#i also rewrote this like .... 10 times .... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fartfather · 6 months

Text

Audience of One pt.3

Satoru x fem!reader x Suguru

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Word count: 6.5k

Series Summary: When Suguru first walked in on you and Satoru having sex, it was an accident. But he couldn't say the same about every time after that. He's under the impression that this habit of his is a secret. But you and Satoru have known this whole time and didn't plan on letting Suguru know anytime soon.

pt.3 Info: MDNI 18+, fem!reader, PiV sex, unprotected sex, voyeurism, threesome/throuple, cuck Gojo, hair pulling, morning sex, squirting, praise/degradation kink, spanking, begging, pet names (princess, baby, love, etc), established relationship w Gojo, aftercare, basically 90% porn 10% fluff, Gojo teaching Geto how to fuck you, Geto is no longer shy

pt.1 pt.2 pt.4

˚₊ · »-♡→ I know I said I'd post pt.3 yesterday, but I panicked and rewrote like half of it (oops lol). BUT- I'm much happier w this version 🛐

Also not sure if this would be a good place to end?? or if more parts would be wanted ¿ I would be more than happy to turn this into a series and I even have a pt.4 in the works, but I also don't want this to feel dragged on yk. Please lmk your thoughts because I am incapable of making my own decisions (ノ ° 益 °) ノ

Early hours of the morning came, and the first one awake was Geto. He looked down at you and his breath caught in his throat.

You looked so peaceful.

So angelic.

He couldn't help but press a soft kiss to your forehead.

His mind wandered to last night and he smiled. Everything was perfect. The feeling of your bare body was warm and inviting, and having you pressed against him sent sparks down his spine. Geto had never felt this way before.

He could get used to this.

"Hey," a sleepy voice whispered from beside him, startling him out of his trance.

Geto turned to see a very disheveled Gojo looking at him through half closed eyes, "Hey,"

Gojo’s attention shifted to your resting figure, still curled up against Geto's chest. He couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face.

"She's really out," he whispered with a small chuckle.

"Yeah," Geto replied, "we wore her out."

"Damn right we did," Gojo smiled proudly, "I'd like to see how long it takes to wear her out next time," Geto's eyebrows raised at the mention of a 'next time.'

Seeing the surprised expression, Gojo smiled and reached over, and landed a playful punch on Geto's shoulder, "I meant it when I said you're welcome anytime- In fact, I was thinking, would you want to do this again? Not just the sex, I mean, I that part too, but like, all of it. Hanging out and stuff," he clarified, a hint of embarrassment in his voice, “It just seems like there’s good chemistry between us,” he added trying to explain his reasoning with a gesture that circled the three of you.

Geto thought for a moment, contemplating his answer.

Last night was the best night of his life. And he didn't want it to end. He wanted to be able to feel your warmth against him again and again. To be able to see your beauty, and to experience all the joy and happiness that came along with it.

The events of last night unlocked something deep within him. His desires had surpassed mere lust, and turned into something more. Something deeper.

Something genuine.

And with that revelation, Geto decided to take a leap of faith. "I'd like that," he replied, a bit of nervous enthusiasm coming out in his tone.

Smirking, Gojo nodded and moved to brush stray pieces of hair out of your sleeping face. "Great. Well, I guess we'll have to have a real conversation about this once she's up," he nodded down at you, "but for now, we should probably get some more sleep."

"Yeah," Geto nodded, a smile creeping onto his lips.

With that, the two men fell back into a comfortable slumber, their arms gently wrapped around you.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

A few hours later your eyes began to flutter open, thick with blurriness from the heavy sleep you were just in.

Once your vision cleared, you were met with the sight of Gojo's sleeping figure beside you. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction. The sunlight was peeking through the curtains, casting a glow on his bare skin.

Turning to your left, Geto lay fast asleep. His features were relaxed, and his mouth hung slightly open. You couldn't help but admire his beauty.

You couldn't believe how lucky you were. Laying between these gods that walked among men.

You didn't want this moment to end.

Lifting yourself slightly to yawn and stretch, you accidentally hit Geto in the face, waking him. "Oops- I’m so sorry!" you giggled and flashed him an apologetic smile.

"It’s okay, beautiful," seemingly unphased by your elbow making contact his forehead, he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss on your cheek, “Good morning,”

The gesture was unexpectedly warm and sweet. Not that Geto had never been sweet to you before, but this just felt… different. Like it carried a new weight behind it.

You smiled and leaned into the kiss, "Morning," you murmured back, your voice still laced with sleep.

Geto's heart skipped a beat at the sight of your smile. He just couldn’t get over the warmth you radiated.

You felt a hand slide up your side and rest on your waist. "And what about me?" Gojo pouted.

Turning to face him you placed a soft kiss on his lips and mumbled into it, "Hello, baby," He hummed in satisfaction and scooted in closer, not wanting to leave even the slightest gap between you.

“How did you sleep?” Geto asked while massaging your neck that was tense after the events of last night.

"Mmm, so good," you replied, letting out a small sigh as the tension left your shoulders. You could practically feel the aches melting and your muscles turning to malleable putty under his touch.

"I'm glad," he smiled, continuing to rub his thumb into the knots of your skin.

"And you?" You asked, turning to look at him.

"Wonderfully," he smiled, his hands not stopping their massage. You couldn't help the way your cheeks heated up from this simple interaction.

God, his man was truly a treasure.

Gojo watched the interaction and felt a warmth spread through his chest. He liked seeing that you brought out Geto's soft side, and he knew that you enjoyed it too. The three of you stayed like that for a few minutes, silently enjoying each other's company.

Then, Gojo let out a dramatic sigh, and broke the silence.

"Hey, so," he started, looking between you and his friend, "Suguru and I talked earlier," Your brow furrowed at the tone in his voice. He sounded nervous.

Perking up, you raised a brow at him, "Oh?" You questioned.

"Mhm, we had a very productive conversation," Gojo continued, "while you were asleep," he clarified, "and, we think that, well, we- um, the three of us should hang out. Like, outside of sex. Or during. Or after. I mean- not like a requirement, just an option, if you're comfortable," he rambled.

You blinked.

Your face twisted with confusion as you tried to process his words. "Toru, what are you talking about?" you questioned, needing clarification.

"I want to date you too," Geto cut to the chase, his voice surprisingly steady and confident, "you would be with both of us. At the same time."

You stared at him.

Your brain was blank.

You breathed out a surprised, "Oh," The thought of it was interesting and foreign, though, not unwelcome.

"Only if you're comfortable with it," Gojo quickly added, "we know it's a bit... unconventional."

"A bit?" you asked sarcastically with a small laugh.

Gojo laughed and nodded, "Okay, a lot," he admitted, "but, we talked, and we agree. We want this," he said, motioning between the three of you, "Geto has clearly developed something for you, and vice versa. And I figured what better solution than adding Suguru to our relationship?"

You sat in silence for a few moments, mulling over the situation.

"It wouldn't be weird to you?" you asked Gojo with a concerned expression, "sharing me with your best friend?"

"Not if it's Suguru," he replied without hesitation, "we know each other well, and I trust him with my life. Plus- if it was, I would have never been able to enjoy the sight of my best friend eating out the woman I love, right?" he added with a teasing smirk, referencing the events of last night.

Your eyes widened and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, "Satoru!" you scolded.

Gojo laughed and pulled you in for a quick kiss. "It's true," he whispered against your lips.

Turning to Geto, you gave him a questioning glance, "And you're okay with this?" you asked, wanting to make sure he was certain.

"Yes," he answered without a moment of hesitation.

"You would really want this?" you questioned, "It wouldn't be weird for you?"

Geto let out a chuckle, "I wouldn't be offering if it was weird for me. I'm not going to lie, it's a little unconventional," he stated, "but, I would love the chance to be with you- even if it's not the traditional way," his confession caused a wave of butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

You thought for some time. The two men waited patiently, knowing that you would need a few minutes to process everything.

Assessments of the situation swirled in your mind. You loved Gojo and the life you had with him. And you wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it. But they both seemed so certain. They said they trusted each other, and if that was the case then why shouldn't you?

And on top of that, you couldn’t deny how Geto made you feel. Last night was clearly more than a one time deal. It was deeper than just sex, it was intimate. The way he touched you and admired you all night had chills running down your spine from just thinking about it.

The more you thought about it, the more appealing the idea became.

Being able to be with both of them was a dream come true. They were both kind, generous, and made you feel like the most precious thing in the world.

"If you aren't comfortable with this-" Gojo began, but was quickly cut off.

"I want to," you said quietly, "but what if something goes wrong?"

Gojo and Geto exchanged a quick look and burst out laughing.

That was certainly not the response you were expecting when airing your worries. "What's so funny?!" You asked, a bit irritated that they were laughing at your valid concerns.

"Baby," Gojo chuckled, "have you not seen the shit we've been through together? We'll be fine.”

Crossing your arms in defense you Looked between the two of them, "But still- What if you guys get jealous, or something goes wrong and we stop talking, or- or-"

Pressing a finger to your lips, Gojo silenced your anxious ramblings, "Shh, baby," he whispered sweetly with a reassuring smile, "We've got each other's backs. Plus, I'll kick Suguru's ass if he makes you upset," he joked.

Geto laughed and nodded, "I'd do the same," he added, causing a small giggle to slip past your lips.

You gave them an unsure smile, "I know you say that nothing will happen, but what if something does?" you countered, looking between them for an answer.

Gojo took your hands in his and looked you dead in the eyes. "Nothing will go wrong," he said, his voice now serious and full of promise.

"I'll make sure of it," he stated, a fire in his eyes, "Suguru will too."

A heavy sigh escaped your lips and you turned to Geto with a silent question in your eyes. "I'm not gonna let either of us fuck this up," he affirmed, reading the concern behind your gaze.

"We want to make this work," Gojo added, "And besides, do you really think I would put the best pussy of my life at risk?" He squeezed your side, making you let out a giggle.

You gave him a playful shove, "Shut up, idiot,"

"It's true!" He laughed and caught your wrist, pulling you in and placing a kiss on your temple.

"He's right though," Geto smirked, "last night was the best experience of my life. And that’s saying a lot considering I didn’t even fuck you."

Your cheeks heated and you let out a flustered laugh, "So you're in this for the sex, is that what I'm hearing?" you teased, poking Geto in the ribs.

He caught your hand and pulled it to his lips, planting a kiss on your knuckles. "No, sweet girl, its more than that." he said, looking down at you with a tender smile, "I'm in this for you- you know that."

The way his tone softened and his eyes gleamed was enough to make you melt.

And without wasting another moment you looked between the two men and nodded, "I'm in," you stated confidently, "if the two of you are."

Both their faces lit up at your confirmation, and the smile on their faces was bright enough to blind a person.

"Hell yeah!" Gojo cheered and wrapped his arms around you, "we're gonna make this work," he said, placing kisses all over your face. Geto smiled and joined, littering kisses down your neck.

And just like that all previous worries were melted away from the tingles that rippled across your skin after each new kiss. You giggled and melted into both sets of arms that caressed and embraced you gently.

Slowly, their sweet kisses began to get more rough. More hungry.

The way their hands roamed your body and their lips nipped at your flesh sent a spark of excitement through you.

"You're gonna be all ours, aren't you, princess?" Gojo purred into your ear.

A small whimper slipped past your lips as his breath fanned your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "Mhm," you hummed, your eyes becoming heavy with lust.

Geto's fingers traced your collarbones, moving further down and stopping just above your breast.

"And I'm gonna take such good care of you, give you everything you want," Geto promised, "you're mine too now."

His possessive words sent a jolt of heat straight to your cunt and you arched into his touch.

"Yours," you mumbled, too drunk off their affection to register what was being said.

They both let out satisfied hums.

Gojo's hands slid down your body, his fingertips grazing your nipples, before resting on your waist. "Our perfect girl," Gojo murmured and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, "you're so beautiful."

Geto's fingers dipped down into your cleavage, squeezing your breasts gently, and his lips found yours. "So obedient," he mumbled into the kiss.

You whimpered against his lips. The feeling of their hands all over your body and their praises filling your ears was intoxicating.

"Mm, fuck," Gojo groaned, grinding his erection on your ass.

Gasping into the kiss, your eyes widened and turned to him "Satoru," you whined.

"Shh, Princess," he shushed, his hands gripping your waist, "be a good girl and keep kissing Suguru while I play with you,"

Your breath hitched, but you nodded and turned back to Geto, who was looking at you with a dark lust in his eyes. And instantly, Geto's warm lips were back on yours. They felt soft and plump, like velvet pillows, and you couldn't help but melt into the sensation.

"Good girl," Gojo praised, his hands moving further down your body.

You whimpered when his hands came into contact with the bare skin of your thighs, his touch sending chills through your body.

Gojo leaned down and planted a kiss on your shoulder, then continued peppering kisses along the sensitive skin of your neck, "We're gonna keep you nice and happy, baby," Gojo promised, the vertebration of the words on your neck tickling you lightly.

Your mind was blank. All you could do was moan and let them explore your body. Geto's tongue was slowly swirling around your own. His movements were slow and gentle, taking the time to savor the feeling.

Rocking into Geto's thigh, you chased the pressure, hoping it would satiate the throbbing in your cunt.

Geto's grip tightened on your tits and he pulled back slightly, just enough to break the kiss and allow a string of spit to hang between your mouths. "This desperate already?" he smirked, his thumbs rubbing circles into the hard buds of your nipples.

"Always," Gojo smirked, "she's such a needy little slut,"

You whined and rolled your hips, the need between your thighs growing more apparent with every passing moment.

Geto's eyes flicked down to your mouth, which was parted and breathing heavier, then back up to your eyes. The sight made his cock twitch, and his gaze darkened, "Fuck, that's so hot," Geto groaned, his dick already hard. His hands moved downward to your hips, gripping to hold you still, "Be patient for us, princess."

Gojo continued his kisses along the length of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, sending goosebumps up your arms. "She loves hearing us praise her," Gojo smirked, "she's always so desperate for any sort of validation. Drives her wild,"

The truth in his words made you whine and looked at Geto, who was staring down at you with lust-filled eyes. "Is that so?" He asked, his hands moving to cup your face.

"Yes," you breathed, leaning into his touch.

His attention turned back to Gojo, "And does she like to be degraded too?" He asked, curious, but already knew the answer.

Gojo opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off from a whimper that escaped your lips. You bit your lip, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you avoided their eye contact.

A mischievous smirk formed on Geto's lips, "Oh?" He tilted your chin up and looked down at you, "Look at me," he demanded.

You did as instructed, your heart skipping a beat when you met his gaze.

"Tell me," he began, his thumb running over your bottom lip, "do you like being treated like a little slut?"

His question caused a rush of heat to run through your body. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears, and you could swear that your arousal was now dripping onto the sheets beneath you.

Gojo couldn't help the chuckle that slipped past his lips. Your obvious reaction to Geto's words was adorable.

"I'll take that as a yes," Geto smirked, his eyes not leaving yours as he pushed his thumb past your lips. "Although, I guess I shouldn't expect anything more from the dirty slut who would let me watch her boyfriend fuck her for months."

The humiliation that coursed through you was overwhelming, and yet, you felt more aroused than ever before. You closed your eyes and took Geto's thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digit and letting out a moan.

You were helpless to the words coming from Geto's mouth, and there was nothing you wanted more than to be completely submissive to him. It was clear to them that this new way that Geto spoke to you was making you dizzy with lust.

"Oh, you like how Suguru is talking to you right now, don’t you, princess?" Gojo smirked, watching your reactions, "He's always so polite, so gentle with you. It's a nice change, huh? Seeing him be a little mean."

You nodded and moaned around Geto's thumb, which was still resting on your tongue.

Gojo was right, you did enjoy the new change. The way Geto looked down at you with a dark glint in his eyes, his usually sweet and caring demeanor nowhere to be seen, was driving you crazy. You wanted nothing more than to be dominated by him.

To be completely and utterly destroyed by him.

"What do you think, princess? Should we have Suguru fuck you? Let him see what a dirty, slutty, cum dump, you are firsthand?" Gojo cooed, his hands roaming up and down your thighs.

You whined, and Geto withdrew his thumb, a string of saliva still connecting it to your lips. "Is that what you want?"

”Please," you begged with an embarrassing urgency, "please, please, please, let him fuck me." you turned to Gojo, who was already beginning to stroke his cock with his free hand.

"Please," you repeated, looking up at Geto with a pleading expression, "I need it, please."

"Oh, you need it, do you?" Geto cooed, "Such a pathetic little slut, begging for my cock, and you don't even know how good I can fuck you," he teased, looking down at you with a patronizing smirk.

You whimpered and looked up at him, desperation clear on your face, "Show me," you begged, "please, show me how good you can fuck me."

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, "Well, since you're asking so nicely," he said, "Get on your back. Now." His demanding voice took you by surprise and you immediately followed his instructions.

You untangled your legs from his and laid back, looking up at him with wide, innocent, eyes.

"Good girl," Gojo praised, sitting beside you. He pushed your legs apart and dipped his fingers between your folds. He rubbed his hand sloppily, for his pleasure only, the goal being to collect your juices. Then, he brought it to his dick, using it to help his jerk off.

"So wet," he said, pumping his dick with your slick.

"Toru," you pleaded, arching into his touch that was no longer there.

"Shh, just sit back and let me watch Suguru fuck you, princess," Gojo soothed, his thumb running circles around his slit, mixing your wetness with his pre-cum.

The room felt like it was spinning around you, and the only thing grounding you was getting touched in the place you needed it most.

Geto positioned himself between your legs and placed his cock on your clit. You could feel the hot, throbbing, length rest on your sensitive bud and it made you shudder.

Geto's hand gripped your thigh and he spread you wider, taking in the sight before him. "God, I'm never going to get tired of that view," Geto sighed.

"Just wait until you're in her," Gojo smirked, admiring your glistening slick rub onto Geto's shaft.

He let out a hum and slid his cock between your folds, coating his dick in your wetness. You moaned, your breath hitching as the head brushed against your entrance.

Seeing how needy you were getting, Gojo moved his free hand down and spread your lips, exposing your dripping hole for Geto's viewing.

"So pretty," Geto praised, his tip prodding at your entrance.

You were soaking wet and more than ready for him, and when he slowly pushed in, a loud groan ripped through his throat as he inched deeper into your warmth.

"Oh, god, so tight," he praised, his hips pausing halfway to give you time to adjust, "so perfect."

Your hands balled into fists and you moaned loudly, the feeling of him filling you up was so overwhelming, but in the best way possible.

"Isn't she?" Gojo asked, leaning in to press kisses against your neck, "you're perfect, aren't you? The perfect little fuck toy for us, and us only- Say it."

As he continued to slowly slide in, Geto kept his eyes trained on yours, not wanting to miss a second of your reactions.

