you to ask if you’d go with him instead, and your will to please him overrode your vehement dislike of sub-zero temperatures. It’s become apparent in recent months that you just can’t say no to the man; a flaw that you are actively going to work on fixing when you get back, you decide as you trudge through what has to be double digit inches worth of snow.

“Remind me why we couldn’t have ridden the rest of the way?” You huff, lifting and heaving your heavy winter boot yet another step after him. You really wish it were safe to wear snowshoes out here. It would make travelling through this shit so much easier. Alas, while it’s great for travelling faster over snow, the same can’t be said for escaping any infected you may have the misfortune of running into out here.

He sighs, but reminds you again for the third time in thirty minutes, “Horses can’t make it through this way in the winter.”

“Couldn’t we have found a way around?”

Bemused, he shoots you a sidelong glance, “Unless you wanna walk home in the dark, no. Sun’s already too low for my likin’.”

“It’s barely afternoon, Joel.”

“Might be past that by the time we head back.”

“Might be isn’t will be.”

Shaking his head, he breathes an exasperated chuckle. You’d think he was genuinely annoyed if this wasn’t your routine. You try to vex him, he pretends it’s working. He looks fond as he shakes his head, “D’ you gotta be so goddamn argumentative all the time?”

“‘Course.” You grin puckishly, “Part of my charm.”

He snorts, lifting a tree branch and letting you duck under his arm, a little bit of snow flaking off the nettles and dusting your hair and eyelashes, “Charm ain’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“Yeah? What word would you use, then?” You ask, turning to look at him just as he ducks under the branch after you. As he straightens, you realize you’re so close, you have to tilt your head back a little to look at him.

It’s only when you’re this close to him that you’re reminded of just how broad he is. Broad shoulders, broader chest. One of his hands could encompass nearly a whole half of your face, you’re sure. Leaving the two of you in spouts of steam, you watch your breaths mingle and dance in the space between you. Humming a low rumble, his mouth twists and eyes narrow as he pretends to think, and you almost forget what you’ve asked until he replies, “Annoyance.”

Moment lost. You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you sweet.”

He chuckles, the sound rich in his chest as he continues on and prompts you to do the same. As you emerge from the treeline, you spot your destination a ways away. A small, rundown town centre. You can just barely see a sign with a treble clef peaking out from behind the large building blocking your view.

“You’re sure this area’s clear, right?” His silence unnerves you. “Right?”

“Should be.” His brow creases. He looks about as reluctant to be doing this as you are, but Ellie needs new strings and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get them before her birthday. The things you do for those you love, you suppose, “Keep a look out, just in case.”

“Yup.” You sigh, popping the ‘P’.

The town is a frigid wasteland when you make it onto the main street, storefront windows smashed to bits with snow drifts sloping up the walls and creeping inside, blowing snow whooshing up in swirls like mini tornados across the open spaces. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as you traverse the street, nerves buzzing with the anticipation of danger that is ever present out here.

More walking, before glass crackles underfoot as you step through the mangled metal frame of the music store’s front door, careful to avoid the jagged pieces still jutting out of the rust-flaked steel. The two of you split up to look around, Joel making his way over to a wall that houses a couple of fair quality acoustic guitars while you survey a few shelves lined with CD’s and tapes on the other side of the room.

“Y’know guitar strings ain’t gonna be over there, right?” He calls, and you roll your eyes.

“Obviously. I figured I’d try to find something for her, too.” An album cover catches your eye and you slide it out, tilting your head uncertainly. It looks old, but you recognize some of the songs off the list on the back, “You think she’d like ‘Heart’?”

“What, the band?” You call back in confirmation, and he hums out a breath in thought as he picks over his side of the store, “I reckon she might.”

“‘Heart’ it is, then.” You murmur to yourself, slinging your pack from your shoulders and kneeling to unzip the main pocket.

Something clatters somewhere ahead of you, and you freeze, head snapping up in the direction of another door, wooden this time. You watch and wait, unblinking, palming the hilt of your pistol. Quads, hamstrings, calves wound tight and poised to move quickly, you rise slow into a half crouch, holding your breath. Something bumps again, chittering, hard enough this time that the door shudders in the corroded frame.

“Joel-!”

The door flings open and hits the adjacent wall with a BANG!, and with a guttural, inhumane cry, something flings its body at you chest first, knocking you off your feet. Your shoulders slam into the tiled floor with a hollow thud, knocking the air from your lungs and taking your ability to scream with it. You flail, forearm pressed hard against the infected’s fleshy throat as you fight wildly while trying desperately to breath, scream, something.

