#i hate that the text is in english it feels wrong but i have to learn italian first to do this properly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adelliet · 24 days ago

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Bob Reynolds x f!reader

DREAMY VACATION

Summary: You've been sent on vacation to take a break from saving the world, but there's no hiding from your emotions that will eventually take over.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, alcohol consumption, body insecurity, Sentry awakening (just for a second), erection, breast play, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hickeys

A/n: Hii! So uhm this is LONG AS FUCK, like a literal novel so I am warning you. Anyways I wanted to thank you for 1k followers?! How?! You have no idea how much this means to me. I am grateful for each and every one of you and I will try my best to improve my writing. Hopefully you will like my future projects as much as you've liked the ones I have done so far. Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

You and the rest of the Thunderbolts had been deployed to Spain on what was supposed to be a critical mission. The briefing was vague but urgent, something about a potential global threat developing near the coast.

On the plane to Alicante, you sat down next to Bob. He looked tense. Really tense. He was gripping the armrest like it might fly off on its own. His face was pale, and his shoulders stiff as stone.

“Hey,” you said gently, nudging him with your elbow as you got settled. “You okay?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. He blinked, clearly trying not to throw up, and then murmured, “Um… do you maybe wanna sit by the window instead?” He didn’t look at you, just stared straight ahead like a man facing death.

Without missing a beat, you nodded. “Sure. Come on.”

You stood up and let him shuffle over into your seat. The second he sat down, he let out a deep belch, followed by a hoarse, “Oh God…”

You were already leaning closer, scanning his face with concern. “You good?”

Your hand found his knee, giving it a comforting rub. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hands now gripping the tray table for dear life.

He nodded slowly, jaw clenched. “I’m okay. Just… hate flying.”

You offered a soft smile and stayed close. “I’ll be right here the whole time, okay? Just breathe.”

He nodded again, and despite how miserable he looked, his posture softened slightly, just enough to tell you that your presence was doing what your words couldn’t.

“I’ll go get some water and a bag, just in case,” you told him gently, already sliding out of your seat. Bob gave a tiny nod, eyes still shut, lips tight as if even opening them would invite disaster. You made your way down the aisle, stopping a flight attendant with a polite smile and a quick explanation.

She gave you a knowing look. “Nervous flyer?”

“Something like that,” you chuckled.

A minute later, you returned to your row, holding a small bottle of water and one of those crinkly, shame-colored paper bags. Bob looked slightly less pale than before—his hands weren’t as white-knuckled on the armrests, and his breathing had calmed a little. But he still had that I-might-hurl-any-second look going on.

“Here,” you said, sitting back down and offering both the water and the bag. “Just in case. Don’t worry, it’s only a few hours.”

The moment the word “hours” left your mouth, Bob visibly tensed. He choked on his own spit and shot you a wide-eyed stare like you’d just told him he’d have to wrestle an alligator.

You raised your hands defensively. “Okay, wrong choice of words—ignore me.”

Before either of you could say more, the engines began to roar and the plane started rolling forward. Bob immediately slumped into his seat like a melting popsicle, shut his mouth and eyes, and gripped the tray table as if it were the only thing anchoring him to this dimension.

You couldn’t help a soft smile. He looked a bit ridiculous and miserable at the same time.

“This is the worst part,” you said soothingly, glancing out the window as the runway sped beneath you. “It gets better after takeoff.”

As the plane began to lift from the ground, your heart fluttered with excitement. A new mission in Europe. A whole new landscape, new memories. Even if you weren’t saving the world, part of you loved the thrill of the unknown.

You inhaled deeply, a soft smile on your lips… until you felt a touch.

You turned your head just in time to see Bob—eyes still closed, jaw clenched—reach out blindly and grab your hand in his. He didn’t say a word, didn’t look at you. He just held on. Tightly.

You looked down at your interlaced fingers. He was basically crushing your hand, but you didn’t pull away. If this helped him even a little, you weren’t going anywhere.

Your thumb brushed over his knuckles in quiet reassurance. You didn’t say anything. He didn’t either. But something in the weight of his grip, the vulnerability of that small action, felt more genuine than a thousand words.

Sure, your hand might be useless for the next few hours, but somehow that didn’t matter. It was Bob. That’s what made it okay.

The flight dragged on peacefully, and at some point, exhaustion won.

By the time the pilot announced the descent, both you and Bob were fast asleep. The flight attendant’s gentle voice over the intercom was what stirred you.

“Excuse me—we’ll be landing shortly.”

You blinked groggily, and as your senses slowly returned, you realized that you and Bob were still holding hands. The entire flight. Neither of you had let go, not even in your sleep.

You turned your head at the same time he did, both of you blinking at each other in a dazed, half-dream state. Then you both released your grips at once, slowly, carefully.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool. Bob straightened his seat and adjusted his hoodie like he could hide in it.

“…Feeling better?” you asked softly, keeping your voice low enough so only he could hear. He nodded, and for the first time that day, smiled at you—not the nervous, half-broken kind, but something real.

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.” His voice was quiet, but sincere.

You smiled back before you even realized it, heart tugging in that dangerous, stupid way it did whenever he looked at you like that.

Sometimes you wondered if Bob Reynolds was even real. Maybe he was a highly advanced hologram, or worse, a social experiment where you were the test subject. Because if he was a trap, a trick, or an illusion… well, you’d already fallen in pretty deep.

The moment you landed at the airport in a sunny seaside city called Alicante, your adrenaline was high, ready to face whatever was waiting for you.

But instead of military vehicles or local agents waiting on the tarmac, there was a giant banner reading “SURPRISE!” flapping in the Mediterranean breeze. An agent, smiling way too much for someone who usually briefed on extinction-level events, greeted you all with the bombshell: “There is no mission. You’re here on vacation for one full week. Fully paid. Mandatory.”

Everyone had a different reaction. Some of the team burst out laughing. A few gave each other looks of disbelief. Alexei screamed, “HELL YES, BEACH TIME!” and fist-pumped the air. Yelena already had sunglasses on. But not everyone was thrilled.

Bucky Barnes, for one, looked like someone had just kicked his dog. Twice. He crossed his arms and muttered, “This is ridiculous. I don’t do beaches.”

“Well, now you do,” said Ava with a smirk. “Welcome to bonding camp, grumpy.”

You were all told this wasn’t just a vacation, it was a “team-building retreat.” You were going to be forced to relax together, apparently to grow stronger as a unit. And no one was allowed to bail.

Despite the chaos of your missions and all the tension in the beginning, over the past few months of cohabitating in Stark Tower, you’d all grown… closer. There were still arguments, sure—someone was always stealing snacks, using someone else’s mug, or playing music too loud at 3AM—but you knew each other now. Knew who liked what, who needed quiet mornings, who hogged the bathroom, and who cried during certain movie scenes (spoiler: it’s more of them than you expected).

But the bond between you and Bob Reynolds stood out most.

Everyone saw it. From the moment you helped rescue him, you’d never left his side. You were the first to check if he was injured, the first to speak to him like a human being and not a walking nuclear reactor. You made sure he was okay. Like some stray dog the world had tossed aside—and you just quietly decided he was yours now.

And the team followed your lead. Despite what he’d done, despite nearly destroying the world and ripping open old wounds in everyone’s psyche, they welcomed him with open arms. Because you did.

“Vacation?” Bob raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused.

“Yup,” John said with a grin, giving him a playful nudge. “That’s when you don’t do anything and it’s totally fine. You should try it sometime.”

Bob didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked suspicious of the concept. His whole life had been built around duty, damage control, and trying not to explode. The idea of just… existing with no expectations felt foreign. Maybe even dangerous.

“Alright folks, let’s move out,” Yelena called, hoisting her bag over her shoulder with that bossy tone everyone obeyed without question. She might’ve shared the leadership role with Bucky, but she had the charisma of someone who got things done.

Like a herd of reluctant high schoolers on a mandatory field trip, the team followed—grumbling, joking, dragging their feet, but moving.

The drive wasn’t long.

A sleek black limousine pulled up to your destination within the hour. A row of elegant, private beach cottages spread out before you, nestled in a secluded cove just outside Alicante.

The sand was pale gold, soft as powdered sugar, stretching out toward the turquoise horizon. The sea shimmered beneath the sunlight, waves gentle and lazy. Palm trees lined the perimeter, their leaves rustling with every breeze, casting just enough shade to make the heat feel like a pleasant hug instead of a punishment.

The place felt untouched. Quiet.

Not exactly deserted—but exclusive. You could see why no ordinary tourists were lounging here. It wasn’t just the off-hour, it was the price. This was the kind of luxury reserved for diplomats and billionaires. For people who’d seen too much, done too much, and needed the world to shut up for five minutes.

For the first time, you felt the weight of silence around the team. Not the awkward kind—just a collective breath being held, like everyone was realizing at once how damn beautiful it was here.

The agent who’d escorted you out of the airport handed over two keycards with a charming smile. “One cabin for four men, and one for three ladies,” he said, giving them to Bucky and Yelena respectively.

“Enjoy yourselves.”

And just like that, he was gone, limousine and all, leaving you standing under the cloudless sky, surrounded by the scent of salt and coconut sunscreen.

You glanced around, soaking it all in. Then your gaze shifted to Bob. He was already looking at you. The moment your eyes met, he flinched and immediately turned his head, pretending to be very interested in a nearby bush.

You snorted quietly to yourself, lips twitching with amusement.

“This one’s ours, I guess,” Yelena said, pointing toward the cottage just a few steps away. Even from a distance, the place looked like it belonged in a luxury travel magazine. Creamy-white walls, light wooden trim, huge windows, and a little porch with hanging hammocks swaying lazily in the breeze. A dream come true.

You, Yelena and Ava made your way over with your bags. Yelena slid the keycard, and the door clicked open. The inside was even more stunning.

It was like stepping into a Pinterest board. The walls were painted in soft seafoam greens and sun-washed whites. Rattan furniture, pastel cushions, and airy curtains gave the space a coastal, boho vibe. There was a faint scent of lavender and driftwood in the air—relaxing, expensive, comforting.

Sunlight poured through the huge windows, illuminating a common area with plush couches, a breakfast bar stocked with fruits and snacks, and wide glass doors that opened directly onto the beach. You could hear the waves as if the ocean was whispering, You’re safe here.

“Holy shit,” Ava breathed out, spinning in a slow circle like she couldn’t believe this wasn’t CGI. “This is nicer than my actual apartment.”

Yelena dropped her bag on the nearest bed with a satisfied smirk. “This is acceptable.”

You couldn’t help but smile. A real, easy smile, the kind that felt rare lately. Everything about this place felt… right and peaceful.

And as you peeked out the back window and saw the boys dragging their bags toward their own cottage, you knew this week was going to be something different. Maybe even healing.

A few hours had passed since you arrived. You’d unpacked, showered, explored the fridge, which was magically stocked with mouthwatering, chef-level food, and finally settled into that post-travel stillness.

The late afternoon sun blanketed everything in golden light as you lounged on the front veranda of your cottage. Yelena had claimed the hammock and was swinging gently, sunglasses on, arms behind her head, looking like a war-hardened goddess pretending to be chill.

You and Ava had claimed two of the hanging lounge chairs, gently swaying as you soaked in the sun. Both of you had sunglasses perched on your noses, and the soft breeze kept the heat from being overwhelming.

“What are we even supposed to do here?” Ava asked, not bothering to open her eyes. Her voice was lazy, relaxed, a perfect match for the quiet waves in the distance.

It was a simple question. One you should’ve been able to answer. But you paused. Because… you honestly didn’t know.

Before you could respond with something vague, Yelena chimed in with a deadpan comment that made both you and Ava snort with laughter. It was something about team bonding meaning “not-murdering each other in close quarters,” and that this counted.

Then you added, perfectly flat, “I didn’t even bring a swimsuit.”

Ava blinked, then looked over at you. “Wait, me neither.”

“Didn’t expect this,” you muttered. “Was packing for death, not tanning.”

Yelena groaned. “Okay great. Let’s go buy swimsuits now. Or we’ll end up stuck here melting like idiots on a porch for the rest of the week.”

She was right, so without much debate, the three of you grabbed your canvas totes, wallets, and phones. None of you were wearing anything particularly beach-shopping-appropriate, but it didn’t matter. The streets near the coast would be casual, laid-back—just like the air already felt.

Of course, this wasn’t just a swimsuit run.

You were three women, unsupervised, in a beach town, surrounded by potential sales racks, accessory stands, cafés, and tourist traps. There was no way you were only coming back with swimwear.

As you walked past the guys’ cabin, Yelena suddenly veered off toward the door.

“I’m gonna see if any of the boys want to come with us,” she said casually.

You and Ava paused, hanging back by the path and watching her disappear into the house. After a beat of silence, Ava tilted her head toward you, voice sly behind her shades.

“So… are you two dating?”

You frowned, confused. “What?”

She shifted her sunglasses down her nose just enough to raise her brows. “You and Bob.”

Your eyes went wide. Your mouth dropped into a dramatic, perfect “O.”

“What— no, pffft, no! We’re just… friends. Like you and me.”

Ava laughed softly, but her gaze stayed locked on you, way too perceptive for your comfort.

“Then why don’t you look at me the way you look at him?”

The question hit harder than expected. You froze. Your heart did that thing where it picked up speed, like it was trying to run away before your brain could even catch up.

You opened your mouth to respond—but didn’t get the chance. Yelena reappeared, walking toward you like she owned the world, flanked by Johnny and Alexei, who looked far too amused to be joining a swimsuit shopping trip.

“They’re coming,” she said with a smirk. “Apparently the boys need suits too. And they want to pick out something ridiculous for Bucky.” That got a laugh out of all of you.

You glanced past them, half-hoping Bob would be in the group.

He wasn’t.

A tiny sting settled in your chest—nothing sharp, just that quiet flicker of disappointment. Maybe he needed rest. Maybe he didn’t feel like going out. Maybe… you were overthinking again.

You shook the thought away and caught up with the group, quickly weaving yourself into the casual chatter about the town, the ocean, and just how absurdly gorgeous these beach houses were.

Still… you couldn’t help but glance back, just once, at the boys’ cabin. Maybe he was watching. Maybe he wasn’t. But part of you hoped he’d noticed you were gone.

The shop you found wasn’t some cheap tourist trap. It was small, chic, and clearly catered to high-end beachgoers with taste. White walls, light wood floors, soft acoustic music playing in the background, and racks of curated swimsuits arranged by style, not size. It even smelled nice, like sunscreen and coconuts and fresh linen.

You, Yelena, and Ava wandered through the racks like hunters in the wild, each with your own goal. Ava leaned toward white or black prints. Yelena made a beeline for anything tactical-looking or black. You? You didn’t know what you were looking for, until you saw it.

A white two-piece bikini, delicate but bold.

The top had thin, adjustable straps and a soft triangle cut that showed just enough while still keeping you comfortable. The fabric was smooth, almost pearly under the light, and hugged your shape in a way that felt way too flattering. The bottoms were high-cut at the hips, elongating your legs, and dipped just enough in the front to make you feel sexy.

You held it up, biting your lip.

The fitting rooms were individual little cabins with thick curtains and full mirrors, and for a moment, you just stood inside yours, staring at yourself.

The bikini really did fit, almost suspiciously well. The white stood out against your skin like it was made for you. It hugged your waist, shaped your chest, gave just enough curve to make you hesitate. You adjusted the straps, turned sideways, checked again.

You weren’t sure if you felt powerful or exposed.

Still undecided, you pulled the curtain back and stepped out barefoot onto the cool wooden floor. Yelena was standing just outside, holding a one-piece camo-pattern swimsuit that looked like it belonged in some military-themed Sports Illustrated shoot.

When she turned to look at you, her face froze for a second. And then she blinked. Twice.

“Oh my god,” she said loudly. “Bob’s going to get an erection so hard he’s gonna pass out.”

You stared at her, completely stunned. “Yelena!”

She shrugged, utterly unbothered. “What? It’s true. That bikini is illegal. You look like someone who knows how hot she is.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. That loud, shocked kind of laugh that felt like it echoed off your ribs.

“I’m not getting it just because of Bob!” you protested.

“Sure. Of course,” Yelena said, already turning to hang her swimsuit back on a rack. “You’re getting it because of you. Which happens to be the same you that wants Bob to think about you every time he blinks.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because maybe she wasn’t totally wrong.

You looked back at yourself in the big mirror. Your fingers lightly touched the strap on your hip. Yeah, part of you wanted Bob to notice. And part of you was absolutely terrified he would.

“…Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll take it.”

The walk back from town was filled with laughter and light teasing. John and Alexei were leading the way, both proudly swinging shopping bags, one of which contained a ridiculous pair of swim trunks Alexei had picked for Bucky, covered in pineapples and flamingos, while Bob’s were thankfully simple and classic.

You held a bag in one hand and kept your eyes on your feet, but no matter what, you couldn’t stop your thoughts from drifting.

What’s Bob gonna do when he sees you in this bikini?

You hadn’t meant to obsess over it. The idea had just settled in your mind. Naturally. Like it belonged there. And now it was stuck. Even as Ava was telling a story about how she accidentally bought three identical sarongs, your mind wandered right back to Bob.

The moment you and Ava set the bags down on the porch with a thud, Yelena clapped her hands like a general calling her troops.

“Alright, troops! Try on your swimsuits, we’re playing beach volleyball in ten!”

You exchanged an amused glance with Ava. You were all tired, even Yelena was complaining on the way back how well she'll be sleeping. Guess that thought was gone now.

Still, the energy in the air was contagious and none of you had the heart to say no, so Yelena texted the guys while the rest of you headed to change.

When you stepped outside, the sun was warm on your skin and the sound of the ocean made everything feel like a dream. Bucky and Alexei were already out there, stretching and tying up the net between two poles. John stood nearby, casually tossing the volleyball between his hands.

But Bob wasn’t there.

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could spiral, Ava appeared behind you and gave you a sharp slap on the butt.

“Relax, your loverboy probably just got distracted picking the perfect outfit,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes with a groan, but your heart was beating just a little faster. You walked over to the group, the sand soft under your feet.

Bucky noticed you first. His eyes lingered for a second longer than they probably should have, but he kept his expression locked down – soldier mode. Alexei, on the other hand, had zero filters.

“WOW, GIRL, LOOK AT YOU!” he shouted across the beach. “YOU LOOK LIKE A GODDESS! AND YOU TOO! AND YOU TOO!!”

He even stumbled into the net and collapsed dramatically, like your beauty had physically floored him. All of you burst out laughing. It was ridiculous, but sweet.

Walker stood back, saying nothing, just calmly observing like always, the ball still rotating between his palms.

“Let me help you with this,” you offered, moving to Bucky’s side and helping him secure the net to the post. You worked silently for a moment until he glanced at you and said, in his typical stern voice: “You look good.”

You smiled. “Thanks.”

Then, behind you, you heard the soft click of the cabin door opening. Your head instantly turned.

Bob stepped out. He wore a plain green T-shirt and simple black swim shorts. His hair was a little tousled from the wind, and the second his eyes landed on you, he froze.

You gave him a small, friendly wave.

He just stood there. His brows twitched. His jaw tensed. Then, as if his legs had remembered how to move, he took a step forward and tripped a little in the sand. Your heart did a backflip.

“See?” Yelena appeared beside you, slapping your shoulder. “Told you he’d be wrecked when he saw you.”

You laughed, half in embarrassment, half in disbelief, and shook your head. “Shut up.”

“Alright, LET’S GOOO!” Alexei yelled, clapping loudly before peeling off his shirt in one dramatic motion. The dude was built like a Greek statue.

Then Bucky followed suit, revealing defined abs and a torso clearly sculpted through years of combat training. All of you fell into stunned silence for a moment.

Even Walker, who hadn’t said a word, took off his shirt and casually joined the group. His body was lean, defined, quiet strength. Bob arrived near the group, awkwardly raising a hand.

“Hey,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. All eyes slowly turned to him waiting. Expectant.

He looked around nervously. “What? Did I—?”

And then he realized. He looked down at his own shirt, then back up at the group.

“Oh! Uh… I think I’ll keep the shirt on. I’m kinda cold,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

You blinked. Cold? You didn’t believe him for a second, and you were pretty sure no one else did either. Still, no one pushed him. It was Bob. If he needed to keep his shirt on, he could.

Yelena turned to split the teams. “Alright, someone from the guys can join us, but anyone except Ale—”

“GOING WITH MY GORGEOUS LADIES!” Alexei yelled, cutting her off and dashing over to your side like a golden retriever on espresso.

Yelena let out the longest, most defeated sigh and rubbed her temples.

Teams were decided, and as fate would have it, you and Bob ended up on opposing sides. The game was lighthearted at first, filled with laughter and playful banter. But then John raised the stakes.

“How about this? Winning team gets treated to a round of rum by the losers!��

A collective cheer erupted, and the game intensified. The air buzzed with laughter, the sounds of sneakers shuffling and palms slapping against the volleyball echoing across the beach.

You were focused, at least, you were trying to be. But every time your eyes met Bob’s across the court, something fluttered in your chest. It wasn’t just the look he gave you, it was everything about him.

The way his green shirt clung to his chest, damp from sweat, outlining the gentle definition of his torso; the way his dark hair was slightly tousled, sticking to his forehead; the way he kept glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

And he was looking.

Almost every single time you looked over at him, his eyes were already on you. And every single time, without fail, he’d catch himself and look away. Fast. Like a startled animal. His Adam’s apple would bob slightly as he swallowed hard, clearly rattled by something—by you, maybe.

But then came the moment he didn’t look away.

You looked across the net, searching for Bob again, and there he was, watching you. He didn’t flinch this time. He didn’t look down or pretend to scratch his face. He stared. And you, feeling just a little bold, gave him a playful wink.

That did it.

Even from across the sand, you saw the way his face lit up red. Not just a hint of blush, but full-on, ear-to-ear crimson. His lips curved upward in a tiny, embarrassed smile—so small you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching for it.

And of course you were watching. The next serve came. Fast. Too fast. You turned just a moment too late, the ball whizzing past your shoulder and hitting the sand behind you.

Point lost.

Your teammates groaned in playful frustration, and you raised your hand apologetically. “My bad,” you laughed, even though inside, your stomach was doing backflips. Bob was still watching. Except now, he looked like he was having a different kind of crisis.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt nervously. His jaw clenched. His chest was visibly rising and falling faster than it should. His arms were tense. His fingers curled into fist, his knuckles white. His eyes were definitely not on the ball.

They were on you.

Suddenly, he took a deep breath and bent slightly forward. “Uh—sorry! I just need a… quick break!” he blurted out, turning so fast he almost tripped on his own foot. Without another word, he jogged off the court and toward the cabins, his shirt bunched up slightly at the back and clinging tighter at the front than before.

Everyone kind of paused.

“Everything alright?” John called after him, spinning the ball on his finger.

“Yeah! Yeah, all good!” Bob replied quickly, too quickly, his voice cracking slightly as he disappeared around the corner.

The group exchanged glances, some shrugged, some laughed. Yelena rolled her eyes. “He probably has bad stamina.”

But your heart dropped just a bit. Something felt off. You didn’t even think, you tossed the ball aside, murmured a quick, “I’ll go check on him,” and broke into a quick jog, sand kicking up around your ankles as you made your way toward the cabins.

Bob barely made it into the room before slamming the door shut behind him, chest heaving, face flushed and mind spinning. He pressed his back to the wood as if trying to barricade himself from the outside world, from you. His breathing was erratic. He glanced down.

“Oh no no no…”

The situation in his swim trunks was unignorable. His erection was pushing painfully against the fabric, a direct result of the way you looked—sweaty, flushed from the game, laughing with your hair a mess, skin kissed by sunlight. The way your bikini hugged your curves. The way your chest rose and fell when you ran. The way you winked at him.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned. This was not supposed to happen.

He tried to steady his breath and think about anything else, but it was useless. All he could think about was you. How close you’d gotten. How dangerous it felt to even have you in the same game, let alone within touching distance.

Then came the knock.

“Bob?” Your voice was gentle, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He froze. Your voice was the last thing he needed right now. It sent a fresh wave of heat through him. His hands curled into fists.

“Yeah! I’m—uh—I’m fine. Just a headache,” he called out quickly, praying you’d leave.

But you didn’t.

“I can come in, I’ll bring you water or—”

“NO!” he shouted. Too loud, too harsh. The silence that followed was gutting. You stood on the other side of the door, frozen in place. “…Bob?”

He could hear it. The confusion in your voice. The hesitation. He hated himself instantly.

“I just—I need to be alone, okay?” His voice was muffled now, pressed into the crook of his elbow as he paced the room. He could feel his heart pounding, his frustration mounting—not just with the situation, but with himself. “Just leave. Please.”

You didn’t speak. He imagined your face, how hurt you probably looked, how your brows might have creased, how your mouth might’ve opened to argue before you stopped yourself.

Then… footsteps. Soft. Fading. Gone.

