#a lot of this I don't think is going to come up

[docrobinavitch]

i'm your summer girl

dr. robby x f!reader masterlist content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, swearing, alcohol, age gap, established mohabbot, other character cameos, robby has tattoos based on this quote from noah, um idk u guys this one is pretty light for once nothing too scary i don't think!! summer romance baby words: 18.6K synopsis: (based on these two prompts: one, two) reader and samira have been best friends since they did their undergrad together nearly ten years ago and have been in constant contact since graduation. which is why you already knew plenty about her grumpy senior attending even before you met him. but you're surprised to find when you do actually meet him that he's a lot softer than anyone has given him credit for. and hotter. so when samira invites you to a week long getaway to the poconos a year later, you can't stop yourself from asking if robby will be there. little do you know, robby's asked jack the same question about you. a/n: thank you to @dancingtruffle for the prompt! and another thank you to @gemmahale (ah sry, tag isn't working!) for suggesting the poconos as our vacation spot <3. is it realistic that this many doctors can get this amount of time off at the same time? probably not but we are doing it anyway because it’s Fun. similarly, do not ask me what year it is that's literally none of my business. alright um anyway... i am asking the age old question... is this anything?? i hope u like it but if u hate it don't tell me i am rejection sensitive ok bye <3 syd

Robby still remembered the smell of your cherry perfume, the way it settled heavy in his nose with the humid August air. Whenever he was in a crowded place afterwards, he thought he’d catch a whiff and his head would follow after, but it was never you.

It was pathetic, really, the way he still thought about you when nothing special had even happened that night. Just a single conversation over beer on a porch swing before it got to be too much. Before he started noticing how your tongue darted out between your lips when you were thinking or the way you avoided eye contact when you were embarrassed. And noticing too many of these things was going to get him in a lot of fucking trouble.

Which was why he disengaged from the conversation and went home without asking for your number. There were a few moments he thought about asking Samira for it, but he knew he’d never hear the end of that. Then, he thought about asking Jack to ask Samira and by the time that thought popped into his head he realized he was being insane.

You had been sitting on the porch swing by yourself, beer in hand and the blue glow of your phone lighting up your face. He had told himself he would only come for a single beer, mostly because Jack had asked him to.

Samira was having—not a party, exactly—but she had invited anyone who was available for a few drinks and pizza at the house she was renting. He guessed it was more of a way for her to spend time with Jack without having to ask him directly. They were both still dancing around whatever thing was going on between them, pretending it was more casual than it was.

And you were sitting alone on the porch swing, the only face Robby didn’t recognize from the Pitt. Thinking maybe you were a new hire he had missed, he made his way over to you, “This seat taken?” He asked, gesturing to the empty spot on the swing next to you.

Slowly, you raised your eyes from your phone to look up at him, and then you peered around him, as if you were wondering if it were possible he was speaking to someone else.

Finally, you shrugged, “Nope.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, “I don’t want to bother you, I can sit somewhere else if you want to be alone—“

“No, sorry—“ You sighed and shook your head, “Sit, please. I should really stop being an unapproachable loner.”

He huffed a laugh as he sat down, “This is going to sound terrible, probably, but, uh… Are you… Did you start recently? At the Pitt? I don’t recognize you, so—“

“Oh—No,” You laughed, “No, I don’t work at the hospital. Samira and I did our undergrad together, we used to be roommates. I’m just visiting.”

“Ah,” He said and hung his head, “Well, that would explain it. Where are you visiting from?”

“Los Angeles.”

He let out a low whistle, “You from there?”

“Born and raised.”

“And you went to undergrad here?”

You nodded, “Yeah,” You looked up at the moon, “I miss the east coast.”

“Why’d you go back to California?”

You sighed, “Um, things just didn’t pan out here. The pandemic. Ran out of money. Had to go back to live with my parents.”

He nodded, “I’m sure you’ll end up back here. If it’s what you really want.”

He felt your eyes on him, the way they paved a path down his face to his hands, that were lazily tearing at the label on his beer bottle, “You must be Robby.”

He raised his eyebrows as he looked back up at you, “How’d you figure that out?”

You gave him a lopsided smirk and took a sip from your beer, “Samira talks about you a lot. It’s not hard to put the pieces together.”

He looked back down at his beer bottle. Fighting the disappointment that coursed through him, he rubbed at his beard, “Well, I imagine your perception of me isn’t all that favorable, then.”

You hummed, “She really looks up to you, you know?” You leaned a bit closer to him, close enough that he could smell the beer on your breath as it tangled with your cherry perfume in a way that made him dizzy. You whispered conspiratorily, “But as her friend, you think you could ease up on her?”

He turned his head to look at you and found that you looked almost surprised at how close your faces were, although it was you that had closed the distance. You bit your lip and in the moonlight he saw the way your pupils dilated as you looked at him. And then quickly, your eyes darted away from his and he knew he was fucked.

He cleared his throat, “I’m hard on her because she’s so good. I want her to be the best.”

“You ever hear of this thing called positive reinforcement?” 

He chuckled, “Yeah, okay, if it’s that important to you, I’ll try to be nicer to her.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Damn, it was that easy?” You shook your head, “She didn’t say you were such a softie.”

Robby sighed, “I’m not, normally.” He turned his head to look at you, “You must bring it out of me.”

You blinked a few times and then quickly broke eye contact, looking down at your hands. The movement got him a whiff of your shampoo and fuck if he wasn’t like a moth to a goddamn flame. It took all of his self control not to lean into you, not to push his knee against yours, just to see what you would do. 

But you were Samira’s friend. And you were far, far, too young for him. It would create mess and he hated mess. So he cleared his throat and stood, “Thank you for the conversation, I should be going.”

You opened your mouth as if to say something else, but he was already gone, disappeared into the house, leaving you dumbfounded.

“‘Thank you for the conversation…?’” You repeated and then laughed to yourself.

Later that night as you were relaying the interaction to Samira, she informed you that he had been flirting.

You raised your eyebrows and scoffed, “Right, yeah. He didn’t even ask for my name.”

Jack came up behind Samira and twined an arm around her waist and you watched as she flushed. It was sweet, seeing her like this. In the ten years you had been friends, you had never seen a man so casually fluster her.

“He was flirting.” Jack confirmed as he scooped Cheez Itz out of the plastic bowl between you, “He’s just a little rusty.”

Samira shrugged, “Doesn’t matter, you’re going back to LA soon anyway. But, it would have been nice to get Robby laid.” She sighed mournfully, “I bet he’s much nicer after a good fuck.”

Jack began to choke on a Cheez It and you chuckled as Samira banged on his back until it came back up, “Please… don’t talk about him like that in front of me, alright?” He said, rubbing at his throat.

Samira gave him a half hearted apology and then turned back to you, smirking once he had left, “He’s not really your type anyway, is he?”

He wasn’t. Not the usual guy you went for. You were into older, but usually not that much older. You were also into unstable and mean and heavily tattooed, which Robby appeared to be none of the above. But there had been a moment, fleeting, where you had wanted to kiss him. Where you had thought he wanted to kiss you. 

“Nope,” You sighed, “Not my type.”

Samira scrutinized you for a few moments and then sighed, “A shame. So I can’t give him your number if he asks?”

You laughed, “He won’t ask, but sure, you can give it to him.”

You were right. He didn’t ask. But not because he didn’t want to, because he didn’t think he should. He did, at least, manage to get your name from Samira. It ran laps around his brain for weeks after, and then it slowed, only reappearing every so often. And even though he knew you had gone back to LA, he found himself looking for you occasionally throughout the next year.

Until Jack told him you were back in Pittsburgh as a way to convince him to go to the Poconos getaway Samira was planning.

“She’s going?” Robby asked, eyebrows raised. They were on the roof, genuinely just getting some air. Robby hadn’t found Jack on the wrong side of the railing since he had started seeing Samira. The shifts were still hard, but he had someone to go home to after. And that seemed to make the difference.

Jack turned to him and smirked, “Oh, so now you wanna come, huh?”

Robby shook his head, “I didn’t say that.”

Almost all of his residents and Jack were going to the Poconos in August at Mohan’s invitation and Robby felt he had no business there. Jack was only going because of Samira. What excuse did he have? He would just make them all uncomfortable by being there. Who wanted their boss on their vacation?

“Samira said she asked if you were coming.”

Robby turned his head at that and then scoffed, “Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not.” Jack said, but had a self satisfied smirk on his face, “Honest to God.”

“And she lives here now.”

Jack nodded, “Started a new job here a month ago.”

Robby leaned over the railing on his forearms. He still wondered about you, still thought about whatever magnetism that existed between you that night. If it was just alcohol induced or if it really was something. And yes, you were way too fucking young for him. But Samira and Jack seemed to be happy. Maybe… Maybe he could at least try. You had asked after him, that had to mean something. That you still thought of him, too. 

And so that was how Robby ended up pulling into the driveway of the house on the edge of the lake a few weeks later.

After Samira had informed him of what room was his and he had set all his things down, he followed her and Jack out to the patio overlooking the lake, “Is she here yet?”

Samira smirked and looked down at her phone, “Should be pulling up any minute according to her location.” Just then, the distant roar of a car in distress grew louder and louder and Samira’s grin widened, “Yeah, that’s her.”

Robby raised his eyebrows, “Does she drive a fucking Ferrari?”

Samira frowned, “I don’t know what that means to you, but no, she drives a Yaris.”

He laughed, “A Yaris? Making all that racket? Jesus Christ.” And with that, he was heading to the driveway.

Sure enough, a bright red, ancient looking Yaris was idling in the driveway. You pushed your sunglasses onto the top of your head as you turned your car off and then looked up to see Robby standing a few feet away from your car. Frowning, you opened the door and stepped out, “...Hi.”

“Are you aware that your car sounds like the engine is about to explode?”

Your frown deepened, “I don’t know, sounds fine to me.” 

Robby circled your car, looking for other sources of the noise, until he got to the back of your car. Bending down, he saw your muffler was badly corroded, and was that… Chicken wire securing it to your car? He laughed softly to himself and stood again, “Do you know your muffler’s completely rusted out?”

You stared at him for a moment, pulling your bags out of the backseat of the car, “Uhh, no? Is that bad?”

He scratched the back of his head, “Someone wrapped some wire around it to try to keep it on, but it mostly fell off.”

“Oh,” You said slowly, “Yeah, I think my roommate did that for me.”

“You think?” Finally, he approached you to help with your bags, slinging one of your duffels over his shoulder.

You shrugged, “I don’t know, I know he said something was wrong with the car and that he fixed it temporarily. I can’t afford a mechanic right now. It’s okay to drive, though?”

“Well, yes.” They began walking towards the house, “It’ll just be… loud.”

“Okay,” You smiled at him, “I can handle loud.” 

He held the door of the house open awkwardly with one arm, which you ducked under to get in.

“I could, um,” He sighed, “I could fix it for you. Order you a new muffler and attach it when we’re back in Pittsburgh.”

“Oh, I—That’s really nice, but I couldn’t pay you—“

“For free, I meant.”

You paused in the entryway and took off your backpack, “Why would you do that?”

He shrugged and lowered your duffel to the floor, “Why not?”

You stared at him a moment longer, perplexed, before you turned to see Samira in the entryway, smirking.

Within seconds, you were both squealing and your arms were wrapped tightly around each other, “This place is insane,” You said to her, “How did you afford this?”

Samira opened and closed her mouth and then blushed, “Um… Jack and Robby split it, actually.”

When you spun to look at Robby, he smiled in confirmation, a hand on the back of his neck, “Oh. Cool. Thanks.” You turned back to Samira, “Where should I put my things…?”

“Yeah, about that, so… I ran into Trevor last week…”

You tilted your head to the side in question. Trevor, your ex roommate from when you and Samira were in undergrad, Trevor? Your years-long situationship, Trevor? The same Trevor whom you had ghosted once you moved back to LA?

“And…” You could read the fear on Samira’s face as she continued, “Jack may have, not knowing the situation, invited Trevor to come?”

“Mira,” You whined, “Seriously?”

“I know, I know,” She said quickly, “And unfortunately, Jack also invited him without considering that we were already out of rooms… So…”

She allowed you to fill in the blanks and your brain was beginning to short circuit, “Okay,” You laughed, “This is a joke, right? Are you saying I’m sharing a bed with him?”

“No, no. Separate beds, same room.”

You covered your face with your hands, “I think…” You sighed, “I think I might just drive home.”

“What? No, come on. It’ll be fine, I thought you and Trevor were good? You don’t even have to be in the room that much, just to sleep–”

“You could stay in my room.” You both started at Robby’s voice behind you, having forgotten he was still there. He cleared his throat, “I could stay in the room with… Trevor, is it?”

You sighed, “That’s… sweet of you, but Trevor snores. And besides, you paid for this place, I’m not going to kick you out of your own room–”

“Really, I don’t mind. Besides, it’ll be dark soon anyway and it’s a long drive back to Pittsburgh.”

He was looking at you almost a little desperately and you started to wonder if the only reason he had come in the first place was to see you. But that was insane, right? You didn’t even know each other.

And yeah, maybe the only reason you had come was because Samira assured you Robby would be here. Maybe that one interaction had played on a loop in your mind for the whole year until you started wondering if he had really looked at you with lust and awe that night or if it was just a trick of the light.

You bit your lip and then turned back to Samira, “I’m mad at you.” You said as you bent to pick up your backpack.

“But… You’re staying?”

Samira knew you could never stay mad at her. And she had never been able to stay mad at you, either. The few times you had had disagreements you had always been able to resolve them peacefully. It was part of the reason you adored being her friend, there was never any drama and always a shoulder to cry on if you needed it.

So you bit your lip and gave her a knowing look, “Yes, under duress.”

Robby slung your duffel back over his shoulder, “C’mon, I’ll show you the room.”

You trailed after him and up the stairs, still a bit apprehensive about this whole set up. He led you to a room with a king sized bed. The room was large with big windows on one wall and a long, brown leather couch that took up almost the entire wall opposite the bed. 

You stood in the threshold of the door, stunned, but Robby didn’t seem to notice. He placed your duffel on the floor and moved his bags from where he had put them on the bed.

“There’s an en suite bathroom over there,” He gestured to the door next to the couch, “So you don’t need to share with anyone.” 

“Robby,” You said breathlessly and then started shaking your head, “This is too much. You paid for this and it’s your vacation too, you shouldn’t have to share a room with Trevor—“

“What’s your deal with this guy? Trevor?”

You smirked and tilted your head a bit. Was that jealousy? “I don’t know if that’s your business.”

He shrugged, “Well, I just thought, since you’re feeling so guilty about taking my room this could be my payment.” He said lightly, the corners of his lips beginning to tug up into a grin.

“Ah,” You laughed, “Well, if you must know, he was mine and Samira’s roommate for about three years and then we slept together on and off for a few years afterward. Until I moved back to Los Angeles.”

He stared at you for a few moments, “Okay, so you occasionally slept together, but he’s not an ex boyfriend or anything?”

You shook your head, “Nope. But not for lack of trying on his end.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Oh? So you were the heartbreaker then?”

You smirked, “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m sure he was just fine.”

“Why wasn’t he good enough for you?” Oh, so it was jealousy.

Good. You liked playing. Maybe this vacation wouldn’t be a total wash. “You worried you might make the same mistakes?”

His grin widened, and then he shook his head, “That wasn’t an answer.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “I think I’ve answered enough of your questions for today.” You picked up his duffel from where it sat in front of him and pushed it into his arms.

“Are you kicking me out of my room?” He asked, still with that teasing lilt in his voice.

You moved close enough to him that he finally caught a whiff of your perfume. Still cherries. He thought his knees might buckle. “I thought it wasn’t your room anymore?” You said softly.

You pushed gently on his chest until he was out of the doorway and closed the door.

Robby stood out in the hallway for a moment, staring at the door with a stupid grin on his face. He had just given up his room to share one with some loser kid who had made the catastrophic mistake of fumbling you, and he had the toothiest smile on his face.

Maybe he’d end this vacation sleeping in that king sized bed with you.

***

Robby was trying very hard not to seem too desperate, but Trevor had arrived hours ago and you were still in your room.

The rest of his residents wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, most of them having had to work a shift today, so it would just be you, Trevor, him, Mohan, and Abbot.

He had sized Trevor up immediately when he got here and, well, Robby was confused to say the least. The kid was scrawny, almost every inch of skin tatted up, and was a tattoo artist. He had long and dark hair that curled around his ears. He had a nose ring and a mustache.

It was mind boggling. If this is what you were into, why had you been flirting with him? You had been flirting with him, right? There’s no way that was your fucking baseline.

Samira was across the patio with Trevor and Robby sat with Abbot in front of the fire pit. One of Robby’s hands stroked his beard absently while he watched Trevor.

“Why’re you looking at that guy like you wish he’d give you a reason?”

Robby dragged his gaze away from Trevor and back to Jack who was fucking smirking, “This is your fault.”

He shrugged, “I didn’t know they had history, okay? Samira never mentioned.”

Before, Robby had been confident he’d win you over by the end of this week. Now, there was a roughly 5’10 problem that you were avoiding so diligently you were spending your first night of vacation hiding away.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.” He said finally, standing.

And that’s how he ended up back at your bedroom door, knuckles rapping gently against the wood.

A moment or two passed and then he heard the sound of feet padding across the floor. Then the door began to crack open, “Mira, I told you already, I don’t feel like seeing him ton–” You froze when you saw Robby standing there, “Oh. You’re not Mira.”

Robby’s mouth was slightly agape and he was, unfortunately staring at your bare legs and then back up to the skimpy sleep set you were wearing. A flowy pastel flowered camisole that fluttered just above your belly button and matching shorts that were so tiny, they may as well have been panties.

By some miracle between him and God himself, he managed to tear his eyes back up to yours. And you looked very smug right about now. He felt a flush begin to work his way up his neck and he cleared his throat, as if to push it back down, “Is it me you’re avoiding or Trevor?”

You hummed, “Why would I be avoiding you?”

He shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, “My irresistible charm and rogueish good looks?”

You choked out a laugh, “No, no, it’s Trevor I’m avoiding.”

“That’s a shame,” He sighed, “It’s really beautiful outside.”

You crossed your arms and smirked, “It’s the first night and you’re already trying to guilt me into having a drink with you?”

He scoffed, affronted, “I’m doing no such thing–”

“Fine, fine,” You said dramatically, “Twist my arm, why don’t you? Just let me change into something more… appropriate.”

A tragedy, really. He could stare at you for hours in that sleep set and never get tired of the view. Luckily, you closed the door before he said something stupid.

Five minutes later you were following him out onto the patio, a spiked seltzer in your hand.

Trevor immediately stood and made a big show of greeting you. Robby watched with some apprehension as his arms slid lower and lower down your back as he hugged you— Until you slapped his hands away, scowling at him.

Robby ran a hand over his mouth and beard to cover his smirk.

“What?” Trevor asked, laughing, “I can’t touch you now, either? I can’t text or call you? Had to find out from Mira’s boyfriend that you were back in town. Are we even friends anymore?”

“Trevor,” Samira inserted herself between you both, “You said you wouldn’t do this.”

“We were never friends,” You sneered, “You were always just biding your time until you could fuck me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack muttered softly from next to Robby.

“Really? And who led on who in the end?” 

“That’s enough!” Samira said sharply, looking back and forth between her friends, “Look,” She said, softer now, “We’re all adults here, okay? We used to have fun, the three of us. Can’t we just… put all that shit aside for one week so we can have fun? Like old times?”

You sighed heavily and looked at Trevor, “I have no problem with you as long as you keep it platonic.” 

He huffed a laugh and ran a hand over his jaw, “Don’t worry, message was received loud and clear when you ghosted me when you left.”

“Guys…” Samira said lowly in warning, still between them.

But you couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that burst from your throat, “You waited until I flew across the country to text me—text! Not even call!—that you were in love with me and you think that warranted a response?”

Robby and Jack shared a look, attempted to hide their faces behind their respective drinks, and Samira grimaced before turning to Trevor, “Seriously? That’s kinda embarrassing.” She said softly.

You shook your head and started to walk over to sit near Robby.

“You don’t exactly make it easy for people to tell you what they’re feeling.” Trevor said, flushed.

“Yeah,” You took a sip from your drink as you settled next to Robby, “Or maybe you’re just a pussy.”

Samira sighed and looked at you, “Really?” 

But you only shrugged your shoulders. 

“Whatever, I don’t have to listen to this,” Trevor grumbled, “I’m going to bed.”

He muttered a goodnight to Samira and you waited for him to close the sliding door behind him before you gestured after him, “See? Pussy behavior.”

Jack and Robby were both fighting grins, but Samira frowned at you, “Can’t you try to be nicer?”

“That was me being nice. And he’s the one who started it, trying to fucking grab my ass like it hasn’t been, like, three years since we last spoke.”

Samira raised her eyebrows, “He tried to grab you?”

“He did,” Robby affirmed, “I saw it.”

“Well that’s not acceptable,” Samira looked towards the door that Trevor had disappeared into, “I’m gonna ask him to leave—“

“No,” You said immediately, “No, it’ll just create more of a mess. It’s fine.”

Samira stared at you for a moment longer, “Are you sure? Look, I’m sorry we invited him I didn’t realize— You’ll always come first for me. I will kick him out.”

The smile you gave Samira was adoring and tender. “I know,” You said softly, “It’s alright, I promise.”

Finally, she nodded, and went to sit next to Jack, sighing as she did. 

“The two of you ever fight like that?” Jack nodded to you and Samira.

You met Samira’s eyes over your drink and you both broke out into smiles, “No,” You said, “I think our biggest fight was when she took the last spot in the orgo class we were both trying to take sophomore year.”

Samira grinned at you, “Yeah and to make it up to you, you made me give you all my study materials the next semester, so I think it worked out for you.”

“What about you two,” You nodded towards Jack and Robby, “You guys seem like you’ve been friends for a long time. Any brawls?”

Robby chuckled, “No, definitely not.”

“Yeah, because he knows he’d lose.” Jack teased.

“Yeah, right,” Robby said and shook his head as he tossed back the rest of his beer, “Love you  brother, but I don’t think so.”

“Oh, really?” Jack chuckled and turned to Samira, “What d’you think? Who’d win?”

“Oh, come on,” Robby bemoaned, “Of course she’s gonna pick you.”

Samira looked affronted, “I resent the fact that you think I’m incapable of being objective just because we’re together.”

Robby raised his eyebrows, “Alright then, what’s the verdict?”

Samira’s eyes traveled back and forth between Jack’s wide pleading ones and Robby’s expecting ones until she sighed, “Jack. But only because he was in the military.”

“He was a medic.” Robby complained as Jack kissed on Samira’s neck in victory, causing her to squeal.

“Still went through basic training, brother.” Jack managed, adoring eyes still on Samira.

“And what about you?” Robby asked, turning to you.

“What about me?” 

“Who do you think would win, me or Jack?”

“Oh,” You laughed, “I don’t want to get in the middle of whatever weird hypermasculine competition you’ve got going on here.”

“That’s code for she doesn’t wanna hurt your feelings, Robby.” Jack said.

You scoffed, “That is not true,” Your eyes darted to Robby’s, “I have no problem hurting his feelings.”

A lie. You looked at the crinkles by his eyes, the flush in his cheeks when he smiled at you, and those big brown eyes that looked as warm as tree bark that had baked in the summer heat all day and your immediate thought was you’d rather drown yourself in this lake than hurt his feelings. 

Alternatively, you’d also rather drown in this lake than admit that that was true.

So where did that leave you?

You swallowed and looked at Samira, “I think Jack would win.”

Jack laughed loudly and Robby eyed you with disappointment as he shook his head.

It was teasing disappointment, but you were surprised by how much it bothered you. You were realizing quickly how desperately you wanted him to like you. 

“What?” You said to Robby, “He was in the military and he carries around a knife for fun. What’re you gonna do, hm? Blink your pretty doe eyes up at him and hope it distracts him long enough for you to run away?”

Slowly, a smile stretched across Robby’s face and he nudged his knee playfully against yours as he leaned his face down close to you. Your breath hitched in your throat at his closeness and he casually reached out to push a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

When he spoke, lowly enough for just you to hear, his voice was husky and it sent chills across your arms, “You think my eyes are pretty?”