Heat rose to your cheeks under his gaze, embarrassment evident in your expression. "I- I'm," you stuttered, a small whine slipping past your lips before you could get the words out.

"Use your words," Geto commanded through clenched teeth, his grip on your thighs tightening as your cunt pulsed around him.

You whimpered and nodded, trying to collect yourself. "I- I'm a perfect fuck toy," you choked out, a mixture of craving and shame washing over you, "yours- just for the two of you,"

"Fuck- Yes, you are," Geto praised, bottoming out and giving you a few moments to adjust. You whined and clenched around him, feeling fuller than ever before.

After your muscles relaxed, you rocked lightly against Geto's cock, to show you were ready for him. Though, just that small movement had you seeing stars as his tip hit your g-spot.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream and your nails dug into the sheets, gripping tightly.

"Oh, did I find it already?" he asked patronizingly, his voice laced with sarcasm, "You must be so sensitive," You could do nothing but whimper and nod, not being able to form words.

"Fuck, do that again," Geto demanded.

You followed his instructions and rocked against him, moaning at the sensation. "Holy shit," Geto gasped, his eyes rolling back as you squeezed his cock.

Gojo watched with wide eyes, his hand slowly stroking his cock as he watched the scene unfold before him. "How does she feel?" Gojo asked with a chuckle. He already knew the answer.

Geto moaned, slowly starting to roll his hips, "Fucking heavenly," You felt a wave of satisfaction wash over you, knowing that Geto was enjoying your pussy just as much as you enjoyed his dick.

"So warm and tight," he added, picking up his pace, "I could fuck her all day,"

"Please," you whimpered, "fuck me all day,"

A satisfied smile crossed Geto's face, and without a word, he started to thrust into you at a steady pace. You gasped, feeling his cock fill you up with each push. Your walls tightened around him, trying to pull him deeper.

"Fuck," Geto groaned, "Such a greedy fucking pussy, doesn't want to let me go."

You whimpered and wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. His hands grabbed onto your waist and his fingers dug into the plush flesh. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, and your moans and whimpers grew louder and louder.

"Mm, look at her," Gojo cooed, "she's so fucking desperate."

"Mhm" you breathed out nodding and looking up at Geto, who was watching your every move. He looked absolutely breathtaking. His hair was a mess, his face was flushed, and his eyes were filled with desire. The sight of him looking down at you like that made your heartbeat quicken.

"You love having my cock buried deep inside of you, don't you?" he asked.

You nodded vigorously, unable to form any words, but the way your hips met his every thrust and the sounds that came out of you told him all he needed to know.

"Oh?" Geto smirked, "You need more? Fucking impatient little slut- You need me to fuck you harder?"

"Yes, please, please, please," you begged, your head falling back against the pillow.

"Such a good girl," he praised, his hand moving to rest on your lower stomach, "such a polite little whore for my cock."

He pushed lightly onto your abdomen while fucking deep into you. The pressure from his hand was foreign and had you squirming and whimpering, biting your lip to hold in your cries of pleasure.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, there! There!" You screamed, "Please, don't stop!"

Geto smirked and leaned forward, "Look at me," he demanded, his voice firm.

Your eyes shot open, not even realizing they had been closed. You stared up at him and his lust filled eyes, a look you had never seen before on his face. The sight made you instantly moan and your eyes began to roll back involuntarily.

"Keep your eyes on me," he commanded, emphasizing each word with a hard thrust.

Your jaw fell slack, and a strangled moan slipped past your lips as pleasure coursed through your veins. "S- sorry," you stuttered.

Gojo groaned and his fist picked up pace, jerking his dick in tandem with Geto's movements. "It's okay, baby, you're doing so good," he whispered, leaning forward and brushing the hair out of your face, "so good for us."

Geto's pace continued and the heat in the pit of your stomach began to build dangerously fast. "Fuck, Sugu- I- I-" you stuttered, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

"You're so close already, aren't you?" He cooed, his eyes not leaving yours.

You nodded, and a loud whine slipped past your lips as Geto's hips started to pick up speed. "Fuck," he groaned, "fuck, you're squeezing me so good, baby,"

"Gonna- Gonna cum," you managed to say through heavy breaths and muffled moans.

In response, the hand on your stomach pushed slightly deeper, and that's what threw you over the edge. The pressure had your toes curling and your back arching upwards followed by a strangled scream on your lips as you came hard.

Your vision went white, and a ringing filled your ears.

"Oh, fuck," Gojo groaned, watching your legs shake and your face display your ecstasy.

"Shit," Geto groaned, "keep cumming for me, baby, just like that- fuck!"

Gojo smirked and leaned back, admiring his two lovers. "God, the two of you are so fucking hot," he said, his hand working furiously to match the pace that Geto was now setting.

You could barely register what he said, too overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure crashing through your body. The warmth from deep in your core had overflowed, somehow finding its release- and soaking everything around you in the process.

Geto moaned loudly and looked down at your pussy, Gojo eyes followed, widening and jaw dropping.

"Holy shit," Gojo breathed out, "She's squirting," he said in awe, "fuck- I didn't even know she could do that."

Your juices were flowing freely, coating Geto's cock, balls, and the bed beneath you in a thick layer. It was as if a flood gate had opened and your arousal was pouring out of you.

"Oh, god, oh, god," Geto repeated, "you're squirting on my cock," he groaned and picked up his pace, fucking you through your orgasm, "so good, fuck- So fucking perfect."

Your mind was blank, all you could do was babble and moan, letting Geto fuck you as you rode out the last waves of your orgasm.

"Fuck," Geto growled, his hips began to stutter. "Go on, Suguru," Gojo urged, nearing his own climax, "cum in her."

Geto looked down at you, the glazed over expression on your face was enough to send him over the edge. With a final thrust he bottomed out and painted your walls with his seed, the sensation pulling a long moan from both of your lips.

You could feel his warmth spill into you, filling you up and coating your walls, and causing a brain numbing tingle to run up your spine.

Gojo wasn't far behind, his own cum coating his hand and abdomen. He pumped his shaft as the last few drops landed on his stomach. "Holy shit," he breathed out, leaning back and letting the orgasm wash over him.

"Fuck," Geto groaned, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. Both of you were completely spent, not even bothering to move or say a word. The only sounds in the room were the heavy breathing and racing heartbeats.

You could feel Geto's warm breath against your skin as he took a few deep breaths. You brought a hand up and gently ran it through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

The gesture was simple, but it made his heart melt, grounding him from the high he just experienced.

"That was fucking hot," Gojo praised, "You're both so fucking sexy. I loved seeing you two together."

"So good, my beautiful, perfect, angel," he continued, placing kisses on your forehead and cheek, "you did so well,"

You turned to him and smiled lazily, enjoying the praise. Geto looked up and admired your blissed out expression. "You look so pretty like this, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "so gorgeous."

You leaned into his touch and hummed, your eyes fluttering, half lidded in tranquility.

Gojo chuckled and placed a kiss on your temple, "Don't get too comfortable, princess, we still need to clean up."

"I'm not leaving this bed," you mumbled, closing your eyes completely and nuzzling into the pillow.

"You're so spoiled," he chuckled and turned to his friend, "Help me out here, man."

"Sorry, baby," Geto apologized, kissing your nose, "he's right, we need to get you cleaned up," You groaned and nodded, accepting defeat. Geto slowly pulled out and stood up.

"Come here, my sweet, precious, girl," Gojo said, lifting you off the bed, bridal style, "Let's go take care of you."

You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. "M'kay," you replied, resting your head on his chest. Gojo carried you into the bathroom, and Geto followed closely behind. He sat you down on the toilet and you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes.

Once Geto entered, he turned on the bath faucet and waited for the water to warm.

"Do you wanna use a bath bomb, princess?" Gojo offered, reaching into the cabinet under the sink. "Ooh yes, please," you nodded opening your eyes with a tired smile on your lips.

A bright grin spread across Gojo's face from seeing you perk up, "Okay!" He exclaimed, grabbing one of your favorites and tossing it into the bath.

The sweet smell of citrus quickly filled the air, and the sight of the bubble bath and colorful fizzies had you feeling relaxed like never before.

Geto shut the water off and walked over to you. He knelt down and cupped your cheek, his thumb running over the soft skin. "How are you feeling, sweet girl?" He asked, a small smile on his lips.

You hummed and leaned into his touch, "Amazing," you replied.

He chuckled and kissed your forehead, "Good."

After all of the residue made its way out of you, you cleaned up and Gojo lifted you into the bath. He settled in behind you, wrapping his arms around you, and pulling you back to his chest.

"Is the temperature okay, princess?" Geto asked, sitting in the opposite side of the tub.

You hummed, closing your eyes and resting your head on Gojo's chest. "Perfect,"

"Good, we want you to be comfortable," Geto said, smiling.

"Thank you," you mumbled, snuggling into Gojo's chest.

It was a little crammed and you guys probably should have showered beforehand, but in that moment it was perfect and everything you could ever need.

The three of you had become comfortable and content.

As if that's how things had always been

Gojo was playing with the bubbles and making shapes with them on top of your head, while Geto was helping to wash the sweat off of your skin, his fingertips running gently along the curves of your body.

It felt so normal and domestic, and that's exactly what you had always wanted.

"So, how does this feel?" Gojo asked, reaching behind him to grab a loofah, "Is it weird? Being the meat in a Gojo and Geto sandwich?"

You choked on your breath and your eyes shot open, "Ew! It wasn't weird until you said that! Gross," you said, giggling and shaking your head.

"Yeah, Satoru, why'd you have to word it like that?" Geto asked, chuckling and chastising his friend.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that. It was funny!" Gojo laughed, running the loofah across your back, "Now answer the question."

"No, it doesn't feel weird," you replied, a smile on your lips, "I mean, yeah, we haven't done a lot yet, but I'm happy, and I like being with both of you."

"Yeah," Gojo agreed, "it's different, obviously, but, I'm glad it's the three of us. I love the dynamic, it feels like... home. Like the three of us were always meant to be together. Me and my two favorite people!" He threw his arms around your neck, his hands falling just above your chest.

You looked at Geto and he had the most genuine, loving smile on his face. "I couldn't agree more," he said, reaching out to take your hand in his. His hand was warm and comforting, and the way his thumb was rubbing circles into the skin had a warm tingle running up your arm.

Gojo was right, it did feel like home.

A warm, safe, comforting, home.

It was a strange situation, one that you never would have imagined yourself in. But at the same time you knew that the three of you would be able to make it work.

The three of you stayed in the bath for a little while longer, laughing, teasing, and joking, and eventually Gojo and Geto switched places. When the water began to get cold and the bubbles began to disappear, Gojo lifted you out of the bath and brought you back to the bed.

He gently laid you down and dried you off, pressing kisses all over your skin.

Geto emerged from the bathroom and watched the two of you. He could see how much Gojo cared for you, and how you trusted and loved him. It was a sight that made his heart flutter and he could only hope to have that deep of a connection with you one day.

"You're so cute," Gojo cooed, placing the towel over your head and rubbing it gently.

"Toru," you whined, the feeling tickling your scalp, "you're going to make my hair frizzy!"

"Shhh, let me enjoy this," he chuckled, moving the towel and planting a kiss on your forehead, "I love taking care of you, and seeing you so relaxed. Plus, I think your hair is adorable no matter what, and I know Sugu does too,"

Turning to Geto in the doorway, you pouted and tilted your head to Gojo, "Help me out here," you pleaded.

Geto couldn't help but smile. "He's right, sweet girl," he chuckled, walking towards the bed, "I think your hair is gorgeous no matter what," He pulled you into his chest for an embrace, but then scruffled your hair, catching you off guard.

"Hey!" You yelped, pulling away from him and trying to flatten your hair, "not you too!"

They both let out a laugh. "Sorry, baby," Geto apologized, leaning forward and pressing a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Traitor," you mumbled, earning a chuckle from Gojo and Geto.

"I'm gonna get dressed, I'll be right back," Geto said, reluctantly pulling away from the scene, "then, how about I make us a late breakfast?" You nodded and gave him a small smile.

"I knew there was a good reason to keep you around," Gojo teased, earning a slap on the shoulder from Geto before he walked off, "Ouch! Hey!"

Laughing you shook your head at Gojo's dramatic performance of pretending to be hurt by rubbing his shoulder, "I'm so wounded," he joked, flopping onto the bed beside you, "you're gonna have to kiss it better," he winked with a smirk.

"Maybe later," you giggled, giving him a peck on the cheek.

"Fine, fine," he scoffed, rolling his eyes and sitting up.

He smiled as he jumped off the bed and threw on a pair of sweatpants, "Come on, baby," he said, holding a hand out for you, "I'll pick out an outfit for you." You happily accepted and followed him over to your dresser, ready to start your day.

414 notes · View notes

xiao-come-home · 5 months

Note

stone faced anon (💫 anon if it's free) here; as someone who has a hyperfixation in IT and coding I also think it would be very funny if Boothill had an s/o who wasn't necessarily a mechanic but like a software engineer or just a real big nerd about coding or something. He'll be experiencing a malfunction or a memory leak and go "oh yeah this happens sometimes don't worry about it" and then 10 minutes later he's sitting down plugged into a laptop listening to his s/o rant about how terrible his code is (crack hc: boothill's code was written in javascript) and how it's a wonder he hasn't bricked* yet

Would also be mad funny if Boothill ever got hacked and his s/o basically says "no you're not" and uses a previously made system restore point or something because of course they would both use and design every feature imaginable to keep Boothill in control of his own body, can you imagine the stress that losing control would cause him?? Even better if whoever designed him originally intentionally left a backdoor incase he ever went against their orders and when they try to use it his s/o just goes "oh yeah I quarantined and encrypted all the old files related to that backdoor and whatever else you were planning on a partition as bait and personally rewrote every file and function involved since your code is *an actual crime against technology*. by the way i'm going to go ahead and format that partition i mentioned, boothill- we won't be needing anything on it now that we can trace whoever made it. trust me, this won't be happening ever again."

*(bricking is a term mostly used to refer to hardware that's been rendered basically completely nonfunctional and beyond saving by using it wrong, mostly by messing with system files. Kinda like how windows can't even repair itself if you delete the system32 folder. Though i guess you could still install it with a usb stick if you formatted your pc- i digress you get what I mean. also since this almost happened to me recently: if you manage to fill up a hard drive to the brim, with literally 0 bytes of space left, that bricks it. reminder to check your storage thoroughly and often!)

Honestly wow I read it all and I'm a little bit speechless 🥹 thank you 💫 anon, it was great 🙏

Boothill would DEFINITELY appreciate a s/o who's a tech savvy in general! I think at some point, he'd be pretty shocked you're so knowledgeable and just sit there, listening to you rant.. and just letting you do your thing.

Don't get me wrong, he definitely knows a lot about his body, his system and the way he works, but once you start to get in the zone and explain stuff to him, berate his code even, he just sits next to you, plugged in to your laptop, leaning his cheek against his hand listening to you like he obviously understands everything you say.

His other hand begins to gently play with a stand of your hair, humming deeply when the soft clicking sounds of your keyboard reach his ears; he twirls your hair with his fingers and chuckles, "mmm, really now?" Boothill raises an eyebrow, "encryptin' this, encryptin' that... How about we do somethin' more fun instead?" And then you shut him down from your laptop (😭).

Jokes aside, he'd feel very secure with you especially when he first got his new body, just knowing you'll probably fix a lot of things that could possibly blow up his face in no time, maybe even improve his life even more.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #boothill x reader #boothill hsr #boothill #.💫 anon #.anon thirst

242 notes · View notes

manicpixiefelix · 8 months

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 10.

Summary: The last few days of the year at Oxford! Celebrations to be had, but also you contemplate what may come next for Oliver once the semester ends. Meanwhile, in a brief moment of downtime, you try and discuss Felix's weirdness from before exam season, but he can and will try and seduce you instead of having a real adult conversation. But unfortunately he may have had a point, because that real, adult conversation fucking sucks.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: discussions of oliver's father dying, discussions of jealousy

A/N: 5623 words. wrote this directly after finishing ch 9. and then was like, what if i edited this. which means the ending of this chapter is COMPLETELY different to what it was originally, and is a bit of a downer. but we need conflict, you know? and sometimes its genuinely hard to have these adult conversations at like 21 years old. emotions and such. also there's a wizard hat. half edited then i completely rewrote the ending and that's absolutely unedited. how are we feeling about leaving oxford finally????

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

It's always a big deal when the first years finish all of their exams and get their final results. Or, well, the rest of the students make a big deal about it. You're not sure who started the tradition, or how long ago, but it's a tradition you hold dear to your heart nevertheless. The first year of university is nothing if not overwhelming, survival of it was to be celebrated.

Last year the cheering crowd of your more senior students had made you feel like you had conquered the world. This year, you were bursting at the seams with excitement to be able to share in the tradition from the other side, especially since there were several first years in particular you wanted to celebrate with.

Everything about the tradition seemed tailor made for your brand of joy. It's bright bits of costuming and ticker tape canons, balloons and medals for the undoubtably exhausted first years. Clustered together by the main doors of the examination school, you and your friends press yourselves against the barriers that had been put up to give all the first years enough space. Still, front and centre, many of you, yourself and Felix included, had been handed medallions to give to first years, while the rest were all still clutching each other and giggling with excitement, reminiscing about how loved you'd all felt at this time last year, seeing everyone cheering for all you'd accomplished.

For the past few days since your exams had finished, those in your group particularly committed to the bit, you and Felix among them, naturally, had been frequenting as many of the local charity and party shops in town. Each of you were desperately searching for delightfully garish garments and props to wear and share.

The moment Felix had spotted the sparkly, pink cowboy hat on a mannequin, paired with a violently lavender feather boa, he'd clung to them like his life depended on him owning them, hearts in his eyes, absolutely refusing to let them go. On the other hand, the sailor hat for Ollie was your idea; something more understated for a man more understated than either Felix or yourself. While Felix wanted to protest, wanted to give him something a little more flashy, you thankfully got him to compromise by allowing him to pick your accessories. Which is how you ended up with a hot pink, bedazzled 'Mother Of The Bride' sash.

And a blue, pointy wizard hat.

Anticipation grew in the gathered crowd, all chatter and smiles and giggling as you waited for the doors to open. In amongst the growing noise, you turn the medal over in your fingers, gazing at it with pride, excited to be able to be the one to give it to one of your closest friends. You still have your own from last year, usually pinned above your desk, but right now in a box ready to be taken back to Saltburn for the Summer.

The moment you all heard the tell-tale creak of those large, wooden doors, the cheering began, and you're glad to be pulled from your thoughts and back into the moment. It grew into a cacophony, a roar of joy and delight as the ticker tape canons went off and the first years streamed out in a river of excitement.