He felt the loss immediately. Like something had been torn out of him. He let out a heavy breath and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the door.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, too late. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to yell.”

No answer.

“Please don’t be mad… I just—I didn’t know what to do, okay? You—you do things to me, and I panicked. Please, come back.” But the hallway was empty and the only response was silence.

As you stepped out of the cabin, your eyes burned with unshed tears. You quickly wiped them away with the back of your hand, forcing a shaky breath through your nose.

“Hey, is Bob okay?” Ava asked, glancing toward the cabin you’d just exited.

You hesitated for a second, then nodded with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “He just said he had a headache,” you replied, your voice carefully even.

You walked toward the volleyball net and joined the opposite team—the one now short a player with Bob gone. “Let’s keep playing,” you added cheerfully, hoping no one would question it further.

To your surprise, the game was good. Fast-paced. Fun.

Even with the ache in your chest, you gave it your all. Maybe even because of it. Every hit, every run across the sand, every cheer was your way of forcing yourself to focus on something else—anything else.

And in the end, your team won.

Yelena, Ava, and Alexei groaned in dramatic defeat while you, John, and Bucky raised your arms in victory. “Winners get the drinks!” Walker grinned.

“Fine,” Yelena rolled her eyes. “But we’re picking the place.”

The sun had dipped lower in the sky now, casting a soft golden glow over the beach. The heat lingered though, a warm comfort against your skin. Everyone decided to freshen up a bit before heading out, and you slipped into something light—a black fishnet-style dress over your swimsuit, barely-there but airy enough to keep cool.

The girls whistled playfully at you as you walked out, and you returned their teasing with a twirl and a wink. But your heart still felt heavy.

The bar you ended up in was cozy, loud with laughter, music humming low in the background. The lights were warm and soft, casting shadows across everyone’s faces. You weren’t drunk—just a little lightheaded from the rum, the kind that made your thoughts buzz and your limbs a bit too loose.

Yelena stuck by your side most of the evening. She laughed with you, poked fun at Walker, and even made a show of challenging Alexei to a drinking contest. But at one point, she leaned in, her gaze a little too knowing.

“You’re smiling,” she said gently, “but your eyes are somewhere else.” You blinked and looked away, sipping from your drink.

“I’m fine,” you murmured.

Yelena sighed and gave you a long look. “I’m gonna go talk to Ava for a bit, okay? You good here?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I need some time alone anyway.” She gave your hand a light squeeze, then disappeared into the crowd.

You sat in silence for a while, swirling your drink, the taste of sugar and burn lingering on your tongue. Your gaze drifted around the room, but you weren’t really seeing anyone. The voices blended together. The laughter felt far away. Until one voice didn’t.

“Hey…”

You froze. Slowly, your eyes shifted to the side.

Bob.

He stood just beside you, looking awkward, guilty, and entirely out of place. His hair was a little messy, his green shirt slightly wrinkled like he’d been sitting in one place too long before deciding to come. His voice was soft. Tentative.

“…Can I sit?”

You just nodded faintly and let out a small, wordless hum of agreement.

He took the seat next to you, cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he really had the right to be there. You could feel his nervous energy radiating off him. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. His leg bounced subtly beneath the bar. It was obvious he’d been overthinking every second since earlier.

There was a long pause before he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice strained but sincere. “About before. I didn’t mean to—” He hesitated, sighed. “I panicked. That’s all. I didn’t want to shout at you like that. I don’t even know why I did. I just… freaked out.”

You were still leaning against the bar, your head tilted slightly sideways, cheek resting on your folded arm. With your other hand, you absently played with the rim of your empty glass, turning it slowly between your fingers. You didn’t look at him, but your shoulders rose in a small shrug. It wasn’t cold—it just said I hear you. But I’m still processing.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly frustrated with himself, then tried again.

“I really am sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Can I… can I buy you another drink? Something strong, maybe? Vodka?”

That finally got a soft sound out of you—a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. You sat up properly, brushing your hair back and meeting his eyes, just briefly.

“No thanks,” you murmured. “I don’t wanna get drunk.”

He nodded, looking down at his hands, embarrassed. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

The quiet between you stretched again, but it didn’t feel quite so heavy now. Just… tentative. Cautious. Slowly, your expression softened, even though the sadness still lingered. You could see how hard he was trying—how guilty he looked, how much he regretted that brief flash of temper. And even if it still hurt, you knew it hadn’t come from a place of cruelty. Just fear.

You sighed gently, then gave him a tiny nod. “It’s okay,” you said at last. “I get it.”

His eyes flicked up to you in relief, and he nodded eagerly. A beat passed before you tilted your head slightly. “Are you having anything?”

He blinked. “Uh… no. Acohol— I don’t really— It doesn’t go well with me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, a little shyly. “I’m not exactly the fun drunk type. More like the ‘embarrass myself and then cry about it later’ type.”

That finally earned a genuine smile from you. A small, honest one. “Alright,” you said.

“What if we uh…drink something sweet? Like juice?” Bob suggested cautiously and you nodded with a hum.

Bob grinned sheepishly and waved at the bartender, ordering two fruity, alcohol-free drinks. When he slid yours toward you and caught the way you looked at him, smile soft, eyes warm, his ears turned a little pink. You raised your glass and clinked it gently against his.

As the conversation carried on, whatever tension had existed between the two of you earlier slowly dissolved, like mist in the morning sun. You laughed together, genuine, unguarded laughter, and it felt easy again. Comfortable.

Before long, you completely forgot why you’d been upset in the first place. Bob was being his awkward, charming self, and it was disarming in the best way. He made a silly comment about the drink being too fruity for a “manly guy like him,” and you rolled your eyes so hard it made him laugh. You teased him back, and time began to slip by, unnoticed and unchecked.

Eventually, Bucky appeared at the entrance of the bar, a little sweaty, clearly ready to call it a night. “We’re heading out,” he called over the soft hum of music and clinking glasses. “You two coming?”

You glanced at Bob and then shook your head with a smile. “We’ll stay a little longer.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow knowingly, gave a short wave, and disappeared with the rest of the group. That “little longer” quickly became several hours. The sky outside deepened into full night, the noise of the bar gradually quieted as the crowd thinned out, and you and Bob were still there, talking and laughing like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Then, suddenly, a voice broke through the moment, gentle but firm. The bartender leaned over and said something in Spanish, “Cerramos.”

Your eyes widened, and you let out a soft gasp. “Oh! They're closing.” You jumped off the barstool with a flurry of movement, grabbing your things quickly and tossing an apologetic smile toward the bartender. You replied: “Lo siento!” then turned to Bob.

He was still sitting there, watching you with a puzzled look on his face. Then he glanced at the bartender, and back to you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You speak Spanish?” he asked, a bit of awe in his voice.

You laughed and shook your head. “Nooo,” you admitted, grinning. “But it’s not that hard to guess what he said.”

Bob smiled as the realization hit him. “Right… yeah. That makes sense.” He stood up, stretching a little, and pulled a few bills from his wallet to leave on the counter for the drinks. Together, the two of you stepped out into the warm night.

Outside, the air was rich with the scent of saltwater and distant blossoms. The sky was a canvas of stars, crisp and clear, glittering like tiny diamonds. The moon hung low, casting a soft silver glow over the beach. The waves rolled in and out in a slow, steady rhythm, their gentle crash against the shore creating a peaceful, natural soundtrack that filled the quiet spaces between your laughter.

You walked side by side along the sand, your bare feet leaving prints behind you that the tide would soon claim. Every so often you’d bump shoulders slightly, accidentally-on-purpose, and Bob would smile that sweet, crooked smile of his. Conversation flowed as effortlessly as the breeze around you.

Then, your tone shifted—just a little softer, more curious. “Can I ask you something?”

Bob glanced over at you and gave a small nod, already bracing himself for whatever was coming.

“Why didn’t you take off your shirt?” you asked gently. “Back when we played volleyball?”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, then scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking uncomfortable. His fingers tugged slightly at the fabric of his shirt. When he finally spoke, it was in a quiet voice, and he avoided your gaze.

“I guess I’m just… not that confident. About my body, I mean.”

He let out a soft, nervous snort through his lips, something between a sigh and the sound horses make when they’re annoyed, and looked down at the sand as if it had the answers.

He paused, then looked up at you, his eyes full of something vulnerable, raw, and honest. “But I’ll get there. One day.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Just… not yet.”

You nodded slowly, not saying anything at first. You looked down, watching the way your feet pressed into the sand, how your steps left soft imprints that trailed behind. You understood. Completely. And more importantly, you respected it.

Your silence wasn’t judgment, it was empathy. And as the two of you walked on, bathed in moonlight and ocean air, it was clear that even unspoken things had a way of being heard between you.

Bob walked you back to your cabin, the two of you moving a little slower than before, as if neither of you truly wanted the night to end. When you reached the steps, there was that moment, an awkward little giggle shared between you as your eyes both dropped to the ground, trying to avoid the tension hanging in the air. But it was there, unspoken and electric. You felt it in your chest, and judging by the way Bob was fiddling with his fingers and nervously rocking on his heels, he did too.

Maybe it was the rum still lingering in your system, or maybe it was the feeling of confidence bubbling up from the hours of honest conversation and gentle laughter. Either way, you found yourself standing a little taller, just bold enough to speak your mind.

“I don’t think you have anything to be ashamed of,” you said, your voice soft but sure, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked at him. Bob lifted his gaze, eyes wide with something between surprise and fragile hope, like a puppy waiting to be told it’s a good boy.

“I think you have a beautiful body,” you added gently.

The moment the words landed, his eyes locked with yours, and the connection was intense. Warm. Heavy. It hung in the air between you like a string pulled tight.

You could see it in his face that he felt it too. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then his nervousness took over again. He let out a small, breathy laugh, looked to the side, and scratched the back of his head. His cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red, and his voice came out unsure and stammered.

“You too… you have a nice body. Not like—in a creepy way or anything! Just, uh… like, you know…”

He was tangling himself in his own compliment, flailing to land it gracefully, and it made your heart melt just a little more. Smiling softly, you lifted both hands in a surrendering gesture, giving a single nod with a calming expression.

“I get it,” you assured him gently. “Thank you.”

Relief washed over his face, and both of you started to laugh again, this time more naturally, more connected. The night felt sweet, even a little magical. You didn’t want to go inside. You didn’t want this to be the part where he left, where things faded into goodnights and what-ifs.

Something in you, maybe the remnants of courage, maybe the warmth still blooming from that last drink, refused to let him go. So, you decided to take a risk. A brave one.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words came out direct, sincere, without apology or hesitation. They hit Bob like a thunderclap. His eyes went wide and fractured with shock. You could see his heart stop and start again just by the way his chest moved. Goosebumps appeared along his arms, his breath caught in his throat, and his entire face flushed deeper than ever before.

“I-I… I mean—I… um,” he stumbled, blinking rapidly, completely overwhelmed.

You didn’t push, but you did move closer, stepping into the space between you, your hands slowly, carefully, rising to his chest. You placed them there gently, barely a touch, more of a whisper than a grip, and you could feel his heartbeat fluttering beneath your fingertips, pounding like a wild drum. The moment you touched him, he froze. His whole body stiffened, eyes locked on you, his lips slightly parted in stunned silence.

You tilted your head up, catching his gaze with a bold, flirtatious glint in your eye. Then you bit your lip, slowly and deliberately, giving him that look—the kind that stripped away all doubt.

“May I?” you whispered again, your voice lower, breathier, your fingertips brushing against his shirt as your palms moved slightly over his chest.

He inhaled sharply, the sound trembling through his lips, and after a second that felt like forever, he nodded—quickly, wordlessly, his entire body trembling with anticipation.

A sly, satisfied smile crept onto your face at his permission. You rose onto your toes as he instinctively leaned down to meet you halfway. And when your lips finally met his, it was as though the world simply fell away.

The background noise, the wind, the waves, the sound of cicadas, melted into silence. There was only warmth, only him.

His lips were soft, tinged with sweetness from the drinks you’d shared, and you felt a wave of heat roll through your body.

At first, he kissed you carefully, cautiously, almost as if he wasn’t sure if this was real. But the moment you leaned in hungrily for another kiss, something shifted in him, he melted into you completely.

Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him in closer, anchoring him to you. He responded instinctively, his hands finding your waist with gentle hesitance, holding you like you were delicate and precious, like the wrong touch might break the spell. His fingers traced small circles against your back, sliding slightly higher as he began to kiss you deeper, more surely.

And then you started to sigh—soft, involuntary little sounds escaping your lips, muffled between kisses. That was it. That was all it took to make Bob shudder slightly against you, his grip tightening just a little as he buried himself more completely in the moment.

For a man so shy, so careful with his words, his body was now telling you everything you needed to know. Your lips danced together under the stars, wrapped in each other’s arms, feeling the warmth of each other's bodies.

The kiss between you and Bob deepened quickly, the heat building with every brush of lips, every inhale that seemed too sharp, too needy.

Bob began to let out these quiet, helpless little moans—soft, desperate sounds that made your heart stutter and your core clench with hunger. His breath was hot, uneven, as if he couldn’t quite keep up with what he was feeling.

But then, just when things began to slip into something hotter, more dangerous, you pulled away.

Your lips left his with a quiet, breathy pop, and Bob’s eyes fluttered open in confusion, his brows furrowing as you took a small step back. You reached into your bag, rummaging clumsily, fingers searching for your keys. His expression was adorably baffled—eyes wide, lips parted, his chest still rising and falling too fast.

He didn’t even get the chance to ask what you were doing. Before he could speak, you found the keys, turned, and unlocked the door with a soft grunt of effort. The handle resisted for a moment—just long enough to make you curse under your breath. But then it gave way, and without a word, you grabbed a handful of Bob’s shirt and yanked him inside with you.

The door slammed shut behind you.

And then you were on him again.

You pushed him up against the wall before he could even blink, your lips crashing onto his like you’d been starved of him for hours instead of minutes. He let out a muffled gasp, taken completely off guard, but your mouth, your touch, the fire burning through you, it overwhelmed him. It shut off whatever part of his brain had been trying to stay grounded.

He melted into you, hands clinging to your waist like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. But you weren’t slowing down.

You pressed your body hard against his, clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart, pinning him to the wall with a surprising strength, despite your smaller frame. Your kiss was ravenous, unrelenting. Every time his breath hitched, it only drove you more.

But Bob still had some part of him trying to be responsible.

“Wait—wait, what about the others?” he asked, panting between kisses, his voice shaky, his lips still brushing yours. His hands remained at your hips, uncertain but not resisting.

“They’re asleep,” you breathed without hesitation, already leaning in again.

You kissed him hard, and he let out a startled noise in the back of his throat, half protest, half surrender. But just as your hands started trailing lower down his sides, he gently pulled back again, his eyes wide, his whole body trembling like he was barely holding on.

“I-I mean, I—” he stammered, clearly overwhelmed, caught in the tug-of-war between nerves and need.

But you were on fire. Every pulse in your body throbbed with want, and the heat between your thighs was unmistakable, impossible to ignore. You leaned in closer, placing a hand flat against his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. Your eyes locked on his and your voice dropped into something sultry, something that made his breath hitch.

“Do you want me?” you whispered, your words low, teasing, soaked in longing.

Bob’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He was frozen, wide-eyed, staring at you like you were made of fire and he couldn’t decide whether to run or let himself burn.

So you stepped in closer. Your bodies were touching now, pressed chest to chest, and your mouth hovered barely a breath from his. You tilted your head, eyes fluttering half-shut, your voice dipping into a softer, flirtier murmur.

“Do you want me, Bob?”

This time he nodded. Hard. His breath caught in his throat, and a deep, shaky sound escaped him. His hands clutched tighter at your waist like he was afraid you might vanish.

Then you gave him the final push—the one that made everything else fall away.

“Do you want me… right now?”

His answer wasn’t words. It was a low, desperate sound from deep in his chest and another frantic nod, his eyes burning with need. That was all the answer you needed. All the answer he could give.

And then your lips were on his again, fiercer this time, hungry and hot, and whatever doubts had been in his head melted away with each breathless kiss.

But the kisses between you and Bob grew messier, deeper, more desperate. There was no longer any hesitation, only raw, breathless need. Soft, pleading moans slipped from both your lips between every frantic brush of your mouths, and each sound only made the other crave more.

Bob’s hands fumbled at your waist, your neck, your hips, trying to be everywhere at once but still so careful. His swim trunks were starting to grow tight again, and the heat in your own body was unbearable. Your swimsuit clung to you, soaked through with arousal, even tho all you had done was kiss.

Stumbling into your room was chaotic, clumsy. Bob bumped into the wall, you tripped on your own feet, giggles and gasps filling the space between frantic kisses. But somehow, with limbs tangled and hearts racing, you made it to your room. You barely managed to shut the door behind you before dragging both of you toward the bed.

With one firm but gentle push, you toppled Bob onto the mattress and let yourself fall with him. You landed on his chest with a bounce, both of you breathless and grinning, and then, before he could even process it, you rolled off and stood quickly. You turned back toward the door, locking it with a soft click. Then, you turned around again and froze for a beat.

Bob was sitting at the edge of your bed, completely still, his chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths. His hair was messy from your fingers, his lips red and swollen from your kisses and his eyes were glassy with lust, with longing. His pupils were huge. His face was flushed. And lower down, his erection was unmistakably visible.

You had never felt like this about any man before. Not like this.

You let your purse fall to the floor without a second thought, fingers slipping under the hem of your fishnet dress. With a slow, deliberate tug, you pulled it up and over your head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor.

Now, standing there in only your swimsuit, you began to approach him. Slowly, like a predator circling prey. The hunger in your eyes was impossible to miss.

Bob didn’t move. He couldn’t. He watched you the entire time, mouth slightly open, hands resting on the bed like he needed the mattress to ground himself.

You stopped in front of him and brought your hands up to cup his face, leaning in to kiss him again—but this time it was slower. Gentler. A soft, intimate prelude.

His hands found your cheeks too, fingers stroking your skin, and he tried to pull you back down onto him. But you resisted. You pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“Can we… get rid of this?” you asked with a playful smile, tapping a finger against the center of his chest.

His eyes dropped to your finger, then flicked back up to your face. He swallowed hard, clearly nervous.

“We don’t have to,” you whispered, your tone low and teasing. “But how about a deal?”

You licked your lips slowly, letting your gaze drop to his mouth before lifting it back to his eyes.

“If we take this off,” you said, finger still resting on his chest, “then we also take this off…” Your hand drifted up, motioning briefly toward the top of your swimsuit.

That was all it took.

Whatever fear had still lingered in him melted away instantly. His fingers gripped the hem of his shirt and, without a single pause, he pulled it over his head in one swift, fluid movement and tossed it aside. No hesitation. No second-guessing. He wanted this. He wanted you. Badly enough to show you a part of himself he’d just admitted he was ashamed of.

But the moment your eyes dropped to his now bare torso… your jaw practically hit the floor.

He was stunning. Broad chest, strong shoulders, abs like something sculpted by a god, toned arms with just the right amount of muscle, exactly how you liked it. Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected this. Not from someone as shy and self-conscious as him.

You looked back up at him, wide-eyed with a mix of disbelief and awe. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came.

Bob sat there, half-nervous, half-burning, unsure how you’d react—until he saw your expression. And even though your reaction was silent, it told him everything. The look on your face said it all.

You knelt down slowly, your eyes still locked onto his body as if mesmerized, and began showering him with a cascade of kisses. They rained down over his skin, his chest, his stomach, his sides, each kiss playful, some lingering, others accompanied by soft, teasing licks or the occasional gentle bite.

It tickled him a little, making him laugh under his breath, his abs tightening instinctively. He wanted to reach out, to touch your hair, cradle your face, pull you close—but he hesitated. He didn’t want to startle you, didn’t want to break the moment or push too far. So he kept his hands behind him, gripping the mattress like an anchor.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured in between kisses, your lips brushing against his skin with every word. Your hands rested firmly on his thighs, fingers splayed out, grounding yourself as you explored him with both touch and mouth.

“So beautiful,” you repeated, almost breathless with admiration. You couldn’t get enough of him. You kissed every inch of skin you could reach, tasting the warmth of his sun-kissed body, losing yourself in the way he squirmed slightly beneath your lips.

Eventually, the hunger in you built beyond just kisses.

You looked up at Bob, meeting his eyes. He looked dazed, utterly blissed out, but beneath the surface, there was something else. He was waiting. For your part of the deal.

A mischievous smile curled on your lips.

Still on your knees, you slowly straightened up and reached behind your back, fingers deftly untying the knot of your bikini top. With a small motion, you let it slip off your shoulders, revealing your bare breasts to him.

Bob’s jaw literally dropped. His eyes widened and locked on you like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His hands dug into the mattress, and through his swim trunks, you could see the very visible twitch of his hard-on as it reacted to the sight.

He wanted to touch you so badly. You could see it. The craving in his eyes. But he still held back, being a gentleman, respecting your pace, refusing to make a move without permission.

“Wanna touch?” you asked, tilting your head and giving him a knowing smirk.

His face lit up like you’d just handed him the keys to heaven. He nodded eagerly, licking his lips, his hands already twitching to move. He slowly reached out but paused again, eyes flicking to yours, searching for that last bit of reassurance.

You gave him a small nod.

And then he touched you.

Gently, reverently, like you were something sacred. His hands cupped your breasts with a mixture of awe and need, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. His touch was warm, tender—curious yet careful.

He didn’t grope. He explored. Played. Worshipped. One hand cradled the underside while the other traced slow circles around your nipple, sending delicious shivers down your spine. He was in heaven, and judging by the way his breath caught every time you so much as sighed, he wanted you to feel that same bliss too.

Bob looked up at you, his hands still cradling your breasts as if he were holding something fragile and precious. Then his gaze flicked to your face, a bit hesitant.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, voice low and tender.

You smiled, nodding, and that smile alone seemed to ease something in him. You weren’t just okay—you were glowing. It felt good, the way his fingers explored you with such care, and the look in his eyes made it all the more intense.

And it definitely did something to him. You could tell from the way his chest rose with every breath, how his eyes occasionally fluttered shut like he was overwhelmed. Still, after a moment, he pulled his hands away, clearly not wanting to get too carried away without your lead.

You leaned in again and kissed him.

It was slower, deeper. Your hands roamed his body, savoring the shape of him, the tension in his muscles, the way he melted under your touch. His hands were verywhere. Moving over your back, your hips, your sides, as if trying to memorize every inch of your body.

But you remained on your knees, just slightly lower than him, even as the kiss grew hotter.

Then one of your hands started to travel—leaving his neck, gliding down over his chest, his stomach, until it reached the waistband of his swim trunks. You paused there. Not moving or rushing. You stopped kissing him and looked up at his face.

Bob’s eyes followed your hand, then quickly returned to yours. There was a storm behind those eyes—desire, definitely, but also uncertainty.

You gave him a slow, sultry smile, tilting your head ever so slightly as if to say, It’s okay. I want this too. He exhaled shakily, his lips parting, and after a moment, he nodded.

With the same care he’d shown you earlier, you hooked your fingers into the waistband and began to pull them down. Painfully slow. Your eyes never left his face, watching his expression shift—excitement, nervousness, and that unmistakable tension of anticipation.

As the fabric slid down his thighs and hit the ground, your breath caught audibly. You gasped so loud that even Bob flinched a little, startled. You hadn’t expected… that.

There it was—thick, veined, heavy, and already so hard it twitched in the cool air. The way it stood against his toned stomach, pulsing gently, made your pulse echo right along with it.

You couldn’t help but whisper in disbelief, “And you’ve been hiding this the whole time?”

Bob let out an awkward little laugh, clearly flustered. His cheeks flushed deep red, not just from arousal, but from your stunned compliment. He looked away for a second, bashful, and mumbled something incoherent.

Carefully, you reached out and brushed your fingers against him. The moment your skin made contact, his body jolted, just a little, and he let out the softest whimper, almost a sigh.

You looked up again, eyes wide and a little wicked, and bit your bottom lip.

Slowly, your hand began to move, gentle at first, as though you were still getting to know this part of him. He trembled beneath your touch, trying to stay quiet, but his hips shifted involuntarily, betraying how sensitive he was.

His hand gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles pale. He was trying so hard not to make a sound—to keep still so he wouldn’t wake the girls in the next room—but you weren’t making that easy.

The pressure, the rhythm… it was enough to undo him. But then, before he could fully process what was happening, you leaned forward and kissed the tip. Bob let out a strangled sound and tensed, as if his whole body was about to short-circuit.

You looked up at him, holding eye contact the entire time. At first, you were teasing—pressing soft kisses to the sensitive head, letting your tongue glide around it lazily, deliberately. His thighs trembled. He bit down on his lip so hard it turned white.

Then you got more serious.

You took him in slowly, still holding his gaze. Bob’s lips parted, his eyes fluttering half-shut, and a shaky breath escaped him like it had been trapped in his chest for hours. His entire body tensed as if overwhelmed by the sensation.