A large hunk of Cordyceps encompasses a quarter of it’s face, rubbery ridges stretching several inches from the surface of its skin. One wild, bloodshot eye meets yours, pupil blown and lids split so wide with hunger you can see where the yellowed white begins to curve into its skull. Your heart thrums painfully in your throat as you realize you’ve nothing to do but stare back and pray Joel gets the hell over here before the thing tears into you. Its teeth gnash, still shrieking, mouth opening so wide you can see the mottled grey of its rotting tonsils behind flashes of bloodied incisors. Its rancid breath has your stomach churning.

A strong arm wraps around its neck from behind, and then it’s off you, and you’re staring wide eyed at the ceiling listening to the cracking of bone, a far off, dying keen. The wet squelch of brain matter and rotten cerebrospinal fluid spilling out of its skull and likely splattering over the wall is muffled but just as terribly, egregiously sickening. Its only once you’re pulled up by the shoulders and spots dance across your vision that you realize that you’ve still yet to take a proper breath.

Joel takes your face between large palms, lips moving with no sound beyond the ringing in your ears. You watch his mouth wrap around your name, then the words ‘Breathe’and ‘Please’ several times over as he pats feeling into your cheeks. Over his shoulder, the thing lays motionless, its head so mangled, its just a wet mess of reds and greys and sharp fragments of bone. Your stomach rolls. **You twist out of his hold just as it contracts and spills its contents over the grimy floor, black pressing into your peripherals until you finally shut your eyes, retching. A hand smooths over your shoulder blades while the other collects any loose strands of hair and holds them back behind your nape. **

Its easier to breathe by the time you’re done, and you can finally hear his voice again, low and soft as he soothes, “S’ alright, you’re okay.”

“Oh, fuck.” You rasp, throat burning something awful as you spit the acrid taste from your mouth

“I know, I know.” He turns you to him by your shoulders as soon as you’re done and looks you over, gaze frantically jumping between your face, neck, shoulders, arms. “Did it get you?”

You blink dumbly at him.

“What?” Your mind is still catching up to the present moment, and it takes too long for you to process what he’s asked.

“Were you bit?” His voice is high, shaking and scared, his hands on your shoulders like vice grips.

“N-No.” You force out just so he’ll calm down. You’re not actually sure yet, adrenaline still prickling in your extremities, so really, you could be. Its just that seeing him so genuinely panicked is more than a little disconcerting. His hold on your shoulders starts to ache, and you squirm, “Joel, you’re hurting me.”

He lets go like he’s been burned before gently pushing your jacket and shirt collar to your right, then left as you slide your sleeves up a little to check your wrists. No bites, no scratches. You both breathe sighs of relief.

“You get the strings?” You rasp, and he looks at you incredulously.

“You almost died n’ you’re worried ‘bout the guitar strings?” You shrug, and he breathes a laugh, beard scratching under the pads of his fingertips as he rubs at his mouth, “Christ, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, I got the damn strings.” With a quiet grunt, he rises, holds out a hand, “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Clapping your hand into his, you let him hoist you to your feet.

---

Walking, freezing, joints aching, the sun looms low in the sky, stealing away with it slowly the light of day. Joel holds up two fingers to the horizon and scowls. You sigh, trek onwards, a shiver jittering down your spine and making your teeth chatter briefly, causing you to accidentally nip the tip of your tooth paste coated finger as you attempt to rid your mouth of the remnants of your earlier close call.

“You alright?” He asks for what has to be the thirtieth time as you spit into the snow and wipe your mouth with your sleeve.

For the thirtieth time, despite feeling a little gross, you answer, “Fine.”

“Y’sure?” He rubs a gloved hand roughly along the length of your shoulders, warming the nape of your neck even through layers. “You’re shiverin’.”

You want to curl into his side. Slide under his arm, wrap yours round his back and squeeze so close you’d have to mirror his gait so you don’t trip over his ankle. You shake your head minutely. The cold is weakening your resolve.

“I’m okay. Just wanna get home.” You try to sound normal, like his touch isn’t setting you on fire.

He gives you a soft squeeze and retracts his arm. You mourn the loss swiftly and silently, “You n’ me both.”

The shadows around lengthen considerably as you keep going. Glancing up at the sky, the sun has dipped lower, turning the sky a dusted pink. You scowl at the realization that he was right. At this rate, you won’t make it back to Jackson before dark.

“We’re not makin’ good time.” He articulates your thought with a sigh, brow creased.

“We could pass over the lake?”

He hesitates, then makes a face like he’s smelled something rotten, “S’ not a good idea.”

“It’s been frozen over since November.” You argue. It’s nearly March now, but the snow is still crisp under your boots and the wind is cold enough that your cheeks and nose are numb. It’s the quickest way back, you know he knows that.

There’s a pause as he contemplates whether or not it’s worth the risk. There are about a hundred things that could go wrong, and you watch him mull over them all in the minute it takes for him to finally reply, “Fine. But if you fall in, you’re gettin’ yourself out.”

There’s no truth to it. He might scold you, but he’d do it while breathing life back into you, cursing you between each exhale. Your breath comes out in puffs of fog as you chuckle, “Deal.”