The laugh that escaped you was breathless and nervous and you quickly tore your eyes from his and looked down at your hands, trying not to think about the way his fingers, cold and wet from his beer bottle, felt against the shell of your ear or the way they dragged against the sensitive skin of your neck before he pulled away.

What the fuck was this guy doing to you? A man had never made you a giggly mess like this. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

“As if you didn’t know.” You said finally, as casually as you could manage, avoiding looking at him.

“You’re pretty hard to read, actually.”

Normally, that would be true. But with him, it felt different. It felt like you were shouting it at him with every lilt of your voice, every smile, every laugh. Every time he looked at you, you felt your skin heat. 

You looked over at Samira and Jack for a moment, thought about your friendship with Samira. Everything seemed to tumble forward, all the moments you were so painfully proud of her, but also envious. How you had both wanted the same things, once. She had gotten everything and you had tripped four hundred meters out from the finish line. She was incredible, intelligent, beautiful, ambitious. The whole package. It was no wonder Jack was so obsessed with her. 

Your eyes flitted back to Robby, who was no longer looking at you, but silently staring ahead. His knee was still touching yours. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d wanted someone this badly. Someone smart and capable, someone who seemed like he could take care of you if the conversation about your dumb muffler was any indicator, someone who would be good for you.

He deserved better than you, though, he deserved someone like Samira. And even if you just slept with him, you had the faintest inclination that he might ruin you for other men for good.

You cleared your throat, “I, um, I should go to bed.”

When you stood, he followed, “Are you okay?” He asked softly, blocking your exit with his broad chest.

Christ, you were going to fold so quickly if he kept this up, “I’m fine,” You forced a smile, “Just tired.”

You stepped around him, but still he followed, steps soft and careful as he traced your path up the stairs, “Did I say something wrong?” He asked once you were at the bedroom door.

“No,” You said and almost laughed as you turned to him, “No, it’s not you.”

“Then what?” His eyes carefully searched your face, “Because I can be patient if you’re just not ready, but–”

You shook your head, “I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

He scoffed, “You see what I mean about being hard to read?” He tilted his head as he narrowed his eyes at you, “Is it… because I’m old?”

You smiled and bit your lip, “No, I think I actually really like that bit.”

He shook his head, “Can you just tell me what it is that’s bothering you? I’m pretty good at problem solving.”

You laughed again, “I don’t think I’m a problem that’s solvable, unfortunately.”

He watched you for a while longer before sighing heavily, “Okay, just to be clear, we’re not done with this conversation. But I’ll let you get some sleep. Goodnight.” He said softly and began to walk away, down the hall to where you assumed Trevor was.

You watched after him, fought an internal battle with yourself, and then sighed, “Robby, wait.”

He froze and turned back towards you. The look of hope on his face absolutely wrecked you, “I wasn’t kidding about Trevor,” You said, “He really does snore. Very loudly. You should stay in here. I’ll sleep on the couch,” You added quickly.

He shook his head, “I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

You threw up your hands in exasperation, “Fine. You sleep on the couch, then. You’ll get more sleep than sleeping in the same room as Trevor.”

And so that’s how the two of you ended up awkwardly dancing around each other as you got ready for bed.

You were unable to tear your eyes away as he pulled his shirt over his head and you were granted a full view of his chest. Your mouth dried out as you stared. He was so large, but everything about him was soft, the tufts of hair that grew on his chest and by his belly button, the gentle curve of his stomach. All of this turned your yearning from a gentle smolder to a raging inferno.

But what your eyes snagged on were the two tattoos over the planes of his chest. On the right side of his chest read MEMENTO MORI and on the left side AMORI FATI.

When your eyes traveled back up, Robby was looking at you with a smug look on his face.

You cleared your throat and looked away, conscious of the way heat burned in your cheeks, “Your tattoos,” You gestured to your own chest, “You’re a fan of Stoicism?”

A slow smile stretched across his face, “You know what they mean?”

You nodded, “Memento mori: remember that you will die and amor fati: love thy fate.” You were a bit ashamed by how pleased with yourself you were when an impressed smile flitted across his face, “I took a few philosophy classes in undergrad.”

“And what did you think?”

You shrugged, embarrassed now and not wanting to seem like you were showing off, “I liked them. Once, I took an ancient Greek literature class at the same time and they tended to overlap a lot.” You nodded towards his tattoos, “Memento mori and amori fati always reminded me of my favorite line from the Iliad.”

“Which is?”

You hesitated, and then, shyly, you lifted your shirt just slightly so he could see the tattoo that decorated the side of your ribcage. 

An intricate tracing of Icarus and his infamous fall, a hand still stretching out towards the sun. On either side of his falling form, in delicate scrawl read:

Everything is more beautiful 

because we are doomed

Robby was close to you now, so he could better see your ink, and when he reached out his fingers and ghosted them over the skin of your ribcage. Your breath stuttered as goosebumps rose across your flesh.

Noting the way your breathing faltered he looked up at you and pulled his hand away, straightening. He cleared his throat, “It’s beautiful.”

You dropped your shirt, covering up the tattoo again, “Thank you.”

“What was your major in college anyway?”

“Biology.”

He frowned at that, “And you took classes for philosophy and ancient Greek lit?”

You dug through your duffel, looking for your toiletry bag, “At first, they were just electives, but then I took enough of them to grab a minor. My counselor said it would diversify me for med school or whatever,” You sighed, “Fat load of good that did me.”

Finally locating your toiletry bag, you pulled it out and turned back around to see Robby eyeing you curiously, “What?” 

“I—“ He scratched the back of his head, “Samira didn’t mention you went to med school.”

You hummed, “That’s because I didn’t.” You dug your toothbrush out of the bag, “I didn’t get in.”

When you looked up at him again, he was still staring at you, frowning. You could almost hear the glass breaking in his head. Whatever shiny impression he had of you shattering on impact. You weren’t good enough for med school, why would you be good enough for him?

“Well—“

“I’d really rather not talk about this right now, or ever, if you don’t mind.” You said softly and brushed past him to get into the bathroom.

Or, you meant to just brush past him. But he tried to brush past you at the same time, you assumed to allow you space to get into the bathroom. You both tried to shimmy sideways through the bathroom doorway and ended up chest to chest, stuck for a moment too long.

He had, in the time you had been talking, put a shirt back on. Still, as your breasts slid across his chest, you felt your nipples peak in response. 

Through the thin fabric of your shirt, it wasn’t hard to notice, even if he hadn’t already been hardwired to notice everything about you since he first saw you alone on that porch swing a year ago. You let out a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a moan as you desperately tried to sidle past him. 

Used to this sort of thing happening at work, he instinctually settled a firm hand on your hip to try to help you get by, but this only seemed to panic you further. In your rush to move away from him, you inadvertently pushed yourself harder against him, your other hip gliding over his crotch and causing him to hiss.

“Sorry, fuck–” You cursed and finally slid by him, breathing hard as if you had been running for miles instead of having just moved through a doorway. 

The moment passed. You were at the sink, putting toothpaste on your toothbrush with the focus of a surgeon. If you weren't desperately avoiding eye contact and trying to level your breathing, he might have assumed you weren’t affected at all.

And fuck him if his brain wasn’t immediately rushing to calculate all the ways he could get your body to react like that again. He thought of your pupils dilating in the moonlight the first time you met, the way you shivered whenever his fingers brushed across your skin earlier, the way you got flustered sometimes just when he looked at you intently enough, and now this. He wondered what sort of touches would make you writhe beneath him, cry out his name, rake your nails across his skin, beg him to go faster, harder.

Oh, he had been thinking for too long if the aching sensation in his pants was any indication. He cleared his throat and with a hand on the back of his neck he left the bathroom.

***

Robby was tracing the tattoo on your ribcage again, this time with his tongue. Your back arched up off the mattress and you were moaning his name. He kissed up until he reached your breasts, first taking a sensitive nipple between his fingers and pinching lightly until you gasped. He took it in his mouth, then, swirling the bud around his tongue.

His hard cock was pressed to your slick folds, sliding back and forth against you, his tip nudging your entrance, but never fully sinking in. You were begging now, a single tear escaped from your eye as you looked up at him. The only reason he was able to stop himself from fully sinking inside you was because he loved the sight of you like this, absolutely drenched and fucking ruined, at his mercy. No more coy looks, no more avoiding his gaze so you could pretend not to want him, no more pulling away from his touch in fear it would give you away.

No, you were completely, fully, his now and he needed to make sure you knew it. You would only cum if he decided you could. If you asked nicely, if you did what he asked, if you were the good girl he told you to be.

He slipped his fingers between your thighs and sank two of his digits into your hole, watched as you bit down on your lip to stop the moan from crawling out. Just as quickly as he started, he pulled out his fingers and ignored your whine at their absence, sliding his cock against you again.

He brought his fingers, now drenched in your juices, up to your face and gently pressed his thumb to your chin, “Open.” He commanded. You hesitated for just a moment before obeying, taking his fingers into your mouth. You looked up at him as you sucked the way he imagined you’d take his cock. He hadn’t even had you fully yet, but he thought he might cum just like this, with you humming against his fingers. He rutted his hips faster, barely registering it when you reached a hand between you to hold your folds tighter around him, creating more friction and Jesus fucking Christ he was going to cum–

Robby awoke to the sound of the box fan in the window. The sun hadn’t yet fully risen and he could hear your soft snores from the bed, less than ten feet away from him. As consciousness returned to him and he shifted on the couch, he registered the sticky dampness between his legs and his eyes flew open.

No fucking way. There was no fucking way he had– He pulled the blanket he had been using off and was confronted with an absolute mess in his boxers. He ran a hand down his face in frustration. What sort of fucking grown man came in their pants like that and over a woman sleeping not ten feet away that was at least two decades younger than him? 

He tried to quietly get up from the couch and escape to the bathroom, but the couch was leather and creaked loudly with his movement. He froze and waited, eyes closed, and sure enough, you stirred.

“Robby?” Your voice was heavy and rough with sleep and he tried to ignore how much he liked the sound of it, “S’that you?”

“Just going to the bathroom,” He said softly, “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

The endearment slipped from him without his permission and he hung his head when his brain caught up with his mouth. But you hadn’t seemed to register it, or perhaps didn’t mind, as you silently settled back against your pillow. He sighed quietly in relief and then headed to the bathroom to clean up.

If this was how it was going to be, if just seeing an inch of your skin and brushing up against you on the way to the bathroom was going to prompt wet dreams that had him coming in his pants, he had no idea how he was going to make it through this week without convincing you to let him in your bed.

And now his residents would be getting here today, would be witnessing him desperately trying to get laid by a girl who they’d played beer pong with once. Humiliating.

But as he stood in the bathroom and rolled that dream over in his head again, he thought it’d probably be worth it. If he could have you even once, just a taste, maybe it would satiate him long enough to move on when they got back to Pittsburgh. Maybe. 

Or maybe it would never be enough. Maybe there was something about you that would keep him coming back, keep trying to find new ways to make you laugh so you’d let him in, like a stray at the door looking for scraps.

There was only one way to find out.

***

“You slept with Robby last night?” Samira’s voice had you turning your head from the paperback in your hand.

The two of you were laying on the dock, sunbathing, along with Trevor. You and Trevor had called a truce that morning and so far, he had been abiding by the conditions. Of which, there was really only one: not to touch you in a way that wasn’t strictly platonic. 

Jack had gotten a new prosthetic extension that allowed him to swim properly (thoroughly researched and recommended by Samira) and was in the lake with Robby.

Trinity, Dennis, Victoria, and Parker had all arrived a couple of hours ago. Parker had set up a volleyball net nearby and the four of them were attempting to play a match.

“No,” You scoffed, “He slept on the couch because I knew this one would keep him up with all his snoring.” You playfully shoved Trevor’s shoulder next to you.

“Ow,” Trevor murmured, rubbing at his shoulder. Then he turned on his side to face you, “Mira, are you trying to set her up with your boss?”

Samira scoffed, “Didn’t have to try, they’ve been obsessed with each other since they met, but neither of them will admit it.”

You felt your cheeks heat up again and attempted to cover your face with your paperback, “I am not obsessed with him, I just think that… he’s kinda cool… and we… vibe.”

Samira and Trevor both looked at you blankly, “You are hearing yourself, right?” Samira said eventually.

You groaned, “Whatever! I’m not gonna sleep with him, it’s a bad idea.”

“And, pray tell, why is that?”

“I–” You quickly looked to see if anyone else was around, but Jack and Robby were still in the water and the other residents still preoccupied, “Because I’m not good with relationships, Trevor can attest.”

Trevor pursed his lips, “This feels like a trap,” He looked at Samira, “No comment.”

“Look, you don’t even know if he wants a relationship. At least sleep with him, just once. I know you’re dying to.” You rolled your eyes and didn’t respond. But you were dying to, especially after accidentally rubbing up against him like that last night and seeing him shirtless. “I don’t know what you said to him that first night you met him, but he was so nice to me, for like, weeks after. And you spoke to him for what? Five minutes? If you won’t do it for yourself, think of me! Do you know how nice he would be if he got to actually sleep with you?”

You sighed, “I will… consider it.”

Samira smiled, “Excellent.”

Just then, Jack swam up to the dock, to Samira, and rested his arms on the edge as he floated, “Samira, come swim with me.”

Samira wrinkled her nose as she considered, “It’s cold in there.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” He said lowly, leaning up to kiss her. Samira smiled against his mouth, laughed when he wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her down into the water with him. They continued kissing, Samira’s legs wrapped around Jack’s waist.

You sighed and turned back to your book, “Gross.” You muttered to Trevor.

“You know, we could make out in the lake.” He said in a voice you knew to mean he was trying to be seductive. It used to work on you, but now it only grossed you out, “Give your new boyfriend something to worry about.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” You said, voice bored, “And I’m not interested.”

You heard splashes coming from the ladder and looked up in time to see Robby pulling himself out of the water and onto the dock. Your stomach flipped again, seeing him shirtless. The water had weighed down his bathing suit so that it hung dangerously low on his hips. You were shocked when the first thought that came into your mind was that you longed to bite his hips and you cleared your throat as if it would cleanse your impure thoughts. You turned back to your book.

A moment later, a giant shadow in the shape of a man was blocking your sun and you felt the cold lake water dripping all over your body, “You’re getting my book wet.” You said, trying to sound bored as you looked up at him.

He had a boyish grin on his face as he ran a hand through his hair, shaking it like a wet dog and causing more droplets to splatter all over you, “Sorry,” He said, sounding anything but.

It was such a childish thing to do, but he looked stupid handsome as he smirked at you and you wondered if this was the type of thing he used to pull when he was your age. How many girls had he gotten into bed with that gorgeous smile and big brown eyes?

“You can swim, right?”

You watched him for a moment before looking back down at your book, “Of course I can swim, I grew up in Los Angeles.”

“Come in the water with me.” He said, still blocking your sun.

“No thanks,” You turned the page of your book, “It’s too cold.”

“Oh, come on,” He whined, “It’s not so bad once you’re in. It’s not the Pacific Ocean, I’ll give you, that, but it’s still nice. Have some fun.”

It was certainly not the Pacific Ocean, but you were more so worried about being able to keep your hands to yourself once you were in the water with him. Once no one would be able to see your hands on his waist, or better yet, in his shorts–

You were determined to keep your eyes on your book, “No thank you.”

He let the silence hang there for a moment, then finally he sighed, “Fine. Could you hand me my towel, then?”

You placed your book down on your towel and leaned over Samira’s now empty one to grab one of the dry towels meant for Robby and Jack. 

In retrospect, you probably should’ve realized what he was about to do. It was the oldest trick in the book. But you also hadn’t been a teenager in many years and so hadn’t had to worry about boys pulling goofy shit to flirt with a girl.

So for half a second, when you reached out the towel to him and his hand clamped around your wrist rather than the towel, you were just confused. But then in the next moment, he had pulled the towel from your hand, and dropped it back down to the dock and it was then that you realized how you had fucked up.

You tried to wrench your wrist back, “Robby–”

Smirking, he pulled you by the wrist and with a bend of his knees, had thrown you over his shoulder and began walking.

You squealed, “Put me down.”

He stopped walking, “Okay,” You heard the smirk in his voice, and again realized your fatal error too late.

“Don’t you dare–”

You were suspended in the air for a moment, before you hit the water, cold and unforgiving. Your head plunged beneath the surface for a second before you got your bearings and broke the surface again. The water was shallow enough that you could stand and while you gasped for air, you saw that Robby had jumped back in and was wading over to you, smirk still on his face.

“See? Not so bad.” He said smugly.

You scowled at him, “I’m very upset with you.”

Even as you said it, you had to fight a smile. Jesus fucking Christ, it was pathetic the levels of infatuated you had achieved because if this were any other man, if it was, say, Trevor who had pulled this shit, you wouldn’t have spoken to him for the rest of the night. Maybe not even for the rest of the vacation.

But Robby had thrown you in the lake and with just a smile, you were on the verge of giggling again. Oh, you were so fucked. 

“Really?” He was close to you now, close enough to touch, “You don’t seem that upset.”

“Yeah, well, I’m furious.” You said mildly. It was dangerous to be this close, so you moved to take a step back, but your foot landed on a particularly slimy rock and you slipped—

“Woah—“ Robby secured an arm around your waist before you could slip under the water and pulled you flush to his chest, “Careful, it’s slippery right there.” He said, teasing.

You huffed and looked up at him, conscious of every place your bodies touched. He had draped your arms around his neck and was now looking at you innocently, like he hadn’t fully manufactured this.

Your tongue darted between your lips and you ran your hands through his wet hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, “You can let me go, now,” You said softly, “I won’t slip again.”

His eyes were heady with desire, “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.” He lowered his hands until they gripped the back of your thighs and then hiked you up until you were straddling his waist, ankles tangled behind his back. Like this, your face was level with his, and his jaw was clenched as he watched you. As if he was restraining himself from something. From you.

“What’re you doing?”

He smirked and nudged his nose into yours, your breaths intertwined in the minimal space between you. Even drenched in lake water, you still smelled faintly of cherries.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He whispered.

He leaned towards you, mouth searching for yours, and you pulled back slightly, “C’mon sweetheart,” He said softly, “Enough of the games. Let me in.”

It wasn’t a game, not to you. And that’s what was so scary. Because it had always been a game to you. There had never been anyone you had wanted more seriously than that. With Trevor he only wanted something more when he realized you didn’t want him like that. He didn’t really love you and you had never loved him. But now you were staring at Robby, shivering in the frigid water and you thought maybe you could love him.

Nearly thirty, you had started to wonder if maybe you just weren’t capable of feeling that deeply for someone else. And still, you didn’t know if you were. But Robby was the first man that made you curious to find out.

“You might not like what you find.” Your voice wavered.

He tilted his head slightly, “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”

Let me worry about that. You thought about his offer yesterday to fix your car. Thought about his willingness to swap beds with you so you could be comfortable. Let me worry about that. What would it be like to have someone else to help take care of things? To lighten the load, even just a little?

So when he leaned in to kiss you again, this time you didn’t stop him. It felt like relief, with his mouth finally on yours. When you sighed into him, he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth and your nails dug into his shoulders in response.

You felt his hands tighten their grip on your legs under the water. He seemed torn between keeping you wrapped around his waist like this or dropping you so his hands could wander.

Before he could make a decision, a wolf whistle split the air and the both of you froze. Robby broke his mouth away from yours, turning his head to follow the sound and saw Jack smirking at the two of you, Samira also looking smug from behind him with her arms draped over his shoulders. A moment later, there was whooping coming from the rest of the residents who were playing volleyball near the shore.

Feeling your cheeks heat, you buried your face in Robby’s shoulder.

“Ignore them,” Robby said softly, “Do you want to go inside?”

You pulled your head back from his shoulder so you could see his face. He looked like he was seconds away from devouring you here, in the lake, with everyone watching. Seemingly so desperate for you, he didn’t mind all of his coworkers and subordinates watching. 

“Is that what you want?”

He gave you a knowing look, “I want you in whatever capacity you’ll allow. So, do you want to go inside?”

He had to know that now, having tasted him, you wouldn’t be able to deny yourself any longer. The dam you had built between you had sprung a leak. Several, in fact. It was only a matter of time before it was completely eviscerated.

“Yes.” You said eventually.

A giddy smile transformed Robby’s face and he leaned in to give you another quick kiss, “Get on my back.” He murmured against your mouth.

You laughed, “What?”

Rather than explain further, he shifted your weight, spinning you until you understood he wanted you on piggyback.

“You know,” You laughed, pressing kisses up the side of his neck, “I told you I can swim.”

“I know,” He said as he began wading to the shore, “But isn’t this more fun?”

It was a bit embarrassing, if you were honest, drawing more stares and attention from the others. Once close enough to the shore, Robby seemed to give the residents a look you couldn’t see, but must have been scathing as they all abruptly returned their attention back to their volleyball game.

Robby let you off his back and grabbed a dry towel for you, wrapping it around your shoulders and rubbing his hands over it to help dry you before grabbing his own towel.

“You kids be safe now,” Jack was leaning on the edge of the dock, Samira doing the same next to him, both of them smirking at you, “Wrap it before you tap it and all that.”

Robby sighed heavily, “She’s gonna change her mind if you don’t be quiet.”

“No she won’t.” Samira said, “I’ve never seen her this obsessed with anyone. Not even Trevor, whom she slept with for years.”

“Mira!” You hissed indignantly.

“Heard that,” Trevor called, “Hurtful and unnecessary.”

“Let’s go,” Robby draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and beginning to walk towards the house, “You’re obsessed with me, huh?” He said quietly.

You rolled your eyes, “Whatever. As if you’re not obsessed with me.”

“Of course I am,” He opened the back door of the house for you, waited for you to walk inside before following, “But I’m not ashamed of it.”

He blew past you as his words stopped you in your tracks. For the first time, it struck you what it all must’ve looked like to him. How you had been flirting with him, but then pushing him away, over and over. 

You trailed after him up the stairs, “I’m not—I’m not ashamed.”

At the top of the stairs, he turned to face you, “I don’t particularly want to have this conversation right now, when I’m finally about to have you naked in my bed—“

“My bed,” You teased, smirking, “Remember?”

He huffed a short laugh and shook his head, “You’re impossible.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, your eyes transfixed by his mouth, “Do you think you’ll still want me?” You asked quietly, your voice small, “After you’ve had me?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “Is that what this is about? You’re worried I won’t like you after?”

It hadn’t been something you had thought about before, with other partners, because usually you didn’t care enough. You liked being desired, of course, who didn’t? But more often than not if partners disappeared afterwards, you shrugged it off and moved on to the next one. 

But with Robby… You had only really known each other for a day or so, but there was something that seemed to pull you to him. The chemistry was easy, effortless as it seemingly flowed back and forth, infinite. With him, you also had a desire to impress, to prove yourself. Like with the tattoos last night. You wanted him to think you were more than just someone to fuck. Another new feeling, one you weren’t used to. You wondered how badly it would hurt if he carelessly let you slip through his fingers and crash back to earth. 

He was looking at you now with the patience of a saint, never mind the fact that he had finally convinced you to let him touch you and you were making him wait again. It made you feel stupid, so you quickly shook your head. 

“Nothing, forget it. Forget I said anything. Kiss me, please.”

For a second, you thought he might refuse, might make you talk to him, but then he was kissing you again, hard and sloppy as he pushed you through the doorway of your shared room. Never taking his mouth off yours, he half carried, half pushed you towards the bathroom.

With his tongue in your mouth, you were desperate to feel him, to see how needy he was so you ran your hands down his chest and past his waist. When you palmed him over his bathing suit, he groaned and took your lip between his teeth, biting hard enough that you thought maybe he had drawn blood. He was big in your hand. You had thought he was probably packing just from the size of him, but he was bigger than you had imagined.

You swallowed hard as he reached behind you to turn on the shower with one hand and pulled your other hand off his cock, “You can’t be touching me like that yet,” He said, voice gravelly.

You smirked, “Worried you might… ejaculate prematurely?” You teased.

He stared at the warm spray from the shower as he temperature checked it with one hand, “Yeah, actually. And I plan to make you come at least twice before I even consider fucking you properly. I want you crying and begging me to stop because you’re too sensitive before I fill you up.” His eyes slowly looked back at yours, “Is that what you want? Because if not, you should probably tell me now. So we can stop.”

Your breathing faltered hearing him talk like that. Your stomach flipped and you felt yourself beginning to drip into your bathing suit. You swallowed and then nodded, “That’s what I want.”