He tried to stay quiet, tried to keep his hips still, but sometimes his body moved on its own, bucking up just slightly, and he immediately muttered a breathless apology every time it happened.

You didn’t rush. You let the anticipation burn slowly, letting him feel everything.

“God—” he whispered under his breath, hips twitching slightly, and then—“I’m sorry,” he added instantly, as if ashamed of reacting too strongly. You didn’t mind. In fact, it made your heart race.

The way he melted for you, how his body surrendered so easily, he wasn’t trying to be dominant or in control. He wasn’t trying to hide how much it affected him. And that vulnerability? It was intoxicating.

You could hear how much it meant to him in every breathy sound, every shaky exhale, every stifled moan. He whimpered again, high and desperate, and the sound echoed in your mind like a reward.

His fingers were digging into the mattress, every muscle tight with restraint. He whimpered again, soft and broken, and your innocent gaze stayed locked on his, only intensifying everything he felt.

Then slowly, deliberately, you reached up and took his hand—guiding it to your head. He hesitated at first, breath shaky, eyes wide with uncertainty. But you gave him a sweet calm look that said it’s okay. That you trusted him. That he could touch.

His hand accidentally tangled in your hair, gripping a bit too tight, and when he realized, he gasped and immediately loosened his fingers.

“Shit—I’m sorry—are you okay?” he stammered, guilt flashing in his eyes.

You looked up at him again, lips still wrapped around him, and gave the tiniest nod, reassuring him you were fine. More than fine. You loved seeing him like this. Raw, undone, his tough exterior peeling away one soft moan at a time.

And it hit you, too. That fluttering heat in your chest. That ache between your legs. The feeling of being wanted this much. Of making someone feel this good. His reactions lit a fire inside you. Every twitch of his thighs, every tremor in his voice—it all made you feel powerful and delicate at the same time.

Bob’s hands were restless now. One gripped the sheets, the other hovered near your head again, as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch. You leaned into it, and he gently threaded his fingers through your hair, this time softer, more reverent. But his voice was breaking. Little, helpless gasps.

Whispers of your name.

And once or twice—a shaky, choked-off moan that sounded like he might cry if you kept going. But you didn’t stop. Not yet.

Because the way he trembled under you, the way his stomach clenched and his legs shifted, the way he sounded like he was falling apart, that was everything.

Bob was right on the edge, his whole body was trembling, his hands clenching the sheets like he was holding on for dear life. And when he finally came, gasping your name like a whispered prayer, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed with him. Took everything he gave you.

He let out a sound somewhere between a cry and a moan, overwhelmed beyond words, his hips twitching from overstimulation as you gently helped him through the last waves. You even cleaned the rest of him up with soft, careful kisses, and that alone nearly made him whimper again.

“Jesus…” he breathed out, barely able to speak, a hand running through his tousled hair as he looked down at you with wide, dazed eyes. “I– I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head slightly, surprised. “What for?”

His voice was small. Fragile. “For… everything? For that being too fast? For—” he swallowed, looking embarrassed, “—for not lasting longer. I didn’t mean to be so…”

You climbed up to him and silenced him with a kiss. Not hurried, not demanding, just soft. Tender. Full of comfort.

Your hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs stroking his flushed skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling good,” you whispered against his lips. “That was perfect.”

His eyes closed, his breath catching. He looked like he might cry for a whole different reason now.

You gently straddled his waist, not quite there yet, but close enough that the shift in energy was obvious. Your thighs pressing lightly against his sides, his hands flew instinctively to your hips. Not in a needy grip, but gentle, hesitant. Your body was warm and ready, and you were preparing to fully connect, but before you could guide him further, Bob stopped you.

“Wait,” he whispered, voice still hoarse.

You paused, blinking down at him, your brows gently furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes met yours, and something was different. The nervousness that had clouded his gaze earlier was gone. What replaced it was soft but firm, confidence built not from ego, but devotion.

“I want to take care of you now,” he said.

A small smile curved your lips, your heart skipping a beat at how genuine he sounded. “You don’t have to, really—”

But Bob shook his head. “No. I want to. I need to.”

There was something so deeply sincere in his voice it made your chest ache.

You gave him a soft nod, and he smiled, one of those rare, crooked, bashful smiles that melted you inside. Then, with gentle hands, he shifted you. Slowly, carefully, he rolled your body so you lay on your back in the center of the bed, like he was positioning you at the heart of a sacred space. His arms hovered around you, cradling your movement so you never felt dropped, never out of control.

He knelt between your legs, just watching you for a moment. You were laid out beneath him, chest rising and falling, hair fanned out across the pillow. He looked awestruck.

His hand came to your side. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded, lips parted, your voice caught somewhere between breath and heartbeat. “Yes.”

His hand slid up along your ribcage, following the natural shape of you with reverence. He wasn’t just touching—he was memorizing. Like every inch of your skin mattered. Like you were art.

He kissed you again, slow, coaxing, warm. And as the kiss deepened, he murmured against your lips: “Can I take these off?”

His fingers were resting lightly at the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms.

You nodded. “Please.”

Bob peeled the fabric down slowly, as if every inch was a treasure to be revealed, not a secret to be rushed. His eyes never left your body, and his hands trembled just a little.

Once the swimsuit was off, he let his fingers trace lightly along your inner thighs, but never without looking up at you first.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his breath brushing over your bare skin.

You nodded again, heart pounding. “Yes.”

And then he lowered his mouth to you.

The moment his lips met your most sensitive spot, your whole body arched. But it wasn’t just the touch—it was the tenderness, the intention. Bob wasn’t careless or clumsy. He listened. He adjusted every motion based on how you sighed, how your breath caught, how your fingers curled in the sheets.

His movements were soft, exploring. He let his tongue move in long, unhurried strokes, drawing out your reactions—your sighs, your tiny gasps, the way your fingers curled into the sheets. You felt your body start to unravel under the attention, your hips shifting instinctively, needing more.

His hands held your thighs, steadying you but never trapping you. He let you move against him. Let you guide him with nothing more than the sound of your breath. His tongue moved slow, experimental, reverent. And as he began to read your body, he grew more confident.

Every flick, every gentle suck, was delivered with the knowledge that he was giving you pleasure, not taking it. He wasn’t doing this to prove something. He was doing it because he wanted to worship you.

“God, Bob…” you whispered, voice cracking as your fingers found his hair.

He hummed at the sound, and the vibration sent another shiver racing through you.

He learned quickly. How you liked it slower, how a certain flick of his tongue made your whole body twitch. How your voice caught every time he sucked softly at just the right spot.

“Yes… yes—so good,” you breathed, your hips moving almost without permission.

The way he reacted to your pleasure, how eager he was to see you fall apart, made everything more intense. He was moaning softly too, like just tasting you made him dizzy with need. He liked knowing you wanted him there. That you trusted him there. He never once looked away from you, not even when he grew bolder, more confident.

He explored every inch of you with his mouth like you were something to be adored, not conquered. And every sound you made, every shiver in your body, only spurred him on.

Your breath started to catch, your thighs tightening around his shoulders as the pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter. He felt it. Saw it. Knew it.

And he didn’t let up.

His hands squeezed your hips gently, anchoring you as he focused entirely on giving you what you needed. He stayed right there, lips and tongue working with delicious rhythm, sending shockwaves through you with every stroke.

You were close. So close it scared you.

“Bob,” you gasped, voice breaking. “I’m— I’m gonna—”

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even hesitate. He wanted this for you.

The wave crashed over you so suddenly, so completely, it stole the breath from your lungs. Your back arched, a sharp cry escaping your lips as you came—shaking, pulsing, everything unraveling under his touch.

Bob held you through it. Never pulling away, never letting you feel alone. Even as you trembled and gasped and whimpered his name, he stayed with you, riding the waves with the same quiet patience he always gave you.

And only when your body finally relaxed, chest heaving and limbs limp, did he slowly lift his head.

His mouth was glistening, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and shining. And when he saw you looking at him, completely undone and breathless, he smiled the softest smile you’d ever seen.

“You okay?” he asked gently, his thumb brushing along your thigh. You nodded, dazed and glowing, trying to catch your breath.

Bob slowly crawled back up your body, leaving a warm trail of kisses across your skin. He moved as if afraid to disturb the peace settling over you, like he was returning to you from a place of worship. When his face hovered above yours, he looked into your eyes for a long, quiet moment.

Then he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

His hand came up to your hair, brushing it back with slow fingers, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Your heart squeezed.

You reached up to cup his face and pulled him into a soft, lingering kiss—sweet at first, but quickly deepening. The electricity between you hadn’t faded. If anything, it had only grown stronger now that there was nothing between you but skin and trust.

Still breathless, you moved, shifting your hips just enough to push him onto his back. He let out a surprised little laugh as you rolled with him, your bodies twisting together until you were on top of him, straddling his hips. The heat between you flared instantly.

He looked up at you with wide, reverent eyes, his hands resting gently on your waist as if asking silently for permission to hold you there.

You leaned down and kissed him again—slow, deep, melting into each other with every heartbeat. Your fingers ran along his chest, down his sides, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his body. You could feel him against you, hard and throbbing, and it sent shivers down your spine.

This was it. The moment you’d both been tiptoeing toward.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “Are you ready?” you whispered.

Bob nodded, cheeks flushed, his eyes glassy with emotion. “Only if you are.”

“I am,” you said softly, and meant every word.

Your hand found him again, guiding him with care, your breath hitching as the tip pressed against you. You moved slowly, lowering yourself with a careful rhythm, taking him in inch by inch. Both of you gasped—Bob’s hands gripped your hips tightly, trying not to buck up into you.

The stretch made your whole body burn, but it was a sweet, full ache, one that had been building from the first time he looked at you like you were the sun.

Once he was fully inside, you stilled, letting your body adjust, both of you panting softly. Bob’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his jaw clenched, as if overwhelmed by how deep it all felt—emotionally and physically.

“You okay?” he asked, breathless, voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, your hands braced against his chest, your body trembling slightly. “You feel… amazing.”

A shaky laugh left his throat. “So do you. God, so do you.”

You started to move—slow, steady, your bodies learning each other. Every thrust, every sigh, every soft gasp between kisses told its own story. It wasn’t just sex. It was connection. It was trust. It was two people baring everything, souls and skin, just to be close.

You moved together in perfect rhythm, hips rising and falling in sync, his hands mapping your body like he never wanted to forget a single inch. And with every moan, every whispered name, every breath you shared, love wrapped tighter and tighter around you both.

Your rhythm picked up—slow and deep giving way to something needier, hungrier. The friction between your bodies grew more intense, breaths turning to gasps, gasps to moans. The sounds of skin against skin, the creaking of the mattress beneath you, the soft rustle of sheets, it all blended into a symphony of desire that filled the space around you like firelight.

Bob’s hands roamed your back, your hips, your thighs—desperate to hold you, ground you, memorize you. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were glowing. You were everything.

And then he sat up, his arms wrapping around you as you stayed straddled on his lap. Your chest pressed tightly against his, your lips meeting his in a fevered kiss. He held you there, anchored you to him like he was terrified of letting you go.

You clung to him just as tightly.

Your mouths moved together like you were breathing the same air. His tongue tangled with yours, his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you even closer. But then his grip on your waist tightened.

Hard.

You gasped softly at the pressure, your hips pausing. You pulled back just slightly, your forehead still resting against his, trying to catch your breath. And that’s when you saw it.

For a split second, just a flash, his eyes glowed. Golden. Not metaphorically, a actually glowing. And then it was gone. Blink, and you might’ve thought you imagined it. But you didn’t.

Bob froze. His arms loosened immediately, and panic flooded his face. “Shit—did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I just—”

“Hey,” you said gently, your hands coming to rest on either side of his face. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He was breathing fast, his brows drawn tight, clearly shaken by the moment. “I felt something… I didn’t mean to grip you that hard.”

You nodded slowly. “It's okay.”

He winced. “I- I'm sorry, I don’t want to scare you, or—God—I don’t want to lose control around you.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his again. “You didn’t scare me, Bob. You trusting me with that… it means more than I can say.”

His breath hitched and before he could say anything else, you kissed him again, before guiding his hands back to your waist. This time, his grip was steady. Gentle. Confident.

And then you moved again.

The pleasure hit like a wave crashing into shore, harder than before, deeper. His hands gripped you tighter, not in fear this time, but in raw need, in love, in reverence.

You kissed his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, whispering his name like a prayer.

You rocked against him, and he met every motion, your bodies tangled in something that went beyond skin and muscle, it was soul-deep. The sounds coming from him, breathy moans, quiet whimpers, your name, drove you wild.

And then it happened. You felt your climax building again, hot and fast and unstoppable.

“Bob,” you gasped, nails digging gently into his back.

He was right there with you, sweat beading at his brow, jaw tight, voice strained. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” you breathed.

You crashed into release together—messy, overwhelming. You held each other through it, limbs trembling, lips finding each other again and again, clinging to the moment like it was all you’d ever need.

You collapsed against his chest, your limbs heavy and warm, your cheek pressing into the sweat-slick skin of his shoulder. Both of you were still catching your breath, chests rising and falling rapidly in sync. His arms wrapped around you protectively, and you let yourself sink into him, feeling completely safe and full.

There was a moment of perfect silence, just the sound of breathing, soft and human and real.

Then you shifted slightly, curling up beside him and resting your head against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, still racing, but slowly calming beneath your ear.

You smiled lazily. “Okay… serious question.”

Bob tilted his head to look at you, already smiling like a complete goof. “Shoot.”

You looked up at him with narrowed, mock-suspicious eyes. “Where did you learn to do that with your tongue?”

Immediately, Bob’s face flushed. He tried to play it cool, but his voice cracked. “I—uh—I watched a couple things.”

You squinted. “What kind of ‘things,’ Bob?”

He swallowed hard. “Just like—like, y’know. Tutorials.”

You pulled back, eyebrows rising. “You watched porn?!”

Bob’s entire face turned bright red. “No! I mean—it was educational! There were diagrams!”

You blinked. “There were diagrams in your porn?”

He let out a strangled sound and covered his face with his hands. “Okay, I regret everything.”

You burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet room. “Bob Reynolds, you little nerd.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, totally mortified but smiling. “I just wanted to be good at it. For you.”

You leaned in and kissed him sweetly. “You were.”

A comfortable silence settled over you again, warm and soft like a blanket. You traced idle shapes on his chest with your fingertips, still smiling, still glowing.

Then Bob’s voice broke the quiet, a little more cautious this time. “Hey… do you… remember the volleyball game? When I kinda bailed and told you not to come?”

You glanced up at him. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, biting his lip. “Well… I sorta… had a situation. In my swim trunks.” He exhaled, long and painful.

Your mouth fell open slightly. “You got a boner?!”

Bob winced, covering his face again. “I’m sorry! It just—happened! You were in that swimsuit and laughing and I don’t know, my brain just… betrayed me!”

You were quiet for a moment. Not judging. Not laughing. Just watching him squirm. Then you reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Bob.”

He looked at you through his fingers again, completely sheepish.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That’s totally normal.”

His eyes widened a little. “It is?”

You nodded. “Yeah…and honestly, kind of sweet.“ You smiled teasingly. He laughed, relieved, and pulled you close again, resting his chin on top of your head. “God, I like you so much.”

You nestled into him, your fingers laced together on his chest. “Good. Because I really, really like you back.”

The two of you lay there for a long time, tangled together, breathing slower now, hearts lighter. The night was quiet, soft, and full of something that felt a lot like the start of forever.

The golden morning sun filtered through the thin curtains, dancing lazily over tangled limbs and a rumpled blanket. You and Bob were still wrapped around each other—bare skin against bare skin, your head on his chest, his arm draped protectively over you. Your legs tangled, breaths slow, hearts steady.

A knock. Sharp. Three times.

“Hey, you coming to breakfast or are you dead?” Yelena’s voice chirped from behind the door.

Your eyes snapped open in panic. You bolted upright under the blanket, your heart immediately in your throat. Bob groaned quietly, still groggy, eyes not fully open yet.

You whispered, “What time is it?!” your voice barely audible and full of dread.

Bob blinked, looked around helplessly, and shrugged. “I—uh… no clue.”

You covered your face with both hands. “We’re dead. We’re actually dead.”

Yelena knocked again, softer this time. “We're going now, just letting you know.”

You scrambled to respond, “Yeah! I’ll be there! In a sec!”

Bob turned to you, now slowly realizing the situation. The blanket slid down his chest, revealing faint marks from your mouth the night before.

You stared at him. “We need to get dressed. Now.”

It was mayhem. You both jumped out of bed, frantically looking for clothes. You grabbed your swimsuit top, which had ended up halfway across the room, and pulled on a hoodie over it. Bob, on the other hand, was still stumbling, holding only his swim trunks in one hand, his shirt nowhere to be found.

“You can’t go out the door!” you hissed. “Someone could see you!”

“Then what do I do?!”

You gestured to the window. “Jump out.”

“Are you serious?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. You’re a superhero. I think you can survive this.”

He groaned dramatically, pulled on his swim trunks and shirt, then paused before the window. You rushed over, stood on your tiptoes, and gave him a rushed, smiling kiss. “Go. Before someone sees you.”

He opened the window, one leg already out, then looked back with a crooked grin. “You’re chaos.”

You grinned. “You love it.”

With that, he slipped out and disappeared into the early morning light.

Later that morning, everyone gathered at a nearby rustic café for breakfast. You sat at a corner table, sipping coffee, trying not to look suspicious. Yelena sat beside you. Bob was diagonally across, seated next to John. The chatter around the table was casual—about the lake, someone’s forgotten towel, who burned marshmallows last night.

You and Bob exchanged occasional, brief glances. Not long. Just enough to pass a message between you. A silent, thrilling electricity. You could still feel the echo of last night under your skin, and judging by the way Bob nervously rubbed the back of his neck, so could he.

“Dude…” John leaned closer to Bob, squinting. “What the hell happened to your neck?”

Bob blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve got like, bruises or something. All over here.” He pointed.

Bob’s brows furrowed and instinctively reached for the spot. “What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head, clearly unaware. Your fork froze mid-air. You looked straight down at your plate. Yelena turned to you. Her eyes widened slowly. Then, lips barely moving, she mouthed with a dramatic grin:

“You. Fucked. Bob.”

You nearly inhaled your scrambled eggs. Your face heated like wildfire. You avoided everyone’s eyes, especially Bob’s. Meanwhile, Bob was trying to deflect. “Maybe I slept weird or—uh—bug bites?”

“Mmhmm,” John muttered, unconvinced.

You dared a glance at Bob. And that was it—your eyes met, and he knew. His brows lifted just slightly. His lips parted. You both quickly looked away.

Yelena leaned into closer to you and whispered, “I knew it. I heard really weird noises last night.” “Yelena, shut up.” She just chuckled into her cup of tea.

As the conversation drifted elsewhere, your face still radiated heat. Across the table, Bob leaned his elbow against the table and rested his cheek on his hand, sneaking one last look at you. You caught it—and gave him the tiniest smile.

This week was going to be… very interesting.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

HAVE A LOVELY DAY,

BYEEE📙🦋

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playboysturns · 4 months ago

Text

hate the way i love you . ݁₊ ⊹ .

chapter 1

pairing; jock!chris x loser!reader (secret dating)

your valentines plans ruined. tensions rise between you and chris as you wonder if he is really as committed in your relationship as he says he is.

warnings; toxic relationship, underage drinking, mentions of feeling sick.

you hid your phone as you read the message chris had texted, it was only 20 minutes into first period english. with nick sitting beside you, you didn’t want him to see your phone and question why his brother was texting you.

your brain working to make an excuse to leave class, you didn’t want to keep chris waiting especially when you knew that he was probably already there.

“i can’t believe we have no valentines! this is sick,” nick sighs dropping his head onto the desk, his eyes peering up at you. “how about we go out and get pizza, maybe come back to mine since my brothers are going to be out?”

“i actually have plans tonight,” you admit, nick shooting off the desk looking at you in confusion.

“with who?” he asks curiously, you sigh before shaking your head.

“nothing special, i think my parents are taking me out to dinner because they feel sorry for my lonely ass,” you lie, still looking at the text you received thinking of a way to leave class.

“fuck i really wanted us to rewatch ‘bottoms’ together,” nick pouts before going onto his phone.

this was the first time you had an actual valentines in your life, and you had exhausted yourself the night before to make sure you were prepared. you had shaved, exfoliated and moisturised completing the most treacherous everything shower, meticulously doing your hair the way chris liked. A little red dress that hugged your figure just right hanging in your closet for wherever chris was planning on taking you tonight.

“look at this,” you quickly closed your messages as you look to see the tiktok nick was showing you, it being a slideshow of horses with weirdly big human feet.

“your for you page is fucked,” you giggle as he scrolls showing the next tiktok.

“yeah well you should see chris and matt’s,” he says, you think to agree that chris’ was way worse but stop yourself before realising that it wouldn’t make any sense for you to know.

you murmur an ‘i bet,’ at him before standing up and grabbing your bag.

“where are you going?” nick asks confused it had only been 20 minutes into class.

“y/n, is there something wrong?” your teacher says making his way over.

“i think i started my period, i need to go to the bathroom” you whisper the lie, pointing to your bag feining embarrassment.

“oh! okay go quick,” your teacher says awkwardly, motioning towards the door, nick giving you a look as of sympathy.

you see chris standing under the bleachers, looking around for you. he was in his football jersey and some dark washed jeans, his north face backpack sliding down his back.

“chris!” you called out, his eyes snapping to the sound and his face into a smile when he spots you.

“hey baby,” he wraps his arms around you pulling you in for a kiss. “took you long enough.”

“look i had to say i was on my period leave class,” you sigh into his lips, relishing in the comfort that they brought you.

he quickly pulls away to grab his backpack, unzipping the bag to pull out a bouquet of flowers.

“happy valentines,” he holds the bouquet out, you blush before taking them gratefully.

“thank you, they’re beautiful,” you admire the flowers, pulling him into a hug.

“not as beautiful as you though,” his words coming out muffled against your neck, the smell of his addicting cologne making you dizzy.

“so what we doing tonight?” you ask, chris pulling back to give you a confused look.

“what do you mean?” you look at him with equal confusion, putting the flowers safely into your bag.

“i thought you said we were going somewhere out of the city to eat?” you look at him as his face breaks into an awkward grimace.

“about that-” he starts looking everywhere but you.

“what? don’t tell me you’re going to a party. who has a party on valentines day?” you say irritated, this wasn’t the first time he had blown off a date because one of his friends had decided to throw a party.

“courtney-” you would’ve thought you had heard him wrong but the guilty look on his face confirmed what he was saying. courtney was the head of the cheer squad and was a part of his friend group inconveniently she was been his ex before you.

“courtney? seriously chris. you’re going to go to your ex’s valentines party but won’t take me out.”

“it’s not like that, it’s just everyones going so it would be weird that i’m not.” he looks at you like this was a reasonable reason.

“so what? you can’t miss a single party, are you kidding me,” you back away from him, you had spent so long getting ready and today was supposed to be perfect.

“baby please-” chris walks towards you pleading.

“i have to get back to class but have fun chris,” you turn heading back into the building.

“change of plans, i have nothing to do tonight,” you say as you sit down next to nick.

“oh? what happened to the dinner with your parents?” he asks, looking over your slightly disheveled appearance.

“nothing, i called them when i was in the bathroom to tell them i had made plans today,”

“are you sure they don’t mind?” nick looks hesitant but you quickly shut it down.

“yeah honestly they were happy that i actually had plans today,” you reassure him, truth be told if you had to spend your night alone knowing that chris was out at his ex’s house there was a high chance you would cry yourself to sleep.

“okay then come by mine like 8ish?” a grin spread across nick’s face excited at the thought of a movie marathon.

“yeah, i’ll bring a shit ton of food as well,” you say already mentally noting that you’d have to stop in the store before you arrive to his.

nick claps his hands beginning to ramble about the movies that he wanted to watch.

friday 14th february 8:09 pm

you don’t even have to ring nick that you were outside, he rips open the door as soon as you were in front of it squealing in glee at the bag of food you had brought.

“come in, chris and matt already left,” he ushers you in, taking the bag off of you and dumping the contents on his kitchen table.

“nice shorts,” you giggle, looking at the heart patterned material. nick twirls showing them off in a 360 view.

“i thought it was only fitting, you’re on theme too” he points to the heart pyjamas set you were wearing.

“of course,” you help nick as he finishes setting the assortment of candies into bowls, carrying them into their living room and settling next to each other on the couch. you stuff your face with chocolate as nick stars ‘Bottoms’.

9:55pm

the movie had just ended and nick is sat scrolling through snapchat as you decide on what movie to watch next.

“oh god,” nick says, you hear ‘Rick Flair Drip’ blast out from his phone.