By the time you reach the crossing, the sky has taken on a lovely lavender hue that serves as a less lovely reminder that you’re quickly running out of daylight. Joel hums doubtfully as he eyes the ice, sizing up the distance between the two of you and the bank on the other side.

The lake isn’t very large to begin with, and the path crosses a narrow strip where the water tapers in like the neck of an hourglass. It’ll take you fifteen minutes or so to get all the way over to the other side. In the height of winter, you can even get the horses safely across. But while it’s still well below freezing, and the ice looks thick enough to jump on from here, it could be weaker further out.

Hands in his pockets, Joel frowns, “I really don’t know about this.”

“It’s fine.” Emboldened by thoughts of your warm bed and a steaming cup of tea waiting for you on the other side, you step onto the ice and turn back to him, “See?”

“Mm-hm.” He hums, displeased as he follows after you carefully.

Ten minutes of walking and you’re already a little ways passed the halfway mark. Joel’s had his eyes on the dark abyss beneath you nearly the entire time. “If you keep looking down like that, you might fall.”

“N’ if I don’t, both of us might fall.” His use of ‘fall’ means something different to yours. Humming, you turn your gaze forward again.

“We’re close, now. The ice is stronger closer to the edges, right?” You already know the answer. There’s no point in asking, but you do anyway just so he’ll talk.

“Mm.” He grumbles. That stubborn crease between his brows has deepened, you find when you glance sidelong at him.

“Exactly. We’re fi-.” An ear splitting crack bounces off the ice, to the trees, and back again in a terrible echo as the ice splinters beneath you. You nearly slip in your haste to stop. The both of you go stiff as statues. You’re petrified. Joel looks doubly so.

“Joel.” You whisper, as if your voice weighs enough to be the extra bit that sends you plunging into the icy depths below. The chalky cracks are in stark contrast to the dark backdrop of the water beneath. Just how deep must it be for you to be unable to make out anything below you?

You feel like you might be sick.

“Hey. Look at me.” Tears hot with panic well in your eyes as you do as he says, and the look on his face makes it worse. You know that look. He thinks might lose you, and he’s decided he won’t let it happen. His breath trembles, but his voice doesn’t waver, “S’ gonna be alright, yeah?”

You manage a nod, and only then does he look down, then left, scouring the ice and treeline barely fifteen feet away. Back to you, and you both realize he’s to far to reach you. Second time you’ve almost died today, and this time he can’t come to your rescue.

“M-Maybe I can...” You bend your knees a little as if to move and he throws a hand out.

“Don’t-!”

The ice gives, and the fear takes up so much space you’ve barely room to take a breath before you’re engulfed in painful cold. It bites at your face as you attempt to swim up. The water muffles everything but the sound of your heartbeat as you fight against the weight of your clothes and backpack. You make the mistake of opening your eyes and find yourself swimming up, up, up through far too much nothing. It hurts to kick your legs hard enough to propel yourself, and it takes what feels like forever for you to breach the surface. You take in a heaving lungful of air as Joel calls your name.

He’s on his belly, body parallel to the edge and arm outstretched, but not close enough for you to grab just yet, “Don’t pull yourself up. Just- Just get your arms on the ice n’ kick your legs a little, alright? Can you do that?”

“Uh-huh.” It comes out jittery, jaw vibrating, teeth clacking together painfully as you hook your arm clumsily up over the lip and do as he says. The lower half of your body gradually rises until you’re level with the ice, and it’s then that he beckons you closer.

“Now scooch forward.”

You kick your legs harder and carefully pull yourself toward him until your chest is out of the water, then your torso. The ice dips a bit as you reach for his outstretched hand, and as soon as he’s got yours, he pulls hard enough to get you the rest of the way out, nearly wrenching your shoulder out of the socket. The moment you’re close enough, he wraps his arms tight around you and rolls you both away from the hole in the ice.

Panting, trembling, he keeps you there in his arms moments longer than he probably should.

“Don’t you ever do shit like that again.” His voice breaks on ‘ever’. “Gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack. Too old for this shit.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ do it on pu-purpose.” You slur with lips too stiff to fit around the words right. Even your tongue feels frozen, but you think that’s probably more from the shock, “Thought y’said I’d have’ta get myself out.”

He huffs a short laugh, incredulous and utterly relieved. “Had a change a’ heart.”

“C’mon.” Carefully, he shifts onto knees before standing. He doesn’t let go of you once as he helps you to your feet, “Gotta get you warmed up ‘fore you freeze.”

He says it like there’s somewhere warm waiting for you just beyond the ice. You’re too tired to be outwardly pessimistic. “Yeah.”