He offered you a slow smile and then his gaze travelled down your body. He was just looking at you, but it felt filthy. Like he was already thinking about all the compromising positions he could put you in. 

You started to take off your bikini, but he stopped you, “Wait.” He said, and his voice dipped, “Haven’t gotten a proper look at you in it yet. Seems like a waste.”

You smirked, “You want me to do a quick spin for you?”

You had mostly been teasing, but he nodded, and so you obliged. Once your back was facing him, his hands came up to touch you. Warm and calloused, they ran down your waist to your ass, which he squeezed appreciatively before giving it a firm smack.

It didn’t hurt, but you gasped and he ran a soothing hand over the skin, “Sorry, I should’ve asked first. S’that okay?”

“Yes,” You said breathlessly.

He brushed the hair off the back of your neck and you automatically tilted your head to allow him access to kiss and suck on it, letting out a soft moan at the scratch of his beard against your skin. As he kissed you, he untied the top of your bathing suit and you felt him sigh as he peered over your shoulder at your bare tits.

“Fuck,” He cursed so softly, you didn’t know if it was even meant for you to hear. He brought his hands up to feel them, his rough palms immediately causing your nipples to harden. He pinched and pulled at them lightly and you moaned in earnest, pushing yourself further into his body behind you.

Your skin felt like it was on fire. Every touch and every kiss had you wondering what you wouldn’t do to keep his attention on you like this. To keep this burning low in your belly. He was so attentive, soft and rough at the same time, watching your reactions to everything so carefully. Just having his eyes on you alone felt like you were a supernova, on the edge of self destruction. You thought you would likely damn yourself to Hell if it meant he would keep touching you like this.

He guided you into the shower and you stepped out of your bottoms. It was a large walk in shower and easily fit the two of you without much effort. Immediately, he got on his knees in front of you. He gripped the backs of your thighs and kissed your stomach, and then made a path down. The way your hips pushed up into him was an involuntary reaction, really, but then he suddenly pulled his mouth away and you pouted.

When you looked down at him, he was grinning, “What’s this?” 

He ran a finger over a small tattoo on your upper hip that you tended to forget about a lot. It was almost always completely covered by panties or, in today’s case, a bathing suit. 

In messy, loopy cursive, it read bon appétit. 

You sighed, embarrassed, “It’s stupid, I got it when I was, like, twenty.”

He looked down at it again, ran his thumb over it, “Did… Did Trevor give you this?”

It felt like the wrong time to talk about this, which was why you hadn’t mentioned, but now that he was asking… “Yeah. He was practicing,” You gulped, “Do you hate it?”

“Hm?” He looked back up at you and then frowned, “Oh, no. No, of course not. I was just…” He sighed, “The juvenile answer is just that I hate that he’s seen you like this.”

You ran a hand over his hair, “If it makes you feel any better, the irony of him giving me this tattoo is that he never really liked eating me out anyway. I almost always had to ask for it, and even then he’d get frustrated if I didn’t come within a couple of minutes.”

He gave a short laugh, “Makes it worse, actually. That you slept with someone like that for years. You didn’t think you deserved better than that?”

You were shocked when you felt the beginning pinpricks of tears at the backs of your eyes. No, you didn’t, actually. It was why the more time you spent with Robby you realized it was him who was out of your league and not the other way around. Why you suspected he’d probably bolt after he slept with you. You thought you probably didn’t deserve someone better than Trevor and so you had resigned yourself to being alone instead.

You swallowed, “Can we stop talking about Trevor, please?”

He must’ve heard the tears in your voice because he looked up and immediately rose back up to standing, “Hey,” He cradled your face in his hands, tenderly kissed your cheeks and forehead, before pressing a long kiss to your mouth, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He kept kissing you, deepened it again until you couldn’t think about anything other than the man in front of you, drunk on the taste of him. He kissed his way down your body until he was on his knees again, kissing and biting at your hips.

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and kissed your inner thigh, up until you felt him lapping at your folds. He was being so gentle and slow, avoiding your throbbing clit where you wanted him most, teasing on purpose you suspected. Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you grabbed at his hair and rutted your hips into him. He groaned into you and his nose rubbed against your clit exactly where you needed, but he was pulling away, securing his arms around your thighs to keep you still.

“Be good for me,” He said, looking up at you, “Let me take my time, taste you properly first, hm? Can you do that for me, baby?”

It didn’t seem like much of a choice, but you nodded eagerly anyway. He didn’t waste time beginning his assault on you again. It felt like minutes were passing and still, he purposely seemed to neglect the one place you were most needy for him. Tears were collecting at the corners of your eyes, “Please, Robby.” You whined, “Please, please, I’ve been so good, please.”

He took his mouth off you for a moment and looked up at you. When he saw the tears beginning to fall from your eyes, the smugness emanated from him in waves. “What do you want, sweetheart? You wanna cum on my tongue?” 

You nodded desperately, “Please.” It was the only word you seemed capable of saying.

He turned his attention back to your pussy, pushed a finger inside you and curled it upwards, slowly stroking that spongy spot that had your knees going weak. You thought your legs may have given out if it wasn’t for Robby holding you up. He added a finger and you were dizzy, the muscles tightening in your abdomen. Finally, he began swirling his tongue around your sensitive bud until you cried out, grinded yourself against him, let the sensation of his beard and mouth push you through your orgasm.

He left his fingers inside you as he rose to standing again, slowly pushing them in and out of you even as you came down. “You taste even better than I thought you would.” He said in your ear as his fingers kept slowly fucking you, pushing you into the wall behind you.

“Robby, I don’t,” You paused, wetting your lips. The slow movement of his fingers inside you was stirring that sensation inside you again, coiling like a spring, “I’m gonna cum again,” You said, shocked you were still able to string full sentences together, “If you keep going I’m gonna–”

He pressed a thumb to your clit and kissed up your neck to your earlobe, which he lightly took between his teeth. All coherent thought ceased, there was just the feeling of his mouth on your skin, his fingers inside you, his rough voice asking you to cum, “Go on then, cum all over my fingers like a good girl, you can do it.” The whine you let out sounded pathetic to your own ears as he moved his hand marginally faster until you were coming apart in his arms again, tears streaming down your cheeks in earnest now, “There you go,” He cooed, bringing his face back so he could see your tearstained cheeks.

Still, his fingers kept moving inside you and you whimpered, using your hands to push at his wrist uselessly. He stayed anchored inside you. You were so sensitive now, the pleasure was almost painful. “Oh, come on, baby,” He said, “You can give me one more, can’t you? You said this is what you wanted. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?”

You hiccupped and shook your head, no. He brought his other hand up to play with your nipples and the broken moan you let out sounded like a sob as you again felt yourself being pushed incrementally towards the edge of a cliff. “Kiss me,” You sighed desperately, “Kiss me, please.”

He hesitated for a moment before he kissed you and you wondered idly if maybe he knew you better, if this wasn’t the first time you were together like this, if he would’ve denied the request. If he was enjoying being a little mean and denying you what you wanted. The thought had you longing for more. You couldn’t take it now, you didn’t think, but the idea of doing this again with him was enough to get you to the precipice again. Your walls tightened around his fingers and he moaned into your mouth, “Go on, sweetheart. Can feel you’re there, give me one more.”

You thought you might black out when your orgasm ripped through you again. You shook in his arms, nails digging deep into the skin of his arms in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself. He murmured praises in your ear as you came down, gently pulled his fingers out of you and wiped away your tears.

He turned the shower off, dried you off, and in your fucked out haze he had to guide you to the bed. 

“You okay?” He asked gently, crawling over you, “We can stop.”

You shook your head slowly, a silent command, don’t stop. You looked down to see him putting a condom on himself as he watched you.

He swallowed, “You’re sure?” You nodded, and he chuckled, “Think you can use your words for me?”

You slid your tongue over your lips, “Yes,” You said slowly, “I’m sure.”

He lined up his tip with your soaked entrance and pushed in just an inch, “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” He asked.

“Robby,” You laughed, “Are you gonna fuck me, or what?”

He fought a smirk and nodded before slowly easing himself inside you. You both sighed in relief when he filled you, “Jesus fucking Christ,” He moaned.

At first he was slow, gentle. He watched you carefully, as if he thought you were in danger of breaking. It would’ve made you laugh if it wasn’t so fucking sweet. When it was clear you were okay, were enjoying yourself even, he seemed to lose a bit of the careful restraint he’d been showing. 

He brought one of your legs up to his shoulder, pressed a kiss to your ankle before pressing into you again. His pace became relentless as he gripped your hips and he was so, so deep, you could feel him everywhere. Obscene, wet slapping sounds filled the space along with his pants and moans. 

“Harder,” You breathed and his eyes snapped to yours, surprised, “Please, I won’t break.”

“Oh, fuck,” He groaned and let your ankle fall back down, opting to fold himself over you instead to be closer. He kissed you sloppily, sucking your tongue into his mouth as he pounded into you, sucking up your moans like water. “Gonna cum,” He panted into your mouth.

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into skin. He was beautiful like this, you thought, on the verge of coming apart. If he hadn’t absolutely ruined you earlier, you would’ve liked to ride him yourself or make him come with your mouth. But this was a dream, more than you could have asked for, being able to see him like this. It felt like a gift, being allowed this peek into who he was when he was vulnerable. 

He buried his face in your neck when he came, groaning and breathless. His hips moved sporadically as his orgasm stuttered through him. You stroked a hand down the back of his head and kissed his cheek.

Still out of breath, he pulled his face back enough to kiss you again and you sighed contentedly into his mouth. 

“Still okay?” He asked.

You nodded, “Never better. You?”

He nodded and swallowed, “Yeah.”

After a moment, he pulled out of you and stood to rid himself of the condom. When he came back, he rolled back into bed and pulled you to him, pressing kisses on whatever bare skin he could reach.

He pressed a finger lightly into your cheek furthest from him to turn your head back to him. His eyes searched yours for just a moment before he kissed you on the mouth, long and slow. It made your toes curl. 

“I was thinking,” He said, “That we could shower again and then go watch the sunset on the shore. Share a bottle of wine. How does that sound?”

You smiled sleepily, “That sounds lovely.”

***

A little while later, you were sitting between Robby’s legs, your back pressed to his chest. It had cooled considerably since you had last been out here and Robby let you use one of his hoodies. 

You were still sleepy from the sex and the wine only made your limbs feel more languid and heavy as you passed the bottle back and forth.

“I’m going to ask you something,” Robby said eventually, “And I don’t want you to get mad when I do.”

You frowned, “Okay…?”

“You were premed? In undergrad?”

You sighed, “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you go to med school?”

You could feel yourself growing prickly and defensive, jaw clenching, “I applied twice within a couple of years. I didn’t get in. The pandemic hit, I lost my job, I ran out of money, I moved back home with my parents.” You shrugged, “I don’t know, I just… I didn’t see the point in trying again.”

It was more than that. The second time you didn’t get in, the failure had felt so visceral, you didn’t tell anyone for weeks. When you were forced into moving back to Los Angeles in the middle of the pandemic, the next year or so had felt unbearable with your failure seeming to loom above you, inescapable. Thinking back on it, you felt it was a wonder you had survived it at all.

“Do you still want to be a doctor?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. It doesn’t matter though, it’s too late.”

“Too late?” You felt Robby’s chest rumble with a laugh behind you, “How old are you? Twenty seven? Twenty eight?”

“Twenty nine.” 

He laughed again, “You’re a baby. It’s not too late for anything.”

Annoyed, you pushed off his chest and rose on your knees to face him, “I’m not doing it again, okay? So just drop it.”

He shook his head, “Why? Because you’re scared? I didn’t take you for a coward.”

You nodded and rubbed at your eyes, tried not to feel the punch to the gut his words were, “Yeah, well, you don’t really know me, do you?”

For a moment, there’s just his breathing and the gentle lap of the lake on the shore.

“I feel like I do.” He said softly, “And the girl who tattooed an Iliad quote on her body about how life is both beautiful and fragile strikes me as brave.”

Your eyes wandered back up to his and he had a tender look in his eyes as he met your gaze. 

You didn’t believe in love at first sight. You didn’t believe in love at first fuck, either. Whatever this was, whatever was causing your pulse to thrum erratically under your skin when he looked at you like that had to just be simple infatuation. It would pass. And Robby should have known better because he was in his damn fifties. You tore your gaze from his and stared at the tree line stubbornly. 

“I think,” Robby said after a few moments of silence, “That it’s never too late to do anything. And the worst that could happen is you try again and it doesn’t work out. You’re no worse off than when you started. What’s the harm?”

Your ego, for one. Not to mention the couple of thousands of dollars it would cost to retake the MCATs, order your transcripts, pay for each school’s application fee. Money you didn’t have. 

You shook your head slightly and crawled back over to him, placing a hand on the back of his neck to pull his face to yours. You kissed him hungrily and the surprised moan he let out sent chills down your spine.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” You murmured and slipped your free hand underneath the waist band of his shorts.

You watched as his eyes rolled back into his head when you touched him, felt him begin to swell against your palm, “You can’t–” He let out a pained groan, “There’s only so many times… I’ll let you fuck me to get out of a difficult conversation…”

You hummed, “What I’m hearing,” You said, leaning close to his ear, “is that it’s working.”

He cursed and slipped a hand behind your back before deftly flipping you so that you laid flat on the blanket you had been sitting on just moments earlier. 

“I’ll fuck you as many times as you need,” He said roughly, “But we will be finishing this conversation later.”

You were smirking up at him smugly and you could tell it was pissing him off with the way his jaw clenched and he tilted his head above you. 

“Now, open your mouth,” He said, and pressed his thumb to your chin.

***

It went like that for a couple of days. Robby would try discussing med school, where did you apply, where would you want to go now, did you have a specialty in mind, you should volunteer at the Pitt, he could write you a letter of recommendation, he could help you study for the MCATS, and on and on and on. 

Every time you would get increasingly more agitated and your attempts to distract him with sex were becoming less and less effective which only served to piss you off more.

You had spent the day on a boat outing, drinking in the sun, Robby’s hands all over you whenever he thought nobody was looking. Filthy mouth in your ear whispering all the things he was going to do to you once you got back to the house. 

He had fulfilled those promises and now you were fucked out and tired from being in the sun all day. Also you were a little grumpy that the group had planned to go out for drinks that night at a local bar. All you really wanted was to curl back up into Robby in bed and listen to the lull of the AC and Robby’s voice as he read aloud from the novel he had brought with him.

But you were here to be with friends, not just Robby. And you really enjoyed the company of the others as well, having met them a couple of times after moving back to Pittsburgh. They were always so sweet and welcoming to you, never making you feel like an outsider, even when the envy seemed to overtake you when they began telling stories about med school rotations or their latest shift.

So now you and Robby were in the shower, about to begin the task of getting ready for a night out when he brought it up again.

“You know, I know one of the professors at UPitt, I could get you an introduction, maybe a coffee even–”

“Robby,” You said sharply, “I don’t know how many fucking times I have to tell you, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not going to apply to med school again. I’ve moved on.”

“Yeah, to some dead end job at a biotech company that some giant corporation will probably buy out in a couple of years.” He said it offhandedly, like he genuinely didn’t think it would hurt you. He didn’t even look up as he said it, just continued lathering his legs up with soap.

“Wow,” You scoffed, “Didn’t realize you thought I was such a loser. Thanks for clearing that up.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, you thought perhaps realizing his mistake too late, “That’s not what I meant–”

“Well what the fuck did you mean, then, hm?” You stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself, desperate to create space and distance, “Why don’t you just fucking admit it?”

He stared at you through the glass, perplexed, “Admit what?”

“That you won’t fucking want me when we get back to Pittsburgh and I continue to be some loser who works at a ‘dead end’ job?”

He shook his head, “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I don’t care what you do, what I care about is that you feel happy and fulfilled and I’ve seen enough doctors in my life to recognize the… hunger, the drive. The need to be needed, the desire to fix and heal. And I see it in you and you’re fucking wasting it.”

You scoffed and turned away, “You’re still talking like you know me, but we only really met a few days ago.”

“Okay, so, fuck, the last few days count for nothing then? I’ve spent nearly every goddamn minute with you since we got here. You think I don’t know you because you won’t talk to me, but you don’t have to say anything. I see the way you look at Samira. You love her, but there’s a sadness behind it, like you’re mourning something. I see the way you deflate around my residents when they talk shop in front of you, like a fucking kid left out at the lunch table. You’re not that fucking difficult to understand.”

You braced your hands on the bathroom sink, “It seems like all you’ve found out is that I’m insecure, not exactly the discovery of the century.”

You heard him scoff, “No, what I found out is that you’re so fucking scared of maybe being a little uncomfortable that you’d rather be miserable your whole life than try.”

“I’m not scared.” 

The shower turned off and you heard him get out, wrap a towel around his waist, “You are, kid, and it’s making a coward out of you.”

You shook your head and started throwing your products back into your makeup bag, “Fuck you.” You said quietly and stormed out of the bathroom.

“And now you’re acting like a child,” he said, following you into the bedroom, “instead of having an adult conversation.”

“You’re not trying to have a conversation, you’re just being a condescending asshole.” You grabbed the outfit you planned on wearing tonight and all your makeup, “I’m going to get ready elsewhere.”

He ran a hand over the back of his head in frustration, “Yeah, keep running from it,” He murmured, “I’m sure that’ll solve it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and walked out of the room, towel wrapped around you and all your makeup and clothes clutched to your chest.

When you knocked on Samira’s door, Jack answered, frowning down at you, “Are you… okay?”

“Who is it, Jack?”

Jack let the door open fully and you saw Samira sitting on the ground in front of a floor to ceiling mirror, makeup brush in hand, “Oh. Hi.”

You took a deep breath, “Can I get ready in here?”

Samira smiled and scooted to the side to make room for you in front of the mirror and you brushed past Jack to sit with her.

“What happened?” Samira asked as you got settled next to her.

You frowned, “Nothing, I just wanted to get ready with you. Like we used to.” You inhaled sharply and clapped your hands together, “You know, maybe we should do shots.”

She was still smiling at you, but watching you carefully, “Come on, I know you.” She said softly, “It’s always been easy to see when you’re upset.”

You swallowed and glanced at her out of the corner of your eye, starting to dot your tinted moisturizer onto your face with fingers.

“Robby and I had a fight.” You said finally.

Samira nodded, “About?”

Slowly, you both turned to look at Jack who was seated at the edge of the bed on his phone, pretending not to eavesdrop.

He looked up when he felt you both staring at him, “What?” You both raised your eyebrows and he sighed, standing, “Fine, I’ll go, but I’m hurt that you don’t consider me one of the girls.”

Samira smirked, “If Robby wasn’t your best friend, I’d let you stay.”

Jack shook his head as he left the room, “That guy’s always ruining things for me.” 

You and Samira both turned back to the mirror, “Continue.” Samira said.

You sighed as you blended out the moisturizer with your beauty blender, “He kept pushing and pushing about med school and I told him I wasn’t going to apply again and he basically implied that I was a loser at a dead end job and wasting my life.”

Samira frowned, “Surely he didn’t say it like that?”

You blinked and watched her face in the mirror, “Does it matter how he said it?”

She didn’t say anything for a few moments and you scoffed, “Oh my God,” You said slowly, “You agree with him.”

Samira shook her head, “No, it’s not—“ She sighed, “I definitely don’t think that you’re a loser. And I don’t think that you’re wasting your life… If you’re happy, but you’re not. I know you’re not.”

You didn’t say anything, picked up your concealer and did your best to blink away the burning in your eyes. It was annoying and hurtful to hear from Robby, but from Samira, your best friend of almost ten years, it made you nauseous.

“I just, I remember how badly you wanted it once. It was all we talked about. And now it’s like you’ve convinced yourself you never actually wanted it because you don’t want to get hurt again.” Samira said gently, “But you could still do it. You can do anything.”

She sounded so earnest, you wanted to believe her.

You sniffled and blended out your concealer, “I’m really proud of you, you know. I know sometimes I seem jealous, but—“

“I know that,” Samira said quickly, smiling at you in the mirror, “If the roles were reversed I’d be the same way. It doesn’t make you a bad friend.”

You gave her a watery smile, “You’re a really great friend for putting up with me all these years.”

Samira laughed and gently tugged at her waterline to apply eyeliner, “Please, I wouldn’t have survived med school without you.” She stopped smudging the eyeliner and met your eyes, “And when you get into med school, I’ll do the same for you.”

You inhaled slowly and purposefully, “When,” You murmured softly.

And for the first time in a long time, you allowed the hope to bloom in your chest.

***

The bar was crowded and loud. The back of your hand was sticky from the lime and salt you had put there when you, Samira, Parker, and Trinity had done tequila shots. Javadi and Whitaker had had to drive back to Pittsburgh the day before, not able to get as many days off as the rest of you. Trevor had also headed out once you got back from the boating trip. He said he had work, but Samira had suspected he was just tired of watching you make out with Robby, which had gratified you a little bit.

“Another round?” Trinity asked, eyebrows raised.

“Slow your roll, Santos,” Parker put a hand on her shoulder, “I think we could do with a little break.”

“Robby’s been staring at you for the last twenty minutes.” Samira said, smirking. Robby was across the room behind you, you knew. Samira stood in front of you and could see him over your shoulder, “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

You had done about three or four tequila shots since arriving (you’d already lost count) and to say you were feeling it would be putting it mildly. You were starting to feel mildly apologetic for how you’d been handling your conversations with Robby the last couple of days, especially after talking to Samira earlier. But you weren’t ready to admit that yet. And, besides, you were having fun hanging out with the girls.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I’m having fun over here.”

Just then, the opening chords of Earth, Wind & Fire’s September started blaring through the speakers and you and Samira locked eyes.

“No way.” Samira giggled, shaking her head.

This song was very intrinsic to your friendship. It had played at a freshman orientation mixer and the two of you had been the only ones to sing along, embarrassingly loud and off key. It had bonded you. And from then on, it had become a siren song of sorts. Whenever you had been bickering (it was only natural after years of living together) one of you would play the song over the house speakers when you were ready to apologize. You had both been very studious in undergrad, but every so often after you turned twenty one, you could both be convinced to go out dancing and September was always requested of the DJ. So many of your happiest moments with Samira could be traced back to this song.

So you grabbed her hand, “Let’s go,” and dragged her to the dance floor.

Laughing, hands on each other’s shoulders, you danced badly and sang the lyrics loudly and ignored everyone else. You were often happiest when you were with Samira and the last couple of years back in California, you had forgotten that. She was your person, your lighthouse, the sister you never had, but always wanted. 

When the song was over, breathlessly and arms wrapped around each other still, you walked back over to Trinity and Parker. In your absence, Jack had joined them, sipping a whiskey and looked at both you and Samira with amusement on his face.

Samira detached from you as you got closer and slid into Jack’s arms instead. You watched as he pressed his mouth to her ear, whispering something only she could hear and the smile on her face widened.

With Jack here, you couldn’t help but wonder what Robby was up to now and turned your head towards the direction you last saw him. He was still there, leaning against the bar and sipping a drink–

But there was a woman next to him, now, smiling at him with her hand on his forearm. You were drunk, and so there was a part of your brain that registered whatever you were feeling watching another woman touching him was overblown. But it didn’t soothe the twisting feeling you felt in your chest when you saw him laugh at something she had said. And he hadn’t removed his arm from her touch. 

She was older than you, you could see that much. Probably around forty or so, someone more acceptable for him. Someone people wouldn’t look at and wonder if he was her father or not. She was gorgeous in a red dress that hugged her curves tightly and curly hair that fell past her shoulders. It was likely she had her life together, knew what she wanted to do with it and didn’t let childish insecurities get in the way. She probably knew how to be vulnerable with someone else without feeling like they were attacking her.

You couldn’t say how long you were staring before you heard Jack call your name. When you turned, he had a sympathetic look on his face, “Don’t let that get to you, alright?” He said, eyes following your gaze, “If you just go talk to him, he’s yours, I promise.”

Samira was still in his arms, her brow furrowed with worry as she watched you.

You looked back at Robby and the older woman and saw he had covered her hand on his forearm with his own, thumb stroking back and forth over her skin.

There was a roaring in your ears when you turned back to the table, “Mira, I think I’m gonna throw up.” You said as you braced your hands on the high top table you were all gathered around.