Farleigh's always cut a defined figure in any crowd he's in, considering his height, but you'd also given him the heads up to look out for the blue wizard hat to find you. At first you saw him scanning the crowd, but it takes him barely a second to find you. He lights up, eyes fixed on your stupid hat, and he breaks away from the pack at a full sprint. He doesn't even let you give him his medal at first, he's laughing at the top of his lungs, reaching all the way over the barrier to pull you into a hug, almost dragging you over the railing. There's nothing to be said, only a joy that has gone beyond words.

"You're a wizard!" He finally manages amid laughter as he lets you go, leaning back to hold you at arm's length, taking in your whole outfit, "and," his head tips in further confusion, "mother of the bride?"

"And you're a first year graduate," you grinned, "do you want your medal, or do you have more important follow up comments about my outfit?"

"I several have follow up comments but- oh my god," his eyes go wide and he suddenly seems a little breathless, like it's only just properly hit him "I finished a whole year," there's a genuine quality to his voice that's not often heard from Farleigh; still half laughing, but it's almost disbelieving, full of hope without any hint of irony, "not, like, just a week, or a semester; a whole year. A whole year at Oxford University." Lowering his head, he finally lets you put the medal on him.

For a long few moments he holds it out in front of him with pride and joy in his eyes; a precious, rare sight for you to behold. Then, very suddenly, he grabbed your face, bringing you close with this intense, shocked look in his eyes.

"I topped three of my Lit exams," he hissed with actual disbelief, almost making it sound like a scandal, "I took a hit before my Modernism final and spent nine pages arguing that Trainspotting was Allen Ginsberg's Howl for the postmodern audience. I don't even know if I believe that. How was that the best essay they saw?"

"Farleigh," you chuckled, "you might actually just be very good at this." You gave his cheek a fond pet, but after a moment, a hand reached over to tug at Farleigh's shoulder, breaking your stalemate.

"Congratulations, mate!" It's Felix, all smiles, unsurprisingly, "why've you got that look in your eyes?"

"He took one of his exams stoned and still topped the class," you grinned slyly, before your gaze fell on Oliver. As if sensing this, Farleigh slid over to give Felix a proper hug and congratulations, leaving space in front of you for Oliver to step in with a shy grin. You tug on his sailor hat with a fond smile and he turns even redder.

"Congratulations, Oliver Quick."

"Thank you," his gaze flicks up for a moment, stifling a giggle, "wizard."

Puffing out your chest as you mock-straightened your pink sash you hold your nose in the air.

"And what of it?" You put on a faux serious voice. Oliver has to duck his head to hide how much he's laughing at the bit. Once you let it go and deflate, you do then gesture for him to come close, wrapping your arms around him.

"Proud of you, Ollie," you murmur, giving him a tight squeeze.

"Don't know if I could have done it without you and Felix," he admits softly.

"Of course you could have," you assure him with warmth as the two of you begin to pull away. Oliver's eyes meet yours, blue and intense and that same familiar searching that you're so used to by now that it's something of a comfort. For just a moment, you want to reach out, to touch him, to hold onto his gentle expression and this moment in your own two hands. You wonder if he can see it in your eyes too, can see you repressing that urge.

"Wouldn't have been half as good," with the smallest of smiles, just edging on knowing, neither his expression nor his tone gives away enough for you to know exactly what he could be meaning or referring to, if anything beyond general companionship. So you play it off, you let anything you might be holding onto, anything that might be too much for such a public forum, pass.

"Of course," you say loudly, blithely, tucking your arm in Felix's beside you to get his attention, "we're wonderful company!"

"What's this?" Felix turns, eyebrows raised as he looks between yourself and an amused Oliver.

"Just saying that Oliver's year is better for having met us," you say simply, airily.

"Without a doubt!" Felix agrees without any kind of hesitation. Farleigh rolls his eyes, but is laughing as he calls both you and Felix incredibly vain.

As the excitement begins to die down and everyone begins to filter out, your group begins to meander towards the road that leads off campus, with yourself, Felix, and Oliver trailing behind.

"What's next? I mean, what's the plan now? I know there's a thing tomorrow, but -" Oliver's tentative again, quiet and meek again, acting like he's on the back foot again.

"Step one," Felix begins matter-of-factly, "pub; celebrate; get shitfaced." You see Oliver glance dubiously at your foot-high, velvet wizard hat once more. He's been doing it a lot. You can't lie, you've gotten very attached to your stupid look for the day and do plan to keep it all night.

"Even with that?"

"I'm gonna die in this hat I've decided," you say easily, to which both boys snicker at your assertiveness on the subject. But soon enough, Oliver raises another question.

"And- and tomorrow, that's the- I heard there was an end of year gala," he hesitates as you and Felix both automatically confirm. It did not seem to soothe any of Oliver's nerves and he finally brought up, "It's black tie; I have a black tie - bow tie, actually - but I don't really have anything else that'll match the theme -" he babbles awkwardly, looking all kinds of mousey and small with his head bent like that, hands fingers twisting together in anxious shapes. Both you and Felix are quiet, stuck in thought, and it takes you closing your eyes for a few seconds, trusting your arm in Felix's to keep you on the right path, before it hits you.

"Walters of Oxford," you open your eyes, "on Turl street, I think," you pause for a beat, reconsidering, "maybe double check that." Squinting for a moment, you try and recall, "ten minute walk, I think? Depending on your route, I guess. Not far is the point." But when you look over at your companions, both are frowning at you, something incredulous in their eyes. "To... hire a suit," you explain almost sheepishly under their respective gazes.

"How did you do that?" Oliver asks softly.

"Why did you know that?" Felix adds, bewildered.

"Isn't it handy to know the best place to get good suits and expert repairs done?" You shrugged a little helplessly. However, as you let your gaze drift, you find yourself recalling something India had said about you always needing to be a step ahead, to always have contingencies in place so Felix need not ever be inconvenienced for too long. Whatever; you push the thought and India's past negative tone from your mind, telling yourself it's good information to have anyhow.

"Anyways, I was also looking into good places for suit hires, in case the worst happened, and wouldn't you know it, Walters does that too."

"I'll- I guess I'll head there tomorrow morning," Oliver says awkwardly.

Felix drops your arm for a moment, wrapping his arm around Oliver's shoulders, bringing him in close.

"I look forward to see you in a suit, Ollie," there was no mistaking the flirty tone he was using, and from the glimpse of Ollie's face that you could see around him, he was turning red under Felix's praise, "handsome man like you all done up," he trailed off, ruffling Oliver's hair before he let go, cheeky smile on his face and bounce in his step. He has to be aware of Oliver's nervous, starry-eyed gaze locked upon him, but Felix just strikes up a conversation with you, enquiring if you would be going in a suit or a dress.

"I'm going in a wizard's hat." You declared.

"I love this bit; you aren't even drunk yet!" Everything you do is worth it if it means Felix will look at you like this, with delight shining in his eyes and in his words.

The night - what you can remember of it - is phenomenal. Benji calls you Archmage of the Bride and it's the only thing anyone refers to you as for the rest of the night, everyone else loudly correcting anyone who gets it wrong. Aside from that, everyone is babbling and bright and so enthusiastic about the gala the following night and what they'll be wearing.

Oliver is quiet, tucked in between you and Felix, nursing his pints longer than anyone else. Felix's arm is around him, as it always seemed to be, and as the night goes on, more and more you get the urge to tip your head and rest it against Oliver's for several long moments at a time.

But there's something different about tonight. Oliver doesn't reach out to you, even subtly. His thigh against yours is forced proximity, but his hands are always on his drink and his ankles are crossed beneath the table. Whenever he looks away, you start to notice that it's not at you; Felix seems to hold his attention more than anyone else, but on any other night, that wouldn't really surprise you. You want to ask what's wrong, but by the time you realise something is, you're not sure you're even capable of stringing two coherent words together.

You think back on what he'd said on the way to the pub, his voice small and nervous.

What's next?

You ponder as you leave the pub with several others in the group, thinking hard. Had he meant more than just the immediate? Your next was Saltburn, Oliver's next was... ah. Junkie mum and no dad.

Someone sticks a finger in your ear. Immediately you jump and clutch protectively at your hat -

"Fuck off 'm wizard!"

"I'm seeing if I can feel your thoughts, they look serious," Farleigh, somehow more sober than you, is still cackling. Your drunk mind doesn't like that he's laughing at you, even if it's an objectively funny situation, and you spend the rest of the short walk stomping and pouting, with Farleigh laughing and calling you ridiculous the entire time.

You awaken on the second last day of living on the Oxford University campus for your second year, with an absolutely killer headache. You don't remember getting back into your dorm, but apparently your drunken self was kind enough to steal an entire pitcher from the common area and fill it literally to the brim with water. Far less had spilled on your bed side table than you'd anticipated.

What you do remember, however, is the numerous thoughts you'd had about Oliver. Both last night, and over the past few weeks. As you take some painkillers and drink water out of the pitcher, you gaze across your room to few newspapers you've had sitting under a pile of textbooks since the second week of exams.

It's almost midday. Taking the papers, you pack yourself a bag of whatever you'd need to get ready for the gala on top of your little project, and pull your garment bag from your wardrobe. Swinging past the on-campus café, you pick up arguably too much food for you and Felix to share before the event, then heading to his dorm.

"Get fucked," Felix shouts through the door, muffled probably by his pillow, when you knock.

"Felix, open up!"

"No! What time is it?"

"Midday!"

"Fucking midday?!"

From behind you, one of the doors flies open and one of Felix's scowling dormmates spits for you to shut up or fuck off.

"Grow up or eat shit; it's the afternoon," you flip him off with a scowl. The door slams shut. Immediately you turn and kick Felix's door. When he opens it, he does not look happy. In return, you smile sweetly at him, thanking him with the most saccharine tone you can manage.

"Brought us food," you offer, as if trying to placate him, but instead Felix pointedly falls face first upon his bed, pulling his pillow over his head in defiance. Just glad to be finally let in, you potter around his room quietly, carefully avoiding his boxes of already packed belongings.

Putting all the food on the table, you start on some of it yourself as you keep working almost silently. You hang your garment bag up next to his, put your nice shoes by his door, put all your accessories and other things you needed to get read in their own, distinct pile on his dresser before you settle yourself in his desk chair, pulling out one of the newspapers and carefully going through it.

The Liverpool Echo.

Your eyes flick briefly over the articles, not really paying any of them much real attention, at least not until you got to the obituaries. These you scoured. Names and faces and dates and sweet words about caring, loving people who you neither knew nor cared for. No Quicks. Next paper.

It takes you quite some time; you're thorough and you'd gotten quite a few day's worth from around the time Oliver had found out the news about his father in case it had been reported earlier or perhaps a few days later. Prescot didn't have it's own newspaper, but the lady at the news agency you'd phoned to order them assured you that the Liverpool Echo was received by the people of Prescot too.

"Are you reading the paper?" Felix's voice actually makes you jump, having so engrossed yourself in your reading, forgetting he was still there. Looking at the clock, then at him, you see him still looking groggy, but more bemused than anything. Then, after a beat, he looks to the pile of ones you'd already gone through on the floor by your feet.

"Food's cold," you told him, going back to your reading.

"Why are you reading the paper?" Propping himself up, he begins to stretch and finally, properly wake up for the day.

"Been thinking about Ollie," you tell him with a distracted air, folding up the paper in your hands after a minute more of poring over it, adding it your growing pile despondently. Thankfully, instead of making a snide comment, Felix yawns, asking you what exactly you'd been thinking.

"I know he said he's fine, but his dad still passed," you said softly, gazing at the small stack you're still yet to read, but feeling no urge to pick any more up, "and he hasn't been home, and when he gets home, I don't know..." you sighed, sitting back and looking at the ceiling, a kind of ache in your heart that you hadn't expected, "I wanted to try and find his obituary, to see if anyone said any nice things about him, but I'm not having any luck."

"I don't think he was the kind of man who had obituaries written about him," Felix tells you with a kind of resignation, "but I get that it's one of our last days," he extrapolates, voicing your intentions as easily as if he could read your mind, "and you want to try and give him a nice moment, to show that people care about him, before we, you know, fuck off for a month and a half and leave him."

"Grim, when you put it like that," you hummed, "but yeah, essentially." Felix made a noise of sombre agreement.

Finally, however, he rose from his bed, slowly meandering over to the desk and picking through the food you'd brought. For a long few moments he idly flicks through the few papers you had left on his desk, carelessly shoving each over as he doesn't even open them.

"What about that rock thing my family does?" Mouth half full of a sandwich and leaving the papers alone, his curiosity over them apparently sated, Felix sits himself on the floor by his bed, knees drawn up to his chest as he contemplates, "doesn't have to be all that serious, can be just about saying goodbye and letting go. Closure and shit, you know?" He swallows, looking at you with bright eyes, as if waiting for you to validate his idea, "like we did with my dog when I was a kid."

"That's actually a very sweet idea; I think he'd love that coming from you," you slowly begin to smile as you turn the idea over in your mind. Felix, however, wears a look like he's almost confused, but you can't begin to imagine what until he opens his mouth -

"What do you mean 'coming from me'?" Despite his apparent vague distaste for your wording, you can't help but laugh, rolling your eyes.

"Ollie would love the idea of lighting a bag of shite on fire on his mother's doorstep if the suggestion came from you; I'm saying it's a lovely idea, and he's very fond of you, it'll mean a lot to him."

Quiet filters in with the sunlight. You watch Felix, Felix watches himself pick at his nails.

"Very fond of you too," it's completely and totally neutral. It's also a fucking loaded statement if you've ever heard one come out of Felix's mouth.

"Felix." When he hears the warning notes in your voice, you know he pretends not to.

Reaching over to his bedside table, the unnecessary arc of his arm has him catching the light, muscles lean and taught with his effort to not otherwise move. Heat of the day had already begun to infiltrate the room, but this angle and the light makes the beading sweat along his skin glow; he's always been able to take advantage of a hot day in a way you've never seen of anyone else. Felix, of course, knows exactly what he's doing. Felix learned long ago how to perform at the drop of a hat; no-one was better at objectifying him than he was if he wanted to, "don't do that," you mutter, knowing that even you weren't immune to the way he could manipulate people's eyes upon him.

"What?" It's too innocent to be anywhere near truthful. You see the edge of a smirk before it disappears behind a cigarette and his sudden, aloof façade.

"We haven't talked about what happened," you tried, you really did, "we swept it under the rug for Ollie's sake, and then we had exams, and we -"

Felix lights his lighter, head angled so he can look up at you through his lashes, so his hair falls and curls and turns gold in the flickers of the lighter's faint fire. For another second he holds your gaze, confusing and teasing all in one; like he adores you, but like it's a challenge. Then he moves again, poses again. One leg up, one leg stretched out in front of him, cigarette resting so lazily between the fingers of the hand that he rests on his thigh, plays a staccato beat with his fingers against his bare skin. Nudity was never taboo between you, so why were you losing your train of thought over Felix in his boxers, a sight you'd seen arguably a hundred times before.

Looking anywhere else on him doesn't do you any favours, the beautiful body you've marked and called yours - jealousy, right, that's -

But his head tips back, falling back against his bed as smoke rings rise from his lips and the column of his throat is caught by the light. When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, you catch only the briefest flash but he knows you can fill in the rest, knows you see the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

"You know we need to talk, otherwise you wouldn't be doing this."

"Doing what?" He shifts, legs spreading a little wider, and when he looks at you, he's wearing that smile you've seem him turn on countless girls before, teasing, flirting, look in his eyes like he's getting high of of the very idea of you. Lips quirking into a cocky smile, he raises his cigarette to his lips, watching you with an almost lazy kind of arousal. Like every girl he's looked at like this knows they could get him in bed without even trying, without even knowing they were being seduced, "something wrong, love?"

And it's fucking working.

"Fuck, Fi," you have to close your eyes, putting your head in your hands. He laughs and it sounds like fucking syrup, all teasing and warmth, but you can't fucking do this right now; "are you trying to get me in bed just because you don't want to talk about the fact that you were obviously jealous of Oliver?"

This silence is far more bitter, as is Felix's tone when he finally speaks.

"What would I have to be jealous of?" Sounding like a man in denial.

"That Oliver is good to me without needing you as an audience," you push the heels of your palms against your eyes, words and thoughts escaping you that you didn't even realise you had. The next breath you takes shakes. Audibly. Felix clears his throat, but he doesn't seem to know what to say. Now that you've said it out loud, you can feel your face beginning to heat up, tears stinging your tightly closed eyes, the way you begin to tremble.

"I know," you start slowly, carefully thinking about your words this time as you say them, "that you love me, Fi," it's gentle, reassuring, but frustrated nonetheless, face still in your hands. But your breath still shakes as you try and keep it level, "so I think part of you is- is scared that if I find someone who could love me," even the thought of your next words sit bitter and heavy on your tongue, so you have to take a deep breath, try and centre yourself, "without you," you pause, swallowing hard, feeling traitorous tears escaping you, "that I might realise I prefer- prefer that, or something," here is where you start to break, where your voice cracks and you can't keep your hands against your eyes so all you can do is hang your head and hope he doesn't see your tears, "but you've spent all your time assuming, and pouting, and thinking badly of a good friend, and you haven't even asked me!"

Finally, Felix speaks, his voice weak; he sounds moments away from tears.

"I made you cry."

You hadn't even realised how far beyond Oliver this went, how tightly you'd been holding onto this, these thoughts and feelings, keeping them coiled in your chest, until just now. Hearing his words, your crying finally becomes audible, even to you, even if you hadn't meant it to. Today was meant to celebrate, not... this.

"I don't-" he voice catches in his throat, and you hear him sniffle softly, "I don't know if I can ask you that." He admits. Finally, when you look up, you see his expression carefully neutral, looking over his shoulder with both his knees drawn up to his chest. God he can't even look at you.

You know Felix Catton too well; he is terrified.

In the moments that follow, you slowly pull yourself together. You dry your eyes, and nod, while trying to school your expression into something lighter.

"Okay, Fi," you tell him, and try to make sure he knows you're being sincere, "it's, um," you sniffle as you try and smile, "it's a loaded question, I know."

When he bites his bottom lip as subtly as he can manage, you know its to try and keep it from wobbling. There's guilt written all over his face as he watches you move around his room. He doesn't get up, doesn't move, just watches and listens.

"I'm -" you take a deep breath, looking around the room and forcing a smile, "I think I'm going to get ready for tonight with Farleigh, is that alright?"

"Yeah, 'course," he says, as if on autopilot. After a beat, as you collect up your things, Felix finally looks around his room, at the boxes and the things you'd brought with you. Suits, matching and side by side in his closet, bought alongside a third in the set for Farleigh that you know he'd be wearing tonight too. You take it out, lay it over a taped-up box full of his books, ready to go, and finish collecting up your accessories.