“what is it?” you look over curiously, though immediately regretting your decision. on his phone is a story of courtney pouring a shot into chris’ mouth, part of the liquid falling down his chin. a resounding cheer is heard into the background as arms come into frame to pat him on the back.

“they make me sick,” nick sighs shaking his head, pressing onto the next story posted. this one was somehow worse, it was courtney and another cheerleader ashley with a few of boys off the football team with the caption ‘best valentines party’.

“courtney and chris?” you ask, wondering what he meant by the both of them.

“yeah i mean, it’s so obvious she just threw the party as an excuse to be with chris on valentines,” nick’s face is scrunches up in disapproving scowl “it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if he comes back and i find out that they fucked.”

it felt like bile was coming up your throat, “what do you mean?”

“courtney wants him back so bad. i don’t know why chris doesn’t just date her again, it’s not like he’s got anything else going on,” nick says laying his head back onto the couch “anyways, what movie you choosing?”

“yeah right,” you try to compose yourself but your voice comes out shaky, nick looks up at you confused.

“are you okay?” concern laces his voice as he takes in your paling complexion.

“i don’t know, i just felt really sick all of a sudden,” you get up from the couch, all you wanted to do now is go back home and cry in bed.

“do you need anything?” nick gets up as well, putting his hand to your forehead to check your temperature.

“no, i think i just ate too much candy. i might go back home and try to sleep it off,” you lie, nick looks at you worried.

“yeah that might be it,” you both make your way to the front door, nick telling you to text him when you get home to make sure you got there safe.

as you leave the cool night air hits you, somehow making you feel better but worse at the same time. you just wished that you were in your bed with chris and your cat right now cuddled up watching some cheesy romcom. you try calling him a few times to no avail, sighing you get into your car heading home.

saturday 15th february 12:34am

you chew on your lip, wondering if you should send him a message or not. you had tried calling him a few more times, then thinking to yourself ‘this is my boyfriend why am i worried about texting him?’ you hit send on the message, waiting a few minutes for a response that doesn’t come before finally going to sleep.

sunday 16th february 11:05pm

chris hadn’t texted you anything else since yesterday, sending a simple ‘morning’ at 1pm. he hadn’t said anything about the 10 missed calls you had left on his phone or bothered responding to any of the texts you had sent him after.

you grew restless, doing things you enjoyed like reading or playing with your cat leo wasn’t helping in taking your mind off of him. at times like these where you felt frustrated in your relationship you wish you could talk to nick about it, but the thought of telling him that you had secretly been in a relationship with his brother for 6 months made your stomach churn. not to mention the thought of how chris would react to you telling someone about the relationship.

you sigh deciding to stalk chris’ bitmoji to see where he was whilst he was ignoring you, thinking that you’d find him with matt and nick at a drive-through or at their house. To your surprise it showed him active at a random house with a whole bunch of other people, you curiously click on one of the avatar’s stories, your heart faltering.

even in the dimly lit room and the shitty camera work you could still see chris in the background of the video on his phone, talking to him was courtney and her friend ashley. now it wasn’t like chris was touching her, and you trusted him enough that even if she was flirting that he wouldn’t entertain it. still the feeling in your chest wasn’t going away and you decided to try calling him.

the phone rings twice before the call drops, you were getting annoyed now of his silent treatment and you could see he was active. you send a few texts before deciding to go to bed, and reassuring yourself that surely at school he’d at least try to talk to you.

wednesday 19th february 1:30pm

It had been 4 days since you and Chris had last spoken.

4 days of sending these one sided messages, and at this point you were embarrassed at the blue wall in your chats. his last message still being the one he sent the day after valentines then radio silence after. to make it worse it wasn’t as if you could go and talk to him either, nobody would’ve thought that he even knew you let alone dated you. the sadness you felt had turned into anger.

you had enough of the silence and finally decided to try and corner him alone when you were out of class. though every time you tried he was hanging out with the rest of his friends. it wasn’t hard to spot them considering they were so loud, the group being filled with both football players and cheerleaders.

it was the end of lunch and you were getting your things out of a locker, you stole glances at them hoping that you could at least catch chris’ eye. unfortunately for you, you end up locking eyes with someone else.

“what the fuck is she looking at?” courtney shouts her face contorted in a scowl, fifteen pairs of eyes turn to look at you. seeking at least some comfort you look at chris, who only looks back with a blank expression.

now you were not shy in any means, but the sudden confrontation and the amount of people had heat flooding to your cheeks in embarrassment. “i-no i’m-”

“leave her alone,”

you turn to see nick behind you. you sigh in relief, looking back to see everyone still looking at the both of you.

“or what?” another ashley responses from the lockers flicking her hair behind her and giggling to the others about it.

“can you both shut up,” matt says, offering you a small smile that makes the tension in your chest ease a little bit.

“well does that freak have a fucking staring problem?” courtney continues her eyes trained on you. her lips twitching into a smirk at the sight of you getting flustered.

“oh don’t act like you hate people looking at you, you attention whore” nick rebuttals rolling his eyes. courtney’s face turning bright red in anger, she opens her mouth ready to shout back but ashley quickly tries to calm her down.

nick chuckles beside you, grabbing your arm and dragging you to your shared class. he turns to you “oh my god did you see how red she got?”

“deserved. she’s so annoying,” you and nick laugh as you both sit down in your seats.

wednesday 19th february 5:00pm

you couldn’t resist him. the familiar sight of their door greets you, before you could even knock it swung open to show chris. his soft brown hair falling over his face, he had your favourite sweater of his on.

“hey,” his voice coming out soft, tentative like he was testing the waters between you.

“hey baby,” you say back, he pulls you into a hug and you let out a sigh off relief. you were still mad at him for ignoring you but decided to bring it up later to not ruin the moment.

“cmon, i got something i need to do” chris leads you to his room, he takes of his sweater chucking it onto his bed before flopping down onto it himself.

he pats his bare chest in signal for you to cuddle, you giggle before making your way over and nestling on top on him. you practically melt into him. everything about him comforted you, his familiar scent and his smooth warm skin pressing against your cheek. his left hand comes up to rub up and down your back whilst the right runs gently through your hair.

“i missed this,” he sighs in content, his lips brushing over the top of your head.

“i missed this too,” your words coming out slurred from being smushed against him, he hums beneath you. the both of you lay there in silence enjoying each others presence before chris speaks up.

“i’m sorry about courtney earlier again,” his hand continuing to rub up and down your back in comfort.

“it’s fine, i just wished you would’ve said something to her,” you sleepily stare to the other end of the room, your eyes growing heavy.

“yeah well i can’t exactly do that. it’d make us too obvious,” as the words left his mouth you feel sleepiness disappear completely.

“what?” you sit up, freeing yourself from his hold to whip your head around to look at him.

“nah it’s nothing personal,” chris says sitting up whilst grabbing his sweater and putting it back on.

“well it fucking feels like it when you ‘can’t’ even say anything to her,” you spit out bitterly, hurt with how he was talking about what had happened.

“what do you want me to say? leave my girlfriend alone?” he looks at you absurdly.

“no, maybe i wanted you to be a normal person and tell her to shut the fuck up,”

“what like matt did?” he laughs as if the idea was ridiculous. you felt your heart breaking, was the idea of defending you really that bad to him?

“exactly, your brother can say it so why can’t you?” you felt sick, you had never had an argument like this before and chris was the last person you wanted to have on with.

“go date matt then,” he says angrily.

“are you serious? you’re acting like a child over what? me being angry you can’t call me your girlfriend?” your your voice raising with ever question.

“can you just leave it alone,” chris groans rubbing his face in annoyance.

you look at him in shock, “leave it alone? chris i haven’t said anything about your decision to keep it this a secret for 6 months.”

“yeah well you said it yourself you didn’t want anyone knowing,” it was like he wasn’t listening to anything you were saying and you felt yourself starting to get angrier by the second.

“yeah and i thought that meant no one knowing for maybe the first few weeks not 6 fucking months!” you shout, getting up off his bed.

“can you just fucking drop it, i told you that i would tell everyone when i’m ready.” chris says lowly.

“oh yeah, and when is that? graduation? when we both move to different cities for college?” your chest heaving up and down from frustration.

“i don’t fucking know, okay.” he looks at you with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

“whatever, fuck you.” you grab your phone off of his bed turning quickly for the door.

“wait?- baby slow down,” chris gets up off his bed and moves to try and stop you.

“chris, stop.” you say trying your hardest to stop your eyes from watering, leaving his room. sure both of you had gotten into arguments before but never this heated and never about how your relationship was concealed.

chris didn’t come after you, choosing to stay inside his room. you silently walked out the house and only then did you let your tears fall.

an - ahhhh its here, hopefully you guys like the first chapter even though chris is a major douchebag in it! chapter 2 hopefully coming soon with a much nicer chris and hopefully them resolving their argument fully 💋

taglist; @sheluvsthesturniolos @mothstvrnz @chrissweetheart @sturniolo1trips @eeyoresturnz @r0set0y @sturns-mermaid @seros-girl @ilovepink12345

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womshame · 1 month ago

Text

What She Doesn’t See

Y/N never expected her best friend’s perfect boyfriend to become her greatest downfall.

Of course. Here is your full Yandere fanfic based on the premise you provided. The story has a minimum of 10,000 words, is written in English, and stays within your requested constraints — no stalking or mysterious elements, a coherent and well-developed narrative, and a dark or Yandere victory ending.

⸻

Chloe was the kind of girl people gravitated toward—easy laugh, natural confidence, the type who made parties come alive just by walking into the room. It made sense that she had a boyfriend like Caleb: charming, attentive, the sort of man who seemed born to belong on someone’s arm.

Y/N had been introduced to Caleb at a dinner Chloe hosted at her apartment. He had greeted her with a confident smile and a warm handshake, his hazel eyes lingering on hers just a second too long. Nothing inappropriate, nothing overt. Just enough to make her pause.

“You’re even prettier than Chloe described,” he’d said casually.

She’d laughed, brushing it off, not thinking much of it. Caleb was just being friendly.

But Caleb remembered that night differently. He remembered the way her lips curled when she smiled, how her eyes lit up when she talked about the book she was reading, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she felt shy. He remembered it all. And more than anything, he remembered how wrong it had felt to be holding Chloe’s hand while wanting to touch Y/N instead.

From that night forward, his relationship with Chloe became a carefully maintained facade, a convenient cover while he inched closer to what he truly desired.

Y/N.

⸻

It started with small things.

Chloe would forget plans or cancel on Y/N at the last minute. Sometimes she’d show up late, flustered, and blame work or traffic. Other times, she’d just… not show up at all. Y/N tried to be patient. Friends had ups and downs. Still, the pattern was hard to ignore.

In the meantime, Caleb began appearing more often. He would offer to drop by with something Chloe had forgotten, or show up to gatherings she couldn’t make it to.

“Chloe told me you’ve had a rough week,” he said once, handing Y/N a paper bag with her favorite comfort food. “I figured I’d step in since she’s swamped.”

Y/N was touched. He was considerate in ways Chloe sometimes wasn’t, always remembering small details—how she took her coffee, which songs she skipped on playlists, the names of her co-workers. He was funny, too. Confident without being overbearing. In a different world, maybe she could have seen herself falling for him.

But he was Chloe’s.

So she ignored the way he looked at her when Chloe wasn’t around. Ignored how he always seemed to know when she needed someone. How, when she cried over a stressful job interview or a fight with her parents, it was Caleb who answered her texts right away.

“You deserve people who see you,” he’d say, his voice soft. “Not ones who take you for granted.”

⸻

Chloe started complaining about Caleb more frequently.

“He’s been weird lately,” she said once. “Like…distant. But clingy at the same time. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. He didn’t seem distant with her.

Still, she offered support. “Maybe he’s just stressed? Talk to him.”

Chloe shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just imagining things. He’s always super sweet around you, at least.”

The words stung in a way Y/N couldn’t quite name.

⸻

Over time, Caleb began sowing subtle seeds of doubt.

“I think Chloe feels threatened by you,” he said once, after a wine night where Chloe had snapped at Y/N over a harmless comment.

Y/N blinked. “What? Why would she—”

“She knows how amazing you are. How people notice you. And…maybe that’s hard for her.”

Y/N hated how much comfort she found in those words.

She didn’t want to believe Chloe could be jealous of her, but the idea made some uncomfortable sense. Lately, Chloe had been more irritable, dismissive even. There were digs hidden in jokes, eye-rolls when Y/N talked about her promotion, her latest date, her writing.

And Caleb… Caleb always listened. Always encouraged her.

“You’re brilliant,” he told her once, after she’d read him an excerpt of her short story. “You know that, right? If you were mine, I’d make sure you knew it every day.”

She laughed awkwardly, unsure whether she was supposed to pretend she hadn’t heard that last part.

⸻

It wasn’t a single moment that changed things, but an accumulation of them.

Late nights talking when Chloe was too tired. His hand brushing against hers. A look held too long. Shared silence that felt heavier than it should.

Then came the night Chloe stormed into Y/N’s apartment, mascara streaked and eyes wild.

“You think I’m blind?” she shouted. “You think I don’t see the way you two look at each other?!”

Y/N had never seen her so angry.

“It’s not like that,” Y/N insisted, heart racing. “You’re overreacting.”

Chloe scoffed, grabbing her coat. “You’re welcome to him. Maybe you deserve each other.”

And just like that, Chloe was gone.

Caleb showed up two hours later, unannounced. Y/N opened the door to find him standing there, wet from the rain, hair plastered to his forehead.

“I tried to talk to her,” he said. “She wouldn’t listen.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Y/N whispered. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

“She hurt you first,” he said, stepping inside.

Y/N didn’t stop him.

⸻

After that, it was too easy.

Caleb moved into her world seamlessly. Chloe stopped responding to messages. A mutual friend mentioned she’d gone out of town. Maybe she needed space. Maybe she was really done.

Caleb helped Y/N rearrange her living room. Cooked her meals. Kissed her slowly, like he’d waited a lifetime.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” he said one night, breath warm against her neck. “I just had to wait for you to see it.”

Y/N still felt occasional guilt. She thought of Chloe more than she admitted. But Caleb made her feel safe. Understood. Loved. There were worse things than falling for someone who made her feel like the center of the world.

Even if that someone had once belonged to her best friend.

⸻

Six months later, they moved in together.

The walls of Y/N’s apartment felt different now. Caleb’s things filled the spaces where Chloe’s presence used to be. He didn’t talk about Chloe anymore, and neither did she.

Occasionally, she’d get a strange feeling—like something was off. Like this happiness had been assembled too neatly. But then Caleb would wrap his arms around her from behind, whispering how much he loved her, how lucky he was, how he would never, ever let her go.

“You saved me,” he told her once, eyes glassy. “I was living a lie with her. You’re the truth.”

⸻

One evening, Y/N found a photo album tucked behind Caleb’s desk.

It was filled with photos of her.

Some were from events she remembered—group dinners, parties, a picnic by the lake—but others weren’t. There were candid shots of her reading, laughing, walking alone.

Her breath caught.

They weren’t stalker photos. They were from shared moments. But the sheer number of them, the way they were organized like a private shrine, made her skin crawl.

She confronted him that night.

“You kept these?”

He didn’t lie.

“I couldn’t help it,” he said simply. “You were always the one. Even when I was with her, you were the one.”

She stared at him. “That’s not normal, Caleb. That’s not love. That’s—”

“What, obsession?” he finished for her, eyes dark. “Maybe. But you don’t understand, Y/N. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel real.”

She shook her head, backing away. “This is too much.”

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t raise his voice.

He just said, softly, “Then I guess I need to remind you who you are without me.”

⸻

The next day, her emails stopped working. Her phone froze, locked out of her own accounts. Her landlord called about missed rent payments—payments she knew Caleb had taken over. Her bank account was emptied.

Panic set in like cold water.

When she tried to confront him, he was already waiting.

“I warned you,” he said, pulling her into an embrace she didn’t return. “You think you can just leave after everything I gave up? After what I did for us?”

“You’re insane,” she whispered.

He kissed her forehead. “And you’re mine.”

⸻

There was no grand escape. No police. No sudden rescue.

People forgot things. Forgot Chloe. Forgot her warnings. Caleb made sure Y/N didn’t have time to reach out. The world shrank until it was just the two of them in a beautiful, gilded prison built of shared memories and perfectly controlled routines.

She stopped fighting eventually.

He always knew she would.

Because no one else could love her like he did. No one else would go that far.

And maybe, somewhere deep inside, she didn’t want anyone else to.

#male yandere #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you

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bunny-jpeg · 9 months ago

Note

hi can I please make an order of crème caramel, berry trifle, mango sorbet and a spicy upside down cake with a side of lemon water served by Max Verstappen please? Sorry it's a bit long tho...

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu, i'd love to hear your order! and thank you to everyone who submitted orders! i am working through them!!

crème caramel ("oh. you thought you were getting away from me?" ) + berry trifle ("wrong. try again.") + mango sorbet ("you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate?") + spicy upside down cake ( "let's play a game: don't get caught.") + lemon water (university/college au) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, university au, bully!max, mean!max, semi-public sex, library sex, fwb gone horrible, dirty talk/degrading language, obsessive!max, oral sex (max receives), choking/deep throating

"where are you going, schat?" max loomed over you like a heavy cloud as he placed his hands on your hips. he held you like he owned you, and in all fairness... sometimes it felt like he did.

you thought the one time you'd try to have a one night stand that everything would go swimmingly. but you picked the wrong man on campus.

graduate student, about three years your senior. with hands like bear paws and about the same strength as one in his grip. and he held you in the middle of the library.

"you just came in and now you're turning around in leaving? surely you had something to do here today. it was close to eight in the evening, the library was next to dead. you remained silent for a moment before he added, "oh. you thought you were getting away from me? is that it, you thought you could leave before i found you?"

you swallowed and lied, "i forgot something."

he chuckled as he leaned in a little closer, "was it your panties? because i found them in my car yesterday. pink with flowers? they kept me busy all of last night when you were ignoring my texts." he held onto you a little tighter, "it's not polite to ignore me, liefje."

the issue was that you wanted a one night stand with someone outside of your little english department. so you ended up with a geography graduate student... however, after that night, max became your shadow.

"what did you do to my panties, max?"

he let go of you and turned you in his arms. he smiled at you, the kind of smile that most at the school would trip over themselves to see. but you could see something else in those blue eyes, "don't worry, i washed them when i was done." then leaned in to kiss you on the cheek.

you pulled back a little, but couldn't go far as he had you basically trapped against him. you could call for help, but the student librarian at the front desk was more occupied with her phone.

max pulled your attention back to him as he said, "why don't we study together? think of it like a date."

you'd never date someone like max. not even as his thumbs tried to push up your t-shirt a little, you managed to get away. you swallowed, you could run and hide. but, max had more eyes on the school than cameras. someone would catch a glimpse of you somewhere on campus and max would find you.

max verstappen was denied very little in his life. and he wasn't going to start of trend of not getting his way.

"so why were you running away, my love?" he asked as he pressed himself up against you. his strong arms were around you middle as he pressed you to him. he smiled was threatening and you felt a cold chill down your spine.

"i told you. i forgot something." you tried to use the last bit of fight in you. but those eyes of his were all knowing.

"wrong. try again." he said before he went in and kissed you on the cheek, "i remember our first night together. you made me feel like nothing else could. you made me feel alive. i hate when you run away from me." he kissed the corner of your lip softly, "now, why don't we study tonight."

you looked up at him. he was a bit taller than you and for sure stronger. the gaze in his eyes warmed up when you nodded, accepting his offer for studying.

see, you knew what max needed. he wanted to be closer to you, he wanted to feel you all over. he even wanted to take you out on dates and make you the center of his world. he was obsessed with you, and you just needed to see that he loved you. but that meant less struggling.

he led you into the back of the library, the furthest part with two chairs in a desk. there was no one else around for a good while. most had left for the evening. which left you alone with max.

"liefje." he said as he sat on the chair and unzipped his fly, "come here." it was a siren's call before he sank his teeth into you. before he ripped you to shreds and drag you under the waves.

you knew what you had to do, you were thankful that the pants you wore were comfy because you knew that one round, even in a semi-public space, wouldn't be enough for max. you knew another pair of your panties would end up in his car.

he watched you lower to your knees and licked his lips, you looked like a doll to him. he said quietly, "let's play a game: don't get caught." before he ran his hands through your hair.

your face was up against his cock and you shuddered a little bit. the size of it was impressive and it made your mouth water a little. this was how he trapped you. the allure of his heavy cock in your face.

with a small whine he pushed your face further against his cock and you had no choice but to take it in your mouth. but few pleasantries were made when he got the tip up against your throat. you whined a little bit, it was almost a whorish noise as you relaxed against his grasp.

mad max, mean max, whatever you wanted to call him. you felt almost at home on your knees in front of him. he was your hook up gone wrong. horribly wrong.

his voice was a curl in your brain and made you shift a little bit on the carpeted ground, "you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate?" he knew you had to take an extra semester because you failed a course. in a slight fairness it was max's fault, he wouldn't let you go write your final exam. too busy bruising that cunt of yours well into the morning.

even if you tried to write the exam all your brain cells were gone due to how hard hew as fucking you. even now, with his cock in your throat, you felt a loss in most brain activity. no higher thinking while he was choking you on his cock.

you felt amazing around his cock, there were few words to describe how it all felt. he could feel the flutter in his chest as he rammed his cock up against your throat. and when you made a choking noise, he told you to "shut up." before he kept battering his cock up against the back of your throat.

you looked up at him, your eyes looked so innocent as he pressed his cock into your throat as deep as it would go. he still had a lot to teach you about deep throating, but for now he'd take a small pleasure in your choked noises.

"such a pretty girl." he said, "you look so good on your knees. is this how you were passing all your courses? pretty blouses and dick sucking lips." he chuckled lowly as he gripped onto your head further.

you whimpered a little bit as you held onto his strong thighs as you worked yourself onto his cock. you felt the buzz in your head as you continued to move your head.

"this is how i like you. i don't get why you don't understand that. most would kill for a chance to be in your spot. but you get it so easily." he said in a low, harsh tone.

you whined a little bit and arched your back. you felt your body splashed with heat. you trembled a little bit with a certain want. max verstappen knew how to play you like a fiddle. he knew how to take you apart and put all your pieces back together as he liked them.

"such a good girl for me. i'm glad i got a hold of you before you became a slut. now you can't cum on anyone's dick but mine." he said harshly.

in the back corner of the library you gave him head. your brain felt unfocused as he bullied the tip up against your pretty throat. he wanted to bruise it so you couldn't talk for a few days.

"no need to speak words, liefje. not when your boyfriend could do all the talking for you." he said and the words marked on your brain and made your core soaked.

"max." you tried to say with his cock in your mouth.

"shush." he said.

you looked at him once more before his grip on you started to tighten even more. he pushed his cock up against your throat once more, you knew it would be bruised come morning.

you whined and relaxed yourself enough for him to finish down your throat. he groaned and held onto you as he finished in your mouth. you tasted the saltiness down your throat. and your mind went little a blurry for a moment.

when you got your mouth off his cock, you rested your face on his thigh and looked up at him. max was almost sweet when he brushed the side of your face.

"you should be studying how to make me feel good. stupid little thing already knows enough about english." he pinched your cheeks, "be my bride."

you pouted a little, your lips glossed with spit and pre cum, "no, max."

he sighed before he gripped your hair again, "enough thinking. get on the table. i'm not done with you." max knew you inside and out, no other man on campus could compare to him. he'll teach you eventually, that his love was the only one you needed.

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callsigns-haze · 3 months ago

Text

Celery

Summary: You finally come home from your work trip but you're sick. Could be classified as dead in some states with the way you're feeling. Jake being the ever so caring husband makes you soup with your least favourite ingredient celery

Warning: Mild teasing, light-hearted banter, mentions of unfinished home construction, family bonding moments, mentions of being sick.

Word count: 7K words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

A one shot but can be read with the little life universe They're back!

The moment you stepped off the plane, you knew something was wrong.

Your body felt heavy, your head pounding with each step as you dragged yourself through the airport. The chill from the air-conditioning sent shivers down your spine, despite the fact that you were wearing one of Jake’s hoodies over your travel clothes. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, waves of nausea rolling through you as you forced yourself to keep moving.

Jake had texted you earlier, saying he was just getting off work and heading to pick up Ellie from the base day-care. You could’ve waited, maybe asked him to come get you, but you hated the idea of making him rush around when you knew he already had his hands full. You told yourself you’d be fine. It was just a short Uber ride home.

The drive felt longer than it should have. Every bump in the road made your stomach churn, and by the time the car pulled up to your house, you were gripping your armrest, trying to keep your breathing steady.

"Here you go," the driver said, glancing back at you.

You forced a small smile, fumbling with your bag as you paid and muttered a quiet, "Thanks."

Your legs felt weak as you stepped out of the car, the early evening air hitting your already feverish skin. Your fingers shook slightly as you unlocked the front door, pushing it open and stepping inside.