Immediately, you felt her hand on your back and she lowered her head until she met your gaze, “Do you want some ice?” You shook your head, no.

“You know what I would do if I were you?” Trinity said, tossing the ice from her now empty drink into her mouth.

“She’s about to give the most unhinged advice you’ve ever heard.” Samira said, sighing.

Trinity seemed unfazed by Samira’s criticism and barrelled ahead anyway, “I would go in the bathroom, take an awesome picture of my tits, and text it to him. He goes to check his phone: boom, breasts. Instant boner.” She shrugged, “It works on sapphic women, anyway.”

Parker nodded behind her, “Yeah, that would work on me.”

You blinked blankly at them and looked at Samira, who, frighteningly, was not shooting down the idea.

Jack sighed, “If you just talk to him instead of playing these games–”

“Girls,” You said, standing up straight, “Let’s take a trip to the bathroom.”

***

Robby was trying to make you jealous. He realized the immaturity of it, that he was resorting to tactics he suspected you would employ yourself, but he couldn’t help it. Something about you made him feel like a college kid again, pining after the prettiest sorority girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. 

He just wanted to talk to you. He had pushed too hard, like he tended to do. Giving tough love for a situation that maybe required gentler hands and a more receptive headspace. He didn’t think what he said had been wrong, exactly, but maybe it had been a bit harsher than he intended. And he would apologize for that. Once you admitted he was right.

But in the meantime, he couldn’t stand by any longer watching you dance around drunk in a too short dress that cupped your breasts just right and left your bare back exposed to the humid August air.

The fact that the woman was older, more age appropriate perhaps, truly hadn’t even crossed his mind. He hadn't intended to hurt you when he indulged her flirting, just maybe make you a little territorial so that you’d finally stop pretending like he wasn’t in the same room as you.

When he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out, he honestly thought it was probably someone at the Pitt, asking some obscure admin related question.

It was a number outside of his contacts and he frowned at that before swiping it open–

And being absolutely blown away by the sight of your tits on his screen. It looked like you had taken it in the bathroom, the straps from your dress pushed down your shoulders so the fabric pooled at your waist. Your nipples were hardened, likely from the cold air of the AC in the bathroom.

Underneath the picture you had typed: do you wanna lick them? also open to some light nibbling if ur in the mood

He barked out a laugh and locked his phone, cracking his neck from side to side as he turned his attention back to the woman in front of him, apologizing for the interruption. He would not be won over so easily, despite the way he felt the blood rushing south and between his legs at the thought of your tits in his mouth. 

He was tired of you using sex to avoid deep conversation. He hadn’t been sure what he wanted from you when he got here, but he had decided since that it was more than just fucking. He wouldn’t settle for just easing the ache between your legs whenever you felt like it.

A few moments later, his phone buzzed again. Robby wanted to ignore it. If you wanted him, you could come over here and say so. But in the end, you won, and he picked up his phone again.

I’m not wearing any panties.

He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed deeply as he locked his phone.

“Is everything alright?”

He opened his eyes and looked at the woman in front of him, “Yeah, sorry, I, uh–” He lifted his phone, “I just have to take care of something, would you excuse me?”

Robby was already walking towards where he last saw you before the woman could reply. You were still there, looking smug as you bit on the straw of a long empty drink and stared at him. When he got to you, he wordlessly took the drink from your hand, dropped it on the table, and then secured a hand around your wrist before he began walking again, you trailing behind.

Once outside the bar, he checked for people before backing you against the wall, relishing in your little gasp when your back hit the brick. He kissed you hard and with all the annoyance he felt, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and biting down until you yelped. He began to pull away, to see if he had actually hurt you, but before he could get more than a few centimeters away, you crashed your mouth back into his.

He palmed your breast through the fabric of your dress and sighed when he felt the peak of your nipple. He needed to know if you had been serious about not wearing panties. The dress was fairly short, and it was loose and flowy from your waist down, so it would have been quite the risk. 

Robby spread your legs with his knee before reaching one of his hands between your thighs and up your dress. You were soaked and there was not a scrap of fabric to be found. He groaned into your mouth as he ran a finger down your folds, sucking your whimpers into his mouth like oxygen. 

He was so enamored, he nearly forgot that he was absolutely under no circumstances supposed to be doing this until the two of you could have a real conversation–

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. That’s right, he wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

He pulled away from you so abruptly, that when your mouth moved to chase his, you leaned over so far you lost your balance and he had to steady you.

“Too much to drink?” He asked, hands on your arms to keep you upright.

“What the fuck?” You whined.

When he thought there was no longer any danger of you falling over, he leaned away and shoved his hands in his pockets, “I told you, there are only so many times I’ll allow you to use sex to avoid having an actual conversation.”

You pouted, “Then why did you come out here?”

He shrugged, “Temporary breach of sanity,” His eyes wandered down to your chest and he swallowed, “Provoked by a perfect pair of tits.”

You poked your tongue out between your teeth, “You think they’re perfect?”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, “Is this all you want from me? Because if it is, I need to know now.”

You frowned, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Is this just fucking to you?” He gestured to the space between you, “Is that all I am, just a good fuck?”

You felt your cheeks heat, “I–I don’t know, isn’t that what you want?”

“No,” He shook his head, “No, I–” He ran a hand over the back of his head, “I think I want more than that. I want–I want you. All of you. Not just a piece.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and shook your head slightly, “What about that woman at the bar?”

“I was just trying to make you jealous.”

You worried your lower lip between your teeth, “But she’s older and probably better at this whole thing and won’t send you a picture of her tits instead of apologizing.” 

You said it all in a rush and he gave you a small smile, “There are worse ways to apologize.”

“It’s not funny, Robby, I’m not good at this,” You threw up your hands in exasperation, “You’re right, I avoid anything that’s difficult, anything I’m worried I’ll fail at and–” You blinked rapidly, your eyes glinting wet with unshed tears, “And I’m terrified of disappointing you.”

He tilted his head and took a step to you, reaching a hand out to gently cradle your cheek in his palm, “Sweetheart, as long as you’re actually trying, you’re never going to disappoint me.”

Your breathing wavered slightly and you turned your head to kiss his palm, “I want to go to med school.” You said softly. It was a small concession, not quite an apology, but close enough.

“I know.” He pulled you to his chest and kissed the top of your head. His hands slid to either side of your neck and he tilted your head up so he could kiss you properly, the taste of tequila still on your tongue, “You ready to go back inside?”

You nodded and let him lead you back by the hand, smiling to yourself when his thumb stroked reassuring circles on the back of your hand. He kept a hand on you, whether it was on your hand, arm, hip, or thigh, for the rest of the night. The woman at the bar looked a bit miffed when she finally left, but Robby didn’t notice. He was too busy watching you.

***

The humidity was suffocating as you packed your bags in the back of your Yaris. You were dripping with sweat just from the walk from the house to the car. It was likely even hotter in Pittsburgh, a thought that had you second guessing why you had left Los Angeles in the first place. It may have been a desert, but at least it didn’t feel like you were drowning when you were outside.

“You got everything?” Robby came up behind you as you were closing your trunk, hands settling on your hips.

“Yep,” You spun in his arms once the trunk was shut. His face was red from the heat as well, skin damp with sweat, “You?”

“Think I’m just missing my… What do the kids call it? Passenger princess?” He leaned into you and pressed kisses to the side of your neck, making you giggle and push him away when he playfully bit the sensitive skin there.

“I told you,” You laughed, “I’m driving my own car.”

“Baby, it’s gonna be so loud with that useless muffler. You’re gonna hate it. Just let me call someone to tow it–”

“No,” You shook your head adamantly, “Thank you for offering, but no thank you.”

He sighed, “What if I said I just don’t want to drive back to Pittsburgh by myself?”

You smiled and kissed him. You didn’t think you’d ever tire of the taste of him, the feel of his beard against your skin, “We have plans to see each other two days from now. Aren’t you sick of me?”

He shook his head, “Not even close.” He kissed your forehead, “But, fine. Enjoy your drive, don’t come crying to me for an ENT referral when you rupture your eardrums.”

You laughed as he turned away from you, “That’s a bit dramatic, I think.”

He only shrugged as he headed to his own car and you headed to your driver’s side. Sliding into the hot seat, you put your key in the ignition and turned– There was a whine from the car, but no turnover. Frowning, you tried again. And again. And–

“Oh no,” Robby opened your driver’s side, “Looks like your car won’t start.”

You turned to scowl at him, “Did you do this?”

He laughed, “Of course not. But I can’t say I’m not a little pleased.”

You leaned your head against the steering wheel, “I can’t afford this.” You murmured. And it was true. Even after working at the new job for a while, you were still regaining your footing from all the moving costs.

“It���s probably just a dead battery or bad alternator. I’ll fix it when we get back.”

You looked up at him, “That’s too much.”

But he was already shaking his head, “I like doing it. Both working with cars and helping you. Now get in my car, please, so we can go home.”

It was strange, this feeling you got now when looking at him. When he was kind and generous with you, but had no ulterior motive. You had never met anyone like him. It had only been a week, and you had never been in love before, but you thought this must be what it felt like. When you were just on the precipice of it.

You got out of your car and rose on your toes to kiss him, “Thank you,” You whispered in his mouth.

“Get a room,” Jack teased as he walked outside, Samira in tow.

When you saw her you broke from Robby and went to wrap her up in a hug instead, “Thank you for inviting me, Mira.” You said into her shoulder.

Her arms tightened around you, “I’m just glad to have you back on the east coast.” She looked over your shoulder towards Robby, “And I’m glad that I’m such a good matchmaker.”

You laughed, “Yeah, if he’s ever mean to you again, you let me know.” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” She pulled away, “You’re on speed dial.”

Robby kept a hand on your thigh for most of the ride back to Pittsburgh, stroking a soothing pattern with his thumb until you were half asleep. The subtle smell of cherries was in his nose the entire drive back and when he occasionally looked back over at you, asleep in his passenger seat, he thought he finally understood what Jack had said to him when he started dating Samira.

It’s like I’ve been asleep at the wheel and she took it from my hands. I don’t wonder why I keep going anymore, I know it’s because she’s keeping me from veering off the road.

He certainly was no expert at relationships, but you made him want to try if it meant it would extend this feeling in his chest when he looked at you. Like everything would be okay as long as you were happy and breathing next to him.

He wasn’t sure if he loved you yet, but he was sure that he desperately wanted to find out. 

[swearimnevergivingup]

THE TIES THAT BIND ─ teaser

nanami x reader - arranged marriage, enemies to lovers au

synopsis: you didn't choose to marry nanami kento. the marriage was arranged, the love absent, and your heart still clung onto another man who was everything your husband wasn’t - wild, untethered, and free. you thought it would be the end of you. instead, it’s where everything begins. love doesn’t happen all at once, but nanami is nothing if not patient.

content: arranged marriage, reader is a sorcerer, enemies to lovers but it's entirely one sided, lots of yearning from YOU KNOW WHO, nanami is the epitome of quiet devotion that never asks for anything in return, he’s truly a good man, tw: archaic marriage practices, misogyny, commentary on the patriarchy, references to reader's past lover, past heartbreak and healing, explicit content, non-explicit mentions of violence and suicidal ideation, loss of virginity, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, NSFW

a/n: my last nanami fic me realise just how many people want to see this man hopelessly yearning, so here it is again, but in a different flavour this time. immediately i know people are gonna read and go “BUT HOW COULD I NOT LOVE NANAMI”, and to that i say i completely agree, but suspend that disbelief baby!

(Your life ends when you meet Nanami Kento.)

The first night of your marriage feels less like a beginning and more like an execution.

You sit quietly on the edge of the bed, the silk robe clinging to bare skin, thin as breath. The lace set you’re wearing is sheer and flimsy and just like this marriage – one you didn’t choose. You might as well be naked.  

Your fingers twitch in your lap as you listen to the soft click of the door behind him as he enters. It’s been made very clear what is expected of you tonight.

You don't look up.

“You’re younger than I expected,” you say flatly. Your mother says you should consider yourself lucky. She says he’s handsome, young, and a first grade sorcerer at that. You should be thanking the Gods.

“So are you,” he replies. 

(“That boy you hung out with, the one you liked so much? He couldn’t possibly compare,” she’d said. He’s a window, as they call it. As powerless as they come.)

It’s the first real exchange between you, though you’d stood side by side earlier this morning. A ceremony lined with cold tradition and stifling silk. You hadn’t spoken – not during the tea offering, not during the bows. Not even when the gold band was slipped onto your finger like a shackle.

You don’t even know what his hands feel like.

But here he is. Nanami Kento. Your husband.

“How are we doing this?” you ask quietly, staring at the ground. How do you want me? Tell me what I must do.

“I’m not here to take anything,” he says carefully. His voice gets louder as he walks closer to you, footsteps tentative. “We don’t have to do this.”

Your chest tightens. Of course he’d say that only now, when it was too late to change anything. Of course he’d make it harder.

You rise to your feet. Close the distance between you, just short of touching. The moonlight filters in through the windows and bathes you in a blueish glow. Your robe falls open, but his eyes never leave your face, not even once.

“I’m your wife,” you say bitterly. That title leaves your lips like it’s a curse. Your only sin was being born a woman. And a sorcerer, no less. “Isn’t this what people expect?”

“I don’t care about what people expect,” he’s pulling your robe shut around you and tying the knot before you can react. His fingers skim against the skin of your waist as he does so, but his gaze never travels downwards. There’s nothing lecherous in his stare, nothing demanding.

He hasn’t looked at your body once.

(You think of him. His hands were rough, his hair wild; and when he laughed it was free and unrestrained. You’ll remember him with the wind in his face, his brown hair golden under the sun, dirt scuffed into his shoes. He’s chaos and motion, untamed and untethered. Nothing like your husband – serious and straight-faced – you think he’s never known how to have fun like Hayate does. 

“You’re always chasing after me!” Hayate teased, looking back at you with a boyish grin that made your heart stumble. The tall grass rippled around him as he ran fast and barefoot.

“That’s because I like you!” you shouted back, chasing after him, breathless with the effort. “Wait for me!”

“Slowpoke,” he jested, sticking his tongue out at you in an especially childish manner. “You’ll never catch up.”

That part was true.)

You swallow, your voice small and fragile, "they’ll want proof.”

“There are ways to fake that," he murmurs. 

You blink. Something in you unravels in relief – the part that was braced for violation tonight. For sheets to be stained red, for skin to bruise, for him to take.

There are worse men to be married off to, and you know that. Your mother was right. If you’d been betrothed to that Zenin brute, your robe would be in shreds right now. He’d surely take what he wants from you – he’d push you down on the bed and not away like Nanami does.

Nanami Kento is kind. He does not push. And somehow?

You resent him even more for it.

You turn away before you start crying in front of him. “I don’t want your pity.”

“This isn’t pity,” he says simply. “Get some sleep. You can have the bed.”

He’s already walking off towards the bathroom like this isn’t supposed to be his wedding night. He doesn’t act like it, but he’s entitled to something in the eyes of others. Entitled to you. How can he be so casual about this? Act so normal?

You look around the room. There isn’t a couch, nowhere else for him to rest. 

He sleeps on the floor that night. 

The next morning, Nanami Kento pricks his thumb with a needle. Quietly, and without fanfare. You’ve been up all night, tangled in restless thoughts of wild hair and honeyed eyes, fighting back tears you refuse to shed in front of him. So you stir immediately when he approaches the bed, a drop of blood already forming at his fingertip. 

He saves you from a humiliating tradition with a soft press of his thumb on the white cotton sheets. You watch quietly as he drags his finger down to leave a smudge of crimson; blood that should have been yours. 

“There,” he wipes his thumb on a scrap of tissue. “None the wiser.”

You don’t say anything. You wish you’d been born a man instead, then you could easily spill a drop of blood from your thumb and call it mercy. You want him gone. 

Nanami collects the sheets in his hands, puts fresh ones on the bed, and simply tells you that you can have this bedroom to yourself.

“I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom going forward,” then, he leaves the room without saying another word, the stained sheets in hand.

You have to try really hard not to curse at him as he disappears out the door. Why does his gentleness feel like a weapon? 

It gets quiet when he leaves, and you finally allow yourself to cry. You weep for Hayate, for yourself, and for the life you’d dared to dream you’ll have despite knowing otherwise, uncaring if Nanami overhears your sobbing from outside. 

It’s bitterness that floods you. Bitter like the green tea you drank during the marriage ceremony, bitter like the past twenty years of your life so far, made sweeter only by one boy with wild hair and wilder eyes.

(“Hey, Hayate,” you say his name softly, head resting on his shoulder. The two of you lie beneath the wide canopy of the old oak tree by the river, watching the sun come down. The cicadas hum lazily in the summer heat, the sky melting into orange and rose as it slips beyond the horizon. It's time for you to go home; they’ll be looking for you soon. Your mother hates when you hang out with him.

But you just have one question for him before you go.

“What do you think about marriage?”

You already know the answer, but you thought you’d ask again.

Just in case he’d changed his mind.

He pulls a face instantly. His nose scrunches up, and he exhales the word like it’s bitter on his tongue. “Not for me. Thought I told you,” he bumps your shoulder affectionately. “Traps and stupid paperwork.”

Even if it’s with me?

“I see,” you say quietly. The same answer as last time. And the time before that. Hayate doesn’t change his mind; it’s what you both love and hate about him. 

He reaches over to take your hand. Warm and rough and a little wet from splashing in the water earlier. “We have something more real, don’t we?”

You perk up a little when you hear that. It’s not quite a promise, not quite the words you want to hear most, but it’s still something precious. It’ll just have to be enough.

“Yeah,” you reply, staring down at where your hands are touching; your feet muddy and bare, bumping into each other in the grass. 

You’ll ask him about this again, maybe at a better time. 

For now, you’ll just take what he can give.)

An hour later, you crack open the bedroom door and peer outside. Your eyes are swollen from your earlier meltdown, and to your relief, your new husband is nowhere in sight to witness more of your misery.

But there it is – a plate of food left just outside your door. Miso soup, a piece of grilled salmon, and a bowl of steaming white rice. Arranged neatly on a lacquered tray.

You stare at it for a beat too long. The urge to flip it over is immense, but Nanami Kento has not deserved such a level of ire. If it’d been your blood on those sheets, then maybe.

Without a word, you shut the door.

It’s been two months.

What started with refusing food on the morning after your wedding turns into a quiet rebellion. 

You don’t kick up a fuss, you don’t break plates or slam doors, but you’ve stopped eating. This is protest in the only form you know how. You’ll never play the role of a soft-spoken wife they want you to be, with her hands folded demurely at her front and her eyes cast low. Your husband will never be your master; he will never own you. 

You rarely leave your room. You don’t look him in the eye. You move like a ghost through your own house – drifting from bed to bath to bed again. No one ever visits. No one says anything. 

But three times a day without fail, you find a red lacquered tray in front of your door. Miso soup and salmon at times, pancakes and syrup at others, soft-boiled eggs with steamed greens, fresh fruit carved into delicate slices. You only eat one meal a day, just enough so you don’t wither away. 

Still, the trays keep coming.

You never hear him set it down. Never catch him in the act. But you know it has to be him, instead of one of the servants in the house. The dishes had started off looking a little rough at the edges, the salmon burnt, the rice wet and runny. They were shaped by clumsy, hesitant hands; evident in the overcooked meat, the eggs with a piece of shell stuck in them.

Then, against your will, you noticed that they slowly started getting better. 

The rice firmed up. The miso soup made with just the right amount of dashi and fresh cut tofu and scallions. Nanami Kento was born with a silver spoon, raised with soft linens, pressed collars, and servants at his beck and call. The same life all your siblings lived, with the exception of you, the bastard child. So it’s clear to you these meals aren’t the work of the servants. 

You start to think it would have been easier if he’d just taken you the first night. If he’d just proven your brother right when he said that all men were the same. Easily seduced. Easily predictable. You would be able to openly hate him then, cleanly and without guilt. Not this quiet resentment that festers in the pit of your stomach with nowhere else to go. You want to break plates and slam doors.

Instead, he looked at you with unreadable eyes and said “you don’t owe me anything”.

He’d let you have the bed, whilst he used his arm as a pillow and slept on the cold hardwood floor. He’d lent his own blood and spared yours. He prepares meals for you every day even though it goes cold and untouched. He let you have the bedroom you were supposed to share, quietly retreating to the guest one.

That’s the truth, isn’t it? You resent how kind he is. How patient he’s been. He never argued, never did anything to make you feel justified in hating him. You didn’t want someone like Nanami Kento.

a/n: oh my. i always see arranged marriage!gojo x reader, but i haven't seen any of nanami. i am here to deliver. give miss reader time please, she's going through a lot right now lol. this will be a one shot, probably 10k words max, and they will have a happy ending, TRUST. i would never do that to you guys.

btw here's a tidbit of information: i've always thought that kento's name in kanji is so incredibly fitting for his character. 建, meaning to build, establish, and 人, which means person. i think it fits him as a rather stoic and reliable character. we'll see how he sets the foundation for their marriage with these traits.

on the other hand, hayate, which is 疾風 in kanji, means swift wind. his character embodies these qualities; untethered, wild. i wonder how these differences will play out hehe. he’s all in the past though, i’m NOT doing a love triangle ew

taglist is open!

[fukases-malewife]

I LOVE THESE YAYYY

Its too unique that I'll pretty much be doxxing myself 🥀

The big 19

April 29th !!

Taurus 🐂

Green, brown, and black

I don't think I have one yet tbh

Yes... 6 ferrets, 1 cat, 1 dog, and 1 leopard gecko

New Yohk 🗽

5'1

9 to 9.5

I think 4

Being sick ☹️

Uhhmmmm uhmmmmmm I dont know.

Nah!!!!

Right now its probably Clay by The Garden

Ohhhhhhh uhmmmmmm superbad maybe idk

Someone that's cool and isn't weird and unfunny

Not currently

Maybe. Not because of religion, but because I find churches pretty

I'm more spiritual than religious

Yes a few times

No I'm a very good boy I follow the laws always 🥹

I met Adrian Brody in like 2010 at a local target

I love both too much sorry I can't choose bruh

Skin color (no socks)

Almost (not really) niche internet celebrity in 2020 danganronpa fandom, a few of my images got reposted a lot in the current House MD fandom early this year

I think about it but I would end up hating the paparazzi and get canceled really quick tbh

Literally everything and I'm dead serious too

No cuz I'm scared .

Two

On my right side, hand curled under my chin, legs up a little, other hand under my pillow

Average????

It changes all the time so I can't say for sure

No but I want to go to a shooting range soon 🥀

Nope

What

Fuck or bitch

Maybe like 20 hours idfk bruh it was years ago

Yur

I don't think so... 😥

HELL no

Idk bro

British and maybe new york or new jersey italian

I don't think so but it might be more obvious with certain words

New jersey/new york italian, toronto, and midwestern

ISFJ and 4w3

Shoot bruh probably the calvin klein jeans I thrifted

YURRR

Innie, outies are freaks of nature #joke

Right handed

Yeah lowkey

Never ask me this I love so much. Maybe some sort of seasonal soup or sweet idk FAWK

Every indian food and german and mediterranean and middle eastern food ever made

Honestly I'm messy as fuck but 🤫🤫🤫🤫

"HELP"

"Fuck" probably

30 mins to an hour, depends what I choose to wear

Not really

I like biting on them 😛 it feel good

ALL THE TIME

Heck yes I do. Ever since I was little

Not anymore, I was okay in the past I guess

Death

No because nothing ever comes around to me 😭

I DONT KNOWWWOWIWOWI

Short looks odd on me but so does long, so medium I suppose

Absolutely not 😭😭😭

Art and gym (because volleyball and badminton 🔥🔥🔥)

Introvert definitely

No because I'm also scared of this

Damn near everything dude

Sometimes 💔

Sometimes, but usually I'm too afraid to speak up

Yes unfortunately

No bro what

Not really

No!!!!!!!!

Noooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't even remember bro

6 😛

YES and I love doing it too

Maybe like average to a little bit faster than average

Not very fast 😅😅😅😅

Strawberry blonde naturally

Hazel (but may be green with brown central heterochromia idk yet, not to self diagnose.....)