"You should talk to Ollie," you tell him, double checking your bag, unsure of how you were managing to act like everything was suddenly okay. Felix nods, watching you once more, gaze a little glassy, far away and looking almost lost, almost guilty again. Part of you is desperate to stay, to comfort him. But as much as he may want it, it's not what he needs in this moment.

"Fi, are you listening to me?" You asked, firmer this time, and he seems to surface from whatever thought's he'd been stuck in, giving you a faraway smile as he nods; it's almost believable, "I know you care about Ollie," you say warmly but firmly, "please talk to him," wetting your lips, you deliberate on your way to the door, picking up your garment bag, "be good to him; Ollie's the only audience that matters there."

"Does this change..." Felix is looking at the floor when you finally make it to his door, "us?"

"Are you still jealous of Ollie?" You try to make it sound joking, since you were pretty sure of the answer, though Felix shakes his head with a frown.

"No, 'course not," he mutters, almost as if to himself, but he doesn't seem to have finished his thoughts on the matter, so you give him a moment; "I've been an asshole, haven't I?" He finally mutters looking out across his room, "a right asshole to someone who's only ever tried to be a bloody good friend to me."

"You kind of have," you agreed easily, and Felix finally looks at you again, the slightest furrow in his brow. There's nothing particularly, prominently beautiful or posed about Felix in this moment; he'd dropped the pretense long ago.

Looking at him now, looking up at you with those helpless eyes, all folded up and far smaller than he usually appeared, all you can remember is the kid afraid of scary movies and his sister's Goosebumps books, who'd stayed up late with you when you'd cried your eyes out in your first year of Secondary school when your parents missed your birthday again, who never let you forget how much he loved you, even for a moment, since you'd met. Your best friend. Always.

"I wish you'd just trust how much I love you too, Fi," voice and expression softening. Slowly, Felix stands, makes his way over to you, wrapping you up in a hug.

"I do, and I will better next time," he mumbles faintly, apologetically, "'m sorry."

There's something melancholy about still parting ways, even after his apology, but both of you seem to know that it's for the best.

Farleigh is glad for your company, and you do a good enough job of appearing alright that he doesn't seem to pick up on the strange mood you can't otherwise shake. Still, you're quiet, Farleigh talking enough for the both of you in between a range of CD mixtapes he'd put together for his own enjoyment.

On your way into the gala itself, you're ahead of Farleigh by a few paces, eager to get in and get yourself a drink, but you brush past Oliver, waiting, looking, as always, out of place. When you tell him he looks lovely, you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, and barely stay, while you hear Farleigh, behind you, taking his time with antagonising your poor friend.

Felix is leaving the event as you're arriving. He almost crashes into you, bottle of champagne clearly stolen from one of the tables, in one hand as he's running from the venue.

"Hey, hi," despite both your best efforts, there is still clearly some discomfort in the air between you. Felix's eyes roam over you, almost out of habit, but there's an appreciative look in his eyes as he meets your gaze once more, "I think, I, uh, I'm going to skip this one and hang out with Ollie," almost like he's trying to invite you. But after everything, this can't be something you do; this isn't your tradition, this isn't your moment to share with Oliver. He'll never get it.

He's Felix Catton; he's the sun.

"He's going to enjoy that so much more than hanging around here," you smile brightly. Felix looks a little surprised, a little put out that you had apparently not picked up on his offer, or that you had and had decided to decline.

"Yeah, I- I thought so," he almost seems a little stunned by how cold this interaction was between you, compared to the usual, boisterous comradery you shared.

"Have a good night, Fi," finally, you kiss his cheek and slip into the entrance hall of the gala building, weaving through beautifully dressed students to find your gaggle of friends for the night. Throughout the night, you get asked where Felix is, and you shrug with a blithe smile every time.

My Felix <3: i invited ollie to spend summer with us

Tomorrow you would be okay.

Tonight, however, you planned to dance with your friends, drink enough that you either stop feeling so weird in your damn brain, or feel perhaps even worse, and probably end up crying.

Tomorrow everything would be okay again.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #head heart hand fic #manic writer

288 notes · View notes

within-your-eyes-if · 8 months

Text

Codex Update & Some Rewrites

Hello everyone!

I decided to do this now because reworking the vices may take me a little bit.

Many fixes have been added as well, thank you once again for the reports!

Codex Update: This update didn't add a ton of Codex entries, but I did add a few and reworked many... I think almost all previously available entries received revisions in some shape or form. I held onto this because I was having some trouble grappling with some feelings.

For context, I've been working on this world for last 10 years (yes, I'm old). It has shaped and formed and reformed in various ways, and saw more reformation when I decided to make this a Twine story. Sometimes I question myself on certain things, and stepping back and giving it time helps me see things with a fresh perspective — I've made some changes that I feel work best with what the story has become, but nothing too audacious. I'm sorry for the delay and I greatly appreciate your patience.

Chapter One Rewrites (again): More portions of Chapter One also got some heavy rewrites. It's sort of silly, but the more I grow as a writer the more I physically couldn't read what I wrote — it made me uncomfortable (I was seriously adverting my eyes T.T). So I finally just 'erased' the parts that I was dissatisfied most with and rewrote them. They are not so different in regards to the narrative, but now have better flow and clarity.

However, the first POV for Gabriel does have more information on Auris's past and choosing the initial combat skill now gives a tactical overview so you're not missing out on information (if you liked the old version more, I could add a 5th choice for this but I'd like to see how receptive this is first).

I hope these revisions only enhance the story in a way that's still easy to digest while giving better information.

Progress for Part Two: I have finished the trial scenes and the scenes leading to it. Going by my detailed timeline, I'd say in terms of events, it's almost halfway there — but in terms progression, I'd say I'm about 25% there. I'm excited though, and I can't wait to share!

I was going to do this on the 1st of February, but I feel it's ready. More areas will receive some rewrites, but I'm trying to balance my time and creative flow accordingly.

Thank you everyone for your love and support!

#within your eyes if #wye progress update #wye general information

130 notes · View notes

tmkutawrites · 11 months

Text

A COMMON BOND by T. M. KUTA

Construction Project Manager Carneline has a lot of her plate at the family business. The last thing she needs is romance. But Josie, the skilled superintendent, is complicating things one iced coffee at a time.

✅️ Contemporary Lesbian Romance (Author Debut!) ✅️ Small Town Romance (in the queerest small town ever) ✅️ Salvadoran MC/POV character ✅️ Butch/Femme ✅️ Colleagues To Lovers ✅️ One Night Stand ✅️ Cringe-y Yet Loveable Sidekick ✅️ 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️/🍋🍋🍋🍋 (spicy!)

Well y'all after many fits and starts and life chaos later, my debut lesbian romance novella A COMMON BOND is finally here! We battled 3 family deaths, covered two separate maternity leaves at work, and rewrote this puppy twice, but it is HERE!

A Common Bond is my love letter to my day job in historic reconstruction and all of it's quirks, cliques, and capricious capers. Also... y'know, being a giant raging queer in construction. ;) It is an honor to publish a Clover Hill Romance book, and I hope you fall in love with Josie, Carneline, and Clover Hill the way I did while writing them!

Edit 10/30: Read the entire first chapter for free HERE!

PRE-ORDER NOW!

Dropping November 7, 2023!

Note: While A Common Bond is Book 13 in the Clover Hill Romance, all of the novellas stand alone. They share the same setting, a.k.a Clover Hill - Population: Queer, but are otherwise able to be read alone! If you like my novella, please consider buying one (or all) of the other 12 :)

#clover hill romance #lesbian romance #debut author #debut romance author #romance author #butch lesbian #contemporary romance #small town romance

198 notes · View notes

babybemydownfall · 23 days

Text

things that shimmer in the dark Part IV: Rhys ( Part III ) There was no point denying it so I kissed her instead, hard and demanding. I wanted her tongue on mine, her body melting, opening for me; wanted to make love to her, to feel her surrender - to us, and everything we could be. AKA An all night love-fest in the Archeron manor. Definitely NSFW. Read on AO3 or under the cut below. (Also, I only recently realised that my avatar, which comes from a poem by Iain S Thomas and which I've had for 10+ years, is Rhysand: There you are. I've been looking for you. How spooky.)

By the time we retired to bed after finalising our letter to the Queens, it was gone midnight. Feyre was tense and exhausted. I’d felt her all afternoon and evening, her shield weak, her emotions pouring out across our bond. She’d been anxious and angry; frustrated and forgiving. And whenever she looked at me, she burned.

I had worn a mask all my life, ingrained in me from a young age. And I had very rarely let it slip, despite times when I’d felt overwhelming rage or fear or despair. But it turned out that the most powerful distraction of all was lust. Whenever Feyre turned her beautiful blue-grey eyes on me, I struggled to stay composed, to keep my expression neutral and my breathing even. When her awful oldest sister questioned whether she was too good for human food anymore and Feyre replied that she could eat, drink, fuck and fight even better than before, my fork clanged to my plate as everything inside me went taut with desire. I wanted her so badly, so immediately, that it took every ounce of my willpower not to grab her and winnow us straight back to my house.

And later, as we wrote and rewrote the damned letter, the four of us arguing over each word and punctuation mark, her closeness was certainly a hindrance. When she leaned in to read what I’d written, I felt her long hair brushing my neck; the curve of her breast against my arm. The scent of her skin, of her arousal, was intoxicating. I would not let Cass and Azriel suspect a thing but whenever I was sure they weren’t looking, I touched her as much as I dared - my finger brushing hers on the page; my thigh shifting on my chair so it pressed against her knee. I loved the way her body reacted: a soft, short inhale; a pulse of longing down the bond.

I found myself thinking multiple times that I was so glad we had had each other in the kitchen earlier. I couldn’t imagine how difficult the rest of the day would have been without that release. And I had meant what I’d said to her there: this thing between us was a bad idea, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I had spent the previous day avoiding her, my mind constantly churning over what I should do. Getting drunk hadn’t helped - I only ended up sad and missing her. I had barely slept afterwards, thanks to the alcohol and my racing thoughts and the memories of our first morning together which left me with a very persistent erection.

When she found me in the kitchen, I still didn’t know what the right thing to do was. But as soon as I scented her, when I saw how fucking stunning she looked and how she went slack with longing for me, I realised there was no actual choice here. I couldn’t just bare myself to her - literally and emotionally - and simply walk away. She was my mate. This was bigger than both of us: it was what the Cauldron had destined; a bond more sacred and permanent than any other. It was inescapable. Undeniable. And Feyre didn’t know the truth, but I knew she felt it too: that we were something extraordinary.

And now, finally, we were alone together once again. She hadn’t reacted when I’d said we would share a room - a room I had immediately shielded, to keep loud sounds in and bad things out. But she did turn to me in surprise when I made my own bed appear and sat down on it.

“What are you doing?”

I looked up at her, still dressed in her stunning turquoise outfit. She wore it like she belonged in the Night Court. Or perhaps it wore her. It wanted her - just as I did.

“Being on my best behaviour,” I replied evenly. “We’re in your father’s house. I didn’t know if you’d want to…”

“I’ve spent all evening trying to keep my hands off you. And now you don’t want to touch me?”

She sounded like she was annoyed with me, which made me smile. “Oh, I do want to touch you, Feyre darling.” My voice was low. “Every single inch of you.”

There was a fire crackling in the hearth across the room and it shone in her dark eyes, in the golden waves of her hair. I leaned back on my outstretched arms and her gaze travelled down my body. I was still fully dressed but she knew what lay beneath now; and if I hadn’t been wearing black, she would have been able to see my cock rise in my pants.

“The last time I was in this house,” she said quietly, “I left to run after Tamlin. To go under the mountain and save him. And yet here I am, barely any time later… with you.” She tugged at her sleeve, looking around the room. “That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

I waited until her eyes met mine again. She seemed so vulnerable, so young all of a sudden. “I don’t think it is,” I told her honestly. “I don’t think time is what matters, in our case.”

“Then what does matter?”

I held out my hand. “Come here.”

Slowly she moved towards me and took it, standing between my legs. I may as well have been kneeling before her again, such was her position of power over me right now.

“What matters, Feyre, is how you feel. What makes you happy. What helps you heal. And I think I can speak to that, because you are all those things for me. Already.”

I felt her tremble in front of me. She was scared. And I knew why - but I couldn’t hide the depth of my feelings from her. I didn’t want to.

“Why does this seem so… inevitable?” she whispered.

Because I am your mate.

I could have told her then. No doubt it would have helped ease the guilt she still carried over Tamlin, the confusion she felt over us. But this was not the place: not in the human lands, in her family home; not when there was danger out there, lurking beyond my Court’s protection. And not when it meant I would have to face her rejection - because she wasn’t ready yet. Wasn’t healed, wasn’t strong enough. And neither was I, to have her push me away.

For now I would take whatever she was willing to give - her friendship, her smiles, her body - and not think too far into the future. As she had so wisely said: we might all die soon. And I would be a fool not to enjoy every moment with her, because I had known from the second I first saw her that she was the light in my eternal darkness.

Instead of saying any of that, I lifted my hands to her hips and guided her to straddle my lap. She did so without hesitation, settling halfway along my thighs - not near enough to feel how hard I was for her. Not yet. But having her this close, all to myself behind a locked door, I felt my soul sigh.

There you are. I’ve been looking for you.

“Perhaps it is inevitable,” I said softly. “The question is, what do you want to do about it? You are in charge here. I will follow your lead.”

I had never uttered those words before, outside of battle when I fell in line behind my commander. But I trusted Feyre with everything I was. I saw her, with all her broken pieces and her courageous human heart and the magic she contained which had nothing to do with her powers. I wanted it all.

And she wanted me too. It was in her beautiful eyes; written all over her face. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her neck. I felt her body melt in my arms, her head tilting back. My name rose from her lips to the ceiling, like a prayer.

“Rhys.”

I kissed her there again, the scent of her blood filling my senses; moved up to her ear where I breathed: “What do you want, darling?”

Her fingers slid into my hair, drawing me back so she could look at me. At the same time, I took hold of her hips and pulled her into me, connecting the heat of her core with the raging hardness of mine.

The air sparked around us and we both groaned.

“You,” Feyre murmured, her breath on my mouth, her gaze filled with nothing but lust - that most powerful of emotions, sweeping everything else aside. “I want you. All over me. All night long.”

A smile started to form on my lips but she kissed me before it got there. And from that moment on, we were lost. Our hands slipped beneath each other’s clothes onto warm, sensitive skin. I had never had the pleasure of physically undressing her before, of slowly revealing her exquisite body inch by inch. I followed the fabric of her top with my lips, from her navel to her ribcage to her bare breasts, so pert and full and ready for my attention. She moaned so headily when I circled my tongue over her nipples and I could smell her arousal as it flooded her underwear, as she ground herself against my length.

The top disappeared over her head and then we worked together to remove mine as well. As our mouths found each other again I slid my arm up along the column of her spine, my hand splayed between her shoulder blades, and drew her further into me so her bare chest pressed against mine. Her kisses were voracious, her moans constant as she rocked her hips and took her pleasure from me.

Untamed Feyre was the hottest thing I had ever encountered.

And then she suddenly pulled back to look at me, her eyes so dark with desire, her voice husky as she commanded: “Take me to bed, Rhys.”

I could not have refused her if my life depended on it.

I carried her there, drawing back the duvet and laying her down. I had already warmed the sheets and she looked surprised, grateful. But she didn’t speak - couldn’t, perhaps - as she grasped at my shoulders and pulled me onto her, reclaiming my mouth, touching every part of me within reach. I covered us again, burying down with her into the softness of the bed as we kissed on and on. I had never known how thoroughly arousing it was, to be half-bare and writhing around by the light of the fire, our sounds hushed and urgent. Despite my shield, we were both aware of my brothers just next door, of Feyre’s sisters down the hall - but that only added to the mood.

This was secret and sacred and ours.

I eventually trailed my lips down to her breasts again, and then further - kissing her centre through her trousers before kneeling between her legs and slipping them off entirely. She was wearing the same lacy white panties I’d watched her put back on in the kitchen, and they were wet through. I heard myself growl as I pulled them off too, the urge to taste her impossible to resist, but she stopped me from getting anywhere near her with her bare foot on my chest.

I stared at her, unable to fathom why she would deny me.

“I’m in charge, remember?” she said firmly. “Lie down.”

Giving up control was not natural for me - but Feyre was a goddess and I obeyed.

She made very quick work of my pants and underwear, and then slid all the way down the bed and wrapped her hot mouth around me. I had never known anything so good before: the sight of her there, the brush of her hair and her hands on my thighs and abdomen, the way she sucked and licked and bobbed up and down-

I reached for her after barely any time at all, tugging on her shoulders, groaning her name. But she ignored me and carried on. Her eyes met mine and I imprinted the image in my mind, of the lust and determination in her gaze, of my cock disappearing between her lips over and over again, her rhythm faultless, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Feyre,” I gasped, “I’m-”

She scratched her fingernails all the way down my torso and I came, so hard I lost all of my senses for the longest, most ecstatic moment. I felt her fingers cover my mouth, to keep me quiet, but there was no fucking chance when her tongue was still swirling over me, when my hips were still bucking and I was still coming. It was unbearable and heavenly and I never, ever wanted it to end.

Eventually I did return to the present; felt Feyre retreat and opened my eyes to find her looking down at me with a very satisfied smirk. I was too dazed to speak, to tell her how fucking amazing she felt and what I wanted to do to her next - but it didn’t matter. She had let her fingers drift down onto my chest; I took her wrist and brought her palm back to my lips, licking the tattooed eye there in a single broad stroke. Her smirk disappeared as she felt me in her very core.

I tugged on her hips, pulling her up my body until she was kneeling over my face. She braced herself on the headboard and I inhaled her incredible scent, all her muscles trembling, her breathing shallow, ragged. And then I feasted on her, gorging myself on her softness and her taste, eating her gorgeous cunt until she was all over my face. I kneaded her ass, explored her thighs; slid two fingers inside her and fucked her like that while I sucked on her clit. She came in no time at all, with a muffled scream and a gush of wetness which I lapped up like I was dying of thirst.

When she collapsed onto me, I gently drew her back down into bed to lie by my side so we were facing one another, our limbs loosely entwined. I took half a second to clean my face with magic, but left her taste on my tongue. It would be sacrilege to erase that.

She smiled, gazing at me through heavily lidded eyes. “You are very good at that,” she said, and she shivered - an aftershock. It made my cock ache for her.

“You taste fucking divine, Feyre. I can’t get enough of you. And your mouth…” I outlined her lips with my thumb; they parted and I traced over her bottom teeth too. “So pretty, yet so wicked. I’ve never felt anything so phenomenal.”

I pressed my lower body into hers, letting her know I was ready for more. She looked straight at me and bit down on my nail, firm enough to hurt. Beneath the duvet I felt her hand wrap around my length. Flames roared to life in my blood once more and I hissed, like the wild beast I was.