You should be anxious as he shuffles the two of you to shore as quickly as is safe. When you make it there, he stops you only to peel off your mitts and scarf before ushering you forward. It’s freezing, you’re soaked. It’s a recipe for a very miserable death, you think dismally. But you trust Joel, and the tight grip he has on you makes you relax, even when you’re toeing a very fine line between life and death. You know he won’t give up on you easily. If you started spontaneously disintegrating tomorrow, he’d carve out pieces of himself just to keep you whole. There is no way in hell he’ll let a little cold take you from him.

“Y’see that?” You lift your head sluggishly to see a small opening tucked into the drop off of a very large, rocky hill. “Just gotta make it there, alright?”

You try for an ‘okay’ but all that comes out is a small hum as you slump further against him. Maybe you’ve relaxed too much, “M’ tired.”

“I know, darlin’, I know.” The pet name sparks something in you, and you try to foster it, let it liven you up a little. Darlin’ Darlin’ Darlin’ like a mantra over and over in your head. He squeezes your arm roughly, and you peel your eyes open as he pleads, “Just a little further n’ you can sit down, okay? Promise.”

Sit down, not sleep. You know you can’t sleep until you’re not at risk of freezing to death anymore. By the time you reach your destination, you can barely feel your fingers and toes.

Joel has to duck to get the two of you out of the cold and into the cave, but he manages. It’s warmer in here, you think. Although maybe its not warmth, but just the absence of the wind nipping at your skin. You’re a little alarmed that you can’t tell the difference.

Sliding down the wall to sit clumsily, you watch him as he slings both his and your packs from his shoulders. You vaguely wonder when he’d managed to take yours. The zipper clinks sharply as he sets it down and reminds you suddenly.

“The CD.”

He frowns, “Huh?”

“Ellie’s birthday gift.” You clarify through the haze rolling over your brain. “The ‘Heart’ CD. I left it.”

He blows a short huff out his nose as he reaches into his back pocket, sliding said object from the denim and giving it a waggle.

“Oh.”

Breathing a very small laugh, he shakes his head, “You’re welcome.”

Theres a short lull, although it feels like longer. He looks you over, jaw working before, “You’re gonna have to strip.”

You blink owlishly, “Huh?”

Cheeks and neck flushing a lovely rose, he clears his throat, “Your clothes are soaked. You’ll freeze if you keep ‘em on.”

“Oh.” That checks. You’re sure your face would be on fire if your blood wasn’t slush in your veins, “Right.”

Tentatively, you attempt to peel your jacket off while he unrolls his sleeping bag, but your arms won’t cooperate with you. They’re slow and hard to maneuver. It feels more like operating two arcade crane machines simultaneously, and you huff after failing to get the cuff of your sleeve unstuck from your wrist.

“Here.” He sighs, kneeling in front of you to tug it the rest of the way off and toss it aside. It’s stiff as it lands, mostly frozen. When he looks back at you, the corners of his mouth twist down, and he takes one of your cheeks in a big, calloused hand, thumbing under your eye. You were right. It does encompass nearly the entire side of your face.

“What?” You ask weakly, head lolling until the full weight of it rests in his palm.

“Nothin’.” He replies quietly, shaking his head. You watch his gaze dip to the hem of you shirt before it meets yours again, wary, “Can I... You want help?”

All you can do is nod. It’ll be quicker – safer – if he does it for you, you justify, as he carefully slips his fingers just under the hem and lifts. His knuckles feel like brands where they brush over your ribs, and you jolt reflexively.

He pulls it over your head and off your arms, “You alright?”

“F-Fine.” Just being undressed by the man you think you’re in love with. No big deal.

He gets off your boots next. Wetting his chapped lips briefly, his fingers twitch as he glances down at your jeans, “These too?”

It takes a second for you to realize he’s not asking if you want them off, but rather if you want help getting them off. You swallow, then through chattering teeth, “Uh-huh.”

Wordlessly, he undoes the button, then the zipper without dawdling, strictly business. You plant your palms and use what little strength you have left to lift your butt from the floor so he has room to wiggle them down your thighs. They slip over your calves and past your ankles with ease, taking your socks with them.

“You, uh...” Again, he clears his throat. “You can get in the sleeping bag ‘fore you take off the rest.”

Drawing your knees in makes your bones ache, and you list to one side when you attempt to shift your weight forward onto your feet. He catches you roughly by the shoulders and soothes, “Easy. C’mere.”

He helps you over and into the sleeping bag, zipping you up. It takes effort, but you manage to unhook your bra, throwing it near your other clothes weakly. Joel’s got a gloomy look on his face as he scrubs a large hand over the length of your bicep. The warmth from the friction seeps through the fabric and into your skin, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

“You’re wet too.” He looks down at himself at your observation. The front of his clothes are indeed wet. The fact that he’s not near freezing is a miracle.

He hums, hand still heavy on your arm, “Only got one sleepin’ bag.”