Amoxicillin, scallops, and a random mystery ingredient in a mineral sunscreen I was using last year

Yes but I rarely use it

My mom owns a business and my dad is a welder

What does this even mean

Everything bruh

Yes I think it suits me :3

Kayleighlyninley

I dont know, maybe girl

Helping others

Debates

I chose it from my first time seeing someone's OC online named Alfie

I don't think so but that would be kinda awesome sauce

No! (Yes)

Black, grey, forest green, and dark purple

Green, brown, gold, etc.

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

1. What is you middle name? 2. How old are you? 3. When is your birthday? 4. What is your zodiac sign? 5. What is your favorite color? 6. What’s your lucky number? 7. Do you have any pets? 8. Where are you from? 9. How tall are you? 10. What shoe size are you? 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 12. What was your last dream about? 13. What talents do you have? 14. Are you psychic in any way? 15. Favorite song? 16. Favorite movie? 17. Who would be your ideal partner? 18. Do you want children? 19. Do you want a church wedding? 20. Are you religious? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 24. Baths or showers? 25. What color socks are you wearing? 26. Have you ever been famous? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 28. What type of music do you like? 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 31. What position do you usually sleep in? 32. How big is your house? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 34. Have you ever fired a gun? 35. Have you ever tried archery? 36. Favorite clean word? 37. Favorite swear word? 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 39. Do you have any scars? 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 41. Are you a good liar? 42. Are you a good judge of character? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 44. Do you have a strong accent? 45. What is your favorite accent? 46. What is your personality type? 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 48. Can you curl your tongue? 49. Are you an innie or an outie? 50. Left or right handed? 51. Are you scared of spiders? 52. Favorite food? 53. Favorite foreign food? 54. Are you a clean or messy person? 55. Most used phrased? 56. Most used word? 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 58. Do you have much of an ego? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 60. Do you talk to yourself? 61. Do you sing to yourself? 62. Are you a good singer? 63. Biggest Fear? 64. Are you a gossip? 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 66. Do you like long or short hair? 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 68. Favorite school subject? 69. Extrovert or Introvert? 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 71. What makes you nervous? 72. Are you scared of the dark? 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 74. Are you ticklish? 75. Have you ever started a rumor? 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 77. Have you ever drank underage? 78. Have you ever done drugs? 79. Who was your first real crush? 80. How many piercings do you have? 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ 82. How fast can you type? 83. How fast can you run? 84. What color is your hair? 85. What color is your eyes? 86. What are you allergic to? 87. Do you keep a journal? 88. What do your parents do? 89. Do you like your age? 90. What makes you angry? 91. Do you like your own name? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? 94. What are you strengths? 95. What are your weaknesses? 96. How did you get your name? 97. Were your ancestors royalty? 98. Do you have any scars? 99. Color of your bedspread? 100. Color of your room?

[deakyjoe]

Learning The Ropes (1)

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader (fem)

Category: smut, eventual friends to lovers

Summary: Whilst writing an article on spicing up the bedroom, you’re surprised when your close friend volunteers to help you experiment and investigate.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, kissing, food play (eating/licking whipped cream off each other), sub!clark, dom!reader, BDSM elements, reader writes for women’s section of online Daily Planet, journalist!reader, eventual friends to lovers, just friends who fuck at the moment, let me know if I missed anything

Word count: 5.5k

A/N: This was initially going to be one big fic but I’ve decided to split it up into maybe 3 or 4 parts that I’ll upload as I write it (assuming feedback is good). I did research for this to try to make it as authentic as possible when it comes to the at-home BDSM stuff (I read a lot of guides) but I’m not an expert so apologies for any errors - this is NOT an instruction manual. This is for @lightwxlker who helped out with the initial idea and has listened to me yap about it ever since.

Lois knew something was wrong as soon as you emerged from the meeting with your boss. "Uh oh. What does she want you to write about now?"

The office was buzzing with activity, voices blurring together, but Lois had a sixth sense when it came to you. She always knew when something wasn't quite right.

You perched on the edge of her desk with a huff, crossing your arms over your chest like a child having a tantrum as you dumped your bag onto the floor, your pens spilling from the outside pocket. "Something impossible."

Your friend snorted, thinking you were being dramatic. "What could be impossible for you? You never say no to anything."

She was right. Ever since the Daily Planet had gone digital and expanded online, it had opened up a whole array of new topics. Things that never would have seen the light of day in the physical newspaper now took pride and place on the website. As for you, you wrote for the women's section. Offering life advice, relationship tips and tricks and, most popularly, sex pointers and guidance.

"You know that article I wrote last month?" You lowered your voice. "The one on BDSM?"

"Why the world of BDSM is less scary than you think? Yeah, I know the one." Lois grinned, she'd liked that article. It had been very thought provoking, even making her curious about it all.

"Well, my readers have taken an interest in it. And all the comments on the article are asking how you can get involved with the lifestyle."

"Okay..." Lois couldn't see what the problem was. This was good for you, the audience loving an article so much that they wanted a follow up.

"They want me to experiment with at-home BDSM to inform people how easy it is to get started with objects you might have just hanging around the house." You pulled your notebook out of your bag and flipped open to the latest page to read the words your boss had used. "Make it easy and accessible."

She continued to frown. "I don't see what the issue is. You tend to write about your own experiences. Why is this any different?"

"I teach women how to achieve orgasm by themselves. What sex toys are best for their certain needs." You realised she still wasn't getting the idea. "Solo stuff."

"Ah." Lois nodded and stifled a laugh behind her hand. "And for this you need-"

"I need someone else." You sighed. "Who could’ve predicted that being chronically single would affect my work one day?"

The corner of Lois's mouth turned up in a half smile. "Surely there's someone you know who could help out? An old hookup maybe?"

You gave her a bored stare. "Lois, this isn't exactly something you can just ask of someone casually. Besides, it requires trust. I'd have to at least know the person's middle name and where they grew up."

"Do you even know your old hookups' first names?" She asked dryly.

You tapped her on the head with your notebook. "Very funny, Lane."

She laughed as she swatted the notebook away. But before she could say anything else she was interrupted by a mug of coffee being placed on her desk next to where you were sitting. You both looked up to see a figure towering over you.

"Hi, Clark." You grinned up at him, happy to see him. You'd been mildly disappointed when you'd come into the office and he wasn't at his desk.

"Hi." The tall yet shy man bowed his head down in a greeting, eyed darting to the coffee he'd just given to Lois. "I would've gotten you one too but I didn't know you were here."

You shrugged, Clark was overly polite sometimes so you didn't think anything of him not giving you a coffee. It never would have been malicious. "Don't worry about it."

"Hey, didn't you talk to lots of people from the world when you did your last article on it?" Lois broke your attention away from Clark. "Couldn't you ask one of them for help? They'd already be an expert."

You shook your head. "They'd be too well-versed. I'm supposed to be writing an amateur's guide. Besides, I'm a theoretical expert already."

One of Lois's eyebrows shot up in amusement. "Does that make you the dom?"

"Not necessarily." You rolled your eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

It was then that you and Lois both realised that Clark was still hovering, listening to your conversation. You didn't exactly want to fill in him on the details of your latest problem, but Lois had other ideas.

"She's looking for someone to practice BDSM with."

That same flat, bored look again. "Thanks, Lois."

"You're welcome." She chimed.

You looked at Clark to find that his cheeks and the tips of his ears had turned pink. A bright, flaming pink.

Maybe an explanation would ease his blushing. "It's my new article. I'm supposed to be advising my readers on how to explore it easily at home."

The explanation did not help. Clark nodded but the blood rushing to his face didn't stop.

"Okay, well-" You stood up from Lois's desk, feeling bad that you'd embarrassed Clark and feeling bad for yourself because of your predicament. "-I'm going to go home and rethink my career choices."

"And find someone who would be willing to tie you up." Lois added with a pointed finger and a smug smirk.

"That too." You sighed, scooping your bag up from the floor and stuffing your notebook into it along with the pens that had fallen out. "Goodbye, Lois. Goodbye, Clark. Bye, Jimmy!"

The latter man tossed a wave over his shoulder at you, pretending like he hadn't been listening into the whole conversation. The three of them watched you as you trudged out of the building, obviously put off by your latest assignment. But by the time you got back to your apartment, you pretty much had a whole plan set up in your head. You knew what points you wanted to hit in your article, the kind of things you wanted to experiment with and what you'd need from around the house to assist you. The only thing you still had an issue with was who you were supposed to be doing all of this with. You really had no one you could ask. It was a dilemma.

The afternoon passed by quickly and soon enough there was a knock at your door. Right on schedule, same time as every day. You opened it up to find the tall figure of Clark Kent waiting for you on the other side. He looked flustered. More so than usual.

"Good afternoon, Superman." You grinned at him and stepped to the side to let him in.

"Can you lower your voice please?" He looked either way down your hallway before walking into your apartment. It was the same way you greeted him every day, and he still worried your neighbours would overhear you. The neighbours he worried about consisted of an eighty year old woman who you were pretty sure didn't have working hearing aids and a single dad who couldn't hear anything over the screaming of his two small children.

"Sorry, sorry." You raised your hands in surrender and kicked your door shut. Finding out Clark was Superman had been a funny accident. You'd walked into one of the shared bathrooms at the Daily Planet to find him pulling the blue and red suit from his briefcase. He wasn't very good at coming up with an excuse to explain why he had it. You promised not to tell anyone. He believed you. You advised him to start locking bathroom doors. He took note of that. And you'd been close friends ever since.

"I've got lemonade in the kitchen." You told him as you made your way out to your balcony, laptop tucked under your arm. You'd offered your balcony to Clark just after finding out he was Superman, telling him it had a good view of the city so he could keep an eye out for danger whilst simultaneously doing work in the meantime. He'd taken you up on that offer and had sat on your balcony almost every afternoon and evening after that.

He joined you a minute later, a glass of lemonade in one hand and his briefcase tucked under his arm. The chair he sat in creaked as he lowered himself into it. You really needed to invest in one that would better support his large frame.

"How's your new assignment going? Made any progress?" Clark attempted to hide his blush behind the glass as he took a sip of lemonade but you saw it anyway.

You were surprised he was even asking you. As close as you and Clark were, you often didn't discuss the things you wrote about. You didn't even know whether he read your articles. "Uh, I have a plan for it. I think. It's going to take more research."

"Found someone to participate?"

You snorted. "No. I can't even think of anybody to ask."

He watched you for a moment, hesitating. "Well, I was thinking-"

You cut him off as an object falling from the sky distracted you, dragging your eyes away from him. "Is that a meteor?"

Clark's eyes snapped towards it. "I'll be back."

He disappeared back into your apartment in a flash before flying out again and into the sky in less than a second, a haze of red and blue, rustling the pile of notes next to you than you'd written up earlier in the day. You could only observe as Clark- Superman caught the falling object and carried it back into space. Honestly, it baffled you as to how you'd never written a piece about Superman considering how often you got a front row ticket to his acts of heroism. You shrugged to yourself and opened your laptop, pulled up an empty document and typed out a title.

At-Home BDSM: How You Can Easily Spice Up the Bedroom.

You weren't quite happy with that title but it would have to do for now. At the rate you were going in terms of finding a partner, you'd be lucky if there even was an article. A working title was the least of your worries.

A few minutes later Clark landed back on your balcony.

"Well done, Superman. Can't wait to see Clark Kent's front page piece tomorrow." You smiled at him over the top of your laptop, wondering how he didn't even seem to be out of breath. Funny how human he looked on the outside.

"Haha, hilarious." He disappeared back into your apartment and emerged a couple of moments later, changed back into his shirt and slacks. He'd abandoned the suit jacket and dress shoes for now. "What I was trying to say before-"

"Before you were interrupted by a meteor shower?"

"Yeah. What I was trying to say before that was what would you think of me being your participant?"

Hands stopped typing mid-word. Brain short circuited. Body froze. Heart rate increased.

"What?" Your head whipped around to look at him, to see if he was joking. He looked deadly serious. Your heart thumped in your chest.

"You said you can't think of anyone to ask. What about me?"

"Once again, what?"

"I don't know what you're not understanding-"

Thwack. With a firm push of your hand your laptop snapped shut and cut him off. "I'm sorry. Are you, Clark Kent, Superman, offering to enter into a BDSM relationship with me?"

He smiled warmly. "If it'll help with your article then yeah!"

You stumbled over your thoughts, mind running at a million miles per minute. The idea of doing all the things you'd made a note of with Clark of all people was strange. Not unwelcome. But strange. It left a tight feeling in your stomach.

"You do know what that would entail, yes?"

He didn't look too impressed with that. "I wasn't born yesterday."

"That's not what I meant." You sighed and put your laptop on the floor as you stood up. "It would be intense."

"I know. But I also know you'd take care of me." His dimples shone as he smiled widely. "I heard Lois say you'd take on the dominant role since you know a lot."

"And you'd be okay with that?" You hadn't really decided which role you were going to take on yet, it was all dependent on who you ended up partnering with. But it seemed you didn't have to worry about that. Clark Joseph Kent was offering to be your submissive. At least you knew his middle name.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'd be okay with that."

"We'd have to have a lot of long conversations about it. Set up boundaries and safe words and stuff."

"Sounds great. Do you want to start now?" His eyes moved over to the pile of notes you'd made on the topic.

He was killing you. Truly. Killing. You.

"Clark, we'd have to have sex."

His blue eyes met yours again. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Do you?"

"No. It's all research, right?"

A humourless laugh rumbled out of you. "Right."

"So, is that a yes?"

What other choice did you have?

"Yes."

"Great." He sat back down in his creaky chair. "Let's start talking."

1. First things first, a safe word system is essential.

The sun had set long ago when you and Clark finally finished talking through your plan for the article. You'd set up boundaries. You knew his limits. He knew yours. Everything you had to say he took in with rapt attention, nodding along with you. You'd made him look through a list of possible activities and kinks to see what he'd be up for. You were surprised when he said yes to most of it. The list was pretty tame, easy stuff to start out with, but you were still surprised by his enthusiasm.

"For a safe word, I figured we'd just go with the standard traffic light system." You shrugged, consulting your notes. When Clark gave no reaction, you glanced up at him. He just stared back at you blankly. "Green is all good, yellow is pause and re-assess and red is hard stop."

"Right, right. Yeah, good." He nodded along enthusiastically but you could tell he wasn't quite certain.

"Clark, you know you don't have to do this. Right?"

"I know. But I want to."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, positive."

"I'll take care of you, I promise. As your... dominant it's my responsibility to keep you comfortable and happy. We'll do everything slowly and step by step. We can talk through everything as many times as you want and you're always allowed to tell me no."

"I know. And I trust you."

"Good. Trust is... is important." You consulted your notes. "When do you want to get started?"

"When's the article due in?"

"End of the month." You looked at everything you had planned. "How does tomorrow sound?"

"Tomorrow sounds good." His smile hadn't wavered for the whole evening. "What's on the schedule?"

"Food-play." You paused to await a reaction that he didn't give. "I've got whipped cream I can eat off of you.”

"Starting off tame, huh? There are more intense things on your list." He snatched up the list from your coffee table.

"That's the point. We start slow and build our way up."

"Hm, okay. I'm good with that." He put the list back down and wiggled his eyebrows. "Anything you want me to do in the meantime? Y'know, as your submissive?"

He seemed a tad too keen to say that. You wondered if it was mocking but decided Clark was too nice for that and was probably just eager to help you out.

"Nothing specific. But from now on I'm your dominant and you're my submissive. So you do as I tell you. Within reason." You paused. "Actually, there is something. You have to ask my permission to come. So no jerking off when you get home."

Pink-tinged cheeks glowed in the moonlight. "Okay, I can do that."

After a few more short conversations about what your new dynamic with Clark would entail, he decided to head home for the night. There was an air of awkwardness as you looked at each other at your door, knowing you were going to sleep together in the near future but not knowing what the vibe was between you until then. Did you hug goodbye? Offer him a friendly pat on the shoulder? Kiss? No, definitely not kiss.

Clark had other ideas. "Permission to touch you?"

You frowned. "Sure."

He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on your cheek. "See you tomorrow."

It was your turn to grow hot. "See you tomorrow."

Then the door was closed and you were tucking yourself into bed not long after that. At least with the ability to work from home tomorrow, you didn't need to see Clark before you inevitably licked whipped cream off of his chest in the afternoon. God, you were in for a ride.

2. Start out slow. Introduce food in the bedroom to make things different. But remember, cleanup will be sticky.

By the time Clark was knocking on your door the next day, you'd written the introduction for your article and done more investigating into the other things you had planned.

"Good afternoon, Miss Dominant. How has your day been?" Clark grinned at you as he closed your apartment door.

You rolled your eyes as you poured him a glass of lemonade. "You don't have to call me that."

"What do I call you then?"

"My name." You huffed. "We agreed we've known each other too long for you to start calling me 'mistress' or something."

"Eh, it was worth a shot." He shrugged and planted his elbows on your kitchen island. "I see you're not making me get my own drink today."

"As your dominant, I take care of you now." You handed the drink to him. "Did you bring a change of clothes like I asked?"

"Thanks. Yeah."

"Good. I did remember one thing we forgot to discuss yesterday."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"What do you want as a reward? Y'know, when you're good?"

The sincerity in your voice had Clark choking on the lemonade, spluttering into the glass. "Uh, what kind of things could you reward me with?"

"The first thing that comes to mind is praise."

"Huh." He nodded and lowered the glass.

"Yes or no to that?"

"We can try it out."

"Okay. But tell me if you're not into it." You turned to your refrigerator.

"I will."

"Good." You pulled the can of whipped cream from the shelf and placed it on the counter between the two of you. "Want to get started?"

He only nodded.

"Use your words, Clark."

His cheeks flushed. "Yes, I want to get started."

"Good. Let's go." You grabbed the can again and rounded the counter, slid your hand into Clark's larger one and started leading him towards your bedroom. He followed you happily. When you reached your bedroom, you shut the door behind the two of you and tossed the cream onto the top of your bed. You turned to Clark and held onto his other hand with your now free one. "Traffic light check-in?"

"Green. Very green." His smile confirmed his answer.

"Good." You dropped his hands and pointed at the bed. "Take off your shirt and lie down."

"Okay." He did as he was told pretty quickly but not Superman quickly. Just fast enough to showcase an enthusiasm that had your stomach twisting in anticipation.

Once he was situated on the bed with his torso exposed, you took a second to admire him. He was about as ripped and muscular as you'd expect Superman to be. It was intimidating how perfect his body was. You tried not to show that on your face and maintained a neutral expression.

Picking up the cream again, you crawled onto the bed and placed yourself straddled over the tops of his thighs. You didn't want to sit on his lap quite yet.

"Ready?"

He hummed in affirmation.

"Words, Clark."

"I'm ready."

You popped the cap off the cream and discarded it to the floor as you shook the canister, figuring you probably wouldn't be needing it for a while. "No touching. Keep your hands palms down on the bed. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Good." And with that you squirted a load of cream onto his chest, using a finger to smear it around a little. Once you were happy with it, you reached up and tapped the finger covered with cream against Clark's lips. "Clean this for me."

He obliged with an open mouth and sucked the sweetness clean off your finger with a satisfied sigh.

"Good boy." You said as you lowered your head down and started licking a long stripe up from his waistband to his collarbone.

The cream gathered on your tongue and Clark shivered beneath you. It only took one look in his eyes with the white substance sitting on your tongue for him to grow rock hard beneath you. He realised then that he might have been in way over his head. But he was in too deep now.

He could only make small little sounds as you went to town on licking over the rippling muscle of his chest, his hands twitching at his sides. He wanted to touch you, he really did. But you'd said he couldn't. So he followed your instructions. You bit gently at the softer tissue of his pecs and Clark moaned in the back of his throat. You only smiled against his skin and did it again.

Once his chest was clean you sat up again and looked down at him, noticing the bulge in his pants. You were enjoying this far too much, although that was the point, and traced a finger over his belt buckle. The power was going to your head. "Got a little excited, hm?"

Clark didn't answer you, just stared up instead with his mouth hanging open. It was a confidence boost to see that this was the effect you had on him, whether it was just because of the whipped cream or not.

"Sit up against the headboard."

He did as he was told again, keeping his hands down firmly on the bed. You liked that, he was good at following instructions.

"You can touch me now." You watched the excitement flare on his face.

"Where?"

The act of him asking sent a thrilling pulse straight through you as you trailed a fingertip along the length of his neck. "You can put your hands on my hips, to keep me steady. And then hold onto me however you want once I'm licking the cream off you again."

He did exactly that, keeping you balanced as you moved forward a few inches to settle on his lap. What you'd already gathered through seeing the outline on the front of his pants was confirmed as you sat against him. Clark was extremely well endowed.

You pushed that thought aside as you grabbed the can again. "How'd you feel about me giving you a hickey?”

"I'm okay with that." He whispered. "But it might not stay long. Rapid healing, y'know?"

"Hm." You only hummed in response.

Clark stayed frozen as the can hissed next to his ear, the cold cream landing on his neck. He waited with bated breath as you dropped the can to the bed and leaned into his ear.

"Ready?"

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Yes."

Then your lips were attached to his neck, sucking and tongue licking away the sweet substance. Clark's arms slid from your hips to wind around your back, rocking you against him as he grew impossibly harder. Your shirt clung to his sticky chest but you didn't seem to pay much attention as you sucked a hickey into his throat. Clark's eyes rolled back as you hummed happily and your clothed core pressed tight against him.

He was in heaven and you hadn't really done anything yet. He was fit to burst in his pants, cock throbbing with the weight of you sitting against him. Trembling underneath you as you focused on cleaning him of the dairy product, Clark could only think of all the things you had yet to do. He'd seen your plan. He was screwed. Literally.

Once every last bit of the cream was gone, and you'd had your fill of biting at Clark's skin, you finally pulled back and smiled at him.

"How'd that work for you?" You looked pleased with yourself as you took in the sight of his pink cheeks and blown pupils. He looked dazed.

"Good, it was good." His eyes drifted to the can on the bed next to the two of you. "Can... can I try?"

Surprised he was so into it already, you tilted your head to the side playfully. "You want to have a go? Where would you like it?"

His gaze flew up and down the length of you before he shrugged shyly. "You decide."

"You make a good little sub, Kent. You know that? Okay." You reached down and pulled your shirt over your head, laughing when you realised it was stuck to Clark's torso. You reminded yourself to make a note of that. Your shirt was tossed aside and you were left sitting on his lap with only your bra to cover your chest. Grabbing the cream, you kept a keen eye on Clark as you sprayed the substance over the swell of your breasts. "There you go. Get licking."

There was a split second of hesitation before he was on you. Eyes closed, tongue laving over your skin enthusiastically, Clark moaned at the combined taste of the cream and you. He couldn't quite decide which was sweeter. He sucked on you greedily, peeking his eyes open to see if he was doing a good job. When he saw your head was thrown back he figured he probably was.

He was wrong before, this was heaven. He could feel himself twitching, precum already leaking from his tip. But he didn't plan on stopping until you told him to. Maybe you were right, maybe he did make a good sub. Because all he could think about was pleasing you. He moaned when you did, the sound of you sending a shockwave through him. Without realising it, he had started rocking your hips against his to seek out the friction he so desperately craved.

"Okay, okay. That's enough." You got a grip on the back of his head, fingers knotted in his hair, and pulled him away from you. "Go easy."

"I'm sorry." He huffed and rested his forehead against your chest, right in the valley of your breasts. "Got carried away."

"It's okay. I'm flattered you seemed to enjoy that so much." You used your hold on his hair to tilt his face up to yours. You ghosted your lips over his, pulling away just as he started to lean in further. Clark let out a low whine. Your brows shot up in surprise at that. "Really? Day one and you're already so needy and pathetic."

He let out a breath of frustration.

"A brat too." You paused and cupped his face in your hands. "Check-in?"

"Green." His voice was firm but you decided to double check anyway.

"Sure?" You asked and he nodded. "Words, Clark."

"Yes, I'm sure." His eyes were fixed on your lips.

"Okay, good. Want me to make you come?"

His eyes shot up to meet yours. He was surprised at how blunt you were, shocked that your friendship didn’t seem to be getting in the way of this new setup between you. "Yes, please."

Then you kissed him, hot and heavy. He tasted of the cream he'd been sucking off of you, or maybe that was you. Either way, the kiss tasted sweet. You made sure to stay in control, your tongue licking into his mouth and curling against his. Tension built in your tummy at how good it felt to kiss him, something you hadn't anticipated.