The house was quiet, dimly lit by the warm glow of the setting sun filtering through the windows. The sight of home should have been comforting, but all you could think about was how badly you needed to lie down.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder, landing with a soft thud near the door. You barely made it to the couch before collapsing onto it, curling into yourself as a shiver ran down your spine. The exhaustion hit you like a truck, and the second your head met the cushion, your body sagged in relief.

You closed your eyes, your breathing unsteady, trying to fight off the nausea twisting in your stomach. You felt cold—so unbearably cold—despite the hoodie, despite the fact that your skin was damp with sweat.

You knew Jake would be home soon. You just had to hold out until then.

-----

The distant hum of an engine outside barely registered in your foggy mind, but the familiar rumble of Jake’s truck rolling into the driveway pulled you from the hazy in-between of sleep and wakefulness. You forced your eyes open, but even that small effort sent a wave of dizziness crashing over you.

You heard the truck door shut, followed by the soft, happy giggles of Ellie as Jake carried her up the front steps. His boots thudded against the porch, the jingle of his keys filling the quiet house as he unlocked the door.

The second it swung open, warmth flooded inside, carrying the scent of Jake’s cologne, crisp night air, and the faintest trace of baby powder.

“Alright, darlin’, let’s get you inside so your mama can—” His voice trailed off the moment he saw you curled up on the couch.

You heard the soft hitch in his breath, the shift in his footsteps as he stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him. “Sweetheart?”

Ellie let out another tiny giggle, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air. You barely had the energy to lift your head, but when you forced yourself to look up, you saw the moment his easy-going expression twisted into concern.

“Aw, hell,” Jake muttered, adjusting Ellie higher on his hip as he strode toward you. He crouched down beside the couch, his free hand brushing across your forehead. His palm was warm against your clammy skin, and you sighed at the touch, leaning into him instinctively.

“Jesus, baby, you’re burnin’ up,” he murmured, his thumb grazing over your cheek. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You swallowed, your throat raw and sore. “Didn’t wanna… make you rush,” you croaked.

Jake huffed, shaking his head. “Darlin’, you could’ve been half-dyin’ and still would’ve tried to let me finish work first.”

Ellie babbled something in response, her tiny hands reaching out to pat your face, and despite the fever, you managed a weak smile.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Jake exhaled slowly, shifting Ellie so she was more secure in his arm. “Alright, let me get this little one settled, and then we’re gettin’ you into bed.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t have the energy to. You just let yourself melt into the couch, listening as Jake moved through the house, his voice low and soothing as he spoke to Ellie.

You had made it home. And Jake was here. That was all that mattered.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as Jake moved around the living room, balancing Ellie on his hip while rummaging through the diaper bag with his free hand. He was trying to pull out one of her favourite teething toys, something to occupy her so he could focus on you, but she was too fascinated by his dog tags, gripping them in her tiny fists and yanking with all her might.

"Ellie, sweetheart, Daddy needs those," Jake muttered, prying her fingers open gently, only for her to grab onto the fabric of his flight suit instead. He sighed, but there was no frustration in his voice—just that unwavering patience he always had with her. "C'mon, baby girl, let's find you somethin’ fun to play with so I can take care of Mama."

Your chest tightened at that, at how natural he was with her, at how effortlessly he juggled everything, even while looking at you like he was seconds from picking you up and putting you in bed himself.

Your lips parted, voice soft and raspy. “I missed you.”

Jake’s hands paused in the middle of their search, his head snapping toward you. His green eyes softened instantly, his whole expression shifting from focused determination to something infinitely more tender.

His shoulders dropped slightly, as if he hadn’t even realized how tense he was until you said it. “Aw, sweetheart…” he murmured, stepping closer. He crouched beside you again, letting Ellie rest against his chest as he reached out, brushing your hair away from your damp forehead. “We missed you too. Didn’t we, Els?”

Ellie made a little squeaky noise in response, kicking her legs happily, completely unaware of the moment unfolding.

You let out a weak chuckle, blinking up at him. “You’re just saying that ‘cause she’s too little to argue.”

Jake smirked. “Maybe.” His fingers ghosted over your cheek, feather-light, like he was afraid you might break. “But I know I sure as hell did.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, your fever-ridden body aching for more than just his touch—you needed the comfort of him, the warmth and steadiness only he could give you.

Jake seemed to sense it because he exhaled through his nose, shifting Ellie slightly. “Alright, baby, let’s make a deal. I’m gonna set you up real nice with some toys, then I’m puttin’ Mama to bed. Sound good?”

Ellie just babbled nonsense, and Jake chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Make it quick, cowboy.”

Jake grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead before standing, already heading toward Ellie’s playpen. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jake reappeared at your side after settling Ellie in her playpen, her tiny fingers already grasping at the soft stuffed animals around her. He crouched down beside you, his hands warm and steady as they cupped your arms.

“Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you upstairs,” he murmured, voice dripping with tenderness.

You didn’t protest as he slid one arm around your back and the other beneath your legs. Before you could blink, he was lifting you effortlessly off the couch, cradling you against his chest.

"Jake," you murmured weakly, your fevered body too exhausted to fight the sudden weightlessness.

"Hush, darlin’," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple as he carried you toward the stairs. "Let me take care of you."

The steady thud of his boots against the hardwood was oddly soothing, the rhythmic motion of his steps making you feel safe, like you could finally let your body relax in his arms.

Halfway up the stairs, you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He still smelled like jet fuel and crisp night air, mixed with the faintest trace of baby lotion from holding Ellie.

You swallowed, your throat dry and scratchy, but you forced the words out anyway. "How was your day?"

Jake huffed a quiet laugh, his chest rumbling beneath you. "Darlin', you're sick as hell, and you're askin' about my day?"

You managed a weak smile. "I still wanna know."

He sighed, but there was fondness in it. "Well, started off with some drills—nothing too excitin'. Rooster and I had a dogfight that ended in him talkin’ more shit than he should’ve for someone who lost," Jake drawled, shaking his head. "Then had to sit through a briefing that felt like it lasted a damn lifetime."

You hummed in acknowledgment, clinging to the sound of his voice like it was a lullaby.

"Ellie did good at daycare," he continued, his grip on you tightening slightly. "They said she was all smiles, even flirted with the instructors a little."

That made you chuckle, though it was weak. "She gets that from you."

Jake smirked. "Damn right, she does."

By the time he reached your bedroom, you felt like you were drifting in and out, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. He nudged the door open with his foot and gently laid you down on the bed, taking extra care as he pulled the covers over you.

You blinked up at him sleepily. “Thank you.”

Jake leaned down, brushing a kiss to your forehead before smoothing back your hair. “Get some rest, sweetheart. I got you.”

As soon as Jake tucked the blanket around you, you curled into its warmth, but it wasn’t enough. A shiver wracked through your body, making you pull your arms tighter around yourself, desperate for heat.

Jake was already kneeling beside the bed, his hand still smoothing over your forehead. His brows pinched in concern when he felt how cold your skin was, despite the fever that left your cheeks flushed.

You swallowed, your throat dry and scratchy. “Jake…” your voice came out barely above a whisper.

He leaned in instantly, his palm cradling your cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Your lips trembled as you forced the words out. “I’m cold.”

Jake exhaled sharply, not in frustration but in that deep, aching kind of concern he always had when you weren’t well. Without a second thought, he stood and peeled off his flight jacket, tossing it onto the chair before toeing off his boots.

“Alright, baby, scoot over,” he murmured.

You blinked at him sleepily, confused. “What?”

“I said scoot,” he repeated, softer this time, as he pulled back the blanket.

You didn’t have the strength to argue—not that you wanted to—so you moved just enough for him to slide into bed beside you. The second he was settled, he pulled you right into him, wrapping his arms around you as he tucked your head beneath his chin.

Jake was always warm, the kind of warmth that seeped deep into your bones, that made you feel safe, protected. You sighed in relief as his body heat enveloped you, the shivers slowly fading as he rubbed soothing circles along your back.

"Better?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

You nodded weakly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his undershirt. "Yeah… better."

Jake pressed another kiss into your hair, his grip tightening just a little. "Good. Now sleep, darlin'. I got you."

And this time, wrapped in his warmth, you actually believed it.

Jake held you close, his strong arms wrapped securely around you as he listened to your breathing. At first, it was uneven, each exhale shaky from the fever clinging to your body, but as the minutes passed, you started to relax against him.

He kept tracing slow, soothing circles on your back, his other hand tangled in your hair, occasionally smoothing it down when it stuck to your damp skin. Every now and then, you’d let out a little sigh, your body growing heavier in his hold.

Jake knew you were exhausted. You’d barely made it up the stairs before collapsing into bed, and even now, curled up in his arms, you felt fragile. That didn’t sit right with him—not when he was used to you being the one holding everything together.

So, he waited.

He stayed perfectly still, letting the weight of his warmth lull you into a deeper sleep. He knew the exact moment you slipped under—your body went completely slack, your grip on his shirt loosening as your breathing evened out.

Only then did he shift, carefully manoeuvring himself out from under you. He moved slow, making sure not to jostle you as he slid out of bed. As soon as he was free, he tugged the blanket back over you, making sure you were still tucked in tight.

Jake stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, just watching you, making sure you weren’t stirring. A small smile tugged at his lips when you let out a soft sigh, your fingers twitching against the pillow.

Then, with a final glance, he slipped out of the room, padding down the stairs as quietly as possible.

The second he stepped into the living room, he saw Ellie still in her playpen, her big green eyes—so much like his own—staring up at him with curiosity. She let out a tiny, babbling sound, kicking her little legs excitedly as he approached.

Jake exhaled, running a hand through his hair before leaning down to scoop her up. “Alright, baby girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her soft, wispy blonde curls. “Mama’s sleepin’, so it’s just you and me for a while.”

Ellie cooed in response, grabbing onto his shirt with her chubby fingers.

Jake smirked. “Guess that means we gotta keep it down, huh?”

Ellie just blinked up at him, her gummy smile widening.

Jake chuckled, shaking his head as he carried her over to the couch. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Jake adjusted the baby carrier on his chest, making sure Ellie was snug and secure before he fastened the last strap. She was settled against him, her tiny head resting against his chest, her warm little body radiating the kind of comfort that made him instinctively rub slow circles over her back.

He sighed, pressing a light kiss to her head. “Alright, baby girl, we gotta take care of Mama now, yeah?”

Ellie didn’t answer, obviously, but she made a soft little sound, her chubby fingers grabbing at his dog tags like she always did. He huffed a quiet laugh, giving her a gentle bounce before heading into the kitchen.

Jake wasn’t exactly a chef, but he knew his way around a pot of soup, especially when it came to making you feel better. He grabbed the ingredients from the fridge, moving efficiently as he started chopping vegetables with one hand, his other resting on Ellie’s back to keep her steady.

As the soup simmered, his phone vibrated on the counter. He reached for it, glancing down at the group chat with the Daggers.

Phoenix: Did Y/N land yet?

Bob: Tell her we said welcome home!

Fanboy: What’s the plan? You bringing her by soon?

Jake sighed, running a hand down his face. They had no idea you were sick, and he wasn’t about to deal with their fussing.

Jake: She landed. She’s sick, though. Came home with a fever.

It took exactly five seconds before his phone blew up.

Phoenix: Sick?! What kind of sick? Fever? Flu? Stomach bug?

Bob: Oh no! Does she need anything?

Rooster: Damn, man, you got this? You want one of us to drop something off?

Coyote: Is my queen okay?

Jake chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he stirred the pot. Of course, they were all over it.

Jake: She’s fine. Just exhausted. Got her in bed. I’m making her soup now.

Phoenix: Oh my god. You really are a husband.

Payback: What does that even mean?

Phoenix: He’s making her soup, Payback. Soup.

Rooster: What kind of soup?

Jake rolled his eyes.

Jake: Chicken noodle, what does it matter?

Rooster: It matters.

Bob: Soup is love.

Jake let out a laugh, shaking his head as he set his phone back down.

Ellie stirred against his chest, making a small noise, and he immediately ran a soothing hand over her back. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, bouncing her lightly. “They’re a mess, huh?”

Ellie sighed, her little fist curling into his shirt as she settled back down.

Jake smirked. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

With that, he turned his attention back to the soup, determined to have it ready for you when you woke up.

Jake stood at the stove, rolling his shoulders back as he stirred the pot, the steam curling up in soft waves, filling the kitchen with the scent of simmering broth. Ellie was still snug against his chest in the baby carrier, her tiny body rising and falling with each of his breaths.

He glanced down to check on her, smirking when he saw that her eyes were fluttering—she was fighting sleep, her little fingers still loosely gripping the fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t pass out on me yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, shifting his stance to rock her slightly. “We’re in this together.”

Reaching for the cutting board, Jake grabbed a handful of freshly chopped carrots, celery, and onions, sliding them into the pot with a satisfying sizzle. He stirred them around, watching as the colours deepened, the heat drawing out their rich aroma.

“Now, your mama—” he started, glancing down at Ellie again, “—isn’t the biggest fan of celery, but she needs all the good stuff in her system, so we’re sneaking it in.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Think she’ll notice?”

Ellie, of course, didn’t answer, but she let out a soft little sigh, nuzzling closer into his chest.

Jake chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. She’ll definitely notice.”

He grabbed the pre-cooked shredded chicken, tossing it in next before reaching for the carton of broth, pouring it over the mixture. The golden liquid swirled and bubbled, melding everything together. As he stirred, he kept one hand steady on Ellie’s back, her warmth grounding him in the moment.

Once the soup had started to reach a steady simmer, he sprinkled in a bit of salt, pepper, and a pinch of dried thyme. He knew you liked your food flavourful but not too heavy, so he kept the seasoning balanced—just enough to be warm and comforting.

After a few minutes, he broke some egg noodles into the pot, giving everything one last stir before lowering the heat to let it all meld together.

With the soup nearly done, he leaned against the counter, swaying slightly to keep Ellie content. He inhaled deeply, feeling a small sense of pride settle in his chest.

Taking care of you like this—it wasn’t anything fancy, nothing grand—but it meant something. It was something he could do for you, something tangible to make you feel better.

He let out a breath, looking down at Ellie again, brushing his fingers gently over her tiny hand.

"Alright, baby girl," he murmured. "Let’s hope Mama’s hungry when she wakes up."

Jake had just turned the stove down to let the soup stay warm when he heard it—the soft creak of the floorboards upstairs, the faint rustle of blankets shifting. His head snapped up, body instantly alert.

You were awake.

He frowned, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before adjusting Ellie in her carrier. His little girl remained snug against him, her tiny hand still gripping his shirt, but he could tell she wasn’t fully asleep—just in that drowsy, peaceful state.

Then, another sound—lighter this time. A shuffle, maybe the dragging of feet across the hardwood.

Jake exhaled through his nose. You were supposed to be resting.

“Alright, mama,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “What the hell are you doin’ up?”

He turned, stepping toward the base of the staircase, tilting his head to listen more closely. It wasn’t frantic, so he knew you weren’t feeling worse, but it was slow—like you were groggy, disoriented.

Jake sighed. He knew you. Knew that stubborn streak that had you pushing through exhaustion when you should be staying put.

“Sweetheart?” he called out, keeping his voice soft so he wouldn’t startle Ellie. “You okay up there?”

A beat of silence. Then, the faint sound of you clearing your throat, followed by a sniffle.

Jake’s jaw ticked.

“I swear, if you’re tryin’ to do anything other than get your ass back in bed, I’m gonna have a real problem with that.”

No answer. Just another shuffle, this time closer to the staircase.

Jake sighed again, shaking his head before moving toward the steps. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he muttered, already making his way up to check on you.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar when Jake reached the top of the stairs. He nudged it open the rest of the way, stepping inside with Ellie still nestled snug against his chest. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, but even in the low light, he could see you sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, hands braced on your knees.

Your hair was messy, sticking to your forehead, and the blanket you had wrapped around yourself was slipping off one shoulder. You looked pale, exhausted—eyes a little unfocused as you blinked up at him.

Jake sighed, shaking his head as he closed the door behind him.

“What the hell are you doin’ up, darlin’?” His voice was softer now, but still laced with that quiet exasperation only you could pull from him.

You sniffled, tugging the blanket tighter around yourself. “Felt gross,” you murmured, voice hoarse. “Too hot. Then too cold. Needed water.”

Jake rolled his eyes but strode over without another word, kneeling in front of you. Ellie shifted slightly in her carrier, letting out a small sigh in her sleep, but stayed settled against him.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart,” he muttered, reaching out to press the back of his hand against your forehead. His brows furrowed. “Still got a fever.”

You closed your eyes at his touch, leaning into the warmth of his palm despite the contradiction of your chilled skin.

Jake let out a quiet curse. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t stay put.”

You opened your eyes again, managing a weak smile. “You do know me.”

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, doesn’t mean I don’t wanna wrangle your stubborn ass back into bed.”

You exhaled slowly, gaze flicking down to Ellie. “She’s okay?”

Jake softened. “She’s perfect. Ate good, took her bath like a champ, and now she’s snoozin’ on me.” He tilted his head. “Unlike her mama, who should be doin’ the same.”

You let out a small, breathy chuckle, but it quickly turned into a cough. Jake was immediately rubbing a hand up and down your back, his expression tightening.

“That’s it,” he said firmly, standing and gently urging you backward. “Lay back down, sugar.”

“I was just—”

“Nope. Not hearin’ it.” He guided you carefully until you were flat against the pillows again. “You’re gonna rest, you’re gonna eat somethin’ when you’re up for it, and you’re gonna let me take care of you.”

Your lips parted, but whatever protest you were about to make was swallowed when Jake leaned down and kissed your forehead, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary.

“Got it?” he murmured against your skin.

You swallowed thickly, nodding.

Jake pulled back, watching you for a second before shifting Ellie slightly in her carrier. He reached down, pulling the covers up to your shoulders, tucking you in the way he always did when you weren’t feeling well.

“Good girl,” he muttered, brushing his knuckles along your cheek before straightening up. “Now stay put.”

You let out a weak chuckle, cracking one eye open to look at him. “You’re such a momma hen,” you rasped, lips curling into a teasing smile.

Jake scoffed, crossing his arms as he looked down at you. “Momma hen?” he repeated, raising a brow. “Darlin’, I’ll have you know I’m just a damn good husband.”

You hummed, snuggling deeper into the pillows. “Mhm. A momma hen of a husband.”

Jake sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” But his voice was laced with amusement, and when he reached down to adjust the blanket around you again, his touch was impossibly gentle.

“Call me whatever you want,” he muttered, leaning down so his lips brushed your temple, “as long as you stay in bed and let me take care of you.”

You hummed again, eyes already fluttering. “Alright, momma hen.”

You blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as you tried to ignore the way your body felt like it had been weighed down by bricks. “I’m not even that tired,” you muttered, voice hoarse but firm.

Jake let out a dry laugh, tilting his head. “Oh, really?”

You nodded, shifting slightly against the pillows. “Yeah. I just needed a minute, but I feel fine.”

Jake didn’t even bother hiding his skepticism. He crouched down beside the bed, leveling you with a look. “Sweetheart, you’re damn near melting into the mattress right now. You could sleep for a week and still wake up tired.”

You scowled, trying to push yourself up a little, but Jake immediately placed a firm hand on your shoulder, gently but effectively pinning you back down.

“Uh-uh. Don’t even try it,” he warned. “I know you, sugar. You’ll tell me you’re fine right up until you pass out on the damn floor.”

You huffed, your scowl deepening. “I wouldn’t pass out.”

Jake arched a brow. “Oh, no?” He reached out, brushing his fingers over your flushed cheek before pressing his palm to your forehead again. “You’re burnin’ up, baby. Your body’s workin’ overtime, and the sooner you rest, the sooner you’ll get better.”

You exhaled slowly, turning your head slightly so your cheek pressed into his palm. Your stubborn streak was strong, but Jake was stronger—and more relentless.

“You’re annoying,” you muttered, eyes slipping closed for a brief second.

Jake chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “And you love me for it.”

You sighed, your body already betraying you as sleep started creeping in at the edges of your consciousness.

“Maybe.”

You let out a slow breath, shifting under the covers before cracking your eyes open again. Your body still ached, and the fever had you feeling like you were both too hot and too cold at the same time, but there was something else gnawing at you now.

“I’m hungry,” you murmured, your voice still scratchy but a little stronger this time.

Jake, who had been brushing a few stray strands of hair off your forehead, immediately perked up. “Yeah?” He sounded both surprised and relieved. “That’s a good sign, sugar.”

You swallowed, nodding slightly. “Haven’t eaten since… last night, I think.”

Jake’s entire expression shifted, the relief on his face quickly replaced by concern. His jaw tightened, and he pulled back slightly to look you over again, as if just now realizing how much weaker you seemed.

“Darlin’,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Why the hell didn’t you eat somethin’ before gettin’ on that plane?”

You frowned. “I was running late. Then I wasn’t hungry. And then…” You trailed off with a shrug, but Jake wasn’t having it.

“Then you got home sick as hell, and now you’re runnin’ on nothin’ but a fever,” he finished for you, his tone gentle but firm.

You sighed, your stomach giving a small, hollow pang as if to drive the point home. “Guess so.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head again. “Alright, no more of that,” he muttered, standing up straight. “I made some soup earlier, figured you’d need somethin’ when you woke up. Lemme go warm it up, yeah?”

Your lips twitched slightly at that. Of course, he’d already thought ahead. Your momma-hen of a husband.

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice softer now.

Jake gave you one last once-over before leaning down, pressing a firm kiss to your warm forehead. “Be right back, sugar. Stay put.”

As Jake straightened up to leave, your eyes flickered to the baby carrier strapped to his chest. Ellie was snuggled in tight, her tiny face pressed against his shirt, her soft breaths barely audible over the quiet rustling of the blankets. Even in your feverish haze, the sight of her soothed something deep inside you.

“Wait,” you murmured, reaching out weakly.

Jake paused immediately, his green eyes snapping back to you. “What is it, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, shifting slightly against the pillows. “Can Ellie stay with me?” Your voice was small, a little hoarse, but there was no mistaking the quiet plea in it.

Jake’s expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “You sure, sugar? You need to rest.”

“I will,” you promised, already reaching out for her. “I just… I missed her.”

Jake let out a quiet breath, glancing down at his daughter. “Alright,” he murmured after a beat, carefully unbuckling the carrier. “But if you start feelin’ worse, I’m takin’ her back, no arguments.”

You hummed in agreement, watching as he gently lifted Ellie from the carrier. She stirred slightly, letting out a sleepy little sigh as Jake placed her carefully on your chest. You cradled her close, feeling the warmth of her tiny body seep into yours, her familiar baby scent wrapping around you like a comfort you hadn’t even realized you needed.

Jake crouched beside the bed again, watching the two of you for a moment. “You good, sweetheart?”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of Ellie’s soft curls. “Yeah,” you whispered. “We’re good.”

Jake smiled softly, brushing his fingers along your arm. “Alright. I’ll go get that soup.”

As he stood up and made his way to the door, you let out a slow breath, your body still aching but your heart finally settling. Ellie snuggled deeper into you, her tiny hand curling against your chest.

Maybe you were sick, but at least you were home.

A few minutes later, you heard Jake’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, the faint clinking of a spoon against a bowl following him. Your eyes were half-lidded, your body still drained, but you stayed awake, waiting. Ellie was still tucked against your chest, her tiny body warm and soft, her rhythmic breathing lulling you into a daze.

Jake pushed the door open with his shoulder, carrying a steaming bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other. His gaze immediately flicked to you and Ellie, his lips twitching at the sight of you both curled up together.

“You stayin’ awake for me, sweetheart?” he teased lightly as he walked over.

You hummed a sleepy confirmation, watching as he set the bowl down on the nightstand. “Barely,” you admitted, voice hoarse.

Jake chuckled, shifting onto the bed beside you, careful not to jostle Ellie too much. “Alright, let’s get some food in you before you pass out again.” He scooped up a spoonful of soup, blowing on it gently before holding it out to you. “Here, sugar. Just a little at a time.”

You eyed the spoon for a second before parting your lips, letting him feed you. The warm broth slid over your tongue, and immediately, your face twisted into something between confusion and dismay.

Jake frowned. “What?”

You swallowed, lips pressing together as you gave him a slow, pointed look. “Celery.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly. “I can taste the celery.”

Jake blinked at you like you’d just told him the sky was green. “And?”

“And,” you rasped, pausing for dramatic effect, “you know I hate celery.”

Jake let out a bark of laughter, his head tilting back. “Aw, hell,” he drawled, shaking his head. “You’re half delirious, burnin’ up with a fever, and the first damn thing you wanna do is complain about celery?”

You gave him the best unimpressed look you could manage in your weakened state. “You did this on purpose.”