“Body heat. S’ better for kee-keepin’ warm anyway, right?” A strange look crosses his face, then, and you feel a little silly for suggesting it. “Only if you want.”

Only if he’s comfortable.

Tentatively, he asks, “You alright with that?’

“Mm-hm.” It sounds too eager. You’re too tired to care.

He hesitates a moment, before nodding, “Alright.”

You mourn the loss of his touch briefly as he stands, moving your packs closer before sliding off his jacket. He lifts his shirt just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the soft slope of his abdomen before seemingly remembering himself.

“Don’t look.” He mumbles, suddenly shy. You do as he says, listening to the shucking of fabric, the clinking of his belt buckle, the zipper of his jeans.

The soft sound of socked feet padding quickly over stone as he rushes to escape the cold. He hisses as he slots himself in behind you.

“Christ, woman, you’re like ice.” His skin is blessedly warm as his torso presses hot against your back.

“Think I don’t know that?” You quip with no malice, body wracked with shivers that aren’t entirely to blame on the cold anymore.

Puffs of his breath fan over your ear as he chuckles, “Wasn’t thinkin’ when I said it. Sorry.”

“S’ okay.” You lift your head so he has space to stretch out his arm, and the curve of your cheek bone fits snuggly into the crook of his elbow. You find his bicep makes a very comfortable pillow, “Your arm’s gonna fall asleep.”

“You comfortable?” He asks, and you nod, “Then I don’t much care.”

You pray he can’t feel your heart palpitating in your chest as you whisper, “Okay.”

The heat radiating off of him could rival a space heater cranked up to the highest setting. It’s doing wonders, thawing your own body and slowly bringing your temperature back up to something more human, less breathing corpse. He’s stiff as a board, though. The arm that isn’t under your head must be tucked tight against his side, and his bare legs are as far from yours as he can get them in the too-small sleeping bag. You want him and his warmth closer.

“You can touch me, Joel.” He stills, and it occurs to you how that must have sounded. “I mean, you’re not going to make me uncomfortable. You can relax.”

“Alright.” His voice is a low rumble in your ear as his hand just barely creeps over your bare waist. He’d be leaving goosebump in his wake if they weren’t already there. “This okay?”

It takes a moment to find your voice.

“Yeah.” It feels funny in your throat. You swallow in an attempt to fix it, “S’ good.”

You feel him finally relax, and try not to jump when he snakes his arm – his very naked arm – around your front, forearm flush against the soft flesh of your stomach and knuckles a little more than a hairs width from the underside of your breast. If you tilted your head just a bit and strained your eyes all the way to the side, you think you could catch a glimpse of his collarbone. You’re too cozy in his hold to move.

“Feelin’ any warmer?” Eyelids fluttering, you hum contentedly. The tip of his nose smushes firm into your shoulder as he murmurs, “Can’t fall asleep yet.”

“Please?” It must come out strangely by the way his breath hitches, “M’ warm enough. Swear.”

“That’s a load a bull if I ever heard it.” He snorts. The vibrations of his voice leave your skin humming, and it coaxes you further into him, “You’re lukewarm at best.”

“Word’s got ‘warm’ in it, doesn’t it?”

He tuts at you. You can hear his smile as he grumbles, “Don’t get smart with me.”

“You love it.”

He chuckles in strange way, “I do.”

Silence. Laying in his arms comes more naturally to you than it probably should. Especially given the fact that the two of you are mostly naked. And warm. So, so warm. Fatigue weighs down your eyelids. You’ve done so much today, you deserve the rest, it whispers.

“You fallin’ asleep over there?”

“Mm-mm.” You grumble, peeling your eyes wide open for a second to wake yourself some before they slide halfway shut again of their own accord, “Some old man keeps yapping in my ear every time I drift off.”

“You watch your mouth.” He growls, joking. Something stirs in your belly. You curse yourself for being too tired and too weak to do anything about it.

You settle for teasing instead. “Or what?”

He scoffs, “Frozen half to death, but still got ‘nough brains to give me lip, huh?”

“Mm-hm.” More silence. The sound of his breathing starts to lull you away into something too far from consciousness, and you drag yourself from it woefully, “F’ you want me to stay awake, you’re gonna have to talk my ear off, cowboy.”

“‘Bout what?”

“Anything.” Everything. Even if you weren’t trying to stay awake for the sake of staying alive, you’d let him ramble about whatever he wanted as long as he’d let you listen.

“Alright.”

He talks about the things he has to do when you get back to Jackson. Apparently, his work room needs a good tidying. When that gets too dull, he tells you about the movie he and Ellie watched last week for movie night. He asks obvious questions throughout explanations to keep you awake. ‘The guy working with the small green... thing, what was his name again? Right, now where was I?’ It feels like a good few hours before he lets you start to drift off. You fall asleep to the sound of his voice, the feel of his warm body tucked in close to your back, and dream of deep space and empires beyond your comprehension.