“So eager,” she teased, licking the sensitive pad of my thumb.

There was no point denying it so I kissed her instead, hard and demanding. I wanted her tongue on mine, her body melting, opening for me; wanted to make love to her, to feel her surrender - to us, and everything we could be. Without thinking I reached for her down the bond, needing her closer, even though physically there was no space between us. As I felt her grip onto me, an embrace around my very soul, I rolled on top of her perfect body and thrust inside her: back where I belonged.

She cried out at being so full; hooked her legs around my waist, inviting me deeper, and I moved slowly at first, trying to be restrained until that became impossible. She felt so good, so right, that I just couldn’t contain myself. And she wanted it: I felt her desire envelop mine inside my mind, where we were intertwined; swallowed the words she gasped into my mouth - “Harder… More… Rhys! Fuck… Yes, more…”

I tilted her pelvis with my hand and reached new depths, and she broke away from my kiss to let out the most guttural sound as she clenched and shook and stretched around me. I dipped my head, sucking on her neck, her right breast, her nipple; kept rolling my hips, fucking her faster and harder than ever before. We were both grunting, moaning, sweat on our skin, her nails digging into my back - and then we were coming, together, a crescendo of movement and sound and rising, cresting pleasure that felt like it would never end.

It didn’t, for a long time. I might have drifted off to sleep briefly, for when I next opened my eyes I was lying on my front on the bed, the duvet over my lower body, feeling more relaxed than I had in decades.

I reached out for Feyre down the bond, checking she was okay; felt her in the adjoining bathroom and closed my eyes again, letting myself doze. Eventually I heard her footsteps on the carpet and then the bed shifted as she sat beside me. Her fingertips traced lightly down my spine and I groaned at how nice it felt.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos here,” she said softly. “And your wings…” She touched the strong muscles of my upper back. “I want to see you with them.”

My voice was so low it made my ribcage vibrate. “You have.”

“Naked,” she clarified.

I smiled. “One day. Not here.”

She leaned in, surrounding me with her scent, her hair; pressed gentle kisses to my ear, my cheek, the corner of my lips. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched me with so much tenderness. The last time anyone had cared about me like this. It made my throat hurt.

When I finally opened my eyes her face was all I could see, so close to mine, our every breath shared. She smiled and sat back up, and that’s when I realised she was wearing my shirt. It was unbuttoned, and she was still completely naked beneath. I had never seen anything so sexy.

My emotions were forgotten in an instant.

“Feyre.”

I rose up, kneeling in front of her, taking her in.

“I was cold,” she said, a little defensive, a little surprised by the strength of my reaction.

“You look…” I reached for her, pulling her against me. I had thought I was completely sated - I was wrong. “Let me warm you up.”

This insatiable need for each other, this wild passion - it felt endless. Frenzied. We fell to the bed and she straddled my waist, discarding the shirt to the floor. As she began to kiss me all over, the small part of my brain which remained functional wondered what would happen if she ever accepted the mating bond. How we would survive.

Then it gave in as Feyre washed over me, as I let myself drown in her once again.

When she rode me she held my hands, our fingers interlaced. I could do nothing but stare at her. The way the firelight danced over the planes of her body as she moved; the flush on her skin, the dark desire pouring from her eyes. I was no painter, but she was a piece of art.

“Feyre darling,” I breathed, grazing my palms along her thighs, feeling my climax building slowly, deliciously. “Will you touch yourself for me? I want to watch you.”

Her dream of me was only a night ago - it felt like a century.

She put her fingers in my mouth and I licked them, my desire rocketing at how fearless she was, how unembarrassed. If I had thought she’d be hesitant in bed or perhaps shied by our age gap, by her relative lack of experience, I was wrong. And yet she was not a sultry, confident vixen either. I could only conclude that she really did trust me, enough to be herself, to show herself to me - to be bare in every possible way.

And that made me more hopeful for our future together than anything else we’d said or done.

Now she circled her clit, her left hand holding her breast, pinching her nipple. Her tattoos were a stunning contrast to the rest of her pale skin. When the sensations became too much, her head tilted back and her spine arched, her long messy curls almost reaching her bottom. And still I watched, my hips now thrusting of their own accord, meeting her movements. I was already at the edge; could have let myself fall at any second. But I held on, waiting for her, completely awed by how fucking incredible she was.

If things had been different, I would have told her I loved her. The words were on the tip of my tongue, filling my mind. I let the smallest trickle of that golden feeling travel down the bond to her. Even though she didn’t know its name, I knew she liked it - saw the smile on her lips, felt her clench and tighten as I pounded into her harder, faster, as she peaked and then shattered.

It was too much. I lifted her off me, turning her onto her front, pulling up her hips. She was weak, boneless; still in the throes of her pleasure. “You have to be quiet,” I rasped and then I thrust inside her again, deeper than ever before. Her hands fisted the duvet and she bit it, her screams subdued but still there, still heavenly to hear.

“Feyre,” I groaned, the sweetest sound in the world. “Fuck, Feyre. You feel- I’m so- ”

I spilled inside her with a roar, breaking my own rule but utterly unable to care. I felt her coming too, a continuation of her last orgasm. Endless, all-consuming fulfilment.

This time we were both thoroughly done. I fell to her side, bringing her body with me so I was spooned up behind her, quickly cleaning us up with half a thought. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to move again. I didn’t want to. I pressed my face into her neck, inhaling her, wishing I could disappear into her forever. If there was nothing else but this, I would die happy.

Our breathing gradually slowed. The fire had burned low, the moon now illuminating us through the uncovered window. I ran the fingers of my left hand along the ink on Feyre’s arm, watching as the soft blonde hairs stood on end in my wake. I knew the bond that tied us together wasn’t the bargain that had been written on her skin: it was the mating bond. That’s why we could communicate, why we could feel so much of each other. I wondered how it would change if we were ever truly mated. How much more of her I would feel, how deeply I would know her. I wanted her to be mine so badly it made my soul ache.

The bond was another secret I kept. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold it inside.

“What time is it?” she asked, her words merging into a yawn.

“Fuck knows.” I was tired and emotional, which always made me swear more. That and having sex with Feyre.

I pulled the covers over us and then looked outside. The air was still and crisp. There had been snowfall earlier, but it had stopped now. “Usually,” I said, voicing my thoughts aloud, “I can feel the night. The coming of the dawn. But the darkness is different on this side of the Wall. It’s not… mine.”

She turned her head towards me. The moonlight caught her eyes, making them shine. “I love your darkness,” she said quietly. “I feel it, under my skin. It soothes me. Of all the powers I was given, yours is my favourite.”

You were made for me, I wanted to tell her. Wanted to shout it, for the whole world to hear. It’s so obvious. Can’t you see?

And then she went on sleepily: “The nights feel longer here. I was born on the longest, actually. The Winter Solstice.”

I was stunned. Totally speechless. She must have mistaken my silence for fatigue, because she whispered goodnight and in less than a minute, she was asleep.

I held her, wide awake, heart hammering. I kissed the point of her ear and murmured, so softly it was almost inaudible: “You are my mate, Feyre Archeron. And I fucking love you.”

TBC...

#feysand #feysand smut #feysand fanfic #feyre x rhysand #feysand fic

23 notes · View notes

arlana-likes-to-write · 7 months

Text

Second Chance - Chapter 10

Masterlist

Warnings: mention of drinking and drug use, jealously, angst, italicized are text messages

Word Count: 4.1k

Relationships: Yelena x reader, Tony x reader (platonic)

It was a feeling Yelena wasn’t used to. Doubt. She was a Black Widow, trained to survive and overcome torture. She and her sisters could entire countries to bring down empires and start wars. They were trained to be the best, and Yelena was. But why was her anxiety spiking, her thoughts racing, and her stomach turning to knots just by looking at the brief conversations between you and her? She rewrote the message a hundred and one times, but nothing sounded good enough. With the time difference, Yelena knew you would be sleeping, especially with the late-night adventures you and your friends partook in. The blonde liked receiving the pictures you sent her. So she wanted to draft a message for you to wake up to, but why was it so difficult? “You know,” Val sat beside her with a protein bar. “Starring at a screen for a long period can cause eye strain which could lead to headaches,” Yelena rolled her eyes and took the breakfast bar the warrior offered her. “Come on, talk to your king.” Yelena scuffed, shaking her head. She never spoke to anyone about this. She was ignoring her sister and Wanda and snapping at Kate for the teasing comments. There were no words to describe what she felt when it came to you. She never felt this way before. The way her life was, she never had the time.

“There is this girl,” Yelena spoke slowly.

“Awe, young love,” the warrior teased, cutting Yelena off. “I remember mine like it was yesterday. It was-”

“You know what, if you are going to tease me like everyone else, then I won’t tell you,” she stood up to leave, but Val grabbed her hand and forced her to sit back down.

“Whoa, pump the breaks. I do want to help, but first eat that because you’re hungry, and I hate dealing with your sister when she hasn’t had food,” Yelena tried to fight her lips from curling up but failed as she opened the bar and took a bite. “So tell me, what’s going on? Who is it?”

“It’s Stark’s kid,” Yelena answered. “The one who is sick,” she refused to say ‘the one who is dying’ because she had to believe you would get better. “I feel drawn to her and don’t know what to do.” When she glanced at Val, the warrior was looking forward. She was watching Carol interact with one of the families affected by the missing people. There was a soft smile on her face, a kindness in her eyes. A slight pang of jealousy rushed through the blonde, but she pushed it away. “How do you do it?”

“Do you love her?” Val asked, looking back at her. She was a little startled by the straightforward question. What was love? She was told love was for children, a distraction, a way to make you weak and vulnerable to manipulation.

“Love is-” her voice trailed off.

“Complicated. Messy. Hard. Scary,” Val finished her sentence. “But also rewarding, fulfilling, and a lead of faith,” the warrior sat back on the couch and crossed one leg over the other. “Do you want the chance to be with her even though she could die?” It was like a boa constrictor wrapped around her throat. Death was a concept Yelena knew well; it surrounded her daily. Her biological parents were no doubt killed by the Red Room. She had no memories of them, but their death led her to Natasha, Alexei, and Melina, and they filled that role. In the Red Room, death was everywhere. As Alexei once said, she was the best child assassin the world had ever seen. Death followed her when she worked for Valentina, and even now, she works with the Avengers. Her hands were covered with blood that she wasn’t sure would go away.

But your death sent shivers down her body at the mere thought of it. It was unfair and cruel that the universe gave this disease to a kind and nice person. She cursed the serum that ran through her veins; she would give it to you in a heartbeat if it meant saving your life.

However, it wasn’t a guarantee that the disease would kill you. Everyone was destined to die one way or another. You could survive the treatment, be cleared as cancer-free, and get into an accident the next day. So, was the idea of you dying holding her back, or was it the vulnerability of opening up to someone outside her family? It was pathetic. She shouldn’t be scared of you. She was a Black Widow, a part of the Avengers. Even though she was those things, she was damaged, scared, and broken beyond repair. There was already a lot going on for you; it was unfair for Yelena to add her problems.

“I don’t think I deserve her,” Yelena answered.

“Did someone say that to you, or is that what you think?” Yelena refused to answer. “This life we choose to live is very lonely. We fight, put our lives on the line to keep others safe, and sometimes our best isn’t good enough,” she continued. “It can be exhausting, but I’ve learned that leaning on someone helps.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same?” Yelena whispered. Even though America said you felt the same, it was impossible for the fear of rejection to find a home in Yelena’s mind.

“That’s the leap of faith part,” Val said, smiling. “She may catch you, or the ones around you will.”

“Guys,” Yelena looked in the direction of Maria’s voice. “We got a lead. Meeting in 5 minutes.”

“Duty calls,” Val sighed, stood up, and walked over to Carol. Yelena watched her as she wrapped her arms around Carol’s waist and rested her head on her back. The captain rested her hand on Val’s arms but never stopped her conversation with Steve. She sighed and once again found herself staring at the text conversation. Val called it a leap of faith. A leap of faith.

‘Hey,’ Yelena started to text. ‘We got a potential lead of the mission.’ She sent.

‘Not sure how often I’ll be able to text you, but I’ll be safe.’ Again, she sent the message. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for your old man too. Even though he’s a pain in my ass.” She had to add a joke; it was in her nature.

‘Good morning, by the way, lol,’ she wished her hands would stop shaking. ‘Enjoy your time with your friends, and I’ll text you when I can.’ She added a smiley face and locked her phone.

Maybe it wasn’t a leap of faith. Hopefully, it was a leap in the right direction.

“Oh my god,” Chelsie groaned. “Can you stop staring at your phone and help me pick an outfit?”

“Shit, sorry,” you dropped your phone on your open sketchbook. “I was,” your friend had a teasing smirk on her face. It was a clear giveaway that she wasn’t mad at you. “She hasn’t texted me back yet. Sorry, it’s stupid, but I’m worried.” Worried for your friend? Your friend who happened to be a superhero.

“She’s probably busy saving the world,” Chelsie turned back to face her closest. “She said she would text you when she could, so don’t stress about it.” Right, easier said than done. When you woke up this morning, you were surprised to find a few texts from her, especially a good morning text. A simple two-word text made your stomach flip; it was a message you haven’t received since college. But the bubbly feeling soon passed with anxiety due to now knowing what Tony and the others were facing. You weren’t sure how Pepper and those back at the tower could do it. The waiting. The uncertainty. You were about to have a panic attack. “Here,” you had enough time to catch the long leather jacket. “Put that one with these,” she threw a few clothing pieces at you. They hit you in the face.

“Excuse me,” you said, looking at the pile of clothes in your lap. “What are you talking about?”

“You are going to be a part of this shot,” she raised her hand to stop your protest.”You need a distraction, and what better way to look and feel hot for your girl.”

“She isn’t my girl,” Chelsie shrugged.

“Technicalities,” she smiled. “Go shower, put on some makeup, and get changed. We leave in 40 minutes.” You groaned, throwing your head back. There was no use trying to argue out of it; besides, it could be a good distraction.

Delete Created with Sketch.

“Stop moving,” Austin said, applying a few finishing touches to your makeup. Since you were a last-minute addition to this photo shoot, you had to wait till everyone else was done. Waiting wasn’t something you were good at, especially when you wore a black dress and knew high black boots. You swore every pair of eyes were on you. You huffed but relaxed as you felt a makeup brush on your eyelid.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m anxious.”

“Don’t be,” you heard the smile in his voice. “Raymond will make you look hot. Not like you need more help with that.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes, not wanting to get yelled at again. “Perfect, and just in time because he’s ready for you.” Ryan had to push you towards the photographer since your feet refused to move. He was messing with the settings on his camera but looked up when you got closer.

“Ah, our last model of the day. Raymond Mulrooney,” he extended his hand, and you shook it. “A friend of Chelsie is a friend of mine. Is this your first time in front of a camera?”

“It’s been a minute,” you admitted and walked against the chain link fence they used as a backdrop. The last time you were part of a photo shot was before your diagnosis, before the car accident. Your mom had a picture in her wallet. So you began to pose. You were a little stiff, nerves getting the better of you. You felt exposed, vulnerable in the face of the lens and each passing moment seemed to amplify your anxiety.

“Hey,” you felt a hand on your arm. Raymond was talking to Chelsie, so you looked at who approached you. “My name is Aria.”

“Hi,” you smiled. She was wearing black jeans with a fitted white long sleeve. Over that was a blue button-up and a gold chain. Her hair was curly, down to her shoulders, and she had a black beanie. She was pretty, and if you were at a different part of your life, you would ask for her number.

“You’re nervous,” she said. “Shake away the nerves.” You hummed in question. She grabbed onto your hands and began to shake your arms. The action caught you off guard, but her smile was infectious, and you smiled and laughed alone with her. “See, much better,” you felt better, a lot lighter. “Mind if I join you for a couple of photos, pretty girl?”

“Uh, sure,” your voice shook of it’s on accord. Aria was fun, and she made the shot entertaining, whispering funny jokes that made you smile and laugh. Even Raymond loved the poses she put you in. Her arms around you. Bodies pressed against each other. Aria was pretty, but you couldn’t help but wish her arms were someone else. You wished it was a certain Black Widow. What would her arms feel like around you? Your body is close to hers. Even when Aria pressed her lips against your cheek, you wished it wasn’t hers.

You tied the bathroom rope around your waist. It was nice to shower after a long day. Your phone buzzed that was charging on the nightstand. There was no way to stop your heart from skipping, and anticipation filled your stomach. But it wasn’t a text message from Tony or the Black Widow. Since you were alone, there was no need to mask your disappointment when it was an email from the photographer today. “Damn,” you whispered. He worked fast, but that was the nature of the industry. Book a job. Complete it. Move on to the next. If you even think about slowing down, you will lose your next opportunity to someone else. The photos he took of you were edited slightly; a filter he had no doubt had pre-saved was on them, and sent to you. You expected nothing less since you hadn’t paid him. He owed Chelsie a favor. Still, the pictures were stunning.

“Why aren’t you dressed yet?” You looked up from your phone, raising a questioning eyebrow at Chelsie. She wore a black dress like you wore in the photo shot but shorter and more skin-tight. “We are going out.”

“Chels,” you groaned.

“There is no room for dis. This is your last night, and, and we don’t know when you’ll return back. So we are meeting the group for dinner then going to a small party,” you huffed, falling to your back. You needed to leave in the morning to get settled before your doctor’s appointment, which meant confronting Tony and Pepper. However, you weren’t a fan of spending your last night in DC in a cramped, sweaty house like your college days. Chelsie tapped your thigh, and you forced yourself up, leaning back on your arms. “Hi,” her smile formed at the pout on your face. “1 hour, maybe 2 at this party, then we can leave.”

“Who will be at this party that you want to see so badly?”

“A friend,” you smirked at the blush that covered her cheeks and chest. “A good and hot friend.” You rolled your eyes and stood up to join her in her closet.

“If you need my help getting laid,” you hit your hip against hers. “That’s all you had to say.” She flipped you off.

“I hate you,” you giggled.

“I’m too lovable to hate.”

You were happy that you brought ibuprofen to dinner as an annoying ache began to grow in your bones. Michelle had their arm lopped around yours. You hated how much you were leaning against her. Jeffrey was their other side while the three of you trailed behind Chelsie, Kandis, and Ryan. “Are you okay, Picasso?” Michelle whispered. You nodded.

“Just a little tired,” you answered.

“You didn’t have to come,” Jeffrey said. “I think we could handle Vogue.”

“No one can handle her,” you deadpanned, causing your two friends to laugh, but you knew if you stayed in, not even a movie could calm your thoughts. There was still no text from the blonde. However, Tony texted you advising he was okay and wasn’t seeing action. You wondered if he messaged you because of your panic call with Pepper when you went to the bathroom at the restaurant. If he wasn’t seeing action, who was? Kate? America? Wanda? Blondie? You were at your wits end with no word from her.