Clark was loud as you rocked your hips against him, an array of whimpers and moans leaving his lips. You swallowed them hungrily. He wasn't far off coming, you could sense it.

So you broke away from the kiss and leant your forehead against his. "You close?"

"Yes." He whined, suddenly remembering what you'd told him the day before. "Can I come? Please?"

"Yes." You kissed him against and that sealed the deal. His hips thrust up against yours once, twice and then he was moaning into your mouth as his body jerked against yours. "Good boy, Clark."

He smiled against your mouth at that as he relaxed beneath you, sated. Suddenly, he stiffened. "I came in my pants."

"Don't worry about it." You chuckled, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Let's get you cleaned up."

3. Aftercare is important.

After Clark had calmed down you climbed off of him and disappeared into the bathroom. You re-emerged with a washcloth and proceeded to wipe the stickiness off of his neck and chest. You placed soft kisses on his rosy cheeks as you did so, returning his breathing rate to normal. Wandering off again to get his briefcase, Clark watched you move around him. When you came back with his briefcase clutched in one hand, you offered your free one out to him.

"Bathroom, come on." You tilted your head in the direction of your en suite, smiling when Clark grasped your hand and hauled himself up from the bed.

The two of you were quiet as you pulled a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from his briefcase. He could only observe as you seemed to do it all so naturally, like taking care of him was instinct. You'd made a joke about him being a good submissive, but maybe you were good at being dominant. Certainly at this side of it at least.

You broke him out of his thoughts with a quiet question. "Do you want help getting changed or do you want to do it yourself?"

He blinked. Clark wasn't shy, he'd been all too eager to take his shirt off for you. But he also didn't revel in the idea of suddenly being completely bare, soft and covered in his own cum for the first time you saw him naked. He didn't think you would judge him in any way, oh no, far from it. But the twinge of embarrassment that hit him at the mere notion of it was too much to ignore.

"Uh, I'll do it myself. I'll be fine." His voice was raspy as he said it, wondering if it was the wrong answer. Maybe he was supposed to let you do everything.

"Okay." You shrugged. "Still green?"

His shoulders relaxed. "Still green."

"Good. See you in a minute." You stood on the tips of your toes and planted a kiss on his jawline before returning to your bedroom and closing the door behind you.

When he followed behind you a few minutes later, free from his momentary spiralling in the bathroom, he found you on your bed sitting against the headboard and flicking through channels.

"I ordered pizza for us. It'll be here in twenty minutes."

He cleared his throat, prepping himself to ask his next question. "You don't want me to go home?"

You frowned, sitting up and scooting towards the edge of the bed towards him. You didn't like how tense he was, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. "No, why would I want that?"

Clark shifted from foot to foot. "I've heard you talking to Lois and Cat. You kick out guys after you've slept with them usually, don't you?"

The crease between your brows that appeared at that indicated that you were not a fan of what he'd just said. "You're not a one night stand, Clark."

"Yeah, but we're not dating either."

"Look, you can go home if you want." You slid back towards the headboard and settled against the pillows. "Or you can stay here and partake in what I had planned."

"What- what did you have planned?" He folded his arms across his chest, biceps straining against the material of his sleeves.

"Pizza, a movie and cuddling." You shrugged. "Standard post-sex stuff."

He perked up. "Cuddling?"

You grinned. "Shut up and get over here."

You didn't need to tell him twice. He bounded towards you like an excited puppy and landed on the bed with a bounce. After settling on a channel, and settling into each others' arms, the evening moved by rapidly. The pizza was delivered and you ate through it quickly, mocking the made-for-TV movie you'd put on between mouthfuls. You only ever moved from your spot on the bed to answer the door to the pizza guy and to wash and dry his clothes. Clark spent most of the evening leaning his head on your lap as you carded your fingers through his hair. It was nice. It wasn't until the sun had set that you finally decided to approach the topic of what was on the agenda for the next day.

"Hey, Clark."

"Hm?"

"I have an idea for tomorrow if you're up for it."

A/N: let me know what you think!

[rotagnus]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ᭄᭡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ general + next phase pick-a-pile.

hiii guys!! i hope you're all doing well. this pick-a-pile will go into depth about the next phase of your life, as well as general things you may want to know. if it does not resonate, don't force it to. i may not be the reader for you.

pile 1.

shadow card: the hierophant.

cards pulled: the hermit. 10 of pentacles. 8 of cups. knight of swords.

a lot of you seem to be tired of always having to be the strong one, the smart one. because of this, you tend to feel isolated from everybody else. being highly aware, spiritually and also just simply by itself, is no easy job. during this phase, you're probably yearning so badly for someone (could be a general figure - could be a specific person) to just hold you and let you be vulnerable. you feel as if things would fall apart without you; which is partially ego, and partially the truth. but i think you have to turn back from bringing so much wealth to everybody else. of course, some of you may deem this to be a cowardly thing to do. it does not matter what untender souls see your actions as. those who truly are meant for you will see your actions as realistic, not as unfair. i think many of you are currently fulfilled in one sector of your life, but with the rest, you're feeling very hungry for something else. many of you may have more-or-less stable jobs, or maybe a stable figure in your life; a friend, a parent, a coworker, someone who fulfills their certain aspect, but that's not what you're craving right now, and it's completely eating you alive. i think a lot of you daydream about being able to just let go and not do anything anymore, just so you can stop caring so much about holding everything together no matter what. what i'm understanding is that a lot of you really do need this period of life, no matter how tasteless it is. a lot of you refuse to actually think about yourself when it comes to a period of isolation, and instead, you're waiting for it to end. take a deep breath, take a journal, and see to it that you write down all you want for the next phase of your life. this isn't moving quickly for a reason. the universe has not betrayed you. just because others have connections that are flourishing before yours doesn't mean anything. you are damn successful, damn talented, and the reason you feel so lonely isn't because you're the person you are. maybe the people coming into your life are unready themselves. don't rush timing that is divine. i know it makes some of you furious and angry, despite your love for the spiritual and the universe, but you guys have to reign that in and channel it to something good. i don't think it's a wise idea for you to keep stressing so much about things you know won't move on until you finish that certain lesson. and i'm sorry for disappointing those of you who were hoping for some new romance, or something that's more reassuring than this, but perhaps the next pick-a-pile you pick up will have that in it, after you've recovered this lesson. don't try to rush through phases. others will disappear just as quickly if you shoo this one away. much love, pile 1.

pile 2.

shadow card: the devil.

cards pulled: queen of pentacles.* 5 of cups. 10 of cups. 2 of wands.

hello to my passionate, fiery people. i see you and i hear you. you guys want a lot but you will work hard for it, and you understand that to get good things, you must work in a good manner. many of you are struggling with having faith in the universe right now. things don't seem to be giving you reassurance and you may be binging tarot readings and asking for signs left to right. so. relax. listen. one sign is enough. and you need to actually rest instead of panicking. i know it's hard, but the end outcome is good. but you can't destroy yourself over worries all the time. take a deep breath and relax. write down why you're worrying. i think a lot of you are recovering from a time period where it seemed to you that you have it all, and it disappeared. you're not recognizing that good things are coming for you, albeit slowly. you're self-sabotaging and self-isolating, and maybe some of you fell into bad habits again. sure, you have some things you want. people may be calling you pretty. they may be wanting you. just not in the soul-deep way you crave. you guys feel desperate and heartbroken and it seems like life is just not for you. here's a big hug from me to you, pile 2.

some of you may wanna cling onto the past that actually hurt you way more, because you're scared that the next part of your life won't work out. maybe you're not sure if you should leave your current, draining job because you're not certain when you can get the next one. maybe you wanna transfer homes. maybe you wanna end a bad relationship. the answer to this (and listen, with big decisions...make sure you don't entirely trust tarot readers. trust your gut first) is to LEAVEEEE. no matter how scared you are. i mentioned you were hardworking. this will do you good in the long run. you guys know you're fully capable of fixing situations, you're just scared because from your viewpoint, it all seems a little murky and terrifying right now. but you know you can't stay as you are, so you should go before you're pushed to. i think that the outcome you want is entirely possible, entirely realistic. but you were not meant to have an easy life. you as a soul crave difficulties because you wanna grow. and not everyone wants to. so that's a good thing, and i know how tired you are, babe, but you got this. baby steps. some of you may be getting a new job or financial opportunity soon. i think that many of you may take it. also, there are some things coming up that i can sense, however they are not meant for you to know right now, my dear. much love, pile 2.

*(pile 3 also had that card pulled so maybe some things from there will resonate with you! don't judge i didn't do the readings in order 😭)

pile 3.

shadow card: temperance.

cards pulled: ace of swords. page of wands. queen of pentacles. four of pentacles.

i think most of you have a pretty stable phase of your life, currently. it's not exactly good, but it's not exactly bad, so you're just going with the flow. i feel like you guys are able to find beauty in everything, in the slight moments of today, even if it's literally one of the most painful, terrible days you've went through. many of you may resonate with the saying 'this too, shall pass'. as people, many of you can come off as somber and quiet, very guarded, but once someone gets to know you, you're very loving, doting, maybe even obsessive to a certain degree. you hold yourself to a high bar and you cannot disappoint yourself by rejecting someone in need of help, which has led you to be used and abused. your inability to say no hindered a large part of your life. anyways, that was channeled, so take it as you do. but i think the most important thing for you to do right now is to let go. let go of the outcomes you're so strongly expecting, especially the bad. let yourself dream. that's the beauty of life. everyone experiences miracles, and yet people do not often speak of them. that is why everyone is so convinced nothing good happens. let yourself think about the things you want that seem unreachable. stop trying to force yourself to settle for something realistic; but don't shy away from what you immediately deem as that, either. things change once you get to know them. people, too. this is a new beginning that will be serving justice for each and every figure in your life; mainly yourself. so think about the past. realize that one cannot be entirely bad, nor entirely good. we are all memories melded together into a structure made of several different things. many of you try to force a certain experience or certain people to be entirely angelic or entirely devilish, and this quality will not serve you during this phase of your life. also, some of you seem to deal with insecurity. chin up, honey. you're all that and more. stop worrying about trying to be smaller so some stupid shitheads can accept you for less than what you are. let all that love and authenticity pour out of you, don't just hold it for yourself. the truth is that you shouldn't care about the opinions of others as heavily as you do. people come and go. the insecure ones put confident, beautiful ones down. you don't need certain qualities to be confident, you just are. so stop being so sad. you're absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous, smart, and just have that spark within you. so no more of that, honey. people will pour love into you once you break through all these phases, in the next part of your life. start to try to let yourself be a bit more free. this cage is one you built, therefore one you can get out of. much love, pile 3.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi : )) I'm sure you have, like, thousands of asks in your inbox, but here's some dialogue prompts, feel free to choose as many or as few as you like! hero x villain mlm if you don't mind!

"strip. do it now or I do it for you."

"stop struggling -- I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"

"lie down on the bed, please".

"don't make me do this. please."

"are you crying? there's no need for that, pretty boy. It's just me."

"Are you crying? There's no need for that, pretty boy. It's just me."

The hero swallowed hard at the words, trying to will the tears down. It didn't especially work. The sight of the villain - golden, devastating, somewhere between a relief and a horror - only made him want to cry harder.

His hands flexed in the power inhibiting cuffs. "I thought you were the guards."

The villain's head tilted. "Did they hurt you? Is that why you're crying?"

"Thousands of people are dead," the hero said, in a broken sort of disbelief. "Thousands of people are dead because of me. They'll kill me for this."

"Nah," the villain said. He leaned against the cell door, folding his arms. "I won't let them do that."

"I'd deserve it."

"Losing control happens to the best of us."

"It doesn't happen to you."

"Well," the villain said, with the sunny smile. "I'm not the best of us, am I?"

Another wretched sob lodged in the hero's throat.

The villain sighed and nudged off the wall, crossing the small space. The hero twitched in his restraints, but without his powers there was little he could do about the villain's presence.

"Hey now," the villain said. He thumbed the tears away like they were something precious. "You're okay. So you accidentally killed a bunch of people - it's not the worst thing ever. There are a lot of people in the world! With over-population and all that jazz you probably did a net good. You have to think positively about these things."

"I murdered over a thousand people," the hero said, as if repeating it louder and slower might make the awfulness of it get through.

The villain shrugged.

"Yeah," they said. "By accident. It's more like involuntary manslaughter, you know. I'd do it on purpose, so you've got that going for you."

The hero wrenched his head away, jaw clenching. He closed his eyes. More tears rolled down his cheek.

The villain sighed again. "Ah, pretty boy," he said. "You break my heart, you really do."

"Why are you here?" the hero demanded. "Did you come to gloat or something?"

"We both know I came to make sure you were okay, but I can gloat if it would help you feel morally superior for a moment."

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, you look like you're having a whale of a time, darling." The villain scrubbed his fingers up through the hero's hair next, just a little too much on the side of caring and tender. "Those inhibitors have gotta hurt like a bitch."

"It's fine."

"Your suffering won't bring them back."

There was nowhere for the hero to recoil to. Telling the villain he didn't deserve such attempts at comfort would do nothing to stop it either.

The villain tugged at his hair, hard enough to yank the hero's gaze back to him.

"Come on now," he said. "Stop crying. You'll awaken something in me. And I don't want to drag you through the mob all teary-eyed, it never looks good on camera."

"What?"

"You don't think I'm just leaving you here, do you?"

"I need to face the consequences of my actions."

"You're a god amongst men, pretty boy. We don't need to do shit."

"I want to face the consequences of my actions."

"The consequence is that you have to deal with me," the villain said, "after being all heroic and dumb enough to let them put a power inhibitor on you. And I don't care what your guilt wants you to do. So. Up you get. There we go, good boy."

The hero wobbled to his feet, if only because he knew the villain well enough that it was a case of standing himself or being forcibly moved. He glared.

The villain flashed him another sunny smile, slightly soft at the corners. His eyes were soft and dark too. Something to drown in blissfully.

"What if I lose control again?" the hero asked.

"Eh."

"This is serious. People are - they all - fuck."

"-Stop thinking about it," the villain said. "I'll figure it out. Just breathe. You're crying again, for god's sake."

The hero sniffed.

The villain drew him in, hugged him hard, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "It's just me," he said, in the hero's ear. "You know there's nothing you can do to hurt me. I've got you. You're fine."

It shouldn't have been reassuring, it wasn't remotely fine, yet it was. His monster always made everything he did seem manageable.

The villain pulled back, brushing the tears away again.

"Chin up, pretty boy," he said. "That's it. Now come with me."

The hero didn't know what else to do, so he followed.

[navybrat817]

Love and Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader

Summary: You surprise Bucky with a visit to the shop, and he has a surprise of his own.

Word Count: Almost 2.1k

Warnings: Established relationship, kissing, humor, tension, teasing, nicknames, referenced smut, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

Previous Part of AU: Tasty Treat

A/N: Let's pay our gorgeous tattoo artist a visit, shall we? ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics and Bucky edit by the amazing @nixakimbo. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You walked into the shop and giggled the second you saw Jake. He practically jumped out of his chair when he spotted the box in your hands. Bucky told you that you spoiled the gang by dropping by with treats, but you couldn't help yourself and they appreciated them. Bucky couldn't stop you, and you couldn't stop him when he snuck money from all of them back into the tip jar when he stopped by your shop. The last time you tried to protest he silenced you with a kiss. A long, deep, heated kiss.

He won the argument. 

“Donuts today,” you announced. 

“Donuts?” Jake’s smile lit up his face and you smiled back. He was such a sweetheart and deserved to have someone by his side. When was he going to find someone? When would it be his turn? “Thanks.”

“Aww, you shouldn't have,” you heard Hal say before he sauntered over and leaned against the counter. “And don't you look as sweet as ever.”

You shook your head and giggled again. He changed his hair to a shade of blue to match his eyes. “Does your girlfriend know you're flirting with me?” you teased. 

It was harmless flirting, like always. The gang all knew how crazy Hal was about Angel. He only had eyes for his girl just like all the other men in the shop. Loyalty meant a lot to them. 

Hal raised an eyebrow. “Aren't you more worried about your boyfriend’s reaction instead of Angel’s?”

“No,” you and Jake said in unison. If Bucky was within earshot he would've growled at Hal for flirting with you, but Angel could bring men to their knees with a look, including the man right in front of you. 

The piecer shivered and it wasn't at all out of fear, judging by the smirk on his pretty face. “I’d better let her know I’m thinking of her,” he said, pointing behind him with his thumb. “And you should let your man know you’re thinking of him. He’s in Steve’s chair.”

Your brows furrowed. Bucky hadn't mentioned getting a new tattoo today, but it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He had lots of ideas for the blank spots on his skin. He was still waiting for the day when he’d get to ink you, and you hoped that day was coming soon. 

“Don’t eat them all, Jake,” you warned, going to find your boyfriend.

“I make no promises,” he called after you.

Andy gave you a nod when you walked by and you smiled back. He didn't look as grumpy as normal and you hoped things were going well with Sunny. They were good for each other. 

You bit your lip when you spotted Bucky in Steve's chair. He was shirtless, his impressive torso on display as the sound of the tattoo gun permeated in the air. He had his eyes shut, completely at ease as his best friend tattooed his chest. The spot over his heart was empty until now. 

Bucky's eyes slowly opened as if he knew you were watching him, and he smiled at the sight of you. “Hey, Sugar,” he rumbled, making Steve smirk and your cheeks get warmer. It wasn't fair how his voice could turn you into a puddle. At least, it wasn’t fair for him to not do anything about it.

“Hey, Hottie,” you sighed. 

“Miss me already?” he asked.

“Stop using your bedroom voice on your girl while I’m working,” Steve joked. 

Bucky smirked and winked at you while you tried to keep heat from rushing through your body. He already used his bedroom voice this morning and convinced you to stay in bed a few minutes longer. You hadn't protested much. If the man wanted to give you a wonderful orgasm to start the day, you'd take it. Even if you had the worst day possible, you'd still have him at the end of it. 

And while Bucky hadn't flat out asked you to move in with him, he seemed to be slowly moving you into his apartment. Not only did he convince you to bring some of your things from your place to his, but he had your essentials and favorites stocked up over the last few weeks. You could've brought it up, but you were waiting for him to officially ask. 

“I think he's more than allowed to use that voice,” you teased. He could say anything he wanted in whatever tone he chose because he was Bucky fucking Barnes.

“See? Two against one.” Bucky winked again before giving his friend a pointed look. “And don't act like you don't use your boyfriend voice on Rose every time you see her.”

You giggled when Steve smiled sheepishly. It was sweet how everyone used nicknames for all of the significant others instead of given names. “That’s true,” he admitted.

“So, what’s the new tattoo?” you asked, trying to get a look.

Bucky held a hand up and Steve shifted just enough to block your view. “Nope. You can't come any closer. It isn't ready yet,” he replied.

You frowned, which made him frown. He preferred to see you smile. “You don't want me to see it?” you asked. That wasn't like him. 

He gestured to the blonde. “He’s almost done, and I don't want to spoil the surprise.”

Your eyebrows shot up. A tattoo that he wanted to surprise you with? That sounded mysterious and romantic. Now you really wanted to know what it was.

“You know what?” Steve paused to look at you, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “It may be better if you wait in the break room.”

“Really?” you asked, looking at Bucky for confirmation. 

“Really, Sugar. Be a good girl and wait for me,” Bucky said. He looked like he was trying not to smirk when you inhaled and he had the same hint of mischief in his eyes that Steve did. Peas in a pod, those two. “I won't keep you waiting long.”

You giggled. “Okay. I’ll go,” you agreed. You didn't mind waiting there, but you really wanted to know what the tattoo was. At least you wouldn't have to wait long. 

You took a seat, your cheeks heated. Your mind wandered to deep and sensual kisses with Bucky as he held you right there. Frantic kisses, too, where he just had to have you. And who could resist Bucky Barnes? You were just a woman.

The door swung open after a few minutes and Bucky walked in, still shirtless. He was a vision of ecstasy. “Hey,” he smiled.

“Hey,” you smiled back, getting to your feet so you could take a look at the new tattoo. If you stayed seated, your eyes would stay on his abs or move lower and you’d just be distracted. “So, what’s the…”

Your breath hitched and tears pricked your eyes when you saw the tattoo. You couldn't believe it. In an elegant script over his heart was a single word… SUGAR.

“Bucky,” you whispered, overwhelmed as your fingers hovered over the fresh ink. 

He simply smiled and puffed his chest out. “You like it?”

“I love it,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. He had your nickname, his beautiful endearment for you, permanently etched onto his skin.

The love in his eyes mirrored your own when he took your hovering hand and pressed it against his skin, encouraging you to feel it. "I want you with me always, Sugar. Right by my heart since it belongs to you.” 

Your sigh was soft as you kissed him and you delicately traced the fresh raised ink. The sheer tenderness of the gesture had your heart melting like lava. “I can’t believe you did this.” To have that on him forever meant everything.

“It’s always been you,” he swore, his thumb stroking your knuckles. “The very first time I saw you, I knew you were it for me. My girl, my light… my fucking Sugar.” His eyes softened with unguarded affection and your heart ached in the best way. “What better way to show my love for you?”

“You were it for me, too, Hottie,” you whispered, not bothering to wipe away the tear that escaped. You buried your face against his shoulder and leaned into him, inhaling the soothing scent of his skin, fresh ink, and gentle cologne. “I love you,” you mumbled against his skin, wishing you could say something more adequate and special after what he did. 

But you loved him. You loved him with all your heart and more. You loved him for the man he was and how he poured himself into everything and everyone he cared about. He believed in you, defended you, and brought out the best in you. He would be by your side through it all. You could feel it. 

He wrapped an arm tight around your waist and held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “I love you, too, so fucking much.” He pulled back just enough to tilt your head back up, his gaze searching yours. There was a familiar smirk tugging at his lips, but his eyes stayed soft and sure. “So…”

“...So?” 

“You’ve been slowly migrating your stuff to my place, haven’t you?” he asked, running his thumb along your jaw. 

You giggled, a watery, happy sound. “You’ve had a hand in that.”

“I have. So, why don’t we make it official?” he asked, his voice that low rumble that always made your heart race faster. 

“You want to make it official?” you asked, your heart thudding with pure joy. 

“I do,” he said and you gasped, picturing him saying that on your wedding day. “Move in with me, Sugar, and make my apartment our home. Permanently.”

Your breath hitched again. Permanently… the way he had just tattooed your nickname over his heart. Not as a grand gesture, but as a sincere declaration. It wasn't just a tattoo to you. It was a promise that he'd keep you in his heart and he’d never break yours.

And one day, you weren’t sure when, you knew he’d put his ring on your finger and ask you to be his wife. You’d pledge yourselves to each other on your wedding day, you’d take his last name, and you’d remain by his side. He had been your new beginning, and he’d be your happy ending. 

Maybe you’d get something symbolizing your love for him on your own skin.

“Yes,” you breathed without hesitation. “Yes, I want to move in with you.”

His smile widened, one that lit up his whole face before he captured your lips in a deep slow kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck and wished you could’ve melted into him. You were utterly devoted to each other. Nothing would change that. 

You were both breathless when he finally pulled away and rested his forehead against yours. “Good,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Because I'm not letting you go.”

“You better not,” you whispered, gently tracing the testament to his love again. “My grandma adores you and she’ll track you down if you think about letting me go.” Your mom was a different story, but her opinion didn't matter in regards to Bucky and your love life. 

“We wouldn't want to disappoint her, would we?” he teased. 

“No, we wouldn't.”

Bucky went in for another kiss when there was a knock on the door. “You two done making out yet?” Steve called out. “Jake’s about to eat all the donuts.”

Bucky smothered your giggle with a kiss. No wonder Steve suggested waiting in there. He knew you two would be like this. “I told him not to eat them all. You should go stop him,” you said.

Your boyfriend laughed, too. “Vultures. All of them.” He made no move to let you go. “You sure we can’t stay back here and have some fun?”

Heat pooled between your legs. As much as you wanted to fool around, you both had work to do. “How about we grab some more stuff from my place and have some fun there?” you offered with a playful glint in your eyes. “Then we can go back to our place and have some more fun?”

If Bucky had his way, he'd have you on every surface of his place and that was exactly how you wanted it. 

“Our place,” he whispered, kissing you once more. “Sounds perfect.”

“Sounds like home,” you whispered. 