---

By the time you wake, sunlight is pouring in through the mouth of the cave, and the snow just beyond burns a horizon into your vision when you blink your eyes open. You stretch your legs out a little only to find them tangled between Joel’s. The movement must wake him because he takes a slow, sleepy breath, and squeezes closer.

“Joel?” You breathe. He startles.

“Wh-?” His head lifts and he tightens his hold on you for a split second, head on a swivel. When he realizes there’s no threat, he sighs heavily. You shudder when his arm slides over your bare stomach as he moves to scrub a hand over his face, “Christ.”

“Sorry.”

“S’ fine. My fault for fallin’ asleep.” He drawls, voice gravelly. You shift, and he scoots back just enough to let you turn over, “Time is it?”

“Definitely past dawn.” His eyes dart behind you, and he scowls at the sun. Yours follow the lean tendon in is neck as he lets his head fall back, and you suppress the urge to trace the length of it with your finger.

He curses, and it occurs to you that he hasn’t made much of an effort to disentangle himself from you. Now of sounder mind and warmer body, you notice the hair of his legs prickling against yours. You notice your bare chest pressed close to his, the steady rise and falls of them both as your breaths sync. Eyes trail up his collar, his neck, his face. Russet eyes bore into yours, and your breath hitches. They flick down to your lips. The little space left between you is charged; static electricity that spiders over your skin and lifts the hair on your arms.

“You, uh,” His hand skims over your skin once more; gentle, tentatively affectionate, as if he’s afraid to touch you now that you aren’t in need of his warmth. It settles into the curve of your waist like it’s meant to be there. He’s still staring at your lips. “You feelin’ any better?”

“Yeah.” You breathe. He looks back up at you, then, “Much.”

“Good.” He murmurs just as soft. His eyes dip back down to your lips.

You must be dreaming. Or dead. Or some other state of being beyond reality. Because there is no way he’s leaning in. There’s no way the tip of his nose is brushing yours. There’s no way he’s close enough that you can feel each one of his exhales fanning over your mouth.

“Joel...” It comes out a sigh, barely audible. You’re not even sure you’ve actually said anything aloud until he responds.

“Tell me to stop.” The words leave his lips in a low whisper and settle heavy on yours. You hold your breath as his hand sweeps over your ribs, the length of your collar. It envelops the entire side and back of your neck, igniting your skin as he draws a feather-like line over the edge of your jaw, “Tell me to stop, n’ I will.”

Any minute now, your heart is going to burst through your ribcage. You’re sure of it. Mind blank, you can’t think of anything to say. But you don’t want him to stop. You’ll never want him to stop. A shuddered breath, and you timidly press your the tip of your nose into the apple of his cheek, lips barely a hairs width from his. He turns his face just so, and you almost jump when his cupid’s bow just barely grazes your upper lip.

Your name sounds from somewhere far away, followed by his. The two of you startle, and in an instant, the moment is gone.

“Goddamn it, Tommy.” He huffs under his breath, rolling out of your space as much as he’s able within the confines of the sleeping bag. As glad as you are that someone’s found you, the man’s timing could not be any fucking worse.

“We best get dressed.”

“Yeah.” Your cheeks warm as he begins shimmying out from next to you, gaze catching on his broad chest, the soft muscle of his stomach, the hair trailing from his abdomen down somewhere lower, beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You close your eyes before you can see anything more.

With him gone, you’re cold again. The frigid air nips at your bare chest, and you snuggle deeper into the sleeping bag until he’s done dressing. His clothes appear to be dry and fit to wear again. Yours are a different story, frozen solid in the shapes they landed in when you tossed them into a pile last night.

“Here.” Something soft plops down in front of your face, and when you open your eyes, there’s a stack of messily folded clothes on the stone floor with a sheepish looking Joel bent over his backpack a little ways away, “You can borrow those.”

Something warm and syrupy fills your chest and squishes between your ribs as you murmur, “Thanks.”

Keeping his gaze on the floor, he only hums in response. You take that as your cue to slide yourself out of the warmth of the sleeping bag. The only thing of yours that doesn’t need to be thawed is your bra, though it’s still cold against your skin as you slide your arms through the straps. Joel’s long sleeve is next. It’s soft, and smells like cedar and something uniquely him. You resist the urge to bury your nose in the fabric, too afraid he’ll decide to look up and catch you doing it.

When you’re done, you make your way to him and catch the quick once over he gives you.

“Like what you see?” You grin. He rolls his eyes.

He jerks his nose in the direction of your belongings, grumbling, “Get your stuff.”

You oblige, slinging your pack over your shoulders and stepping out into the sun after him. It blinds you, and the backs of your eyes ache as you blink to adjust them to the light. Luckily, the weather is significantly better today. No unexpected squalls, blue skies, and just a little warmer than yesterday.