As a man hit your shoulder, a jarring impact pulled you out of your thoughts. The pain radiated through you. “Hey, jackass,” Jeffrey called out. “Watch where the fuck you are going.” The mysterious figure never looked back and continued on his way. You rubbed your shoulder and stared at the man’s back.

“What was that about?” Kandis questioned. Jeffrey’s yelling must have gotten the attention of the others.

“Just some idiot not paying attention,” you told her. The pain was going away, but you knew a bruise would most likely form. “I’m good, guys, I promise,” your friends gave each other a hesitant look. “Come on,” you laced your fingers with Chelsie. “Let’s go to this party.” Since your cancer treatment, you have been sensitive to smells. Even before you found yourself associating scents with people. Chelsie was cinnamon and vanilla. Ryan smelt of paint fumes. All of your friends were different but so did them. So that man passed you smelt of motor oil and copal, a woody fragrance used in spiritual ceremonies and often used by indigenous people of Mexico and Central America. Why was that odd combination so familiar to you?

Yelena rubbed her eyes with her free hand that wasn’t giving her coffee. It had been wild, with a quick undercover mission that required her and Wanda to be kidnapped and rescued by the rest of the team. The bad guys were caught, and Maria, Steve, and her sister were on clean up. She could not wait to be back in the city. She missed her bed, her shower, and most importantly you. The fact she missed you didn’t worry or scare you. She was toying with asking you to join her in Central Park or maybe Bryant. The zoo would be fun too with all the animals you could draw. Yelena needed a quiet moment with no pepping eyes from her team to text you.

American and Kate were sitting on the couch. They were nursing their cup of coffee. She had a feeling that Valkyrie would send Tony a bill for all the caffeine the team consumed. The archer turned her head as the sound of Yelena’s footsteps grew closer and slammed her phone down, the screen pushed into the cushions to conceal whatever she was looking at. The action caused Yelena’s eyebrows to rise to her hairline, and she sat in the space. “That was weird, Kate Bishop, even for you,” Yelena said, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “That was weird, right?” The blonde asked America, who was staring at her girlfriend.

“Extremely weird,” Kate cringed a her tone.

“What’s on your phone that you do want me to see?”

“It’s nothing,” Yelena sat back, crossing one leg over the other, and waited for the lie Kate was crafting in her head. The archer stared forward, but Yelena saw her blue eyes glance her way. “Stop looking at me like that.” The blonde smirked. She knew she was intimating. It was why when the Avengers needed to interrogate someone, Yelena or Natasha were sent it. It was a running competition between the two sisters on who could get them to break faster. Yelena was winning by 45 seconds. “Okay, okay,” Kate sighed. “We were Instagram stalking her friends.” Yelena sat up straighter at the mention of you. “Someone posted a picture of her that wasn’t part of her core group.”

“Are you going to show me it or…?” Kate looked at America for confirmation, but she shrugged. The archer handed Yelena her phone. Instagram was opened to a profile of a name she had not known or cared to find out. The model’s most recent post was two pictures. The photographer posed you and her with your arms around her waist, looking at each other. There was a warmth in your eyes as you smiled at the girl, and the genuine joy reflected on her face pierced through Yelena like a dagger. She swiped to the second photo. The model’s lips were against your cheek, and your arms were draped around her neck. Her fingers tightened around Kate’s phone, nails digging into the device as she tried to erase the images.

Rationally, Yelena knew it was nothing more than a photo shoot, a scene staged by someone behind the camera. Rationally, she knew the way you looked at her was acting. The kiss on your cheek meant nothing. These moments captured were probably the first time you and her met. It was the nature of being creative. All her rational thoughts went out the window when jealousy filled her chest and blinded her sight. The deadly emotion was poisonous. She was ready for it to consume her. However, the emotion was quick to leave. A surge of conflicting emotions swirled within her—disappointment, envy, and a pang of insecurity. She couldn’t help but compare herself to the girl in the photo, questioning what made her so special.

“Lena,” Kate’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she forced a mile. “Why wouldn’t I be?” She handed her friend her phone back. The buzz of her watch reminded her to start her report. Perfect. She thanked her past self. “I have some stuff to do before we leave. Maybe we can watch a movie on the way back.” She quickly stood up and walked towards the room she used. Locking the door behind her, she could hear her heart beating against her ribs. Why was she feeling like this? You weren’t hers. You could kiss, love, and give your heart to anyone. It meant nothing to her.

She sat on the bed and pulled out her phone. She was angry, jealous, and upset, but she promised you a text. She never was one to break her promises. ‘Back and safe.’ Simple. It was all she could muster.

The sound of the bass vibrated through your bones. It was a pleasant hum as you were sandwiched between Kandis and Austin on a couch. The smell of alcohol and weed tickled your nose. You refused whenever someone tried to pass you a joint or a red solo cup. A game of King’s Cup was happening around you, but you were unsure how they could hear over the music. Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and your heart skipped when you took it out. Back and safe. Back and safe. It was strange how a simple two-word text lifted all your worry and stress away. “I’ll be right back,” you said to Kandis, not waiting for a response. You found a window that leads to a fire escape. The cool air caused goosebumps to form on your skin. A quiet sigh left your lips as the closed window blocked the music from the party.

‘I’m glad you’re safe,’ you typed. ‘I’ve been anxiously waiting for your reply.’ Maybe it was a little forward, but it was the truth. You saw that she read the message, but no dots appeared, singling that she was responding. Frowning, you typed out another message. ‘When will you be returning to the city? I leave tomorrow morning.’ Again, she read it, but there was no response. Was it something you said before that made her act like this? Quickly rereading the conversation, you found nothing. Maybe you were overthinking it. She was done with a mission, and she was tired. It wasn’t you. ‘Glad you are safe Blondie. Get some rest.’ This time, your message went unread.

You locked your phone and stared at the city you used to call home. It was strange, this feeling that bubbled in your chest. You felt trapped between this city and New York. Both places weren’t home. You haven’t felt at home since the accident, since the person who was home to you was ripped away.

You whipped away your tears. Mindlessly opening up your phone and pressed call. “Hi,” he answered on the first ring.

“Tony, hi,” you whispered. “I’m sorry I called. I know you’re probably busy, but I needed to make sure you’re okay. I can-”

“It’s okay,” he cut off your nervous rambling and heard movement on the other side. “I’m glad you called.” The sound of a door shut behind him. “Are you okay? You sound like you’ve been crying.”

“I’m-” it felt stupid to lie. “I was thinking about Mom and the car accident, so I think that’s why I called you.”

“I’m fine, no injuries.”

“And the rest of the team?” You questioned. The way he sighed made your throat tighten up.

“Minor injuries,” he said. “Sam has a pretty nasty bruise, Natasha twisted her ankle, and Maria had her shoulder dislocated.” You let out a shaky breath, nodding her head. “Tell me what else is going on, butterfly,” you made a surprise squeak; the sound came from the back of your throat. “Do you like that one?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah, I do.” You had no energy to tell him that was a nickname your mom called you. It took a moment to collect yourself. “I’m sorry,” you told him. “About the conversation we had before you left. I’m sorry,” you ran your hand over your head and covered your eyes.

“There is no need to apologize,” he said. “We’ll-we’ll figure it out,” the stutter in his voice broke your heart. “If you won’t use Morgan’s bone marrow or continue with Plan B, we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” you whispered.

“We’ll probably be back before you. We can talk more than,” you nodded, knowing he couldn’t see you. “You are a Stark. We don’t back down from a fight,” a smile graced your lips.

“Right,” you said. “Safe travels.”

“Same to you,” you hung up and stared at your hands. You are a Stark. His DNA ran through you. You are a Stark, and Starks never backed down from a fight, but it seemed easier to give up.

Taglist: @likemick, @averagetmblrusser, @wandaromamoff69, @simpforyelenabelova, @cd-4848,

#second chace #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark x reader

70 notes · View notes

wishjacked · 5 months

Text

Happy #WebcomicDay!! :D

This year we're celebrating the process of making pages... so below the cut I've got a bunch of pictures sharing how I go about making pages of my evil post-apocalyptic workplace sitcom, Cargo!! :D

So! My process!!

Writing-> I think sometimes there's pressure to "write" your comic a certain way, I see people talking about script format and stuff a lot. That really doesn't work for me, though! I write my "first draft" script in short scenes on scrap paper, in whatever order they come to me. Sometimes a scene will just be one or two lines, and then a little description of what I want to happen in the rest of the scene.

Later I type the scene up, and write the "connective tissue" that fits between the disjointed scenes so they all flow together like they ought. I don't do page breaks or even character tag or action notes hahahaha I like it to be as BASIC as POSSIBLE so it's easy to edit. And since I'm the person drawing it I can almost always remember who's supposed to be saying what lmao

I edit a lot, but the most major editing is also probably the last bit... when I letter my pages usually I realize "they would never say that" and so I end up rephrasing everything. My art brain is sometimes waaaaay better at phrasing hahaha. Like you can see in the finished page for this script I rewrote like basically all of it, and actually went back to the original "sketch" script in a lot of places.

Thumbnailing-> my thumbs are really big, I draw them with markers on printer paper and keep them in a binder!! I like to thumb scenes in batches and I also usually write my dialogue on them, just so I can read through them before (and while) I draw to get a feel for how the pacing works. :)

youtube

Sketching-> OH sketching is also really hard for me! I don't have a good visual imagination so it's really important for me to make sure I have good references. Last year I was especially focusing on setting.

My comic is set in Florida. I'm lucky in that I used to live there and still go back to visit sometimes, so sometimes I can gather my own reference images! But more often I start on Google Maps or Zillow, trying to find buildings that have interesting features or the right kind of "look" for what I want. I'll also look up other interesting elements, my comic is set in a post-apocalypse and I'll research home gardening and things like that which people would probably have.

For example, in this set in chapter 7, I used Google Maps images, photo references of indoor hydroponic gardening, and like, 90's-00's hacker computer setups haha. Also my BFF Roomstyler.com, where you can make 3d house interiors haha!!

Lineart-> I LOVE lineart it is my favorite!!!! I sketch and ink two pages at a time, and it usually takes somewhere between 10-12 hours to do both steps.

I actually think my art looks best when it's just lineart... but I think my STORY is better with color, like it makes it clearer and easier to read and it has a better atmosphere HAHA.

Colors-> I think it usually takes me 4-6 hours to do 2 pages (I haven't timed myself as consistently as I time my lineart and sketching). I have a big file with small copies of my previous pages that I color drop from, and my characters are all flats only. The limited palette that I use is also really handy, it streamlines coloring a LOT.

Finishing Touches-> aka I steal mercilessly from my one true love, my internet home, the beautiful and blessed Wikimedia Commons

I put lots of overlay layers on my art! I like textures so having some strange little textures or pictures on things makes my art feel a lot more finished to me.

And finally my very most favorite ✨finishing touch✨ is the bright colored/patterned gutters that I use. Here are some of my favorites that I've made and used in the past!

And that's all!! I hope you guys have a very happy Webcomics Day and find lots and lots of wonderful new things to read!!!

#WebcomicDay #Webcomic Day #my art #webcomics #webcomicsday

40 notes · View notes

runepou · 2 years

Text

a/n: I rewrote this for like 10 times and still don't really like it. but at this point whatever. somewhat an angsty counterpart to atlas's this drabble

warnings: angst(?) with no comfort whatsoever. gn reader and barou calls reader stuff like servant and lowlife. he is toxic because I cant write proper romance

Barou Shouei is the king.

Not only in the field but also with you as well, he’s the king and gets treated like one.

And you? You’re the servant even yourself know this. Nothing much than a plaything that’s purpose is to stroke his ego.

So why did it hurt this much when you left?

Was it because you decided to go with your own will instead of him kicking you out like he planned on to?

He should’ve done that months ago but he let himself get comfortable around your worshipping gaze and now you turned your back on him.

How could someone do insignificant cause this much pain?

He replaced you countless times after that. To show you and himself that you were not so special as you probably thought you were. But none of them were as understanding or gentle as you, none of them cared for him the same way you did and neither did they laugh, look or felt like you.

No, none of them were you after all

To think he called you the lowlife who couldn’t live without him

Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt his pride half as much if you yelled and hit him, inflicting what he made you go through for a long long time just for loving him, yet you didn’t. No you didn’t even spare a glance in his way, walking out without a single word and with the silent tears you didn’t let him see

And sometimes when he looks at the benches after a goal to meet your eyes out of habit he feels so alone. Sometimes when he can’t feel your presence next to him while doing the simplest of tasks he feels weak and wishes for you to help like you always do

It’s funny considering how much he used to complain because of that

He hates it all so much. When did he started caring for you, another being? How did you managed to get him this addicted to the simplest things about you without him even noticing?

Barou Shouei decides you were not a servant after all. You were a devil send from the depths of hell to ruin his life

and he himself cant believe how much he wants his life ruined right now

#idk man #barou shouei #barou shouei x reader #baro shoei #blue lock x reader #blue lock angst #bllk x reader #bllk x gender neutral reader #bllk angst #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #bllk x you #gender neutral reader #blue lock x reader angst

571 notes · View notes

dayseternal-blog · 3 months

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Bunny-senpai!!! 💕

I answered an ask similar to this one last year in March and I don't think my answers have changed...

I rewrote each blurb haha, so it's not an exact copy-paste from before.

1 “It’s No Secret” - Rated M, High School AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. Hinata returns to Konoha after 5 years studying abroad in the Moon Kingdom. She just wants to enjoy her last year of high school as a normal girl, but blossoming love forces her to confront her future. - My top fave. Back then, I wrote this like I was possessed. This story consumed my mind, and I was posting chapters every 1 or 2 weeks. I'm amazed at myself from back then. No, it's not my technically best writing, but I was having so much fun thinking up all kinds of scenes!!! Oh, to be a fanfic writing newbie all over again. Major love to everyone who's read this flirty teenage shenanigans mess and enjoyed it!!! One day I will write part two 🥺

2 “Nightdreams” - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Naruto and Hinata find comfort in each other after the war. - This fic idea came to me sometime after I read agitosgirl's "A Special Friend," and I wanted Moooooore!!! I wanted more of this hurt/comfort dynamic between NaruHina!!!! So bam, the fic almost wrote itself, it flowed so easily (except for when it didn't). I'm so happy that people reread this fic, and then tell me that they're rereading it :D. Once in awhile I reread it, too, and think, oh, I should fix that sentence, or whatever loll, but I don't. I kind of think it's nice to leave it as it is, imperfect in little ways to bother me. Please read this fic and recognize that I was copying Katarinahime's writing techniques throughout.

3 “Awkward Jocks” - Rated G, 1990s High School AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. She knows that if he were to ever ask her out, she would accept in a heartbeat. After all, he’s the star quarterback and basketball player. Plus, she’s liked him since…forever. But when her home phone rings, and he’s on the other line, she hangs up. - It's interesting to me that even after all the fics I've written over the years, it's a few of my oldest fics that take the top 3. I guess I really have been trying to write for myself since the start. This one is based off of my ex-coworker's love story. Even though I don't work with her anymore, I still think of her as my role model for good leadership. When you read this, I hope you can feel how much I love her!

4 “About You” - Rated G, 1970s High School AU, One-shot. A summer job at the Dole pineapple cannery, graveyard shift 10 PM to 6 AM. A long bus ride into and out of town. Two teens, shy beside each other. - This is my most personal fanfic. Based on stories my parents told me and stories I found online from people of their generation, I tried to dive into their time using NaruHina. Ever since I was inspired to write after reading emmykay's "Torch Song," I had wanted to write a fic with Japanese-Hawaiian pidgin dialogue. This fic is close to my heart, but it's not higher on the list because there are inaccurate details that bother me 😅. I'm thinking of writing a fic about my great grandparents' generation one day, I've done a ton of research for it! Anyway, I'm so happy that others love this fanfic, too.

5 “Matcha” from “Shared Vows” - Rated T, Canon-Compliant, One-shot. Naruto calls Hiashi “father” for the first time. - According to my previous blurb, I picked this one because I loved how I structured it, I thought I wrote it really well. I also loved the notion of Naruto finding his own family. On deeper reflection, I think I also picked this one over "Finally Home" because I have a not-so-secret agenda for reconciliation between Hinata and Hiashi, fed by my own family's dynamic with my dad.

If I were to recommend any one of these for someone to read, I'd say they should start with Nightdreams or Matcha as an intro to some of my work since canon universe fanfic is always easier to digest.

#bunny-hoodlum #fic author self rec #ask game #naruhina fanfic recs #about my writing

21 notes · View notes

choices-binglebonkus · 3 months

Text

Replaying TRR again, but this time, I’m buying all the diamond scenes.

Maxwell is a pretty well-written character with a reasonable balance between courtly etiquette and goofy antics for most of book 1. I’ve said before that his Flanderization into an incessant party mosquito started in book 2, but now that I’m replaying the series and buying all the scenes, it feels like he started to take a subtle turn for the obnoxious at the tail end of book 1. Personally, after replaying, I felt that Maxwell dipped his toes into the annoying pool in chapter 16, then went waist deep in chapter 17 and didn’t recover after that.

Which, coincidentally, seems to have been when the writers shifted gears and started to try and work up to Maxwell eventually becoming a love interest in book 2 despite not originally being marketed as one.

In chapter 18 during his dance-off with Hana in her diamond scene, the MC is presented with the option to announce him into the challenge as “Unexpected Heartthrob”…which speaks for itself.

In chapter 19, during his diamond scene, the MC can kiss Maxwell on the cheek (which flusters him) AND ask him if she’ll ever see him without his shirt on. If neither of these choices are flirting, I’m not sure what is.

But what likely pushed the writers to add more romance-adjacent choices to Maxwell’s dynamic with the MC occurred way before these chapters. All the way back in chapter 8 when the MC is doing the Cordonian Waltz (a courtship dance, might I add) with Maxwell in Lythikos, the MC can either tell him that she thinks the dance is a little scandalous for the ballroom…or, in stark contrast, how there’s no one else she’d rather be dancing with, which Maxwell gently rebukes her for.

And then in chapter 10, the MC can tell Maxwell she’s looking forward to spending time with him on the beach. This particular interaction is noteworthy because it grants the MC a Maxwell relationship point. Throughout the first and second books, the MC can gain relationship points (NOTE: different from romance points) with Liam, Drake, Hana, and even Olivia. This instance in chapter 10 is the only relationship point that can ever be gained with Maxwell. Yes, ever.