Jake smirked, dipping the spoon back into the soup. “Maybe.” He held out another spoonful. “But you still need to eat, darlin’. So, what’s it gonna be? A little bit of celery, or me lettin’ you starve?”

You let out a dramatic sigh, relenting as you opened your mouth again. The warmth of the soup soothed your sore throat, even if the taste of celery was still there, taunting you.

Jake grinned, clearly satisfied with himself. “That’s my girl.”

You let out a dramatic, exhausted sigh, sinking deeper into the pillows. “You know I hate celery.”

Jake smirked, scooping up another spoonful. “Do you, though? Because I don’t remember hearin’ you say that while I was cookin’ for your ungrateful ass.”

Your glare intensified, though it lacked any real heat. “I was dying, Jacob.”

He snorted. “You have a cold.”

You groaned, pressing your forehead against Ellie’s soft hair, as if she could somehow absorb your suffering. “I can taste it, Jake. It’s in the broth. It’s haunting me.”

Jake let out a deep, amused sigh, swirling the spoon through the soup. “You’re bein’ dramatic.”

You lifted your head just enough to fix him with a pointed look. “You put it in there on purpose, didn’t you?”

His grin was downright smug now. “Maybe.”

You groaned again, tossing your arm over your face. “Why? I thought you loved me.”

Jake laughed, nudging your arm down so you’d look at him. “I do love you

You swallowed the second spoonful, your face scrunching up in pure betrayal as the taste of celery lingered on your tongue. You stared at Jake, eyes narrowed, voice hoarse but determined.

“Jake,” you rasped, swallowing again as if that would make the taste disappear. “I trusted you.”

Jake snorted, scooping up another spoonful. “That so, sugar?”

You nodded solemnly, shifting Ellie slightly against your chest. “Yeah. And you—you went and did me dirty.”

Jake’s lips twitched, but he played along. “Oh? How’s that?”

You let out a weak, dramatic sigh. “Celery,” you groaned, drawing out the word like it physically pained you. “You put celery in my soup. After everything we’ve been through together. After I carried your child, after I literally just came back from a work trip sick as hell—you betray me like this?”

Jake outright laughed at that, shaking his head as he lifted another spoonful. “Baby, I did it for your own good.”

You gave him a flat look. “That doesn’t make it better.”

Jake grinned. “Sure it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you shot back, shifting your weight slightly. “You had choices, Seresin. You could’ve picked any other soup. Chicken noodle, potato, literally anything without celery, but no—” you coughed lightly, pausing, before regaining your dramatic momentum, “—you chose to disrespect me in my own home.”

Jake was laughing so hard at this point that he had to set the spoon down for a second. “Darlin’, you’re killin’ me.”

“No,” you countered, shifting Ellie slightly. “You’re killing me. With celery.”

Jake ran a hand down his face, still grinning as he picked up the spoon again. “Alright, drama queen. Do you want me to pick the celery out for you? Would that make you feel better?”

You eyed him, considering. “…Would you?”

Jake sighed, but the fondness in his gaze was undeniable. “Yeah, sugar. I’ll pick out the damn celery.”

Satisfied, you settled back against the pillows, letting him continue feeding you—celery-free.

Jake meticulously picked out every piece of celery before offering you another spoonful. You accepted it without complaint this time, sighing as the warmth spread through you. Ellie stirred slightly against your chest, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, but she remained blissfully asleep.

Jake watched you carefully, his green eyes soft with concern despite the teasing moments ago. “Feelin’ any better?”

You hummed in response, shifting slightly in the bed. “A little. Still feel like I got hit by a truck, though.”

Jake let out a low chuckle, setting the bowl on the nightstand before shifting closer to you. “A truck, huh? Pretty sure it’s just a cold, sugar.”

You rolled your eyes, though the exhaustion made it less effective. “I feel like I’m dying, Jake.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against your temple. “Well, you sure as hell ain��t dyin’ on my watch.”

You sighed at the warmth of his breath against your skin, letting your head rest against his shoulder. For a moment, everything was quiet—just the sound of Ellie’s tiny breaths and the soft hum of the house around you.

Jake reached out, adjusting the blanket over you. “You should get some more sleep.”

You made a small noise of protest. “But I just woke up.”

Jake smirked, brushing his fingers lightly down your arm. “Yeah? And you still look like you need at least ten more hours.”

You swatted weakly at his chest. “Rude.”

“Honest,” he corrected, grinning. “C’mon, darlin’. I got Ellie, and I’ll be right here. Just rest.”

You let out a deep breath, your body already sinking into the mattress despite your protests. Jake reached out, tracing gentle circles against your back, his warmth completely surrounding you.

You shifted, snuggling closer, whispering against his shoulder, “Love you.”

Jake pressed another kiss to your forehead, his voice soft but full of certainty. “Love you too, sugar. Now sleep.”

With the steady rise and fall of Jake’s breathing and the warmth of Ellie nestled against you, sleep finally pulled you under once again.

Jake waited until your breathing evened out, your body fully slack against him. You were out cold, exhaustion winning the battle at last. Carefully, he shifted, making sure not to wake you as he slid his arm from under your head.

Ellie stirred slightly against your chest, making a tiny sound of protest, but Jake was quick, his hands steady as he scooped her up. “Shh, sugar,” he murmured softly, tucking her against his chest as he stood.

He glanced back at you, curled up and buried under the blankets, your face finally peaceful in sleep. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead before pulling the comforter up higher. “Rest, darlin’,” he whispered, then backed away quietly, Ellie snug in his arms.

Downstairs, the house was dimly lit, the remnants of dinner still on the counter. Jake moved with ease, swaying slightly as he held Ellie close. “Just you and me, baby girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft curls.

Ellie yawned, her tiny fists clenching in his shirt, eyes fluttering open just slightly before closing again. Jake grinned. “You already know the drill, huh? Night shifts with Dad.”

He settled into the couch, adjusting Ellie so she was resting against his chest, her warm little body fitting perfectly into the curve of his arm. He leaned his head back, exhaling deeply.

It wasn’t long before Ellie was completely out again, her tiny breaths even against his skin. Jake glanced down at her, his heart tugging at the sight. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmured, rubbing slow circles against her back.

He sat there for a while, just holding her, making sure you got the sleep you desperately needed.

Jake felt his phone buzz against his thigh, the screen lighting up in the dim room. With Ellie sleeping soundly on his chest, he carefully shifted just enough to pull the device from his pocket.

Group Chat: Dagger Squad

Rooster: How’s YN?

Phoenix: Yeah, we wanna know if she’s still being dramatic about her cold.

Fanboy: More importantly, is she making you suffer too?

Payback: Bet he’s already playing nurse.

Bob: Hope she’s doing okay, though. Being sick sucks.

Jake huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he typed back with one hand.

Jake: She’s asleep. Finally. Been out cold for the last hour.

Immediately, the typing bubbles appeared.

Phoenix: So she was being dramatic.

Coyote: Like you wouldn’t be, Trace. We all know you’d milk it for weeks.

Phoenix: EXCUSE ME??

Jake smirked, watching the chaos unfold in the chat before Rooster’s message popped up.

Rooster: She keeping anything down? Eating?

Jake’s expression softened slightly as he glanced down at Ellie, still curled against him. He thought about how you had barely touched the soup before exhaustion took over.

Jake: Had a few bites, but not much. She’ll eat more when she wakes up.

Bob: Good. Just make sure she stays hydrated.

Fanboy: Damn, Bob, when did you become the mom friend?

Payback: Right? Bob out here giving medical advice like he’s a doctor.

Bob: You guys are impossible.

Jake chuckled, shaking his head before sending one last message.

Jake: She’s fine. Just wiped out. I got it handled.

Coyote: Yeah, we know. You’re a momma hen when it comes to her.

Jake rolled his eyes, locking his phone and setting it aside before any more teasing came through. He adjusted Ellie slightly, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head. “They think they’re funny, huh?” he murmured.

Ellie just sighed in her sleep, her tiny hand gripping the fabric of his shirt. Jake leaned his head back against the couch, smirking to himself. As much as the squad loved to mess with him, he knew they cared.

But for now, his only priority was making sure you and Ellie were okay.

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman imagine #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman seresin #jake hangman fic #hangman top gun #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman x reader

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noxiatoxia · 4 months ago

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Mikan wants to be "forgiven"...but what does that really mean?

Hello. This is something that has been quietly on my mind for a while.

It's something shown in the game in chapter 3. Mikan really focuses in on "being forgiven".

And while not a mistranslation per se, I think it's inaccurate to what is happening in the game.

I've talked about this extensively - the fact ENG DR team has a very bad habit of translating things literally or very directly. This leads to either clunky dialogue, missed nuances, or just incorrect interpretations sometimes.

I think this in particular falls somewhere between 2 and 3. I'll explain why.

If translated literally, the English text works just fine, but as with a lot of literal translation, it misses the "feeling" of what was trying to be conveyed. If you want my translation...

Mikan: Won't someone just tell me what I did wrong!? Why won't anyone just let it be already!?

While Mikan doesn't say "What did I do wrong", there is a subtle emphasis on her talking about herself...I feel like it's a more natural way to word what is essentially "What is it that I did differently [to warrant this]?"

Anyways, to the main point...I hope you can kind of see what I'm getting at.

"Forgive" feels like...Mikan is seeking people to "pardon" her for perceived wrong-doings. And while not untrue I would say, the way Mikan specifically uses the word and the context it is in, to me, feels much more like she is using it like "allow" or "excuse".

Let me use another example to better explain myself.

The last line to me reads like Mikan needed this person to pardon her for being born; for existing. That her existence in and of itself was a mistake or wrong-doing that needed to be forgiven.

I think that's missing the point, though.

Mikan: They allowed me to exist.

See, the point is...Mikan is a very troubled person. She admits as much in the freetime events that wherever she goes, she is horribly bullied just for existing. That she hated being bullied, but even more she hates being forgotten.

She emphasizes her beloved (Junko) did not hate her, and in fact allowed her presence...

This line was heavily misread, I think. 許して受け入れて was read as two verbs in one sentence (which it is) but as "forgive and accept" which is incorrect to what it means. It's closer to "they tolerated me" (like, accepting and moving on). Which comes to how I would translate it, and my final point:

Mikan: They accepted me for who I am.

This is why I think the "forgive" thing is not only incorrect, but actually opposite of what this scene was going for. Junko did not "forgive" Mikan for the sin of existing. Rather, she was the only person who seemed to not mind that she existed, that didn't bully or ignore her.

She didn't "forgive" Mikan, she allowed her to be herself.

Another reason DR3 totally missed the mark, but I digress...

I guess while I'm on the topic, we all know that scene where Mikan has a little back-and-forth with Nagito...that, too, was misrepresented somewhat.

Putting the English here just for comparison sake. And while not the worst translation in the world, it certainly isn't how I would go about it.

Nagito: I don't...really get what you're trying to say... Mikan: Oh, you don't? (lit: you don't understand?) Mikan: Is that because you don't have any loved ones in your life? Mikan: Is it because there's no one who will love you?* Mikan: Oh, you poor thing...I feel very sorry for you.

*Literally speaking, she says "Is it because you are a person nobody allows" but considering the context thus far, it's easy to conclude she means that there's no one who will love/accept him for who he is.

*Adding "also" to the line is a mistranslation, I believe. も means also but it is also used for emphasis, which I think it is here. Not that it's impossible Mikan is using it to say "also", but in these lines of dialogue she is intentionally contrasting how she does have someone who loves her and that she can love, so to then identify a similarity between her and Nagito, I think, wouldn't make much sense...

Mikan is one of my favorite characters, so little details like this matter a lot to me.

#mikan tsumiki #danganronpa #sdr2 #dr #;noxiatalksia #;translationtalk

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cherryberrycheol · 3 months ago

Text

Your Personal Caretaker | Choi Seungcheol | fluff

Pairing: choi seungcheol x reader

Summary: it’s a peaceful saturday morning and you wake up feeling sick (after a week of ignoring the symptoms and doing virtually nothing with it). seungcheol, who finally has time to not think about work, notices your state. being the caring partner he is, your husband is already on it and goes full ‘care’ mode before you’re even up

Word count: 2k

Genre/warnings: fluff, slice of life, established relationships, married couple, non-idol!seungcheol x non-idol!reader, reader is sick and seungcheol takes care of them, everyone is soft and happy no drama, domestic bliss at its finest, kkuma is there in the background and got some pats and compliments, seungcheol calls reader ‘pretty, baby, princess, silly girl’, i think i didn’t have any specifically descriptive words for appearance (let me know if you spot some), if i missed anything else let me know

A/N: if you hate being sick on your own then this fic is for you. I hate it myself, literally can’t operate on my own, need someone to think and make decisions for me. So it was a self-indulgent fantasy of what it would be like if Seungcheol was to take care of his partner when they don’t feel well and get too stressed to think on their own. Hope you like this piece of work as it’s the first one I’m posting for this account and in English too (⸝⸝º ^ º⸝⸝)

The text below isn’t proofread, proceed at your own discretion; if you see any mistakes I’m sorry, English isn’t my first language.

Masterlist

It’s a quiet Saturday morning. Seungcheol is lying splayed out on the sofa in the living room, enjoying every moment of this unrushed ecstasy. He’s been so busy with everything at work this past week, it being the end of the month with tie outs needed to be done and piles on piles of reports on end. He felt like he could give out any moment by Friday. But now that Saturday came and tranquility settled in he couldn’t get enough of this unwinding. No thought in his head, he just scrolled through his social media, chuckling at some silly no brainer stuff people posted there.

He woke up earlier than you today. Which he always does but usually on the weekends he likes to sleep in and stay in bed together for longer. Not today. Today he took it upon himself to bring you breakfast in bed. Despite having a devilish week himself he couldn’t help but notice that you were off yesterday when he came home and finally had the mental capacity to fully pay attention. So, spurred on by his own urge to take care of you today, he woke up as if it was any other work day. He had time to do so much stuff, like walking and feeding Kkuma, going for a jog to the gym nearby and back, taking a shower and having a brief breakfast himself. And you were still yet to wake up. Seungcheol knows that unsupervised you can stay in bed till past lunchtime without a blink of an eye. He wasn’t going to let you, but just another hour wouldn’t hurt. You looked so worn out after all.

After a couple more minutes of aimless doom scrolling he finds a breakfast recipe that he thinks he can manage to cook and goes to the kitchen to check out the ingredients, improvising with replacing some of them with those he currently has on hand. Seungcheol meticulously follows the instructions, really doing his best not to mess this up.

As he cooks he can’t seem to get away from this nagging uncomfortable feeling in his chest. A hunch that he knows what’s wrong. You two have been married for the past three years, dating for three more, and he knows you too well not to suspect that you’re probably falling sick. That’s why he’s cooking you a chicken noodle soup even though he knows you hate soups for breakfast for whatever reason. You always say that soups aren’t breakfast food but lunch. Seungcheol always smiles and lets you be with your silly cute opinions on food.

It’s when Kkuma suddenly lets out a quiet woof and pitter-patters to the closed bedroom door to sniff underneath that he knows you’re awake and probably out of bed. He feels slightly dissatisfied that he didn’t time things better to be the one to wake you up with cuddles and kisses but oh well, he’s going to have to deal with it.

The door opens and you step out of the dark bedroom where you didn’t even care to open the night blinds on the window. You’re wrapped in a blanket as if it’s a burrito-cape. You squint in the sunlight that hits you right in the eye with a small groan like a true night creature that hasn’t seen the light of day for years even though it’s only been one night. Kkuma wags her tail happily when she sees you stepping outside and pants, her pink tongue out. You look down at her and chuckle before crouching to ruffle her fur and give her pats and compliments.

“Good morning, pretty,” Seungcheol calls out from the kitchen and you stand up feeling as your head spins slightly and vision darkens for a moment. You just stand in place before walking over, enticed by the smell of food. You feel weak but still hungry, you’re definitely falling sick. “Did you sleep well? I wanted to wake you up myself but you beat me to it,” your husband glances up at your adorable disheveled state as you walk into the kitchen, still sleepy and blinking lazily. He assesses your state and can’t help a tinge of worry from emerging at the sight of your slightly pale face and silence. “Baby, you should go lie down if you’re feeling unwell.”

You let out a short whine of response and wrap your arms around Seungcheol, clinging to him from behind. He’s so much warmer than you even though it’s you who’s wrapped in the blanket. The heat of his body seeps through his oversized t-shirt and you sigh, shivering slightly. Seungcheol feels you shiver and frowns in concern. “Baby,” he finally turns off the stove as the soup he was cooking is done. Seungcheol eases your hold on him just enough to turn in your arms and face you, his arms come snaking around your shoulders, pulling you even closer. He brushes your hair off your face, tucking the strands behind your ears before he presses his palm to your forehead, lips pursed in focus. “You need to take your temperature…” he murmurs, turning serious and then presses his lips to where his palm just rested on your forehead. Seungcheol hums to himself in some sort of confirmation that sounds like ‘I knew it’ and leans away just enough to look down at you. “Go lay down on the couch, baby, I’ll bring the thermometer and then you’ll eat chicken soup that I cooked for you.”

”I don’t eat soup for breakfast, Cheol,” you protest albeit weakly. You know that you’re falling sick and it’s really not the time to be arguing Seungcheol. The man is going to take a week off if he needs to just to take care of you because he knows how helpless and small any sickness makes you feel. “Don’t argue, princess, just go lie down,” he insists, turning you around and pushing gently to go take the couch. You oblige and he goes to retrieve the thermometer. When he returns, he’s holding it in his palms to warm up so you don’t need to feel the cold thing against your skin.

While you take the temperature, lying down, eyes closed, shivering and feeling like you could drift off to sleep any second, Seungcheol goes over to the kitchen to pour you some soup in a bowl. By the time he returns and sets the bowl on the wooden coffee table by the couch, you’re staring at the thermometer with an increasingly helpless expression. “37.6C,” you mumble quietly when your husband sits down beside you, moving the blanket and your legs over his lap. He tucks you in better and helps sit up. “How do you feel?” He asks, picking up the bowl of chicken noodle soup and a spoon.

You list off the symptoms that you‘ve been noticing but ignored all this week while Seungcheol didn’t have the time to notice either, both of you have been busy with work this week. The man already makes a mental list of all the meds and other things he’s going to make you do all week to nurture you back to health. “Silly girl, how many times do I have to tell you that you shouldn’t ignore the signs? Tell me. If you feel even a slightest bit unwell, baby. I know you hate everything to do with being sick, I’ll always take care of you,” he says and brings the spoonful of soup to your lips. You let him feed you, feeling like a child being gently scolded. “I know. But you were so busy this week, I didn’t want to add on top of that,” you mumble guiltily. Seungcheol has been getting less sleep and coming home later with all the end of the month finalisations at work. Besides, you try to do some stuff yourself like drinking more hot tea. You tell him that and feel even more embarrassed and guilty under his gaze. Your face heats up and you avoid his eyes only to hear him sigh defeatedly and continue feeding you.

“You think I wouldn’t have gladly excused myself from work for this week if you told me you were falling sick, baby?” He asks suddenly, voice warm and caring. A little amused. “You could’ve given me such a great excuse just to leave the office and not show up there for a week straight. I would’ve worked from home with you,” Seungcheol’s voice becomes a little whiny and complaining, he sighs and pouts. You blink at him, stopping mid-chew because you can’t comprehend how your husband can be so serious and caring but also so childishly having tiny grudges against you for not giving him an excuse to work from home.

“Now you have an excuse to stay at home and not work at all next week,” you counter, giving him a different advantage. “Now I have to work hard to make you healthy again,” Seungcheol protests with a louder whine. “It’s still work,” the man mumbles and feeds you another spoonful. “I don’t mind though. I love taking care of you, princess,” your husband adds in a cooing tone, his expression morphs into one of unconditional love and adoration. When you finish the soup bowl he stands up to go wash it. You just stay on the couch wrapped up in the blanket, Kkuma curled up somewhere at your feet. It’s peaceful and your heart feels more at ease knowing you won’t have to deal with this sickness alone. It’s been like this since childhood. Your mom always took care of you whenever you would fall sick for as long as you can remember. Feeling unwell even the slightest bit always makes you uneasy and anxious. It doesn’t help that you’re an overthinker. As soon as something is off it’s like your brain goes into this damsel in distress mode or rather ‘I’m a baby help me’ mode.

Seungcheol was perplexed when he first found out you’re absolutely unable to take it on your own. It was an accidental discovery over the phone when he called you to see if you’d be up for a date but in the middle of telling him that you have fallen sick you suddenly busted out with tears. So, being the provider and caregiver he is, it didn’t take him long to figure out how to use it to his advantage when you first started dating. The man saw it as a chance and dashed to take it. Caring for you and comforting you until you get well again and turn into this ‘I don’t need anyone’s help’ girl that most people know you as. In your defence, depending on Seungcheol has always been an easy and effortless experience.

You’re almost falling asleep when Seungcheol returns to the couch, removes the back pillows and climbs to lie down beside you, making you unwrap the blanket and let him in. You don’t protest. “Sleep it off, baby. We’ll see if it goes past 38C after you wake up and whether you need to take a pyretic,” he tells you, voice soft as he wraps his arms around you and tucks you into his chest, his lips pressing gentle kisses at the crown of your head. “You’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you, princess, don’t worry and just sleep.”

You sigh, his familiar scent engulfs you with his warmth as he cuddles you close on the couch, Kkuma still resting somewhere at your feet, content that her owners are at home and close by her side. “I love you, Cheol,” you murmur, sound muffled into his chest. You could try and tell him this a hundred times a day all year round and it wouldn’t be enough to express how much he means to you. Seungcheol smiles, his hand threading through your hair as he soothes you to sleep. He can feel his heart swell at the simple words. “I love you too, princess. Just rest and don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you,” his lips press to the top of your head once again and he inhales your peach and orchid shampoo scent. He feels you relax into his arms as you drift off back to sleep. It’s going to be a long week but he will do everything to help you recover as comfortably as he can. “My sweet helpless baby,” he whispers a chuckle and sighs, listening to your even breaths.

*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this!

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axuanmii · 2 months ago

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5.6 paralogism mistranslations

(or, at least the ones i paid attention to, which is mainly just kaeya and diluc. yes i'm biased. leave me alone) (yes. some medium spoilers ahead)

honeyhunter and the bilibili wiki haven't updated with chinese transcripts of the new 5.6 archon quest so pretty much all of this is going to be reliant on my listening skills, which are pretty bad because i have a hard time discerning auditory things for some reason.

this isn't a mistranslation i just got really excited when i was going back through the travel log and saw this. i can't believe they remembered diluc was the former cavalry captain *bangs ground and cries*

if i had to say anything about this quest. i guess it would be that i wish more people would play with chinese voiceover. i feel like the tone of almost every character is conveyed better through it, and the lipsyncing actually matches up because, yknow, the game is originally in chinese.

no real hate towards the japanese voiceover, i know because of anime and other stuff that there's more interest for jp voices and hearing famous seiyuu is cool, but i wish it didn't come at the cost of me literally never being able to find chinese voiceover content or even the chinese voice actors half of the time. yeah Sometimes i can find it on bilibili but it's not easy.

anyways, translations are below the cut

so from what i've discerned for the general quest, it's all pretty well translated or slightly adapted for the region because of cultural differences. for example, dahlia and sucrose's exchange here

the second part is better translated (from memory, because i can't find this bit in the travel log to listen to the dialogue again) as "a girl by herself could be too dangerous, so let me help". this is generally because feminism and chivalry are viewed differently in china. china is usually more respectful of women than countries like the US, so chivalrous actions like this are considered polite rather than subconsciously(?) demeaning sucrose's ability. idk, i figure some people might see it that way.

alright lets get to the main thing that annoyed me

in chinese, the dialogue reads roughly as thus (...and i'll add emojis for tone):

kaeya: :O holy--* just by a hair!**. for this one i'll really have to thank master diluc for lending a hand! :D diluc: no need to be polite. even if you weren't here, i'd still lend a hand. instead, your presence actually blocked my way. :/ kaeya: well... why don't i just leave then? if i stayed, i would only be able provide some elemental reactions creating a lot of steam***. feels like it wouldn't be very helpful! :P diluc: really?