“Tommy?” Joel suddenly calls out into the woods, his volume startling you bad. He grimaces, looking disproportionately apologetic, “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” You scoff, grinning playfully and shaking your head, “Nuh-uh, that was totally unforgivable.” You bump his shoulder with yours, “You’re really gonna have to make up for that.”

A dampened smile turns the corners of his mouth up as he bumps you back lightly, breathing a laugh, “Not a chance.”

“Joel?” Tommy calls back, closer than before. “This way!”

He’s brought a search party. A fair sized one, judging by how many voices respond at varying distances. It’s not long until you spot two people on horseback through the trees, one with familiar curls and a newer face with sandy blonde hair.

“Joel!” Tommy sounds utterly relieved as he slides off his gelding and engulfs him in a hug, clapping him over the shoulders before pushing him back, stern, “What the hell happened? We all thought you’d gotten yourselves killed!”

“One of us almost did.” Joel mutters, shooting a look at you. “Twice.”

Tommy gawps, looks like he’s about to ask before sighing in resignation. “You can tell me about it on the way home. Ellie’s been losin’ her mind since last night. Girl hasn’t slept a wink. Had to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t take off to find y’all by herself in the dark.”

Joel tuts and shakes his head, scrubbing a hand over his face, “You find our horses?”

“Yeah, Maria and Bev found ‘em early this mornin’.” He leads the two of you back towards his horse. “You’ll have ‘ta ride back with us.”

“I’ll ride with Jamie.” Jamie’s sort of new to Jackson, newer to you considering you’ve only been there about a year and he’s got a quarter more on you. He’s friendly, you like him. You have a feeling Joel holds a very different sentiment as he glowers, displeased as the man helps you up.

“Hold on tight.” He grins. Joel looks about one more dazzling smile from murdering him in cold blood.

He’s quiet the whole ride back, broody with his face set in a scowl. Tommy makes conversation here and there, asks what happened again and nearly breaks his neck when he whips his head to look at you in shock. You get similar reactions when you make it back to Jackson and explain.

“Joel!” Ellie flings herself at him and nearly bowls him over in her rush to hug him. You’re next, though with noticeably less force. You must still look a little rough, “What the hell happened?”

“We were passin’ over the lake n’ she fell through the ice.” He omits the part before that where you’d nearly gotten your face eaten by an infected, and for that, you’re thankful.

She pales, looking at you like you’ve grown an extra head, “You what?!”

“I’m fine.” You rush to reassure, glaring at Joel where he’s slipping the reigns off Tommy’s horse out of the corner of your eye, “It’s nothing to worry about now.”

“Like hell it ain’t.” He grumbles under his breath as he carefully slips the bit from the horse’s mouth and gives him a pat on the cheek, muttering a clipped ‘hey’ when you thwack his shoulder as hard as you’re willing. He gives Ellie a short, well meaning lecture that’s met with a very prompt dismissal consisting of some very colourful language as you move to help Jamie with his mare. Maria stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“Jamie’s got it, you go home. I don’t want to see you working for the next couple of days, alright?”

“But-?”

She cuts you off with a firm shake of her head. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“Alright.” You sigh, handing Jamie the reigns. As you’re leaving, you barely catch Joel whisper a ‘thank you’ to her and whip around to glower at him. “You’re responsible for my involuntary sick leave?”

“Necessary sick leave. And no, I’m not. You’re just known to be lackin’ in the self preservation department, so we gotta have some for you.” He teases, bumping your shoulder a little in a way you think is supposed to be playful. “C’mon. I’m walkin’ you home.”

“Yeah? Finally done with your brooding?”

He clicks his teeth, “M’ not brooding.”

“Not now, but you were.”

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Quit it.” He breathes a laugh, shaking his head. You grin, victorious.

“I’m serious, you scowled the whole way back. Between the cold and the time it took to get here, I was a little worried your face would get stuck like that. I’d never get to see that charming smile again.”

He rolls his eyes. “How would you ever survive?”

You both chuckle, before falling into comfortable silence. You pass house after house, before taking a right onto your street. Through their front window, you can see a couple you’ve yet to meet properly stands in their living room, swaying in an embrace, gazing at each other with an appreciation you only come to grasp when you’ve nearly lost someone. The man slides a hand from her waist to her cheek, thumbing the underside of her eye, and you’re reminded of the feel of Joel’s calloused palm holding your frigid cheek.

You frown, pulling your prying eyes from the sweet scene as you near your own home, “Hey, why’d you... hold my face for a second out there?”

He flushes, clears his throat with a frown, “Your pupils were so big, could barely see any colour.”

As you reach your porch, he looks deep in thought and- Worried? Rattled, maybe. Moreso as he softly admits, “You scared the hell outta me, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.” In a rare act of bravery, you take his warm hand and squeeze, gazing at him earnestly, “I’m really sorry.”