I’m thinking these two originally small and insignificant choices in chapter 8 and 10 gained so much attention from fans that Pixelberry realized Maxwell had potential as a love interest, leading them to sprinkle in some rewrites in book one that hinted at a future romance. These rewrites could also explain why chapter 10’s interaction is the only instance of us gaining a relationship point with Maxwell: Pixelberry likely rewrote scenes with choices that originally granted more Maxwell relationship points and forgot to replace them after.

So while they went way heavier on the buildup to Maxwell becoming a love interest in book 2, the signs were there early on, and they gradually built up to Maxwell becoming less of a bumbling but well-meaning guide to the MC, and more of an air-headed, foolhardy, childish pest.

And honestly? It makes me wonder: how might Maxwell’s character have been different if the writers didn’t turn him into a love interest? Would he have kept his early/mid-book 1 personality? Would Maxwell have pursued a relationship with Penelope? Would his role in the story have gradually lessened like Bertrand’s did? How might he have affected future books like TRH/TRF?

#yes yes another maxwell essay #I feel the same way about him as I do with Mr. Krabs from SpongeBob #LOVED him in the beginning because he was a pretty balanced character #then he was flanderized so badly I actually couldn’t stand him #but anyway PLEASE let me know what you guys think! I’m curious what others think about how different maxwell could have been #maxwell beaumont #choices the royal romance #choices trr #the royal romance #trr #choices stories you play #playchoices #choices stories we play #pixelberry #pixelberry studios #playchoices fandom #choices stories you play fandom #choices stories we play fandom

19 notes · View notes

laracrofted · 1 year

Text

baby, i'm high octane (v)

synopsis: on fourth of july, nora and jake dance around each other.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, swearing, alcohol consumption, existential dread, pining and yearning, kissing, no smut here but come back for the next chapter (wc: 7K)

note: i'm sorry for being so slow. i rewrote this chapter like eight times, i'm not even kidding. i also apologize in advance for where i ended this chapter, but the good news is we'll have seven chapters instead of six 😌

previous chapter | series post | next chapter

tagging // @theharddeck @frenchyjuju @bioodforbiood @cursedtobe @roosterbruiser @t-nd-rfoot @bethbunnyy @filmflux @djs8891 @mayhemmanaged @sometimesanalice @eli2447 @bradshawsbitch @hangmanbrainrot @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @dempy @mlibbydp @stvrlighttsworld @bellaireland1981 @clancycucumber230 @kmc1989 @averagereader35

June slips away over the weekend, a quiet and unassuming end.

As June fades into July, Sunday becomes Monday becomes Tuesday and so on until soon enough, Fourth of July has arrived and more importantly, so has a long weekend.

God bless America.

On the morning of the Fourth, Nora sleeps in for once.

She wakes up a few minutes before 11:00 AM and refreshed – or at the very least, a little less tired than usual – and reaches for her phone, which is once again, buried under her pillows.

A slew of unread notifications are waiting for her when Nora rolls over and looks at the screen.

Two missed calls. Eleven unread messages. One unread email Nora has definitely been meaning to read for a week now. Definitely.

She ignores the email – because really, what's one more day? – and scrolls through the rest of the notifications.

Natasha, 9:40 AM: Are you awake?

Natasha, 9:41 AM: I'm going with no because I knocked and didn't get an answer.

Natasha, 10:00 AM: We're heading out to North Coronado Beach in 10-ish. Payback is bringing his girlfriend. Come join us when you're awake if you'd like!

Bradley, 10:05 AM: Do you have any sunscreen I could borrow?

Bradley, 10:06 AM: Phoenix really wants you to come to the beach btw.

Her smile grows as Nora scrolls down and discovers a message each from the rest of the Naval aviators and even one from an unsaved number with a Louisiana area code that she has to assume is Javy.

"Oh my god," Nora laughs. A loud and delighted sound in the soft quiet of the morning. Natasha’s persistence is both amusing and very touching.

She sends Natasha a quick I'm awake, just need to get dressed as proof of life and stares at Jake's message for a solid 30 seconds, gnawing on the edge of her bottom lip.

She swears under her breath and clicks on the message.

Jake, 10:30 AM: So are you really sleeping or are you just afraid to face me in beach volleyball?

Nora, 10:58 AM: Sorry, who is this?

He responds less than a minute later.

Jake, 10:59 AM: Ha ha

Jake, 10:59 AM: Come to the beach.

Jake, 11:00 AM: Javy and I need another person.

Nora, 11:01 AM: Have you looked on Tinder?

Jake, 11:02 AM: For volleyball, smart ass. We're playing 3 on 3.

Jake, 11:02 AM: Everyone wants you to come.

Jake, 11:02 AM: I want you to come.

She's never been so grateful to be alone than right now. No one else should have to witness the stupidly wide smile pulling at her lips right now, uninvited. She reads the message again, feeling kind of giddy, which is actually kind of ridiculous.

Like objectively ridiculous.

She is kind of ridiculous. This is getting out of hand.

Like on Sunday morning for instance.

She had woken up in the aftermath of Bradley’s party and that damn dream and remembered the night before in such excruciatingly vivid and cinematic detail – high resolution and state-of-the-art surround sound, like the goddamn IMAX of sex dreams – that she had to deep clean the entire apartment as a distraction.

A several hour get up close and personal with the checkered blue in the bathroom, wondering whether it's ever been cleaned, and later, in a sudden panic, open all of the windows in case you've accidentally poisoned yourself with bleach fumes deep clean.

Her one goal? Don't think about Jake.

So Nora wiped down the counters and didn’t think about Jake and vacuumed the living room, between and under the couch cushions included, and didn’t think about Jake and scrubbed the shower and didn’t think about Jake so hard that Nora needed an actual shower afterward. A cold one.

"Get a grip," Nora says out loud now.

She looks out of the window and sees nothing but a clear and cloudless blue. A perfect beach day.

She'll go, of course.

She'll go because Nora loves the beach – and always has – and because Natasha was kind enough to invite her and because Nora wants to meet Reuben's girlfriend and hang out with all of them.

No other reason.

She wonders, not for the first time, not even for the first time this week, when she became so well versed in lying to herself.

She blows out a prolonged breath and responds to Natasha.

Nora, 11:05 AM: I'll be there in 30.

"Not playing, Rogers?"

Noon is bright and beautiful and clear as Nora lowers her sunglasses ever so slightly and glances up from her book at Bradley. Blinding sunlight pierces her blue eyes almost immediately, and she has to hold up a shielding hand to be able to see him.

Hand still raised, Nora shakes her head in answer.

She had definitely overpacked for the beach. She always does, wanting to be prepared.

A well-worn paperback from her nightstand. Sunscreen. A reusable water bottle. An assortment of snacks. A portable phone charger. Chapstick. A claw clip. More snacks. An old film camera, in case Nora feels inspired.

(She loves the way California looks on film. All faded blues and greens.)

After seeing Reuben serve, Nora had never been more grateful for her own overpacking. Natasha and Reuben alternated subbing in for Nora on Jake and Javy's side, and Nora found a good patch of sand on the sidelines where she can watch from a minimum safe distance.

Nora loves a good bit of healthy competition, like all Leos do, but she's nowhere near competitive enough to play with them. She's much happier here.

"I decided I don't need a concussion," Nora says simply.

"We would've gone easy on you," Bradley protests immediately. His grin is just mischievous enough that Nora doesn't believe him.

"Now I'm convinced," Nora drawls dryly.

Bradley laughs, bending over and reaching into the cooler that Reuben's girlfriend, Gracie – a pretty nurse with a deceptively powerful spike – brought. It's filled with lemonade and water and soda and at the very bottom, beer.

His hand sloshes around in the ice until Bradley pulls a couple of beers from the depths. He offers one to Nora wordlessly.

She is still drinking a can of cold brew from La Colombe so Nora waves him off. He drops the second beer back into the cooler with a faint splash and closes the lid.

"Scooch over," Bradley asks and nudges her leg with the side of his sandy foot.

A cool breeze blows in from the ocean as Nora moves over, and Bradley smells like a summery mixture of coconut sunscreen and sweat, dropping down next to her.

He had to dive for a pass in the last game, and his calves are sandy as Bradley kicks out his legs and buries his toes in the sand.

Ice cold condensation rolls down the side of Bradley's fresh can of beer and drips down his arm onto Nora's legs. She sets her book aside with a frown, not wanting him to drip water on the pages, which are already a little wrinkled from her dropping it in a pool once.

She crosses her legs. Wipes the water from her skin.

Her damp palm smears across his bare shoulder as Nora wipes the water on him. Just to be annoying. She's surprised – and kind of alarmed – by how warm Bradley's skin is, scorching.

His shoulders are already a concerning shade of pink, and Nora asks, "Did you even put on the sunscreen I brought you?"

His chin dips in a nod, and Nora can see smudges of sunscreen residue around his reddening ears. "I burn easily."

He cracks open the beer with a crisp pop and fizz sound, like a sound effect from a Bud Light commercial. A wave of foam rapidly rises, and Bradley slurps it down with a muttered curse, only barely avoiding spilling it all over his lap.

"You should put on more," Nora says. She looks at his back and grimaces. "You're like giving off heat right now."

Another sip, and Bradley lets out an exaggerated ah! sound. "Are you offering to put it on for me? If you wanted to rub my shoulders so badly, you could've asked."

"It's a spray," Nora deadpans.

He visibly holds back a grin, mustache twitching, and Nora rolls her eyes.

Bradley pulls his sunglasses down with a crooked pinky and absentmindedly watches the current game over the edges of the golden rims. Drinks his beer. Reuben, Mickey, and Gracie are facing off against Jake, Javy, and Natasha right now while Bob is refereeing.

She pulls her book back into her lap and leans her chin on her open palm, reading, interpreting his silence as the end of the conversation.

Silly her, right?

She only manages to get through another paragraph and a half when Nora is interrupted again.

"So..." Bradley cuts in casually. "What's up? I feel like I haven't seen you all week."

Her brow scrunches as Nora frowns slightly. "You've seen me."

A drop of sweat rolls down his neck as Bradley shakes his head. "Barely."

"We had lunch yesterday," Nora reminds him. Did Bradley fall on his knees or on his head during that last dive?

"You're usually around more, like in the Ready Room, but I hung out in there a few times between drills, and you were always gone."

"I was in the hangar," Nora explains, deliberately oblivious. She knows Bradley is asking after the why – not the where.

"Why?" Bradley asks, directly so Nora can't dodge him again. She makes a face.

Why, indeed.

Frankly, because Bradley happened to be paired with Jake on a lot of the same drills and so, happened to be on the ground at the same time as him.

Nora isn't avoiding Jake. Per se.

Avoiding him would be unprofessional and also, kind of impossible and not really fair to him. He hasn't done anything. It's her. She has just been a little more... scarce than usual.

Bradley is more collateral damage than anything else.

He looks over before Nora has a chance to compose her face. "Why do you look like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." Bradley searches for the right phrase. He seeks wisdom in another sip of beer. "...you're my bunkmate on the carrier about to ask if I can find another place to crash for the night so I can get laid.”

She stares at him blankly. "I'm confused. Are you getting laid? Or am I?"

"Don't change the subject, Rogers."

"Me?" Nora exclaims. "You're the one with the confusing analogy."

"Just..." He waves his beer around. "Tell me."

Sighing, Nora sneaks a subtle – or rather, hopefully subtle – glance at Jake.

Shirtless, Jake is gleaming in the golden glow of the sun, glistening with an attractive sheen of sweat, all muscles and sun-kissed skin, rolling and flexing and all of those delicious words. He is wearing a backwards baseball cap, damp strands of golden hair swept across his forehead and underneath, making him look ruffled and boyish and so goddamn handsome.

And Jake's arms. His massive arms.

One of those arms wipes across his glistening forehead as Jake spikes the ball and sends Reuben and Mickey diving into the sand on the other side of the net. His cocky grin is blinding.

And even from here, Nora feels her pulse quicken. She feels like a dropped can of soda, one hard shake from bursting open.

She needs to get a grip and soon.

"You don't want to know," Nora promises.

"Tell me," Bradley nudges. "How bad can it really be?"

Well. She did warn him.

"I had a sex dream about Jake."

He chokes. A stream of beer dribbles down his chin and splashes across his bare chest, running down his abdomen in rivulets. Nora holds back a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Why would you tell me that?" Bradley looks pained, asking the question like, What did I ever do to you? Like, Why do you hate me so much?

"You asked," Nora replies calmly.

Mopping the beer from his chest with a balled-up shirt, Bradley looks pained. He coughs into his elbow. "I did not ask about – "

"Besides," Nora continues, ignoring him. "I needed to tell someone, and I couldn't scar Natasha like this so early in our friendship. I need advice."

"What... exactly is the problem?" Bradley asks, slow and reluctant, with a comical lack of enthusiasm; like she's forced the question out of him at gunpoint.

"Well, I guess I like him." Nora draws her knees in and brushing sand from her skin, warm from the sun, rests her arms on them. "Which is probably a bad idea, I know."

"Probably," Bradley echoes. He bobs his head from side to side, weighing his words, considering. "But really, what's a good idea?"

Surprise makes Nora look at him, sharp and sudden. "What does that mean?"

His shoulder drops into a shrug. "I guess, I mean Hangman is a good enough guy. You could do worse."

Brows raised, Nora asks, "Really? When exactly did you guys kiss and make up?"

Bradley wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Is that what gets you hot these days?"

He laughs when Nora digs her elbow into his side. She snorts despite herself. "You're such an ass. But really, aren't you going to try to talk me out of it? I expected you to be against the idea."

His laughter cools into something more thoughtful, more contemplative as Bradley asks, "Did you know my mom took six months to agree to go out with my dad?”

She shakes her head.

A kind of sad smile pulls at his mouth. A ghost of a smile. "Yeah. She wanted him to prove himself or something. She wanted someone who'd be serious about her. He obviously did, or I wouldn't be here."

A pause, and Nora patiently waits for him to continue.

"My birthday always brings up a lot of memories. I'm 36 now. Another year older than my dad ever got to be, which never gets any less weird. I never asked, but if she’d known how it would end, I bet she would’ve done some things differently. I know she would’ve done anything for six more months with him.”

Bradley says, "You like him. He likes you. And you've got what? Four more weeks here?"

A cool dread pools in the bottom of her stomach at the reminder, and Nora nods with a wan smile. Her opposite fist clenches and unclenches where Bradley can't see.

"Exactly. You're not gonna be here forever. Why not see what happens?"

Her knees drop open as Nora crosses her legs. She brushes sand from her ankles, runs her thumb over the delicate bone there, a soothing back and forth motion, meditative. Contemplating.

"He'd just be so..."

Ahead, as Javy prepares to serve, abdomen rippling as the Naval aviator raises his arm high, Jake cups his large hands around his mouth and heckles Reuben and Mickey. They give him the bird in unison, and even Gracie narrows her eyes.

Jake grins widely. So damn pleased with himself.

She drops her gaze before Jake can catch her watching him.

"So smug," Nora finishes. "He'd be so goddamn smug."

Bradley laughs. "Can't argue with you there."

He winds an arm around her shoulders, sympathetic and sweaty, and Nora leans her head on his shoulder. Her own shoulders are warm from sunshine. Her cheeks are pink.

She's probably overdue for a dip in the ocean.

"Do you know where you're going after this? At the end of this project, I mean?" Bradley asks quietly, and when Nora doesn't respond right away, looks at her sidelong. His brown eyes are warm in the afternoon sun, honeyed with flecks of amber. "Or should I not ask?"

Her answering sigh is almost lost amongst the sounds of the ocean waves, gently crashing against the shore, almost but not quite. "Please don't ask."

He acknowledges her words with a hum. "Gotcha."

Soon, Bradley finishes his beer and rejoins Natasha and Bob for the next game, huddling up, and Nora can feel Jake's eyes on her like she can feel the sun on her shoulders, like a burst of warmth.

She gives up any hope of reading her book and lays down. Closes her eyes. Basks in the warmth of the afternoon; in the sounds of gulls overhead and shouts of laughter; in the rush of salt air over her skin, on her tongue.

Everything else washes away, caught in the rising tide and carried out to sea. At least, for now.

A few hours later, after Nora has gone home and rinsed the sweat and sand from her skin and dressed again, she catches a ride with Natasha and Bob to the Hard Deck to meet the rest of the Naval aviators.

Penny is hosting something of a private Fourth of July barbecue – but with more alcohol and aside from a party-sized bag of Lay's chips Nora saw on the bar, no barbecue – in the early evening before San Diego's annual firework show, which kicks off around dusk.

The Hard Deck bar is a sea of khaki uniforms and crisp denim and shades of red, white, and blue, and Penny clearly decorated for the occasion.

A paper banner of red, white, and blue stars hangs across the large windows in the back, rustling like autumn leaves in the slight breeze from the side door. And cross-legged on a barstool by the windows, a cute but highly impractical pair of pale blue suede cowboy boots on her dangling legs, Nora leans an elbow on her knee, watching Jake and Natasha's nine ball game.

Dressed in a linen button-down, which pulls deliciously over his back muscles, Jake knocks a hard-to-reach ball into a pocket with a devil-may-care smirk. Natasha visibly winces.

"Think I want a rematch, Bagman," Natasha announces with a resigned swig of beer.

"Oh, Bagman again, is it?" Jake lets out a low and mocking whistle. "Haven't heard that one in a while. You must really be pissed, huh, Phoenix?"

Brows raised, Jake flawlessly executes a series of complicated shots while holding her dark gaze, which grows progressively steelier with every click and clack.

"Nora," Natasha says in a scary calm voice. "You can probably reach him best over there. Would you mind strangling Bagman for me?"

"Happily," Nora quips.

Jake makes a whole show of clutching his chest and pretending to be deeply offended, which lasts for all of 20 seconds. "No one likes a sore loser, Trace."

And Bob – who until now has been quietly observing from a barstool on Natasha's end – carefully sweeps cracked peanut shells and popcorn residue from his lap and chimes in with some much-needed optimism.

"You can still win. You still have..."

He launches a long-winded and strategic breakdown of all the different strategies and angles Natasha has left in her arsenal, counting them off. As if Natasha is competing in some Las Vegas championship, not playing a few amicable – well, maybe semi-amicable – rounds in a dive bar.

And while Nora is a very casual enjoyer of pool and doesn't understand half of what Bob is saying, she does understand that Jake is beating Natasha. Badly. Obnoxiously so.

An argument will definitely break out if Jake wipes the floor with Natasha. Nora can feel it in the air, like a crackle of electricity, an indigo downdraft before a summer storm.

So as Jake grows closer, setting up for the coupe de grâce, Nora catches the crisp sleeve of his linen button-down, fabric pulling tight across his muscular bicep.

He pauses. Turns.

Forehead wrinkling, Jake looks down at Nora, expectant.

He smells... so damn good. Focus.

"Don't be an asshole," Nora says coolly.

"You'll have to be more specific, I'm afraid."