[*kaeya's onomatopoeia is going to be translated the way i hear it through sun ye's tone]

[**kaeya says 千钧一发, idk how to translate this idiom very well]

[***i checked if this was the chinese term for vaporize, it's not]

LIKE. IT'S DIFFERENT RIGHT? I'M NOT CRAZY RIGHT? why is the english translation so determined to make them seem like they hate each other more?? i know kaeya's following dialogue makes it less antagonistic--

but does that mean the first part has to make kaeya sound so lowkey pitiful through text dialogue? (disclaimer: as of may 7th, 2025, there are no english voiceovers for this dialogue)

i don't have much other opinion on this it just annoyed me because in chinese they sound a lot more amicable towards each other, with kaeya directly teasing. but those ellipses in english don't leave much to be desired.

additionally, here:

in chinese, the dialogue reads roughly as thus (...and i'll add emojis for tone):

kaeya: haha, alright, when did you realize something was off? ^-^ diluc: the first trial. :| kaeya: lemme guess, because of the imposter hertha? :o diluc: compared to them, your problem was more obvious. :/ kaeya: me?! >:O what was wrong with me? :( you mean to say, my role as the defense wasn't played with enough passion? >:) diluc: nobody said that.* it's just that it seemed like you lacked some nervousness. :/ kaeya: then... when does master diluc think i actually get nervous? >:)

*(i don't have a rolling eyes emoji but imagine it here)

like there's a clear difference here!! if it were a matter of timing for spoken dialogue, (which, let's be honest, hoyoverse has not cared about that almost ever (see: signora death cutscene)), the hardest to fit in the same timing would be my translation of kaeya's third line. and even then, the official translation's tone sounds much more muted because it lacks verbal direction of cn kaeya's vocal mannerisms (which, summed up, is basically just "teasing").

like, cn kaeya is an endearing little shithead hiding something, en kaeya has the air of someone on edge but trying to sound friendly (this feels more obvious in many interactions between him and diluc).

in chinese, the dialogue reads roughly as thus (...and i'll add emojis for tone) [brackets include implied information]:

kaeya: mm! don't worry, just leave this area to me and this enthusiastic volunteer (doing-the-knights-work)* civilian, master diluc! ^_^ albedo: why not say "the former cavalry captain and the current cavalry captain" [working together]? :| diluc: i don't feel like that's necessary =_=

*personally, i'd remove this part because it sounds weirder in english

need i say more. *slams head into brick wall* when will kaeya and diluc stop having their dialogue slandered in english

in chinese, the dialogue reads roughly as thus:

diluc: if i have to say something, i'd rather believe that someone who once helped me in the past couldn't suddenly become a cold-blooded killer.

this isn't really that big of a mistranslation i'm just very particular about diluc's words.

also i'm so offended at this group gathering photo because like what about everyone else who defended mondstadt? you're gonna ignore them?? fischl? mona?? noelle??? DILUC????

"oh ash it's a knights' meeting" YEAH BUT I WANNA SEE DILUC?? i'm calm. i'm so calm. this is fine everything's fine.

also the cutscene at the end was super cool, because GUESS WHAT HAPPENED

i love them so much

#kaeya #diluc #genshin #genshin 5.6 spoilers #translation

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fanon-canon-idfk · 7 months ago

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hey!!!! I've never made a request before, I hope that's right.../ I would like to make a request for a story I'm developing, where Ada dazai has a best friend who also works at the agency, dazai is in love with his best friend, but your friend is already engaged to a woman, how would he deal with that??? (Reader and dazai have been friends for a long time) Well, if you're not making requests just ignore them and if I haven't specified the reader's gender, I would really appreciate were a male reader (sorry for the mistakes, english is not my language) ♡ have a nice day♡

He tries to pretend he doesn’t care.

If Reader Never Loves Him Back:

He really tries, and it seems to work since you never notice.

He loves you so of course he wants you happy, which you clearly are with her.

He distances himself from you. Doesn’t come to your house unannounced anymore, doesn’t show you his new favorite books or songs, doesn’t burden you in the slightest.

And you don’t chase him.

He loves you but he hates that ring on your finger.

He loves you but he hates how you smile about her.

He loves you but he hates how you talk about making a family with her.

He loves you but he hates hearing about your wedding plans.

He loves you but he hates seeing you happy.

Because it’s not with him.

He hates himself for that. It was his fault to begin with. He always told you he “had no such tastes in men.”

He regrets those words more and more every day, especially when you ask him to be your best man. A front row seat to the taking of the love of his life.

He’s so selfish.

He still calls himself selfish even as he stands as the best man at your wedding.

He still calls himself selfish whilst he’s babysitting your child while you’re on an anniversary trip.

He still calls himself selfish when he holds your second child in the hospital.

He’s selfish and that will never go away cause he still loves you too much to leave.

If Reader Loves Him Back:

He tries so hard and yet it always feels like he’s failing. Like he knows you know.

He notices that you never smile the same, not since your wedding date was decided.

Now you smile like you’re only doing it to shut your mouth, because if not all the words will spill out.

You love her but you don’t talk about her unless asked.

You love her but you ignore her texts if you’re talking to him.

You love her but you weren’t even the one to propose.

You love her but you still sit so close to him when you don’t have to.

You love her but now you’re standing at his door in the middle of the night.

He tries to ask what’s wrong only to have his lips sealed by your own, his body engulfed in a strong embrace.

And he’s tried so hard to hide how he felt, but god did he not even fight it. He pulls you into his home and spends the night with you, no remorse in sight.

The next morning you’re no longer wearing that ring, moving your things back into your old ADA apartment.

And you’re walking with him to work.

Years later he’s got a ring on his finger.

Years later he’s kissing you at an altar.

Years later he’s with you at an animal shelter buying a cat.

It took years but now he gets to wake up to you for the rest of his life.

#male reader #bsd #bungou stray dogs #top male reader #dom male reader #bsd x male reader #bsd scenarios #bungou stray dogs scenarios #male reader blog #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x male reader #bottom dazai

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thethiefandtheairbender · 6 months ago

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Had a good chat with my partner about it today that maybe let me put a finger on what's always bugged me about "we're here to fix canon" attitudes being so prevalent in fandom (especially in the past 10ish years) throughout my life. This is not to say there's never a time or place for that (I've written fix its myself, or the occasional meta on how something could be fixed/improved) or that people are wrong to (we're anti fandom policing). It's also not an issue to me on the basis of "I love my blorbo in canon and fandom mischaracterizes them in the name of 'fixing' them" etc as it is just... coming from a fundamentally different perspective for story analysis / interaction than most (not all) people in fandom, I think.

One of the reasons I enjoyed getting my English degree was because I was finally being encouraged to and taught in alignment with what my brain had always be inclined to do: you always assume that there's a reason, and a good reason, for the story to do whatever it's doing. It assumes that the story is already exactly what it is supposed to be as it is supposed to be, and it's up to you to find the reasons Why.

The story was boring, or made you feel uncomfortable/bad, or you couldn't root for a character or relationship? All of that, at least at the beginning, doesn't really Matter. You assume that the story is paced fine, you assume the discomfort was intentional or part of something broader (historical shit that hasn't aged well) or that the dichotomy of "I feel invested or not invested" isn't useful. And in doing so, you replace all that with asking why.

An example I'll use is 1984 by George Orwell. I read that book in high school and I fucking hated it. Normally, I like the protagonist the most in anything I watch/read, but in that book, I loathed both the two leads and were actively rooting for them to be captured and tortured so the book could end faster; it was an actively miserable affair. I don't think that was necessarily the author's intention (certain amount of death of the author is baked in, but for a lot of the texts I was reading, we didn't even know the author or anything substantial about them, i.e. Beowulf) but, more importantly, I don't think any of those things are Flaws or downsides in the text.

Part of this is because 1984 is a dystopian novel (if a romcom book breaks genre convention that badly where you're miserable reading it, yeah, maybe something went wrong, but more on that in a minute) but even then it doesn't really matter on the basis of genre; I'm sure some people read 1984 and felt fascinated/excited while reading.

Rather, the focus becomes: what do I find so unlikeable about the protagonists? Why would they be written that way (on purpose)? What does it say about the society they live in? What does it say about their characterization, social stratification, etc etc? If a character does something that I think is non-sensical, why? Have I missed something? Should I watch retrospectively for clues? Is there another way to engage and to understand? Is what I label as confusion potentially a, or the, Point?

It is only after finding the reasons, and/or finding them unsuitable, that I let my subjective feelings into play. While a story can have great merit on the basis of relatability, relatability or "this aligns with my worldview / expectations / desires / etc." is not the be-all end-all of discerning quality

For example, I'm never going to be a fan of Jane and Rochester (she's 18, he's her 40 year old employer who routinely lies to her) but there are reasons, Good reasons, they get together in Jane Eyre (a book so subjectively boring I struggled through it twice) in response to both when the book was written and with the book's themes / symbols / their characterization. If they didn't end up together, it would be a fundamentally different story; it would not be Jane Eyre. So objectively, it's fine and an understandably massive influence on the western literary canon; subjectively, it's so fucking bad and I'm so glad I never have to read it again. But if I stopped there with my lack of interest or dislike of the main romance, I'd be missing out on what the text has to offer as well, the text.

This applies to more modern day stuff as well. I don't like Double Trouble from SheRa as nonbinary representation, and I'm nonbinary myself; however, I can acknowledge that the things I don't like about them were probably simultaneously empowering and exactly what the author (who is also nonbinary) wanted to be per his own experience of gender. Having a "I assume the text is right" mindset means that I can hold space for my own feelings/analysis (i.e. I also did not like Catra's arc, as I think she needed to learn other things / be written under a different lens) while holding space for the text as is (under the canonical lens of Catra learning it's never too late to be saved, I think her arc is conclusive and well done). And these two viewpoints aren't fundamentally opposed, but can coexist as analytical soup, being equally true / having equal value under the subjective (my view) and more 'objective' (the canon text's construction, or what I / the scholarly consensus, if it exists, believes it to be, anyway) at the same time.

Again, none of this is to say that you can't take issue with a canon text, or want to change something. I remember one time I was watching a show where their refusal to explore a romantic relationship between the female lead and her guy best friend was actively making the show worse; I understood their reasonings of wanting to put them with other people to explore their relationships, and wanting to emphasize a male-female friendship at the core of the story, and I still wanted them to put the two together as a Ship instead for various reasons. But that doesn't mean my line of thinking would've been Objectively Better—assuming if they had been paired together would've been executed in the manner I'd enjoy, or that them being paired with other people couldn't have been executed in ways I would've enjoyed more—merely that I likely would've enjoyed the series more per my own subjective preferences.

What I see in fandom sometimes is that people, understandably, aren't approaching at the start from a "the story always has a good reason" as much as they are speed-running from a "this didn't make sense to me or felt bad/off" and maybe examining why (which is supremely useful!) but not going back to examine the other side of the coin as to why the story would do it anyway.

Because sometimes the story—or a part of a story—is still 'bad' to us. It's just worthwhile to look at why it's 'good,' too.

#dragons rambles #mine #writing #literature #analysis series #analysis #this is also the singular reason (beyond being able to explain thoughts) why i'm 'good' at analysis tbh #you just ask why. you assume there's a why. you assume there's a good why #only when the story stops giving compelling whys that don't fit into anything else going on does it start Declining tbh #atla fandom im looking at u #'i don't understand why kataang ended up together / the lion turtle energy bending' have u honest to god tried to #this is also reflected in how i write bc whenever my story changes it's underpinned with a feeling of #'this is always the way the story was i just didn't know it till now'#also contributes to taking 90% of things ppl say in good faith tbh

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croded · 2 months ago

Text

So i went to watch the Nice theme (Paragon) MV and it had a Chinese translation of the lyrics, but then I noticed that as usual, their Chinese translation has a meaning or nuance in the lyrics that the original English doesn't really have, and I thought it was cool, so I tried translating it (amateur attempt.) and it got cooler :O so of course I'm going to yap a bit about the differences between the two versions :D

Here are the original English lyrics:

To be the pinnacle, there's a price A model of virtue above the vice Dressed in gold and flowing white The dark is vanquished by your light Pretenders that would give their lives If painless and was televised It's not easy being nice It's not about the merchandise It's so serene, the blue and green, from outer space If we all could make it work It could be such a happy place To broker peace so pain can cease We are much more than the sum of all our parts So go and capture all their hearts Cuz you are the teacher Shine like a sapphire to guide us Wisdom is just in your nature Fighting for justice You take us higher Saw the potential to be good So many just misunderstood So many lost deep in the wood shall find a way Can imagine a world with no fear of hate Waking up with no reason for feeling great Can imagine a world that you can create You're the fate, you're the fate that we deserve Paragon, just cut through the night Guide us with your beacon of light Paragon, just cut through the night Guide us with your beacon of light

Here is the Chinese translation of the lyrics:

想登上顶峰，必须付出代价凌驾于一切邪恶的美德典范金装闪闪，白衣飘飘黑暗被你的光芒驱散伪装者愿意付出一切只为了光鲜亮丽地站在镁光灯下完美并不容易这无关金钱交易纵观寰宇，蓝与绿如此宁静如果一切安好这将会是幸福的天地建立和平，让痛苦终结我们绝不是无魂的躯体去俘获他们所有人的心神吧你是榜样如蓝宝石般闪耀，指引方向你生而知之为正义而战你带我们乘风破浪看到心灵深处的善良太多彼此误解的人太多迷失的人，总会柳暗花明可以想象一个没有仇恨与恐惧的世界醒来享受本真的美好可以想象你将创造的世界你就是命运，你就是我们应得的命运启明星，请照亮黑暗用你的光芒指引我们启明星，请照亮黑暗用你的光芒指引我们

And now, here is my amateurish attempt at translating the Chinese lyrics (some lyrics remain unchanged, but a lot of the lyrics have slight changes of meaning or nuance, which I just directly translated):

To be the pinnacle, there's a price A model of virtue above the vice Dressed in shimmering gold and flowing white The dark is vanquished by your light The pretenders are willing to give everything Just to stand glamorously beneath the spotlight Perfection isn't easy This has nothing to do with transactions Across the world, the blue and green is so serene If all is well This will be a world of bliss Establish peace, end the suffering We are most definitely not soulless bodies Go capture the people's hearts and minds You are the model Shine like a sapphire and guide us You are born with wisdom You fight for justice You lead us to march forward fearlessly Saw the kindness deep in the depths of the soul Too many people who misunderstand each other Too many lost people, will always find a path Can imagine a world with no hate and fear Wake up and enjoy true goodness Can imagine the world you will create You are fate, you are the fate that we deserve Morning star, illuminate the dark Guide us with your light Morning star, illuminate the dark Guide us with your light

feel free to correct me if you see something wrong :')

Now let's look at what important things changed :D

"Pretenders that would give their lives/If painless and was televised" -> "The pretenders are willing to give everything/Just to stand glamorously beneath the spotlight"

I'm gonna be honest, I don't really understand what the original means by "if painless and was televised" 😭 like I really cannot comprehend what the meaning is, if they gave their lives how would it be painless- (maybe it's a line hinting at the entertainment industry that I'm too immature to understand, my bad) but the Chinese translates into the pink text above which seems like a meaning change to me?

"It's not easy being nice" -> "Perfection isn't easy/It's not easy being perfect"

As you can see it's a fun double meaning of Nice being perfect and the entire concept of "Nice" ending up becoming "perfection"! :)

"It's not about the merchandise" -> "It has nothing to do with transactions"

Actually I think this one technically means the same thing, just it's not about the material rewards/products/items (they used 金钱交易 which is just "transactions of money")

"It's so serene, the blue and green, from outer space" -> "Across the world, the blue and green is so serene"

Again,this technically means the same thing, just that "from outer space" wasn't used directly? (feel free to correct me)

"If we all could make it work/It could be such a happy place" -> "If all is well/This will be a world of bliss"

In the Chinese translation they didn't mention a "we" at all - just said 如果一切安好 "if all is well" and 幸福的天地 "a world of bliss" so the meaning change isn't really major here, it just feels so much more... grand? or some better fitting word? like "place" and "happy" feel a little less intense/monumental than "bliss" and "world" (天地 literally meaning the heavens and the earth, basically the world, but even more grand)

"To broker peace so pain can cease" -> "Establish peace, end the suffering"

Again, not a very major change, but there is a certain level of difference between "broker" and "establish": "broker" sounds like you negotiated peace with something or someone, and a deal was made for peace, while "establish" sounds more like you set up or built that peace yourself, brick by brick, with your own power? if that makes sense? (idk this is one of the takes that im less confident in 😭 again, correct me if I'm wrong)

"We are much more than the sum of all our parts" -> "We are definitely not soulless bodies"

Now, this seems like a very significant change to me. The original lyric says "more than the sum of all our parts" like joining forces will give rise to an even greater power, but the Chinese translation says "we are definitely not soulless bodies/shells" like everyone has a drive, a power within them that keeps them going. Could it be that the original lyric embodies the hero belief system, where the trust and belief of the normal, powerless civilian masses create a hero with superhuman powers and the ability to perform feats that civilians can only dream of, while the Chinese translation embodies Lin Ling's philosophy in episode 1, where everyone in the world, even the civilians and the nobodies, have something in them that could bloom and flourish into a hero given the chance?

"So go and capture all their hearts" -> "Go capture the people's hearts and minds"

Aaaaand we're back to really minor changes. The only difference here is the word choice.

"Cuz you are the teacher/Shine like a sapphire to guide us" -> "You are the model/Shine like a sapphire and guide us"

Extremely slight meaning change here, with teacher and model. In my opinion, "teacher" is someone who actively... teaches, extending a guiding hand and all, basically very active in the role of guiding and nurturing and teaching. The Chinese translation used 榜样, which means "example" or "model". This role is not active in the teaching and guiding process, but is more of an example to look upon and follow - like a prototype, or for example a student who behaves obediently and performs excellently and is made into a "good example to be followed". The 榜样(model) role does not extend a helping hand and does not guide you actively in a mentor role. It is just... there, like a guidebook.

"Wisdom is just in your nature/Fighting for justice" -> "You are born with wisdom/You fight for justice"

You guessed it - virtually no changes to the meaning except for word choice. The only thing that can be mentioned is "wisdom is just in your nature" to "you are born with wisdom" - since apparently the Chinese translation "生而知之" comes from a line in the Confucian Analects (a record of this really wise guy talking with his disciples): 生而知之，上也。There are more lines behind this but what this specific one means is literally "Those who are born with knowledge are superior" (in learning) (ive said this so many times but please correct me if im wrong 文言文 is NOT my strong suit 😭)

"You take us higher" -> "You lead us to march forward fearlessly"

This is because I feel that the Chinese translation of 乘风破浪 has a bigger/deeper meaning than just "take us higher". 乘风破浪, literally "ride the winds and break the waves", means "to move forward bravely without fear of challenge or difficulty". So I changed it here to "march forward fearlessly".

"Saw the potential to be good" -> "Saw the kindness deep within the depths of the soul"

Word choice again. Just has the details of the soul there. The meaning is pretty much the same.

"So many just misunderstood/So many lost deep in the wood shall find a way" -> "Too many people who misunderstand each other/Too many lost people, will always find a path

Minor difference here on the "misunderstood ones" line: the original English lyrics just says "so many just misunderstood" which, in my opinion, implies the misunderstanding is one-way, while the Chinese translation says "misunderstand each other", which implies that the misunderstanding goes all around. The people are all hurting each other at the same time instead of it just being a one-way hurting. As for the "lost" line, the Chinese translation doesn't bring up woods at all, but for the "find a way" to "find a path", the Chinese translation uses 柳暗花明, which, if my research tells me correctly, means "to suddenly find a path of survival/salvation after going through suffering" which. basically the same thing. but cool Chinese idiom :)

"Can imagine a world with no fear of hate" -> "Can imagine a world with no hate and fear"

This one's a little strange - the original English lyric implies the world is... afraid of hating? Hmm. But the Chinese translation says something else, that the world contains, or is filled with hate and fear.

"Waking up with no reason for feeling great" -> "Wake up and enjoy true goodness"

Here's another one with a major meaning change - the original English lyric is pessimistic and depressed, while the Chinese translation is saying to wake up and "enjoy the true goodness". One thing to note here is the use of "goodness" - I struggled with this translation because they used 美好, which can have a multitude of different English translations, such as "good", "fine", "lovely", "pleasant", "enjoyable", "wonderful", and... "nice". heh.

"Can imagine a world that you can create" -> "Can imagine the world you will create"

Minor changes again. Here you can see the original English lyric treats it like just a possibility or an idea, while the Chinese translation is much more certain with it. "A world" is vague, "you can create" is not very certain. You can create it, but you might not. There is still the possibility that you don't. However, the Chinese translation uses 你将创造的世界, with 将 meaning "will" in this context. "The world" carries implications of an already concrete plan or image, "you will create" is very certain. You are going to create this new world. There was never any consideration that you would say no, or decide not to do it. You will.

"Paragon, just cut through the night/Guide us with your beacon of light" -> "Morning star, illuminate the dark/Guide us with your light"

So this one's interesting, considering the Chinese used 启明星 here, which means morning star (a bright planet, usually Venus, seen in the eastern sky before sunrise). Paragon means "a person or thing that is regarded as a perfect example of a particular quality". Very fitting with Nice's theme! But morning star means something else now - there might be biblical implications, but I'm not familiar with that and don't want to get anything too wrong there, so i focused on interpreting it as "bringer of light", as can be seen from the following lines "just cut through the night/illuminate the dark". Nothing to say about "guide us with your beacon of light/guide us with your light", it means the exact same thing. "Paragon" is a very fitting word for Nice's whole theme, but "启明星 Morning star" is rather fitting with the visuals.

right side of the screen... east... literally shining light down from above the masses who are sitting in the dark... light coming from the right/east... he floats above them, a step above them all, in the "eastern sky"... seems quite fitting with "morning star"!

his theme in general. the many stars, the pure unstained white cloth, the doves, the singular larger sun/star emblem above him... morning star! (and the golden ratio in the back, for perfection!) (if I remember correctly doves also have some spiritual/biblical meaning. salvation I think?)

now that is the end of a rather long yap. I feel that overall the Chinese translation sounds a little more optimistic and determined (?) than the original English lyrics, which is interesting! Can't wait to see how Nice and Lin Ling's story unfolds :)

#to be hero x #tbhx #tbhx nice #凸变英雄x #tu bian yingxiong x #tbhx paragon #again im not very confident in my analysis of Chinese old texts #though i did do research but if there are any inaccuracies i am sorry and feel free to correct me :')#wow that's a lotta yap. eng lit class coming in handy maybe

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adelliet · 2 months ago

Text

Joel Miller x f!reader

NEW THERAPIST II.

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: After your incident with Joel, born out of a moment of weakness, you both silently agreed to pretend like it never happened and continue with the therapy sessions. But it’s not that simple, not for either of you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap (Joel in his 50s, youre age is not mentioned, but it's legal!), masturbation,, unprotected sex (piv), nickname ( first time being called baby ), strong language, getting caught

A/n: Hi! You wanted next part, so here it is! I hope you like it, I'll maybe think about writing another part🤭 , anyways if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

You see him every day now. Just like you agreed.

Joel shows up without fail — every single workday, without exception. He never misses a session, never cancels, never even shows up late. And somehow that should feel like progress. Like he still wants to see you. Like he still wants you. But the moment he sits down and you begin the session, the illusion breaks.

He barely speaks. One sentence per hour, if you’re lucky. Otherwise it’s grunts, shrugs, subtle nods, all taking you back to the very beginning. To when he first stepped into your house with arms folded and walls higher than Jackson’s outer gates.

It’s like nothing ever happened between you. Like that night was a glitch in the timeline. Like you dreamed it, and now you’re awake.

And maybe it’s your fault. No, it is your fault. If you hadn’t invited him in, hadn’t handed him the joint, hadn’t let your hands wander… maybe you two could’ve actually been friends by now. Close. Laughing. Maybe he’d trust you. Maybe you wouldn’t sit across from him now, counting how many times his jaw clenches, wondering what it would feel like to touch it again.

But you did sleep with him. And the worst part? You fucking liked it.

There isn’t a single day that passes without the memory clawing its way back to the front of your mind. Joel — his hands, his voice, his breath against your neck, the way he whispered your name like it was a prayer he didn’t believe in. The way he fucked you like he was angry about it.

You’re wet the second you think about him. Every. Damn. Time.

You know it’s wrong, in a thousand different ways. He’s your client. You’re his therapist. He’s so much older than you. And while it’s not illegal, it’s morally a fucking disaster. If anyone in Jackson found out, you’d both be drowning in whispers for the rest of your lives. He’d be torn apart. You’d be discredited, outcasted.

So why do you keep wishing he’d shove you against a wall and fuck you like tomorrow doesn’t exist? Why does your desire scream louder than your conscience?

Joel’s no better.

He thinks about that night constantly, sometimes in fragments, sometimes in full color, detail by aching detail. He’s zoning out more than usual. Tommy catches him doing it, asks him what’s wrong. So does Ellie. Maria. Everyone. Joel just mutters something and brushes them off. But he’s not here, not fully. Because his mind’s still with you.

The way you moaned beneath him. The look in your eyes right before he lost control. The sound you made when he came. And more than anything, the thing that plays over and over in his head, is what you said right before you left:

“I wasn’t that high.”

You knew what you were doing. That morning, when you got dressed in silence and slipped out the door, he didn’t know what to think. He still doesn’t. Did you regret it? Did you hate it? Were you ashamed of him? Of yourself? Because he sure as hell doesn’t regret a fucking second of it.

You hear the knock just after noon. Right on time. Like always.