He visibly softens, the perpetual wrinkle in his brow smoothing into something warmer, a little hesitant, dare you say even timid. You watch his gaze flick over your face before he squeezes back cautiously, “S’alright. Was my fault. Knew we shouldn’t a’ crossed that way this time a’ year.”

“Don’t blame yourself. I suggested it, it was my fault, too.” You reply, firm but gentle.

He looks down with a hum, scuffing the toe of a heavy boot over the concrete path that leads to your house. There’s a small silence, and you’re trying to find the words to assure him you were both idiots for trying to pass over that damn lake when he pipes up again.

“I meant it, before,” He smiles cautiously, unsure of himself, “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.”

You laugh, glad the mood has shifted to something lighter, still holding his hand as you shake your head, “I meant it too! I didn’t do it on purpose.”

He chuckles, looking down to your linked hands. You watch his expression carefully, and something bittersweet twists his lips when he gives yours one last squeeze before pulling away.

“See you ‘round, yeah?” Your heart sinks to your stomach and hollows it out, making room for a strange disappointment. Something that feels a little like grief as you watch what could have been as it slips through your fingers and takes half a step back from your porch.

“Yeah.” It soughs out on a breath that leaves your lungs too quick, and you take another, controlled and slow. You nod, smile tight lipped, “See you around, Joel.”

You turn, make it up the wooden steps of your porch and through the threshold of your door. It shuts, and you just stand there, snow melting off of your boots and coat and soaking into the door mat below. It feels wrong, leaving whatever happened between you undiscussed, and the hollow feeling pulses achingly in your throat. There’s something there, something palpable. Something that could be real, if only you would reach for it. You wish he would have reached for it. You wish you would reach for it now. But it’s impulsive. It’s reckless. He knows that, that’s why he left it alone. It needs more thought, you rationalize.

You turn on your heel and reach for the door handle. He’s already standing there with a hand raised to knock when it opens, looking as startled as you are.

“Listen, I-.” He clears his throat, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. It’s endearing to see him so bashful, “What happened out there... I couldn’t not say somethin’.”

There’s too much air in your chest. Your vocal cords feel more like wind chimes – unpredictable, and at the mercy of something more so. You don’t trust your breath to sway them the way you want them to.

“Yeah?” You try anyway. It drifts out soft and hangs in the air.

“Yeah.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glances over your shoulder with a sniff, then chuckles nervously, “Hadn’t actually thought about what that somethin’ would be ‘fore I did this.”

You chuckle with him; startled, shy.

“Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?” He asks like it’s easy, but the colour in his cheeks give him away. They’re a bit too pink for it to be just a cold flush.

Your stomach does a strange flip. You’ve waited months for him to ask, too afraid to ask yourself without knowing what his answer might be. You dig your thumbnail into the side of your index finger and rejoice at the pinch. He’s real, and he’s really asking.

The sound you make is halfway between a laugh and a sigh, “This is a little backwards, isn’t it?”

He frowns. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean, usually you take a lady out to eat before you sleep with her.” You simper, your teasing tentative. He stares at you, stunned, for a long, unbelievably nerve wracking moment.

“I take it back. I’ll eat by myself.” He laughs, shaking his head. He stays standing on your porch.

“Wha-,” You gape, laughing as you thwack his arm, “Hey, you already offered, you can’t take it back now!”

He smiles so terribly, wonderfully soft. “So I take it you do, then?”

God, it has to be illegal to look at someone like that, you think. It’s got to be some sort of health hazard, the way you feel as though you might just go into cardiac arrest right here on your porch. You smile, giddy and trying your damndest to smother it into something just a little less eager, “I’d love to have dinner with you, Joel.”

“How ‘bout tomorrow night? My place?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help the grin that sneaks up on you, “Yeah, that’d be good.”

He smiles back, soft and warm in a way you have a feeling is reserved for you, “Pick you up a six.”

“You’re right across the street, Joel.” You laugh, gesturing to the house maybe fifty paces from yours if you took long enough strides.

He chuckles along with you, “So?”

“So, I could just come over.”

“You could.” He shrugs a shoulder, grinning something that makes him look years younger; the ghost of a cheeky, twenty-something year old buried under as many years and then some, breathing his first breath in decades with heartbeat restored, “But what kind a’ gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you there?”

“Alright.” You smile soft, committing his expression to memory. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Countin’ the minutes.” He takes your hand again and steps in close, leaning in to press his warm lips to the apple of your cheek, beard prickling ticklishly. Good god, you can’t feel your legs. Your is heart bouncing between your ribs so quick its making you a little lightheaded. You wonder if he’s grinning because he could feel the heat rising off your skin. He squeezes your tingling fingers and lets his slide from them slow like he’s loathe to leave. “See you ‘round.”

“See you around, Joel.”