She gives him a withering look, and god, Jake definitely wants to laugh. She can see it in his eyes, bright and gleaming and green and so close.

"About the game," Nora clarifies dryly. "Don't be an asshole about the game."

His gaze drops down to where Nora is still holding his sleeve. She releases it as if burned.

Amusement creases the corners of his eyes, and Jake drawls, "No promises, sweetheart," and pulls away.

Even so, Jake's next move – one that could've easily been a game ender – is a little less precise, a little less powerful than his previous one. It’s not enough to sink the nine ball.

And Natasha lives to see another turn.

A Tears for Fears song comes on as Natasha openly celebrates, drawing her fist down, victorious. Bob and Mickey cheer and clap from the sidelines. Her own personal cheerleaders.

Nora's lips curl upwards.

Three Naval aviators are notably absent from the group at the back of the Hard Deck right now. Reuben is with Gracie, who wanted to get a good spot for the fireworks on Harbor Island, and Bradley had gone straight from the beach to Captain Mitchell's and is now late.

(Bradley sent her a message peppered with various emojis and general incoherence but ending in L8, which was easy enough to understand.)

Javy is around here... somewhere. He vanished into the crowd like 20 minutes ago for a refill and some snacks and never came back. He's probably catching up with some of the Naval officers who had waved at him as Javy came in.

She knows Javy would've clapped for Jake, had Javy been here.

So Nora claps for him, a light clap, catching Jake's attention with the motion, not the sound. She's rewarded with a broad grin as Jake leans on the cue.

He retrieves his half-full glass from the counter underneath the windows and tips the amber liquid in her direction. A gunslinger in an old Western, tipping his cowboy hat at the nearest woman in the saloon.

She raises her own glass in return, and Jake grins, wide and slow and sensual and damn. He looks her up and down, gaze lingering on her cowboy boots, not saying a damn word, not needing to say a damn word.

A warm feeling rises in her chest like Nora's overindulged in champagne. Goddamn.

Jake still wins in the end, but not by as much as he could've.

As Natasha racks the pool balls, resetting the table for the next game, Nora drains the rest of her Old Fashioned, which was mostly ice now anyway, and carries her empty glass over to the bar.

Penny is busy performing her duties as hostess – meeting and greeting and mingling. She'd made her way over and said hello soon after Nora arrived – so a bartender Nora doesn't recognize is behind the bar right now.

She sets her glass down and pulls out her phone for a distraction while Nora is waiting. She opens Instagram and after scrolling, sees Natasha posted a couple of pictures from Moonlight Rollers on Sunday morning.

In one of the photos, Nora is leaning on Natasha's shoulder, lids lowered and sparkly, grin wide and drunken. Another is a group picture where Bradley has a big arm around both Natasha and Nora's shoulders, standing on either side of him, trying not to fall on his ass again.

A smile lights up her face as Nora likes the post and shares it on her Instagram story. Adding a disco ball and some confetti in the corner.

It's been a while since Nora's posted on Instagram. How long has it been? Since France, maybe?

She clicks on her profile and –

"Hi. You're Nora, right?"

He's definitely around her age. Cute enough with sand-colored hair that curls around his ears and dimples. Blue eyes. He looks like a classic California surfer.

He looks vaguely familiar, but Nora can't remember his name.

"Depends," Nora says coyly. She slides her phone into her back pocket and crosses her arms. "Should I be worried?"

He's confident enough to laugh. A slightly apologetic sound.

"Not at all. I probably should've led with..." He sticks out a hand, smiling. "I'm Aidan. I'm an AM on the Naval base – an Aviation Structural Mechanic. I've seen you around."

Ah. She can place him now.

Aidan had supervised one of the camera installations last week. She'd exchanged all of five words with him. He looks different, not dressed in coveralls.

He's not the only one. She probably looks different too.

She's braided her pale hair down her back, and a vintage Born in the USA Word Tour shirt slopes over her shoulders, cropped and loose, barely grazing the denim waistband of her light wash cut-offs – which are a smidge shorter than she remembered.

"Have you?" Nora asks. "I must be pretty memorable."

Aidan flushes, and Nora bites back a smirk.

"You're, uh... We don't have a lot of civilian contractors on the base right now. It'd be kind of hard not to remember you, I think."

Her mouth opens in a smile. "I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

"You should," Aidan promises in a rush of breath. His blue eyes zero in on her empty glass. "What're you drinking? Maybe I could – "

"Making friends, Hollywood?"

Of course. Nora kind of wants to laugh.

She actually does laugh when 'Born to Run' by Bruce Springsteen comes on over the speakers, covering her mouth, and Jake bites back a smile, eyes sparkling, looking so damn pleased with himself.

Nora looks at him over her shoulder from under her dark lashes, blue eyes crinkling. "Wrong album, Texas."

He only grins.

Heart racing, Nora looks away. "You know Jake, right, Aidan?"

Nodding, Aidan grunts, "Hangman" with a neutral expression so practiced Nora knows all of the AMs must hate Jake. How many F-18 repairs have probably needed to be done in the months the Daggers have been stationed here?

"Howdy."

Jesus Christ. Nora rolls her eyes.

Jake regards the AM with a glued-on insufferable asshole smile until Aidan inhales – one of those sharp well, I better go inhales – and sure enough: "Well, I should get going."

"Oh, so soon?"

Nora kicks Jake in the ankle. His grin only widens.

Aidan looks between them with an unreadable expression and says, "Maybe I'll see you around, Nora. Happy Fourth," with a forced smile and leaves.

After, Nora bites down on the inside of her cheek to hold back a laugh.

"You're so irritating," Nora says.

"Am I?" Jake counters. "Why're you smiling then?"

She doesn't answer.

Grinning, Jake spots the bartender and flags him down with a quick and efficient, "I'll get another beer and another Old Fashioned for the lady here. Thanks, man."

"Presumptuous. And what if I wanted something else?"

His brows rise. "Did you?"

No but...

She could have.

“We’ll never know now,” Nora replies, stubborn, chin raised.

Jake reaches over and gives the end of her braid a gentle and light-hearted tug. So playful and casual. She gapes at him, and Jake grins down at her, shaking with suppressed laughter, eyes alight.

Her stomach does a somersault and then some. A full Olympic routine.

"Excuse me? Are you 12?"

But Nora is laughing.

Jake slides into the empty space beside her. Close enough for Nora to feel the warmth of him.

"What were you and AM Aidan chatting about over here? You know Phoenix made him cry once?" Jake asks. He sounds unbearably amused.

"Literally nothing. He was definitely about to ask me out though," Nora replies.

"Poor guy," Jake croons. His smirk is smug as all hell. "You'd eat him alive. Guy like that wouldn't even know what to do with you."

His words are drenched in implication, like Jake would know.

And against her will, Nora flushes.

He notices, of course, because Jake notices everything.

Luckily, the Hard Deck bartender chooses that exact moment to come back with their drinks. He sets them down. A beer for Jake. An Old Fashioned for Nora.

"Tab?"

"Seresin."

Nora opens her mouth, and Jake pulls on her braid again. She smacks his hand away.

"Don't be so stubborn, Hollywood. Let me buy you a drink."

She eyes him. "And what's the catch?"

A dimple carves into his cheek. "Maybe I'm just a nice guy."

"You are not a nice guy," and Nora doesn't mean for it to come out like it does, like it's a good thing, like she likes that about him.

His gaze is burning, and Jake is closer than ever before – shoe nudging between her boots, knee brushing against the inside of her exposed thigh – and Nora feels like a struck match held over a puddle of gasoline, like one wrong move, one right one will set her ablaze.

"Oh yeah?" Jake murmurs. “What am I then?”

Her bottom lip catches between her teeth, and Jake follows the movement, gaze darkening. His fingers spasm around the neck of the beer bottle, and Nora remembers another moment, a moment in this very bar when Jake's fingers brushed the side of her neck, warm and calloused and deliberate.

A call vibrates her phone in her back pocket.

Her caught breath escapes in a rush. She doesn't even look at the ID before Nora answers.

"This is Nora Rogers."

Jake eases back, lids low, and Nora swallows against her suddenly dry mouth. Plugs her ear to better hear the person on the other end.

It's so loud in here, but Nora manages to make out a few words.

"Nora, it's Jenna."

A breath punches from her chest, and Nora freezes.

In her peripheral, Jake frowns around his beer.

"I know, I know," Jenna is saying, oblivious, even as Nora feels like a hand has clawed between her ribs and slowly squeezed. "Who calls out of the blue anymore, right? But I saw your Instagram story, and I was like, I should give Nora a call while I have a minute... Are you there? It's kind of loud. Can you hear me? Nora?"

"Oh, um..."

Nora looks up at Jake, eyes wide. He doesn't hesitate, good in a crisis like any good Naval aviator would be. He sets his drink down and pulls the phone from her unresisting fingers.

"Nora's a little busy right now. She'll have to call you back later. You have a good Fourth, ma'am."

And Jake ends the call before Nora can even breathe.

She stares at him, unblinking.

"Nora?"

Not sweetheart, not Hollywood. Nora.

She snaps out of her daze and manages, "I need some air."

And Nora lets Jake pull her though the crowd and out of the side door, into the cooling summer air.

Evening sun cools on the blue horizon of the ocean as Nora is sitting in the bed of Jake's Chevy, legs dangling and swinging restlessly over the edge, hard metal pressing into her skin.

She doesn't mind. It's kind of grounding, actually.

She breathes in the salt air. Breathes deep and out.

"What's going on?"

Ah, damn.

"Ah..." Nora blinks her eyes open and discretely wipes at the moisture under her lids. "I'm fine. Just needed a minute."

She wonders if Jake can hear the strain in her voice, the strange reediness. She can hear it. Can see right through her own words. She wonders if Jake can do the same, can see right through her like Nora is made of the sea glass that dots the shore.

Metal creaks as Jake hoists himself up and squeezes in next to Nora. He is so damn broad, pressed against her entire side. His bare arm is warm against hers.

He gets comfortable, stretching out his legs.

Leans a hand behind her back.

His arm brushes against her side again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jake asks, voice a gentle rumble.

She blows out an uneven breath. "About what?"

"You looked a little upset inside, is all."

"I'm not upset," Nora says. A reflex. A lie.

"Come on..." Jake coaxes with a small smile. "You're a bad liar, sweetheart. What's going on? Tell Uncle Jake."

She's surprised enough to laugh, a choked and breathless sound. "Uncle Jake? What is that, like a sex thing?"

"You're so..." He chuckles, low and warm. "No, Nora. It's not a sex thing. Ma called me earlier. Apparently, my niece caught War of the Worlds on cable the other night, even though I know Sarah would never let her watch a PG-13 movie. She's seven."

"So now," Jake continues. "She's scared of fireworks. She's convinced some Independence Day aliens are gonna burst right out of ‘em.”

Nora cracks a small smile. "And did Uncle Jake talk some sense into her?"

"Damn straight," Jake affirms with an oh-so-serious nod. "Told her I would've seen any aliens from my plane and shot ‘em right out of the sky.”

He kind of rolls his eyes, like Can you believe what I put up with?, but Nora can hear the unbridled affection in his voice. He loves it. He loves being this person who can calm a scared little girl down and make it all better.

And Nora's delicate heart cracks wide open.

His shoulder bumps against hers, gentle. "Got any aliens I can shoot out of the sky for you, sweetheart?”

She sighs. "I'm not upset, exactly. I'm... frustrated with myself."

His brows furrow in question, and rather than explain, Nora offers her phone and lets him read the incoming messages for himself. It’s easier.

Jenna, 6:58 PM: Hi! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to catch you in the middle of something.

Jenna, 7:01 PM: Are you still considering that project I talked to you about in May? Take a beat, I don’t need an answer right this second, but I do need an answer kind of soon.

Jenna, 7:01 PM: I’m resending the pitch now. Check your email!

Jenna, 7:02 PM: (And maybe write me back for once)

Another message comes in as Jake is reading.

Jenna, 7:05 PM: Also, WHO was that guy on the phone? He has a sexy voice.

Nora snatches her phone back and locks the screen, holding her arms close.

A smirk wavers on his face, flickering on and off like an old light bulb, but Jake doesn't make a comment. His mouth settles in a line as he studies Nora.

“What’s wrong with the project? Why don’t you want it?”

She blinks at him, surprised, and Jake shrugs.

“You would’ve given her an answer before now otherwise, right?”

And damn if Jake doesn’t hit the nail right on the head.

“You’re right. I don't want it," Nora says. An admission. "But I know I should. So... I'm aggravated with myself."

"Why?"

She pulls her legs up and crosses them, fiddling with a loose thread in the denim. She explains in a hush, "Because now, I only have a month left here, and I'm in the same place I was before I came here. I don't have another project lined up at the end of this one, and I haven't even been looking, really."

He is looking at her with soft attention. A breath.

Nora continues, "I really used to love what I do, but I don't know, I've been so drained and uninspired and god, just so fucking exhausted for the past year and a half." She smooths her hands over her cheeks, still flushed from the humid bar. "I thought if I had a change of pace, maybe I could recharge and feel creative again so..."

"You came here," Jake finishes, understanding.

"So I came here," Nora repeats in a soft voice.

She came here, and now, Nora is stuck. Again.

"Documentaries have been a part of my whole... identity for so long that I don't know if I could do something else. I feel like I'd lose a part of myself if I ever stopped. And I've been this person for so long that I don't know if I could do something else. I don't know if I'd even know how."

A car pulls into the beachside lot and parks a few rows over and idles there, and over the sound of the engine and the crash of the ocean waves, Nora can make out the chorus of ‘Fade Into You’ by Mazzy Star. Her mom’s favorite song.

It feels like a sign.

And Nora says, “I guess I don’t want to look back a decade from now and be in the same place I am right now.”

“Which is?”

“Wondering if I’ve made the wrong choice.” Nora watches the horizon. A sigh escapes from her lips. “Wondering if I’m too late to make the right one.”

“Look at me,” Jake says, soft and gentle but firm. "Hey."

Nora leans her chin on her shoulder and meets his gaze, and Jake is looking at her with such intense green, open-faced and sincere.

"You could march into Cyclone's office on Monday morning and quit right then and there and – "

"Actually, Admiral Simpson's not my – ”

"You could..." Jake raises his voice to drown out her interruption until Nora presses her lips together. "...quit and never make another documentary ever again and still be an incredible person. I mean, hell, Hollywood, you're beautiful and clever as hell and at times, kind of mean."

A smirk brims on her lips, and Jake grins, a flash of white.

“You could be anything.”

She stares at him. “How could you possibly know that? You’ve only known me for like a month.”

“I know enough.”

He sounds so sure, so certain.

And Nora likes him. She likes him so much her chest aches. She holds a hand over her collarbone, rubbing at the sore spot over her heart, pulse racing underneath her palm.

"Thank you, Jake," Nora says softly.

His eyes are soft. "Of course, anytime."

A beat passes, and Nora could so easily let the moment fade.

She could go back inside and spend the rest of the weekend pushing him from her mind and wanting him.

Jake is so handsome in the golden glow. He's looking at her like...

No one's ever looked at her like Jake is looking at her right now.

She swallows hard and says, "You were right before."

His mouth quirks. "I usually am, but about what?"

A few strands of short hair come loose from her braid and fall in her face as Nora shakes her head.

“I do kind of like you,” Nora admits. “I kind of like you a lot.”

His lips part in a smile. “You like me.”

She bites down on the inside of her cheek. Hard. “Go ahead. Get it over with."

“And what exactly am I getting over with?"

“You really aren't going to be smug about this? You were right. Get it over with."

Nora waits. Drums her fingers on the surface of her thigh while Jake is quiet, suspiciously so.

“What? Nothing?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find a way to be smug later," Jake promises with a slow smirk. Later oozes with suggestion. Sparks dance across her skin where Jake's arm is pressed against hers.

“You like me,” Jake repeats again, voice soft.

Her chin dips in a nod.

“And what are we gonna do about that, sweetheart?”

It’s all Nora can do not to squirm under his gaze.

She replies, “Nothing. Just wanted you to know,” in a voice so paper thin, so breathless that even Nora doesn’t believe herself.

You’re a bad liar, sweetheart, echoes in her head.

And like he knows, a smirk kicks up the edge of Jake's mouth.

In a movie, this would be a moment, the moment.

A director would ask the camera to get in close and closer still, documenting every microcosm of their expressions, every glimpse of emotion in their eyes, and in the background, a delicate instrumental would build and build, a gradual swell, like an ocean wave.

Grow louder and stronger until in a dark theater, surrounded by strangers and popcorn grease, or at home on the couch, whoever is watching catches themselves holding their breath, until the world drops out from under them, until…

He leans in close, locked and loaded with a clever countermove.

“Bull…”

And unable to let him have the last word, even in this, especially in this, Nora closes the distance between them and kisses him.

And kisses him and kisses him, hand dipping in the open space where his linen shirt gapes from his collarbone and running her fingers over the golden skin, warm from the sun, over that damn chain.

Hooking it around her index finger, Nora gives it an experimental pull, the smallest and slightest of tugs, and Jake reacts like Nora has reached inside his chest and pressed an on switch.

A warm palm slides up the slender length of her neck, settling on her nape, and anchors her against him. He breathes her name against her mouth, like a prayer, like a confession.

Nora Nora Nora.

Pulls her in and in and in until Nora is all but on top of him, impossibly close.

She wants nothing more than to crawl over him and –

A car alarm wails from behind them.

She pulls back, breathing hard, and like a magnet, Jake follows.

He rests his forehead against her bare shoulder, catching his breath, pressing a kiss to the new freckles from the afternoon and another.

“Um…” Nora starts.

He kisses the side of her neck once, and Nora cuts herself off with a rush of breath, gripping his biceps for balance.

“We’re…” Nora tries again. “We should…”

He pauses. Pulls back so Nora can see his face.

His pupils are blown wide.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Nora asks, both a question and a plea. Please want to get out of here.

“Yes,” Jake breathes and kisses her again, his answer a groan against her mouth. "God, yes, Nora."

He doesn't even get his credit card from the bartender.

Less than a minute later, Jake is cutting across Coronado in his Chevy like an F-18, cutting across cooling blue skies.

Between stop signs, Jake reaches across the bench seat and laces their fingers together, pressing a firm kiss to her knuckles.

Her other hand drifts out of the open window, and for a brief moment, as the wind catches her fingers just right, Nora closes her eyes and feels like she's flying.

end note: likes are appreciated, but comments and reblogs are amazing. i'd love to hear from you! and all my love to @sometimesanalice for letting me ramble to you for months about this fic and @roosterbruiser for beta reading!

read the next chapter!

#fic: baby i'm high octane #jake seresin x oc #hangman x oc #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x nora rogers #hangman fic #top gun: maverick fic #top gun fic #laracrofted writes

110 notes · View notes