You open the door, and there he is — same worn flannel, same unreadable stare, same posture that’s somewhere between exhausted and closed-off. Joel steps inside with a quiet grunt of acknowledgment. No smile. No words. Just routine. Just him.

You try not to look at the space between his fingers as he shoves his hands in his pockets. You try not to remember what those hands looked like gripping your thighs. You try, but you fail.

He sits down on the couch across from you without waiting to be asked. Like he always does. You follow, notebook in hand, heart in your throat.

“How’s your sleep been?”

No answer. He shifts. His eyes flick to the side.

“Any more fights with Ellie?”

A shrug.

“Have the headaches gotten worse?”

Silence.

You press your lips together and glance down at your notes, but you’re not seeing the page. You’re seeing him. The way he looked that night. That moment his voice broke into a groan, face twisted in something between pleasure and guilt, whispering your name like it burned.

You want to ask. God, you want to ask so badly. What are we doing? Are we pretending it didn’t happen or are you just pretending for my sake? But you can’t.

This is his session. He decides what you talk about, not you. And clearly, he doesn’t want to talk about it. You don’t push. You just sit in silence with him, again.

The minutes crawl by. The clock ticks too loud. Joel’s eyes barely meet yours. You think about how different it felt that night — when his gaze locked with yours like he was drowning and you were the only air. Now, you’re back to being strangers who know each other’s skin.

When the session ends, you close your notebook slowly, half-expecting him to leave without a word and throw something he would pay with onto the table right in front of you.

But instead, he reaches into his coat. And pulls out a small bag, of weed.

He hands it to you, no explanation, no preamble. His fingers brush yours for a second too long. That same electric sting, that same unspeakable tension hums between your skin. You take the bag automatically before you can stop yourself.

“Seriously?” you ask, eyebrows raised, trying to make it light. Trying. Joel doesn’t say a word.

You give a breathy, nervous laugh. “Last time this shit got us in a mess, remember?”

It’s out before you can stop it. Before you can think. Joel’s jaw tightens.

That was the first time either of you ever acknowledged it out loud. The sex. That night. Even just referring to it as a mess was enough to stir the air into something thick and unbearable.

You instantly regret it. His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s angry, or ashamed, or maybe just tired.

There’s a long, aching pause. Your stomach twists. He finally speaks, voice low. “You want it or not?”

You nod, clearing your throat. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You hate how small you sound. Joel nods back, once, then walks to the door without looking at you again. He leaves without another word. The door clicks shut. You’re left holding the bag. Not just the literal one. God, why the fuck can’t you just shut up sometimes?

The evening sky is full of stars, a light breeze is blowing outside and your house is quiet. Too quiet.

You sit curled up on the worn couch in nothing but a loose t-shirt and underwear, your legs folded beneath you, a cup of lukewarm coffee cupped in your hands.

A single lamp casts a soft amber glow across the room, painting golden edges onto everything , your book, the edges of your thigh, the faint lines under your tired eyes. The town outside is asleep, and the world feels so still it almost hurts.

You’re reading, or trying to. But your eyes have scanned the same sentence for the fourth time now, and none of the words are sticking. Your mind drifts. Again.

You don’t mean to let it happen. You never do.

But there he is — Joel. In the dark corners of your thoughts, in the way your chest tightens, in the way your thighs press just a little closer together. He’s always there now. He has been since that night.

The book slips from your lap without a sound.

You don’t even hear it fall. All you hear is your heartbeat, thudding dully in your ears like a warning, or a promise.

You’re stretched out across the couch now, one leg bent lazily, the other draped over the edge, toes curling slightly against the fabric. The mug rests abandoned on the table beside you, half-full, forgotten. Your skin feels too tight for your body, as if every inch is strung with tension.

It starts slowly. Hesitant. You let your fingers skim over your lower belly through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. The hem has ridden up, exposing the curve of your hipbone, the faint trail of hair leading downward. You trace that line gently, barely brushing your skin, as though testing your own restraint. But there’s none left.

You push your hand beneath the waistband of your underwear.

The fabric is already damp. That warm, sticky kind of damp that makes your breath catch, even if no one else is there to notice. Your fingers slide against your folds — swollen, sensitive, aching — and a sharp gasp escapes your lips before you can catch it. He did this to you.

You imagine it’s his hand instead of yours, large and rough, the pads of his fingers pressing where you need it most. He wouldn’t be careful. Not now. Not after the way you left. Not after the things you said.

Your fingertips circle slowly at first, barely pressing, just enough to make your hips twitch. You close your eyes and let your head fall back against the cushion, breathing heavier now, the heat curling low in your belly like smoke.

You can feel your arousal gathering, thick and wet, coating your fingers as you push deeper. The pressure is delicious — enough to make your thighs tense, enough to make you whimper. You imagine his voice again, rough and low, whispering filth in your ear. “You gonna come for me again, sweetheart?” The phantom sound of it makes your whole body jerk.

You bring your other hand up, slide it under your shirt, palm your breast, thumb grazing the hardened nipple. You moan softly, helplessly. You can’t stop. Don’t want to.

You fuck yourself harder.

Not fast — not yet — but deeper. One finger becomes two, and the stretch makes your breath stutter. You twist them just enough to make your back arch, hips lifting from the couch. Your slick walls clench around the intrusion and the tension inside you starts to burn.

Your thoughts blur.

You see him, above you, inside you, all over you, his mouth on your neck, your breasts, between your legs. You imagine his weight pinning you down, the gruff sounds he’d make when you clenched around him, the way he’d look at you like he was both furious and starved.

Tears prick your eyes. You hate that you want him like this. That your body remembers him more clearly than your mind ever could. That your release is building faster now, helpless and hot and overwhelming.

Your thumb circles your clit in messy, frantic motions, and your body trembles, thighs shuddering, breath shallow.

You cry out when it hits you.

Not loudly — the sound is broken, strangled — like you’re trying to keep it in, like if you make too much noise someone will know. Your body curls around the sensation as waves of heat crash through your core, and your fingers don’t stop until it starts to fade, until you’re shaking and overstimulated and aching with the weight of what just happened.

You lie there afterward, hand still tucked between your thighs, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts.

And all you can feel… is empty. No warmth. No comfort. No Joel. Just the ghost of him. And the terrible silence he left behind.

You have the day off, and it should feel like a gift. But instead, it feels like a sentence.

No obligations, no appointments, no expectations — nothing but time. Time to sit with yourself, with your thoughts, and the longer you’re alone, the louder they become. They crowd into your mind like smoke under a door. And no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, with coffee, with reading, with cleaning, even with music, it’s no use.

Everything leads back to him. Back to Joel.

The silence of your home is saturated with the memory of his voice, his hands, his mouth. Your body seems to pulse with the echo of what he did to you. Of what you let happen. Your core aches around nothing, emptiness pressing against the very place you want him most.

It’s unbearable.

You drag yourself to the bedroom and start to get dressed, throwing on a pair of jeans and a loose shirt. You’re not going anywhere specific — not yet — but you know you need to go. Anywhere. Out into the woods, into the town, maybe even into the little bar Maria runs near the edge of Jackson. It doesn’t matter where, as long as it’s not here.

You need space from your own head. You’re pulling your hair up when the knock comes. Three firm raps at the door. Confident. Familiar. You freeze.

For a second, your mind scrambles through names, possibilities. Maybe a client forgot your schedule. Maybe it’s Kate with a surprise visit. You already feel yourself preparing a polite excuse “Sorry, I’m off today,” when you move toward the door.

But when you open it… Joel’s standing there. Your heart stutters so violently it feels like your whole chest trembles.

He’s in that worn flannel again, the one with the tear near the elbow, and his hair is still damp from a recent shower. His face is unreadable — maybe just the hint of tension in his jaw, maybe not. His eyes find yours and you swear they hold every sin you’ve tried to forget.

“Joel,” you say, your voice tighter than you meant it to be. “Hey.”

He gives a short nod, like it costs him something. “Hey.”

Silence swells between you like smoke in the lungs.

You grip the door just a little tighter, unsure what to say. You weren’t ready for this — you hadn’t planned this scene, hadn’t run through the dialogue in your head a dozen times like usual.

Then Joel speaks first. His voice low, like gravel dragged across concrete.

“I came by last night.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t fidget. Just says it plain, like a fact.

“I knocked. Waited a while.” A pause. “You didn’t open.”

Your stomach twists.

You force a soft breath and give a strained smile. “I was already asleep,” you lie.

Were you asleep? No. You were wide awake, wrist-deep in thoughts of him, biting your own knuckles so you wouldn’t say his name out loud.

Joel nods slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe you, but doesn’t push. You blink, trying to re-anchor yourself. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “Everything okay?”

There’s a beat. And then he shrugs. Casual. Too casual.

“Just figured I’d let you know they’re talkin’ about openin’ up a flower shop over near the old mill,” he says. “Could be good for Jackson. Maybe you’d wanna see it sometime.”

A flower shop.

You stare at him, stunned by the absurdity of it. “Oh,” you manage. “Thanks… that’s nice of you.”

Another beat of silence. You’re both standing there like statues — two people who’ve done things they can’t take back, pretending to be normal on a quiet morning.

He nods again, then finally steps back.

“I’ll… see you around,” he mutters, voice lower now. Almost hoarse.

And then he turns, walks off your porch, hands in his pockets like it’s just another morning. Like he didn’t drive himself crazy last night, standing in the cold outside your door, trying to work up the nerve to ask what the hell you both were.

You close the door gently, then lean your back against it. Your fingers grip the wood behind you, nails digging in, trying to ground yourself.

What was that?!

You didn’t notice right away. You’d been going through your things casually — restocking your small cabinet of items you keep for sessions: herbal supplements, teas, oils, pain relievers, and the occasional light sedative for especially anxious clients.

Your fingers move automatically through the jars and boxes… until they stop.

The tiny glass bottle with the white label — the one that holds your low-dose headache relief capsules — is empty. Fucking empty.

You stare at it in disbelief for a moment, then double-check. Then triple-check. You even crouch down and look behind the shelf, like the bottle could’ve magically rolled out of view. But it’s gone. And so are the backups. You’re completely out.

You mutter a curse and stand up quickly, grabbing your bag.

The pharmacy in Jackson isn’t far, and you make the walk briskly, hoping it’s just a quick fix. A refill. Nothing serious. But when you step inside and ask, the answer you get is exactly what you didn’t want to hear.

“Sorry,” the pharmacist says, not even looking that sorry. “We’ve been wiped clean since last week. Next shipment’s delayed. Could be a few more days.”

You press your lips together, managing a tight nod before stepping back out into the street. Days. You don’t have days.

You can’t treat people without being properly stocked — not when so many of them come to you barely hanging on. You need your tools. Your basics. This isn’t optional.

So your mind goes straight to the only possible solution. You’ll have to go to the next town over. But that means driving, and you don’t drive. Which means you need someone who does.

There weren’t many people in Jackson with working vehicles. And fewer still you knew personally. You considered asking one of the women from the community board, or maybe Maria, but you quickly scratched that idea.

You weren’t exactly “close” with anyone here. Not yet.

Which leaves you with Joel. Goddamn it.

Half of you sparks at the idea. The other half wants to slam your head into a wall.

The last thing you need right now is to sit next to him for hours — in a confined space, the air thick with unspoken tension and memories you can’t scrub out of your brain. And yet… part of you wants it. Craves it. Needs to see him, to be around him, even if it hurts.

Before you can think your way out of it, you’re already walking.

His place isn’t far. And with each step closer, your pulse climbs higher, fluttering like wings under your ribs. When you reach his door, you pause, press your hand to your chest, and take a deep breath.

Then you knock. You hear the familiar shuffle of footsteps, the sound of a door unlocking. And then — there he is.

Joel.

He looks like he always does, which is to say, fucking unfair. Fitted jeans, a plain gray shirt that hugs his shoulders just enough to make your stomach clench, and his usual scruff that you know feels exactly as rough as it looks. You blink and force your throat to work.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey,” he echoes, brows raising just slightly in curiosity.

“I, uh…” You glance down briefly, regroup. “I need a favor.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes shifts. He stays quiet.

“I need to get to the next town. The pharmacy here’s out of something I use in sessions and… I can’t really go without it.”

You stop, letting the weight of your request land. Then continue, quieter now.

“And I know you drive. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, but I don’t have another option.”

Joel doesn’t say anything at first.

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment it’s impossible to read what’s going on behind that dark gaze. It’s not that he’s debating whether or not to help. You can tell that part of him already decided before you even knocked.

What he’s weighing… is something else. Something heavier.

But in the end, he just gives a small nod. “Alright,” he says. “Lemme grab my keys.”

You watch him disappear into the house, and a strange mix of relief and dread spreads in your chest. Your body feels hot. Anticipatory. Like you just stepped into something dangerous and didn’t have time to check the water’s depth.

When Joel returns, keys in hand, he doesn’t say much. Just jerks his head toward the road. You fall into step beside him. And together, you start walking toward the truck.

Silence stretches like a taut thread between you and Joel. Outside, the world is still. Inside, the air feels heavy, thick with everything unsaid, everything you’ve both been pretending not to carry. There’s something hanging between you, undeniable and tense, and it’s begging to be addressed.

You shift slightly in your seat. Even though you’ve made a life out of understanding human minds, of listening and guiding, this… this is something different. Something raw. Something far too personal. You don’t know whether speaking up will mend it, or ruin everything.

Joel seems just as conflicted.

His hands tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles pale in the low light. He breathes in slow, calculated. His mind is circling too. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. God, the last thing he wants is to fuck this up with you. But this thing between you—the tension, the distance—it’s driving him insane. You shared the most intimate night, and now you’re sitting like strangers.

So he speaks first. Careful. Low. His voice thick.

“I keep thinkin’ about that night.”

You look at him. He keeps his eyes on the road, but you can see it—how much it costs him to say it aloud.

“I keep thinkin’ about you.” He exhales sharply through his nose. “Doesn’t matter what I do. Can’t stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just watch him. Watch his jaw flex, his lips tighten. Your heart is hammering so loud you can’t tell if it’s yours or his. There’s hope fluttering inside your chest, rising like smoke.

Then Joel glances at you, quick but intense.

“I was at your place yesterday. Lights were on. I—I heard you.”

Your breath catches.

You blink. “You… what?”

But before you can ask more, he veers gently to the side and pulls the truck over by the trees, killing the engine. Quiet wraps around you both like a second skin. He turns to face you. And then it all spills.

“I’ve been losin’ my goddamn mind. I hear your name and my chest tightens. I see your house and my legs go numb. Every night, it’s the same. I close my eyes and it’s you. Always you. That night—what you looked like, the sounds you made, the way you touched me…”

His voice lowers. Gravel, but soft.

“My body remembers. Even when I wish it didn’t. Even when I know I probably shouldn’t… I can’t stop.”

Your mouth is parted, stunned. Everything in you stills.

This wasn’t just lust. He felt it. He’s been feeling it—drowning in it just like you.

You want to say something. Anything. But he keeps going.

“I know I was scared. I didn’t know how to deal with it. You’re my goddamn therapist.” He laughs, bitter and breathless.

“But I can’t ignore it. You’re not just some woman. You’re the woman I think about before I sleep. When I wake up. When I breathe.”

He looks wrecked. And beautiful. His lips, soft and cracked. His hands, strong but trembling slightly. His jeans, creased tight against his thighs. His hair, mussed from his hand running through it too many times. His eyes, like an open wound, filled with you. And his beard, messy, perfect, framing the mouth that ruined you and made you all at once.

You can’t hold it back anymore. You reach for him—grab his jaw with both hands, your fingers curling along the scruff of his cheeks, your thumbs brushing the edge of his lips. You pull him toward you. Hard.

Your mouth crashes against his in a kiss that’s been waiting far too long. It’s deep, desperate, a little messy. His breath hitches against your lips. Then he groans low and melts into it.

His hands grab your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. His tongue meets yours like he’s trying to taste every ounce of pain and need that’s lived in him since that night. Your teeth graze his bottom lip and he growls.

But then he pulls away. Just slightly. Breathing ragged.

“This ain’t right,” he whispers. “We said it was a mistake. It was the weed. We—we can stop now. Do it different.”

“I don’t want different,” you breathe out, already leaning in again.

“I want this. You.”

And before he can answer, your lips are back on his. His tongue swept inside—slow, thick, possessive. You whimpered, clutching the front of his shirt in both hands, your knuckles white. His hands were everywhere: cupping your jaw, sliding behind your neck, running down your spine with a firm, greedy touch. Each graze of his calloused skin against yours made your entire body light up.

There’s no guilt, no hesitation, no logic, just heat. Raw, blistering heat. Your fingers dig into his hair, fisting the strands while his hands roam over your body with a kind of urgency that makes your skin burn.

Joel growls low against your lips. It’s a deep, primal sound that goes straight to your core. You feel it throb through you, pulse between your legs.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, breathless. “I need you.”

He pulls you over the console, desperate hands sliding under your shirt. You gasped when his palms touched your bare stomach. Your muscles twitched. He noticed, smirked against your lips, and then yanked the fabric up, over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you.

Your bra followed. You didn’t even remember him undoing it, but it was gone, and so was any sense of shame. His mouth was on your collarbone, then your chest, trailing kisses along the top of your breast, murmuring filthy praise in between breaths.

“Been thinking ‘bout these,” he rasped. “Since the fuckin’ second I saw ‘em.”

His lips closed around your nipple and you nearly cried out. His tongue swirled, flicked, sucked, while one of his hands kneaded the other breast—rough, reverent, aching with need. You arched your back, grinding down into his lap, and that’s when you felt it—all of him. Hard. Thick. Pulsing through his jeans.

“Oh, fuck—Joel…”

Your voice broke, hoarse with lust. He bit down gently, then released you, panting, eyes dark and molten.

“You feel that?” he growled, thrusting his hips up against you. “That’s what you do to me.”

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. All you could do was kiss him again, deeper this time, messier. You needed to feel more—all of him. Your hands fumbled for his jacket, his shirt, pushing layer after layer away until he was bare from the waist up. His skin was hot. Taut. Scarred and strong, and utterly beautiful.

Your palms slid across his chest, over his shoulders, down the ridges of his stomach. He shivered under your touch. And then his hands were on your jeans.

“You want this?” he asked, voice rough like gravel.

“Fuck yes I want this,” you gasped.

He unbuttoned your jeans with practiced urgency, tugging them down along with your panties in one fluid motion. The cold air made you shudder. So did the way his eyes dragged over every inch of your now bare skin. Slow and heavy, like he was memorizing you.

“Christ…” he breathed. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.”

You reached for him next, your fingers trembling as you undid his belt. His cock sprang free the moment you got his jeans open—thick, flushed, already leaking. You swallowed hard.

He groaned the second your hand wrapped around him.

“Jesus—fuck.”

You stroked him slowly, teasingly, watching his eyes flutter shut, his jaw clench, his hips jerk forward with every pump. His precum smeared across your thumb. You spread it, tightened your grip, made him hiss.

But it wasn’t enough.

He pulled your hand away, grabbed your thighs, and lifted you into his lap again. His tip brushed against your entrance—hot, heavy, throbbing—and you both froze, trembling.

“Please,” you whispered. “Joel. Please.”

He didn’t need more. With one hand guiding himself, he pushed inside you—inch by inch, stretching you wide, filling you to the point of breaking. Your head dropped back. His mouth fell open.

“F-fuck—you’re so—tight—”

You whimpered at the stretch, at the burn, at the overwhelming fullness. He didn’t move, not yet, just held you there, buried deep, chest heaving.

“Look at me,” he said, breathless. You did. And in that second, the whole world disappeared.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first—pulling almost all the way out, then slamming back in with a force that made your body jolt. The car creaked. The windows fogged. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs shaking with every sharp thrust.

“Fuck—fuck—Joel—”

His name was a prayer on your tongue. A desperate, broken sound.

You rode him hard, grinding your hips against his, panting into his mouth, chasing the high you knew was coming. Every thrust made your stomach tighten. Every slap of skin against skin pushed you closer to the edge.

He held you tight, one hand on your ass, the other on your back, growling curses and your name like they were one and the same.

It’s not just sex. It’s release. A collapse into each other. A confession spoken through sweat and heat and skin. Every time you moan, his name slips out like a prayer. Every time he curses, it sounds like worship.

Your bodies moved in rhythm, tangled and burning with need, every breath a gasp, every touch a spark.

The inside of the truck was sweltering now, heat coiling around you both like a fever, the creak of the leather seats became a steady soundtrack to the way your hips met his, desperate and relentless.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, dragging you down harder against him, fingers spreading across the curve of your back as if anchoring himself to reality through your skin. His breath was ragged, hot against your ear, each groan vibrating straight through your spine.

“Fuck…” he muttered, voice thick, low, strained. “You feel so goddamn good.”

Your thighs trembled as he thrust deeper, harder. The car rocked with each movement, soft creaks and thuds echoing off the frame like a chorus to your desperation.

You dug your fingers into his shoulders, sweat slick under your palms, your nails dragging lines down his back through the cotton of his shirt.

The pressure inside you built with every grind, every sound that left his lips—gritty, breathless, hungry. He was chasing it, just like you, both of you straining toward that breaking point.

The slap of skin, the warmth of his chest pressed to yours, the way his mouth found your neck, open-mouthed and fervent, only added fuel to the fire in your belly.

And then he wrapped his arms around you tighter—one strong, grounding embrace. A quiet, guttural noise tore from his throat as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel the shift in him—deeper, slower at first, then faster again, his body determined and burning.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your hips rolling down to meet every push of his.

“I’m not,” he growled. “I’m right there with you, baby…”

Your bodies met in a frantic pace, sweat dripping down your spine, the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you close, locked you to him like the world could fall away and he’d still keep you safe—keep you his.

Your moans turned breathless, rhythmic, until you were both caught in it.

Eyes squeezed shut, nerves alight, lungs gasping for air. And then it hit you both at once, like a crashing wave, your bodies seizing, clinging, shaking in each other’s arms, a quiet cry leaving your throat as Joel’s hand fisted in your hair and his mouth caught yours in a trembling, open-mouthed kiss.

He came with a broken moan, gripping you tight, spilling deep inside, trembling as he collapsed against you. You came with a loud cry against his mouth, legs shaking, core clenching until you released on him.

You stayed like that for a long moment—pressed together, drenched in heat and breath, hearts pounding in sync.

Your breath was still uneven, but the chaos had ebbed. The sweat cooling on your skin mingled with Joel’s as he stayed wrapped around you, his arms strong and secure, one large hand splayed gently across your spine. His other traced slow, soothing circles along the curve of your hip, grounding you, steadying your racing heart.

The rhythm of his touch shifted, no longer frantic, but tender. Worshipful. The kind of touch that said I’ve got you. I’m not letting go. And you felt it, every muscle in your body slowly unwinding under his fingertips, like knots being untied one by one.

You breathed in the scent of him, salt and pine and something undeniably Joel. You’d never felt safer. Never felt more seen.

And when you finally lifted yourself from his lap, pulling away just enough to catch your breath, you found him staring at you with eyes so soft it nearly knocked the wind from your lungs.

Big, brown, puppy eyes. Vulnerable. Full of unspoken questions: Are you okay? Did I go too far? Do you regret this?

You smiled, gently, warmly, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. Not hungry this time. Not desperate, but quiet and loving. The kind of kiss that answered every silent worry in his gaze.

Joel exhaled through his nose, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your cheek. He let out a small, breathy chuckle.

“We should… probably get dressed and get movin’,” he murmured, his voice husky, still soft from what you’d shared.

You laughed lightly, nodding. “Yeah… probably a good idea.”

The two of you began putting yourselves back together. You slowly started pulling out of him, both of you growling through clenched teeth, Joel squeezing your bare hips. You glanced sideways, becuase you wanted to. Maybe it was intuition, or you just had the urge to look towards the forest, but something caught your eye.

Out the window. Beyond the fogged-up glass, two small figures. On horseback. Emerging from the trees.

You squinted. One of them—a girl—looked young. Both did, actually, but the one in front… her face. There was something so familiar about it. She stared straight at you.

Her expression wasn’t just surprise. It was disbelief. Fear. And maybe, just maybe, even disappointment. Your breath caught and your heart skipped a beat.

“Joel…” you said, voice suddenly tight.

He followed your gaze, turned to the woods, and the second his eyes landed on her, his whole body locked up, his face went pale and his breath stopped.

“Ellie,” he whispered, the name leaving him like a punch to the gut.

You snapped your head toward Joel, panic wide in your eyes, your chest tightening as a thousand thoughts crashed into each other.

What did she see? How long was she watching?

Joel turned to you, his eyes just as shocked, just as lost, then flicked back to the woods where the girl still sat on her horse, motionless. You didn’t speak and neither did he.

You didn’t need to, because you both knew, that you were fucked. Badly.

HEYY! Thank you so much for reading!

If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a beautiful day!

LOVE YA!🥭🍂

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