Because home was wherever the two of you were.

I know it may have felt like he was going to propose, but he has other plans for that. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik tries to be upfront. Price throws a curve ball.

cw: severe body dysphoria.

"John, I want to have sex with you."

Nik watched John choke on his slug of beer, an eyebrow raised. By the time John had finished coughing, his eyes were rimmed red and his face was flush. "Fockin' 'ell, Nik. Jus' like that, eh?"

A line appeared between Nik's eyebrows as he squinted suspiciously. He had always believed himself to be quite smooth, with a respectable number of notches to his belt, but while John seemed to reciprocate sometimes, it never came to anything. Just homoerotic banter. "I have been flirting, making passes, but none of it seems to be getting through. I thought I would try a different method."

John wiped the beer from his mouth with the back of his wrist and scrutinised the half empty bottle. His fingertips tapped the glass rhythmically, and for a foolhardy second, Nik thought he might be considering the offer seriously. "Naw, Nik, ya don't want that."

"I do," Nik replied. "I would like... more, too. A date."

John shook his head. "Ya don't understand, there ain't nothin' below the belt that'd interest ya." He shifted in his stool, his face collapsed in a scowl. "Truth is I weren't born right. Deformed."

Nik's mouth opened and closed like the guppy in John's kitchen fish tank at home. He had thought about how good it would be to fuck John on the counter next to it more times than he could count.

"Ya know, I take medication for it, but a gay fella like you needs it all there, right? A real man. So it's a non-starter."

"John, there are many ways we could..."

"Answer's final, Nik. S'not somethin' I'd put anyone through. Least'uv all a decent bloke."

Nik deflated against the bar. "Of course."

They sat in silence for a while, Nik staring at the tumbler between his hands while John watched the frothy bubbles pop on the inside of his bottle.

Nik bit the inside of his cheek and glanced up. "So, you have never..."

"Once. I was a teenager. Hated every minute."

"I am sorry to hear that."

John shrugged. "Maybe in another life 'll get t' see what all the fuss is about." He tapped his fingers against the bottle again, and then lifted it to knock the rest back. When he stood, he didn't meet Nik's eye. "Listen, got reports to finish. Morning briefing's at 0700."

Nik wanted to call him back. Apologise properly. But John was already leaving the bar, his shoulders slouched forward, hands deep in his pockets. It was so out of character that it bothered Nik enough to ring up Laswell half an hour later.

"Nik, it's late..."

"Sorry, I... It is about John."

"Is he okay?"

"I am not sure."

Kate closed whatever she had been working on in the background and gave Nik her full attention. "Shoot."

"I... propositioned him. And he turned me down."

"I'm sorry, Nik. He might need some time to think about it. You know what he's like with this type of thing. And he's always been a bit... shy." It sounded strange to hear Laswell use the word 'shy' for John Price, expert in the field, thrice decorated for valour.

"I am not sure he will. He said he was... born wrong."

Laswell's face hardened. "Mhm."

"He used the word deformed. I tried to assure him that I didn't mind, but I think I... I think he was upset."

"He used the word deformed?"

"Da."

"Said nothing else?"

"No. Just that he was on medication for it but a gay man needs a real man, and--"

"That fucking asshole."

Nik blinked at the screen. This wasn't going like he thought it would either. "Shto?"

"Leave it with me. Give me until the end of the week, I know he's got a lot on. You deserve a proper--" she rotated her hand in front of the screen, searching for the right words, "--you deserve the full story. But it needs to come from him. He... He likes you a lot, Nik. He just hates himself more. Which is a truly breath-taking amount."

Nik frowned. John was hard on himself, of course; he had high standards. But he was pragmatic and self-loathing served no operational or personal purpose. "I feel like I have missed something important..."

"Not missed. You haven't been shown. But... yeah, ok, give me time. I'll... talk to him."

"Will he be okay?"

Laswell smiled gently. "Of course, Nik. He's just a grumpy, stubborn git."

Nik returned her grin fondly. "But our grumpy, stubborn git, no?"

"Yeah," she tapped at the keys, "get some rest. Let me play the wingman for once."

Nik nodded and the screen went black. Part of him wanted to go snooping; ask the lieutenant, perhaps Gaz. But he knew that John would almost certainly find out and that would risk any possibility of getting him on a date. Nik closed the laptop lid and sighed. Well, John was worth the wait.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

would you consider writing a sakura haruno! reader 🤨❔(mostly because a wanna see readers version of sakuras inner self considering younger sakura was so much more hotheaded and strong willed in her head than she actually presents herself to be plus i always found sakuras inner self relatable since i would usually try to ignore or stay calm when people are being rude especially cause of my interest but im causing havoc in my head )

BACK IN THE DAYS USED TO DEFEND SAKURA WITH MY HEART AND SOUL

Bio: Sakura!Reader, the rest of the batfamily think your just to sweet wait still they hear what's inside there little sisters head

"Sorry, [Name], you can't go on this mission. I'm afraid it's too dangerous." Dick says, trying to face you from the Batcomputer. Isn't that sweet? She thinks you're some type of weakling. You can't take on the villain of the week. "Cha! Who does that circus freak think he is, drenching me when Damian gets to run around with swords all night?" you wanted to scream. "It's all right, big bro. I'll just be a liability, you know, ha! Sometimes my strength can get the better of me. I'll make sure to get out of your way!" you said in a sweet, soft tone, a smile on your face as you cocked your head to the side. Dick was none the wiser; he thought that was just a cute little quirk you picked up from your time training with Lady Tsunade. Little does he know that you're actually pissed off, and you're this close to smashing his face into the pavement. But you can't do that. You can't. The overwhelming feeling to strangle him was creeping up on you. It's been like that ever since you were little; your passionate emotional control—maybe these were traits a young woman could not have and should not have. So instead of embracing them, you let them go and hide them as much as you could. You wanted to connect; your adopted family made you needy. You shouldn't show your anger when Jason calls you weak and dramatic. These emotions are not for a young lady—not at all. So you hide them discreetly and as best as you possibly can. They won't see your rage, they won't see your passion, and they won't see your fear, but they will feel it under the pressure of your fingertips.

"[Name], come watch this show with me! It's called Bridgerton, and I think you would like it a lot," Jason asked, pulling at your arm. Is he serious? The man's been making fun of you for watching that show, but now he wants to watch it with you. "Cha! Who does this bastard think he is, first neglecting me, making fun of the things I like, then liking them? I should beat him to a pulp for that!" You're this close to grabbing his arm, flipping him over, and smashing him into the hard wooden floor. But instead, "Oh really? I thought you didn't like that show?" you asked with a soft giggle, acting like your blood pressure isn't skyrocketing. "Well, I gave it a try, and I want to watch it with you now!" Like there aren't six other people in this house he could have watched it with. "Cha! Go ask Penis or something, ya loser!" you wanted to say so badly. You cocked your head to the side. "Huh? Why can't you ask Dick?" putting on a winning smile. "I don't want to watch it with Dick. I want to watch it with you," he replied gruffly. "Cha! I'd rather die!" the inner you scoffs. Meanwhile, the outer you responds, "Yes!" like a happy chirping bird. "'Ukht! Come and paint with me!" Damian orders, the brat he is, pulling on your hoodie. "Cha! Who does this brat think he is? After all the times he was rude to me, I think not!" But instead, you back down to be at his eye level. "Sorry, Damian, I have to study," the lamest excuse to ever exist, but your little brother insists sadly. "Don't care! I wanna paint!" God, why does he sound like such a baby? "Cha! Didn't I just tell you I was busy? Run along, ya little brat!" If only you could punt him like a soccer ball. "Alright, alright, we'll paint," you said, finally caving even though you'd rather do anything else than spend time with that little demon. After he called you "flat-chested," he's now worse than the Joker. "I know you can't draw to save your life, so I'll be helping you out, okay?" he said in a little snotty voice. "Cha! I bet I could paint better than you!" No, you can't, but with your ambition, you'll try.

"[Name], can we talk?" Bruce asked, holding out a gentle hand to you, even though it was calloused with small cuts. "Cha, I’d rather die than spend a second with you. Old, I bet you feel guilty; that's why you're doing this." You felt your blood vessel might burst if another person asked you to spend time with them. You swore they probably have a schedule for when they can hang out with you; they are seriously trying to make up for lost time, even though you could care less. "Oh, I don't know..." But the second his eyes darkened, that’s when you had to drop whatever excuse you had and actually talk to him, apologizing about how he left you alone, that other stuff. But you could feel deep down that his apologies were half-baked and ready to melt. "Cha, yeah right. I’ve heard better apologies from YouTubers." You sucked your teeth just to put on a soft smile for him and say that you forgave him. Deep down, you would never forgive this man, father or not, and the same goes for the rest of the Bats.

Cassandra was trying to tell you that your dance was all wrong, like you could just crack her head into that training mat. Yeah, right. Stephanie was trying to bond with you by getting your nails painted; if you can recall, last time she called those things "girly." "Cha, get a load of her." Tim was trying to correct you over the littlest things, helping you even when you didn’t need it. "Cha, get off my back, nepo baby." Dick was trying to be the big brother, even though he was off in Blühaven doing whatever, like always. "Cha, drop the act; we both know you just feel guilty." Duke was trying to bond with you over the simplest things, like you grew up under a rock or something. "Cha, of course I know what TikTok is, you Duke Dennis wannabe." Barbara was watching you and your every move. "Cha, she's trying to be sneaky, but I saw that camera in my room. I'm going to destroy that thing in front of her face." But in reality, you just threw it out in the garbage. How dare they try to get close to you? You're not their little soccer plant that can just be neglected and then have them come back when it’s all withered away. You'll grow and thrive on your own; you'll water your own roots with your tears if that's what it takes.

[stevesgother]

dad steve finding out from some guy at work all the things that can go wrong at birth and having a panic attack, because if he loses the baby he’d be devastated? but losing you? it’s game over for him.

oh poor stevie. he's just scared :( cw: panic attacks, descriptions of birthing complications dad!steve harrigton x pregnant!fem!reader

"So, when's she due, Harrington?" Eric asks, clapping Steve on the shoulder as he files away client contracts. He'd immediately set out on finding a more supportive "adult job" when he found out you were pregnant; quickly realizing that Family Video would no longer cut it.

So, he found a job as a salesman at a local car dealership. Not his ideal career, but he's found that he's surprisingly good at it. It'll have to do for now.

Unfortunately, however, jobs like sales come with men like Eric Shannon. Buff, loud and meat headed; the type of guy Steve would have been friends with during high school but has long outgrown as an adult.

"In January," Steve replies, "It's coming up quick."

"Tell me about it," Eric chortles, "Wave sayonara to your freedom, buddy. Enjoy it while you can."

"Heh, yeah. I guess." Steve indulges him so that maybe, just maybe, Eric will saunter off to bother the next sorry soul he comes across, because to Steve? You are his freedom. There's not another sight he'd rather come home to than you carrying his child; no one he'd rather cook dinner with or fall asleep next to. Every second that he's not near you; he's thinking about the next time that he will be. Steve supposes an oaf like Eric might not comprehend what that feels like, and he feels a sudden flash of sympathy for his wife and child, waiting for him at home.

But Eric doesn't go away. No, he keeps talking.

"Man, I remember when Steph had our first, that thing– I think it's called a pla-cen-ta? It literally disintegrated inside of her, dude. The doctors had to scoop it out. Most disgusting thing I've ever seen."

"What?" He had Steve's attention now.

"Oh yeah. They had to give her blood transfusions, the whole nine yards. Childbirth is fuckin' crazy dangerous, I don't know how anyone did it before modern medicine." Eric laments, claps him on the shoulder again, "Anyway, I'm headed out. See you tomorrow, man!"

The second that Eric's out of sight, Steve's rushing back to his office and firing up his big brick of a desktop computer, launching google, and typing in every buzzword he can think of.

He googles what Eric said happened to his wife, apparently called a 'placental abruption', where the placenta separates from the inner wall of the uterus before the baby is born, resulting in heavy bleeding and stillbirths and a possible hysterectomy and–

Thirty minutes later and Steve's still scouring the internet, falling into a deep, spiraling rabbit hole. He should have been home about ten minutes ago, and he knows you'll be worrying yourself sick if he doesn't show up soon.

He snatches his suit jacket off the back of his chair and books it with his head down to your shared car, the last one in the parking lot.

By the time he arrives home, he's all but hyperventilating with the time he had to ponder on the drive about the things he'd read. Luckily, you were too busy trying to flesh out a new recipe to notice his tardiness.

"Hey, honey–" you start to say before catching the sight of Steve: disheveled and red-eyed. "Woah, what's going on? Are you okay?" You ask, rushing over to loosen the tie around his neck and run a hand through his mussed hair.

"I–" Steve heaves, but can't seem to find his words.

"Take a deep breath," you tell him, a hand to his chest. He tries to obey, so you continue, "Now tell me what's going on."

Steve's got a piece of paper in his hand, no, several pieces of paper– damp and crumpled from his fists. He shows them to you, "Have you read about all this? About all the different things that can happen during birth?"

"Steve, what–"

He holds a sheet up, begins reading, "Breech birth or umbilical cord prolapse? I mean, and those are just the mild things–"

"Sweetheart, slow down–"

"And look! Here it says: 'More severe, though less frequent, complications include uterine rupture, amniotic fluid embolism'-- whatever the fuck that is–"

You snatch the papers from Steve's trembling grip, perhaps a little harsher than you meant to, and throw them into the garbage can beside the counter. His hands don't move, and he looks at you finally, tears welling atop his waterline.

"This isn't helping," you tell him. Steve's always had anxiety, even as a kid. As he grew, he learned to mask it with surface-level charm and confidence, until he couldn't anymore.

"I just– I don't–" he struggles, "I don't know what I would do if– if something happened to you. Or to the baby. But especially you–"

You take his face in your warm, soft palms and catch his falling tears with your thumbs, "My love. Nothing's going to happen to me."

"You don't know that! Something already did happen to you!" He cries, but lets you keep your hands on his face.

"And I recovered, didn't I?"

"Yes, but–"

"And every scan has been clear since then, right?"

He pauses, deflates, "Yeah..."

"Right."

The Steve in front of you now looks like the scared little boy you'd known fifteen years ago; the one who'd scrape his knee and look for you instead of his mom, who'd get picked on by the middle schoolers and turn to you to stick up for him instead of the teachers. You can't help but wrap him into the tightest hug you can conjure with a five-pound baby in your stomach.

"It's okay to be scared, Steve– but it's really going to be alright. The odds of any of those things actually happening are very low, you know that."

"I know," he sniffles into your shoulder.

"I love you..." you say with a lilt to your voice, pressing several gentle kisses to his left cheek.

"I love you too." He concedes, trying for a smile when he pulls away to look at you.

"Good," you grin, removing the dish towel from your shoulder, "now come sit. I think I finally got this soup right."

[thought-you-knew]

golden

Summary: bob says he doesn't remember much of the Void incident, but he does remember you, and your powers. based on this request

Pairings: bob reynolds x fem!reader/enchanced!reader (similar to Magik new mutants powers)

Warnings: fluff, language, mentions of the void, bob still trying to figure out his powers, mentions of sentry, enchanced!reader, bad descriptions of magic usage, possibly inaccurate descriptions of sentry's powers (i googled it), fem!reader with vague descriptions, limited to no use of y/n, and proofreadish.

WC: 1.2K

Author's Note: i kinda changed up the request a bit, i hope that's okay anon. i haven't seen new mutants so i briefly looked up magik. i hope you guys like it, and feedback is always appreciated (: you can find my masterlist here. divider by: @bernardsbendystraws

💌 REQUESTS ARE OPEN💌 ✨️please check my disclaimer before requesting

The whole showdown between the Sentry and the Void was a blur to you. One moment, you're meeting a guy named Bob. Next, you're fighting Bob-no Sentry and manage to hurt him.

It's a surprise to you and even more so to Sentry. He had wiped out the whole Thunderbolts team, including Bucky. To be fair, he was slightly caught off guard when Bucky managed to punch him in the face. That's when you made your move.

You managed to pull the Soulsword at the last second and strike at Sentry.

It didn't do much damage, just a small cut. What you didn't expect was for him to be able to touch the blade and toss your sword aside.

That was when you and the rest of the team high-tailed it to the elevator and left Sentry and Valentina behind.

---

It's been 6 months since that fight with Bob/Sentry, and things have calmed down. Sort of.

You and Bob have been benched from going on any missions, and that was fine with both of you.

Bob doesn't feel ready, and he's still unwilling to try to train with his new powers.

And you, well, Valentina still thinks you're a wild card, or as she calls it, a loose canon.

You're still unsure of your capabilities or your full potential when it comes to your socery magic.

That's where Bob finds you in the kitchen. He's still slightly amazed by your abilities.

Your back is to him as you're stirring something on the stove, and next to you is a knife moving on its own, chopping up some vegetables on the cutting board.

There's a cookbook hovering face level to yours, and you glance at it ever so often.

"Hi, Bob," you say without looking away from the pot.

"Hey," he replies and takes a seat at the counter. He watches as you casually wave a hand and the vegetables move from the cutting board to the pot. "You make it look so easy."

Once the pot is covered, you turn and face him. "It's not without a lot of practice and trial and error. I mean, I was born with these powers, so I've spent most of my life figuring it out."

"Ha, and then there's me."

"Hey, don't say it like that. Your powers are still new to you."

"Yeah, but what if I lose control like I did before?" He asks and looks down at his hands.

You draw nearer and say. "Like I said, it takes a lot of practice. I can help you if you want?"

He looks up at you with a slightly worried expression. "I dunno... what if I hurt you like I did last time?"

You smile at him. "Well, that's what my shields are for. If you get carried away."

He thinks for a bit before answering you. "Can I think about it?"

"Sure. You know where to find me."

You're in your room messing around with your new Avengers suit when Yelena walks in.

"You need to train with Bob," she says quite bluntly.

"I've tried talking to him about it," you reply without looking away from your suit.

"Well, I guess it worked, because he put Walker through a wall an hour ago."

That catches your attention, and you laugh. "Is there footage?"

Yelena joins you on your bed. "Psh, of course there's footage. Ava has rewatched it several times. I don't think I've seen her laugh that hard before."

"I mean, if he's ready, then so am I."

"Perfect. You two will have the tower to yourselves this weekend. I know he still gets a little shy when he uses his powers."

"Baby steps, it is then."

---

Saturday morning, you and Bob are in the training room. So far, the most you're able to get out of him is levitating an apple.

"I think that's a good start," Bob says, quite proud of himself, and he tries to leave the room. You're grabbing him and turning him back to face a dummy.

"Since you won't phase through me. I want you to phase through this dummy."

When you first mentioned phasing through you, he had turned bright red and freaked out when you phased through him.

"Uh..."

"It's either that or we're doing hand-to-hand combat." You know he's going to say no to that, even though you have your shields to protect you if need be.

Bob kind of whines your name as he starts wringing his hands together.

You gently take his hands in yours and look at his anxious face.

"Hey, if you really don't want to, I won't push you, but you can't avoid it forever. Even if you don't want to go on missions in the future, it's still good to have an understanding of your powers."

That relaxes him a bit.

"Can I see you do that again?"

You smirk. "You mean through you or the dummy?"

"Th-the dummy."

"As you wish," you reply, turn around, and casually walk through the dummy. Phasing was something you've mastered right off the bat, so the weird session of going through solid objects doesn't affect you anymore.

"Whoa." You hear Bob utter in awe.

You spin around and give a bow. "Okay, your turn."

You know he probably won't get it right away, but you're still hopeful.

Bob hesitates too much, and you know he's overthinking, resulting in him walking straight into the dummy.

"Sorry," he mumbles to it as he catches it before it hits the ground.

"It's okay, it took me a while to figure it out."

"Any helpful tips?"

"Mhh... I know this sounds cheesy, but emptying your mind helps."

"Uh..." he gives a nervous chuckle and rubs the back of his neck.

He gives it another try and somehow gets halfway stuck in the dummy, causing him to panic until you're pulling him the rest of the way through.

"Hey, we're halfway there!" You're trying to be as encouraging as possible.

You remember how you had no one growing up. So it felt quite lonely and isolating, dealing with your powers all on your own.

"Okay, how about this, another cheesy thing that helped me. Try envisioning a doorway and stepping through."

"Um.. okay," Bob mumbles.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again. You see that his eyes have a hint of gold around his irises.

This time, he's determined. He walks up to the dummy without hesitation and phases through.

You can't help but clap and hurry over to him and hug him without realizing it.

"You did it! I knew you could." You pull back to look at his face, arms still around his neck.

"Thanks," he shyly mutters.

You pull away from the hug, and you feel how his arms pause before letting go of your waist.

"Okay, now let's go to the roof."

"What, why?"

"I'm going to push you off, duh." You tease him, but not really. Cause you're dying to see him fly. You need a flying buddy.

"What?!"

"Just kidding... not really. Don't worry, I'll catch you if you fall," you reply and give him a playful wink, before dragging out of the training room.

Bob lets you drag him out with a dazed smile on his face.

A/N: aw i missed writing for bob.

[transfaguette]

Firstly I think it's important to extract "political actor with an agenda" from "average person who may or may not have opinions about the world." You're not going to find common ground with the Ben Shaprio's of the world, nor should you try. Similarly it'd be a waste for someone like that to try and find common ground with me.

What I'm absolutely not suggesting here is that the left needs to "team up" with xyz right wing group so we can achieve xyz thing, whatever. That's the agenda of grifters and interlopers. In that sense having strong convictions about who you associate with politically is extremely important, yes.

What I am suggesting is that there are people in your life who might be conservative leaning but, if they're anything like 99% of the people around me, mostly don't think about politics that much. You can find common ground with them. You can dispel misconceptions about left wing ideas. You can reframe solutions in ways that fit their worldview and experiences.

In my life, for example, I come from an overwhelmingly working class background, and there's very little class solidarity among them, because of living an entire life around capitalist propaganda. I try to get them to recognize when they're being taken advantage of, how unfair the system is, the importance of unions and working class solidarity, etc. It is not easy. It's slow and frustrating and requires extreme precision and technique and a good understanding of why they think the way they do.

But, I do this because, for one, I want them to believe a better world is possible, too. A lot of "temporarily embarrassed millionaires" recognize the futility of it all though they tell themselves that's just how it is, "life's unfair," that this is the best it gets. Ultimately they just suffer in silence and blame themselves. Secondly, I do this because I want to bring about that better world. And this is one way I can contribute to that goal. On it's own, making my dad 10% less favorable towards billionaires isn't much. But when as many people as possible talk to the people around them and introduce them to these ideals and how they can make a difference, too, well that absolutely adds up.

So I hope it's clear that what I'm saying here isn't be friends with or fight alongside racists, but maybe confront your racist uncle. Or don't. I'm not your dad. But talking to the people in your life is a vital political action that must be considered.

can we talk about how whenever someone says “you can find common ground with non-leftists or non-progressives and steer them toward a common goal,” people immediately jump to the most extreme example of a hateful person to say it doesn’t work????? its immensely frustrating. most people do not have strong political or social opinions. most people are not hateful bigots. there is actually a very large and diverse spectrum of beliefs between you and a nazi. this doesn’t mean they don’t necessarily hold harmful or upsetting opinions, but theyre not unwavering convictions. a lot of people just simply havent ever thought that deep into it. have never been exposed to certain perspectives. and, regardless, you still can find a common ground in class solidarity. and you should. No one is forcing you to do this, either. no one is forcing you to talk to your transphobic uncle. but not everyone else in the world is your transphobic uncle, my guy.

[zoro-sremedy]

herro!! is your 500 event still going on?? if so... may i request a nanami fic with the 1 and 14 trope? fluffy and smut because you write it so deliciously 😖

listennnnnnnnnn GREAT CHOICES. i had a BLAST writing this, which is why it's probably a tad bit longer than my usual lmaoo. and thank you so much! it's an honor for me to have someone say my smut is delicious hehehehe

#1 Only one bed & #14 Touch starved, but they don't know how to ask for it / Nanami

Risk assessment Rated R18+. Sexual intercourse, fingering, insinuated godly pvssy eating technique, slight angst, lots of pining, overall awkward to fluff, pet names, some swearing, footsies?

a/n: for ONCE, i ifeel PROUD of myself, Nanami the man that you are inspires me frrrrrrr

The mission hadn't been brutal, but it had been long.

Hours of close calls, tight corners, and the kind of teamwork that pulled old memories back to the surface. You'd forgotten how naturally you and Nanami fell into rhythm—how easily he watched your blind spots, how instinctively your body trusted his.

By the time you reached the sleepy countryside inn the school had booked, you were bone-tired but buzzing, flushed with residual adrenaline and something warmer beneath it.

"Only one bed," the innkeeper said apologetically, eyes darting between the two of you.

Nanami just nodded. Always composed. Always professional.

But the way he adjusted his glasses told you he was thinking about it. Later, in the room, he offered to sleep on the floor. Of course he did.

"I don't bite," you teased, pulling off your jacket with a groan. "And we've shared worse."

He hesitated at the edge of the bed, golden eyes flickering.

"…I'd rather not make you uncomfortable."

"You won't," you say softly. "I trust you."  

And that's what makes him fold. Slowly, cautiously, Nanami slips beneath the covers—on the far side, of course. Spine straight. Hands respectfully folded over his stomach. Like he's bracing for a lecture.

The room is quiet. The lights are off. But sleep doesn't come.

You shift a little closer, your knee brushing his under the blanket.

"Do you always sleep like you're on guard duty?"

He lets out a soft exhale, a ghost of a laugh. "Not always."

"Then relax, Kento," you murmur, voice thick with warmth. "You're safe with me."

A pause.

"…You always say my name like it's something soft," he says.

You smile in the dark. "Because it is."

It takes a few minutes, but you feel it happen—his tension easing, breath evening out. He's still not touching you, but he doesn't pull away when your fingers find his hand under the blanket, tentative and light.

And when you whisper, "Can I…?" as you shift closer, he doesn't answer with words—he just pulls you gently into him. One arm curling around your waist. His touch reverent. Careful.

As if he doesn't believe he's allowed to have this.

As if he's afraid you'll banish in the morning.

And it's quiet.

Not the suffocating kind, just the intimate kind—close, low-breathing, warm-from-shared-skin kind. The kind where every sound is amplified: the rustle of sheets, the faint creak of the mattress, the steady, measured rhythm of Nanami's breathing beside you.

You hadn't meant to get this close.

Not really. It just… happened.

Maybe it was the way his arm curled around your waist like a question he was too afraid to ask. Maybe it was the way your back naturally aligned with the solid heat of his chest, how your bodies seemed to remember how to fit together even if your minds were still catching up.

You're lying so close it's almost unbearable.

The mattress is narrow, barely a full. There's nowhere else for your legs to go but tangled with his. Nowhere for your hand but to rest near his chest—too close to his heart. Nowhere for his eyes to fall but on you, barely lit in the soft spill of hallway light.

"Kento," you whisper, unsure if you want to break the silence—but needing him to hear you. "Are you okay?"

He turns his head. Not quite toward you, not quiet away. "It's nothing."

"It doesn’t feel like nothing."

He swallows hard. "I can't sleep."

"Because of me?"

"… Yes."

You can feel it in the air now, the undeniable pull, the years of unspoken need slowly, silently reaching their boiling point. It presses against you in waves. His chest rising, falling—too steady. His hands flexing slightly on the sheets.

Your bare feet brush against his. Soft. Accidental. But neither of you move away this time. He doesn't flinch. If anything, he… leans in. Shifts just enough for your knees to bump. And then —tentatively—his toes curl around yours.

It's childlike. Gentle. Crushing.

"You shouldn't—" he starts, voice strained. But he doesn't stop. His leg slides just barely between yours, thigh grazing yours. "This is…"

"Too much?" you ask softly.

His hand finds yours under the blanket. He laces your fingers together like he's confessing something. "Too much… for me to pretend I don't want it anymore."

Your breath catches.

When he looks at you again, it's raw—no glasses, no barrier, no polite formality. Just Kento, and the ache in his expression is devastating.

"Come here," you whisper, barely louder than the rustle of the sheets.

And he does.

He leans in slowly, eyes searching for your face, giving you time to pull away. You don't. you meet him halfway, your lips brushing—once, twice, not quiet a kiss, but full of trembling intent. It deepens when you tilt your chin, when your fingers slip into his shirt.

His lips part against yours—warm, soft, adoring—and he kisses you like he's afraid it's the only time he'll be allowed. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek. He sighs into you. And that's what it is—a sigh—not a groan, not a growl, not yet.

This is still quiet. Still trembling. Still tender.

Your hand slips under his shirt, exploring the slope of his chest, the soft trail of hair beneath his navel. He shudders. When you tug lightly at the fabric, he pauses, breath held.

"Can I?" you ask.

He nods once. "Please."

You push his shirt up, and he sits up just enough to help you pull it over his head. His skin is warm, flushed. Golden even in the dark. When you press your palms to his bare chest, he gasps—not because it's too much, but because it’s finally happening.

"I've wanted this," he says lowly, "for so long."

"So take your time," you murmur, letting your fingers trail to his waistband. "You don't have to rush."

He doesn't.

He kisses you again—slower, deeper this time, with hands now on your waist. They slide under your shirt, palms worshipful on your skin. He lifts the fabric inch by inch until you raise your arms to help him out of everything that prevents him from being as close as humanly possible to you, and the way his breath catches at the sight of you is worth everything.

"You're beautiful," he says like it hurts. "I don't think I ever let myself say that."

"You can now," you whisper.

He bends down to kiss your chest, your sternum, the slope of one breast. His hands cup you gently, like you're breakable. His tongue flicks against your skin, warm and slow, and it makes your back arch into him.

Then his mouth lingers there—just above your heart.

You can feel it beat under his lips. He kisses that spot softly. It makes you ache.

Your hands move down to undo his belt, but he catches them. "Let me."

And he does—slowly, keeping his eyes on you as he strips the last pieces of clothing from both of you. There's no rush. No frantic hands. Just slow, hungry want. He kisses your hips, the soft swell of your stomach, the curve of your thigh. He groans under his breath when he sees the wetness already pooling at your center.

And when he lies between your thighs and just breathes—doesn't even touch yet, just lets the heat of his breath ghost over your slick folds—it has your whole body trembling.

"I could die like this," he says quietly.

You laugh—too breathless to mean it. "You haven't even—"

"I know." He looks up, eyes dark. "And I mean it anyway."

When he finally touches you, it's with adoration. He learns what makes you gasp, what makes you tremble, what makes your thighs shake around his shoulders. His fingers press inside you slowly, and he groans when he feels how tight and wet you already are. He lets you ride the edge, pulls you apart with his mouth and hands until you're gripping his hair, begging—please, please, please—

He crawls back up your body, hard cock dragging against your inner thigh, and finally—finally—he whispers against your lips:

"Let me have you."

And when he enters you—slow, steady, thick and deep—it's not just sex.

It's everything you've both been denying.

… And it's all written on his face.

Nanami doesn't just move inside you—he sinks. Like he's been searching for this moment in every stretch of silence, every passing glance, every time he forced himself to look away. Like every second of restraint was building toward this—toward the feeling of you wrapped around him, warm and trembling and utterly, impossibly his.

"God," he breathes, voice wrecked, hands gripping your hips like he's not sure he'll survive this. "You feel—so good. So fucking good…"

His rhythm is slow, deliberate—like he's trying to remember every inch of you from the inside out. Every thrust is deep, drawn-out, dragging against the heat inside you in a way that has your back arching, your fingers clawing to his shoulders.

You moan his name and his breath hitches again.

"Kento—"

His head drops to your shoulder, and he shudders against your skin. "Say it again," he whispers. "Please… please say it again."

"Kento." you pant it now, a breathy prayer. "You're so deep—I can feel you everywhere."

He groans—needy and rough—hips stuttering just once before he reins himself back in. You can feel him trembling, like the effort to hold himself back is unraveling him one second at a time.

"Don't wanna hurt you," he breathes, lips brushing your neck, your jaw, your mouth. "But god, the way you take me… it's—fuck, it's perfect. You're perfect."

You tilt your hips up, and he nearly sobs from how it makes you squeeze around him.

"Are you gonna break for me?" he whispers, one hand sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and stroking soft, slow circles. "Let me feel you—please, sweetheart, I need to feel you come on me."

The nickname—soft, lovingly—makes your stomach flip. So does the look on his face: flushed and glassy-eyed, hair mussed from your fingers, jaw slack with awe. Like he can't believe you're real.

"I'm—" you gasp. "I'm close—don't stop—"

He doesn't. He matches your rhythm, thrusts turning just a little sharper, rougher, his control slipping right alongside yours. And when you finally break—legs trembling, breath stuttering, nails sinking into his skin—he moans something low and devastated and spills inside you with a hoarse, "fuck—yes, yes, I've got you, I've got you—"

He holds you there. Not just physically—buried deep inside you, wrapped around your body—but emotionally. Like if he lets go now, he'll never find you again.

And when the shaking slows and your breathing evens out, he doesn't move. Doesn't pull away. He just presses a kiss to your temple and lets out a long, shaky breath.

"I didn't think I'd ever get to have this with you," he murmurs.

You turn your head, brushing your nose against his. "You have it. You have me."

The next kiss is softer than all the others—no desperation now, no ache. Just quiet, bone-deep affection. When he finally pulls the covers over both of you and tucks you into his side, you feel it in the way he holds you.

He's not letting go.

[dailyralsei]

Why is ralsei your favorite deltarune character?

okay so when i started this account 3 years ago ralsei was not my absolute favorite character, he was just really neat to me. i didn't think he was evil, but it was hard to deeply connect with him because we didn't have a lot of characterization for him outside of "sweet and nice little guy that is just figuring out how to make friends and doesn't really know who he is yet, cheerful and naive. self worth issues only slightly peeking through". he was just nice and a cute character to draw! my favorite character before this account was actually spamton and i only started this account because when i redrew a really old ralsei fanart it got a lot of attention. imagine. alternate universe daily spamton. also tangent burgerpants was my favorite ut character so ALTERNATE alternate universe daily burger pants....

and then came chapters 3 and 4.. and it's as if toby fox looked me dead in the eyes and said "you dedicated so much time and love into drawing this character. now this character is dedicated to you" and he is. LITERALLY me. and that's not a good thing ralsei needs a self love arc please 😭😭😭😭😭 but yeah i relate to him so hard it's scary...

(yap session about ralsei as a character under the cut, deltarune ch3-4 spoilers)

- trans coded (ralsei is just so gender it's unclear which gender. the gender is so gender it's agender. gender stack overflow)

- self worth issues. i have one job! and that's all i am good for. if i can't be useful, then i'll either get cast aside again or hurt the people i care about. and i'd rather put them first. i don't need breaks except to sleep or eat! (ralsei probably didn't eat anything unless told to before chapter 4) maybe play a few games with my friends if i have time but that's like only for a few hours every week. the week before deltarune dropped i worked twice as much as i needed to so i could dedicate a week to playing the game without worrying about money

- perfectionist! things have to be in order and good or else everything will go wrong, everything has to go according to the plan i have, or else the big bad thing i'm trying to prevent will happen and it'll be my fault

- insecurities! if someone else is as good as i am at the thing i am the best for, then i will get replaced. i won't be important anymore. i'll be thrown away again and i think this even though none of my current friends or peers treat me this way because i'm scared of it happening again

- pretending things are fine and hiding my problems to not worry my friends, because i just don't know how else to deal with my problems! and then one more bad thing happens and everything comes crashing down and i explode

- not feeling like i deserve to give myself the good things i do for people i like because i'm used to not having anything or simply just not feeling like i deserve good things because i'm content with what i have (often the bare minimum) and then susie knocking some sense into me

- being dependent on the opinions and commands of others, but slowly learning to form my own opinions

- people pleaser. how do you think i kept up this account for so long without any new chapters

- will learn skills and hobbies for the happiness and wellbeing of others but never doing those hobbies for yourself (95% of my art is commission work that i use to pay for my partner's living expenses and helping my mom with bills, 4.9% is ralsei, 0.1% is personal art that isn't ralsei, but my ralsei art has become more personal due to the new lore. this account used to feel like an obligation a few months before the new chapters ngl so i am so glad the new chapters fed me good)

- having really good friends that teach me how to be a good friend and to love myself better. my partner is my susie (ralsusie is queerplatonic in my heart but it's insane how much like susie my romantic partner is, i mean me and my partner would be best friends for life if we weren't romantically involved)

[thelampisaflashlight]

Dew, running into the common room: "Mount, Mount, quickly, start talking about literally anything! Just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind and start yapping!" Mountain, confused: "...What did you do?" Dew, glancing over his shoulder before hopping onto the couch: "For once, it wasn't something I did, but no one is going to believe that unless I have an alibi, and you are going to be that alibi!" -lifts Mountain's legs and sets them into his lap- "We're been like this all afternoon, lounging on this couch discussing whatever, just start talking!" Mountain, shrugs, gets comfy: "I've been thinking a lot about dragons lately-" Perpetua, from a distance: -screaming, wailing- Mountain, pauses, looks at Dew: "-Because they're just winged dinosaurs when you really think about it, and-" Copia, screeching: "WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE GRIMACE?!" Perpetua, crying: "I DON'T KNOW!" Mountain: "...and I think that's neat, but also we should really make dragons look more like other dinosaurs other than the t-rex sorta head shaped ones... Like a duck billed dragon..." Copia, storming the room: "I KNOW IT HAD TO HAVE BEEN ONE OF YOU-" -sees Mountain and Dew lounging together- "Aww, my boys... My precious boys, you two wouldn't happen to know why my stupid ass twin is purple now, would you?" Dew, shakes his head: "I haven't seen him since this morning." Mountain, happily: "We're talking about dinosaurs!" Copia, patting them on the head: "That's nice, okay, you two continue being good, I have to go yell at Swiss now, I think it had to have been him..." Dew, looking after Copia leaves: "It was Aeon." Mountain, whispering: "Why didn't you tell him??" Dew: "I owe them a favor, this is that favor." Mountain: "Why not take the fall then? Why ask me to prove your innocence?" Dew, laying back against the armrest: "I alone cannot be proven innocent, but if I have someone else with me, I have backup, also I'm under you and have a bad leg, so he wouldn't assume I was up and about... Also I didn't wanna have to kneel and pray for forgiveness in the chapel." Mountain: "Fair point. So I think dragons would sound like-" Swiss: -screeching as he is dragged away by Copia- Mountain: "Yeah, that."

[itscodpliated]

"Career changing"

Career changing | Part 2 of ??

Part 1 here | Series masterlist

Summary: It should have been simple; bring the omega to her new pack, fill out your mission report and get back on your merry way. But now you’re a member of the 141, have a few hard pills to swallow, a bunch of explaining to do and a lot more to care about��

Warning: None

Note: English is not my first language and I’m writing this in-between taking care of a young child, so I’m sorry if there is mistakes or it isn’t that good.

You could only assumed the large alpha wearing the bucket hat was Price.

"Captain Price, I'm Ser-"

"Alpha! It's so nice to finally meat you."

You mumble the rest of the 'Sergeant' to yourself, frozen there mid salute. Not because Ophelia had interrupted you, that didn't faze you coming from her, not after having been stuck with her two week, but because she sounded so sweet and soft all of a sudden. And, seriously, who referred to people by their designation unsarcastically??

"I suppose you must be Ophelia." Price said, giving her a warm smile and a small nod, his eyes having lost nothing of that feral desire, before turning his attention back towards you. "At ease Sergeant. You two had no major problem getting here, I hope?"

That quickly snapped you out of whatever brain freeze Ophelia sudden niceness had put you in, dropping the salute and standing in a more relaxed position. "No confrontations or inconvenient, sir. I'll make sure to have a complete report on your desk by tomorrow morning before I depart back for the base I'm stationed at."

That's when someone else stepped up. A beta, judging by the scent, with the prettiest of golden skin. Probably Gaz, you figure. You couldn't help but think that the man should have been a model, not a soldier. "Eager to leave already?"

The way you said it, you knew it was meant as a joke, but there was something in his expression that you couldn't place. Disappointment, maybe? Odd, you think. It didn't help either that your instincts seemed to have caught onto something you hadn't, making you feel uneasy.

"I..." You didn't know how to answer that. And thankfully, you didn't have to, because someone else was already speaking.

"Ain't ye scent I'm catching on ye both, ain't it, lassie?" 

You turn to see another beta, one with a mohawk that probably wasn't within regulation and a devilish smile, moving closer to Ophelia. You had to assume it was Soap. He was leaning in rather closely to her, clearly trying to catch more of the scent clinging to her skin.

"No, but please, don't be mad at the Sergeant. She was only doing what she thought was best to protect me." Ophelia said with all her newfound sweetness.

Two faced bitch, you couldn't help but think. But it's not like you were about to say that out loud. No when Ophelia was suddenly vouching for you when faced with the possibility you could have pissed the alphas and betas off by having scented their new omega.

"I apologize, sir. I promise I didn't mean anything by it, I was just trying to make sure no one notice her scent and the fact that she's an unclaimed omega." You try justifying, watching as the beta as he keep taking in big breaths around Ophelia. You can only imagine it was to try and catch a glimpse of her natural scent.

"Not mad. That was clever, actually. Giving her scent blockers while you were trying to lay low amongst civilians would have just made it too obvious that you were hiding something." A deep, forth voice said. That had to be Lieutenant Riley, because, honestly, what alpha could go around with a skull baclava and not be the one they call Ghost?

You didn't know if the shiver running down your spine was caused by the fact that the man had managed to creep up on you or because a deep, instinctual part of you was happy to be praise by the giant alpha. You just really hope none of them had noticed.

"Thank you, Lieutenant." You answered, unable to fully suppress the proud smile that was creeping on your lips.

You could see Ophelia glaring at you from where she had moved behind them, probably pissed she had lost their interest in favor of you. You were standing there awkwardly, not really because of her, but because the four of them seemed to be staring at out with a predatory glim in their eyes, as if waiting for something. The only thing you could think of doing to get out of that embarrassing situation was excuse yourself quickly, mentioning that you should probably go start on that mission report if you wanted it to be finished for tomorrow morning.

You ended up being stuck sleeping in the large dormitory stilled barrack normally reserved for the recruits. Not like you could complain, this wasn't your home base and you couldn't expect the base administrator to have something better set up for you on such a short notice. It just meant your effort to fill out your report had been interrupted ever so often by Privates trying their worst pick up line on you and that you hadn't really caught up on the sleep you were missing. Maybe you should have sleep in the car after all...

By the time morning came you were exhausted but with had full report in hand. In all of your tiredness, you had almost collided with someone at the door. Thankfully you stilted just in time and took a step back as your eyes widened at the sight of Gaz.

"Good morning." He said, offering you a smile so charming you thought even alphas could be sway by it. How could one beta seemingly have that mush natural charisma? It seemed kind of unfair for the rest of you.

"Em... Hi?" You answered, unsure if you were more amused or confused to found him there this morning.

"Cap wanted to see you."

"Oh, shit. Was Captain Price waiting for my mission report? I was just about to go give it to him."

"Wait... You actually completed two weeks worth of paperwork in one evening? We thought you were joking yesterday."

"Yes... one evening..." Not like he needed to know you actually stayed up most of the night for it...

"Well... I'm pretty sure that was not what this was about, but I can't see why Price would be mad to have your report already."

"I'll show you to his office." He said, nodding his head for you to follow, that charming smile still on his lips.

You couldn't denied that the silence that followed was... awkward, to say the least. You had expected to fill out your mission report, give it and get back on your merry way. But getting summoned by the Captain of one of the most reputed Task Force in the country was not part of that plan. You were starting to wonder if Ophelia had decided to get you in trouble one last time and that you were about to receive an earful...

As Gaz led you through the administrative building on base, you could faintly hear bits and pieces of a muffled conversation happening further down the corridor.

"Johnny, I told you no already. Its not going to happen. Not now."

"Come on Cap! Ye caught the lassie's scent too! Even bloody Simon reacted. She-"

You didn't have time to hear more because Gaz was suddenly speed walking towards one of the door, almost frantic looking as he open it and called out; "We're here!"

Was that blush you had caught on his cheeks?... Never mind, you were probably just imagining it.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" You ask, stepping in the office.

"Yes. Please, take a seat, Sergeant." Price said with a sigh, running a hand over his face.

Soap was looking at you with wide eyes, his scent oozing embarrassment, and, as you move to sit, you had to consciously stop yourself from jumping once you realized it was Ghost standing in the corner and not, in fact, a coat hanger.

Price cleared his voice before starting. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of requesting a copy of your files yesterday. Quite the impressive track record you have so far."

"Thank you, sir." You answered, straightening up. Your beta did that thing again, where she was way too happy to be praised by a big alpha. You can't remember the last time she did that before yesterday...

"Not the most accurate shot I've seen in my career, but well above average. What's most surprising is your apparent ability to consistently take down alphas twice your size in close quarter combat."

"Thank you, Captain. I work hard on my strengths and even harder on my weaknesses."

"There's really no need to be so formal." Price chuckled, and you couldn't help but relax a bit.

"Coupled that with the fact that you just completed an escort mission that the higher-ups would normally assign at least three soldiers to complete, all on your own, and with seemingly no problem? It makes you sound too good to still me in your current squad."

Three soldiers? God, you were going to have a long chat with your commanding officer once you were back to your own base...

"Given all that, I would like to know if you would consider joining the 141."

"What?" You couldn't help but let out, baffled.

"We could use someone like you. There would be a trial period at the beginning, obviously, but we would like to consider a permanent transfer if everything goes great and you accept it."

"Captain, it's... it's an honor, really, but aren't you worried it isn't the right time? Whit Ophelia coming into the picture, I mean."

"Thrust me, Sergeant, I won't let the changes happening to my pack affect my squad."

"Oh." Oh...

You took a deep breath, thinking it over.

"You don't need to give an answer right away."

"In all honesty, Captain, I don't think this is an opportunity I can pass up. I don't have to think about it when I already know I would hate myself for not even trying. I'll make sure you don't regret putting your fate in me." You answered, a small smile creeping its way onto your lips.

Your commending officer, well, ex CO at this point, had sounded all but too smug when saying that he had told you this would be a career changing mission. You had let him have it, he wasn't wrong after all, but you couldn't but notice the slight edge in his voice. You knew him well enough to figure understand that, although he was happy for you, he wasn't actually so please to have one of his soldier stolen from right under his nose. You had called your squad to tell them the good news and ask if someone could pack up your things and send them over. They had gladly agreed, congratulated you and told you you would still have a place with them if it didn't work out.

You were now in a barrack that had clearly not seen any living inhabitant in a long time. You might have been joining the squad, but they still needed their space as a pack, even more so with their new omega, so you understood why you were here. You wouldn't complain, it was better then being stuck with the recruits again, but it clearly needed a good clean.

What you didn't understand was why Soap was bringing so many box in.

"What's all this?"

"Ophelia's things." He hummed out, as if it was supposed to be obvious.

"What?!"

"Ophelia's things" He repeated. "The boxes arrived a couple of days ago. Price just didn't want to leave them unattended while waithing for her."

"I... had kind of figured that part out... I guess my question was more like; why are you bringing them here? Does she really have so much stuff that it doesn't fit in your pack's barrack?"

"No, she just going to be set up here."

He couldn't help but shift uncomfortably once he turned around to see your still very clearly confused face.

"I mean... its just... Price thought, you know, that maybe we shouldn't push her too mush? Give her her own space while she acclimates to the pack?"

The explanation made sense, but the way his scent was slowly souring, even if almost imperceptibly, told you there was either more to it or it wasn't completely true.

You didn't push. Their pack dynamic was none of your concern and making one of your new teammate uncomfortable on your first day probably wasn't the best move. So you just nodded, watching the relief flood his face, and just went back to your cleaning.

Stepping back in your new room, you found a big woolen blanked that hadn't been there before. Taking it in your hands and bringing it to your nose, you were meet with a mixed of scents you could figure out belong to the members of the 141. You took a minute to let your beta guiltily revel in it before reminding yourself it more then likely wasn't meant for you. It made more sense to you that it would have been for Ophelia. And since Soap had been bringing her things in the common area of the barrack this hole time, it was plausible he had mistaken the room you had chosen for hers.

It's at that exact moment Ophelia decided to make her presence in the barrack known, snatching the blanket from you.

"Don't fuck this up for me." She hissed at you.

Maybe you shouldn't have complained about the recruits barrack...

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