#My Dying Heart Collection | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonjxsung · 5 months

Text

Seasons

Pairing: Lee Felix x fem reader

W/c: 24.1k

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of a hospital, alcohol, smoking, erotic photography, use of pet names, clitoral stimulation, breast/nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, dry humping, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, cum eating

Synopsis: Seasons come and go like your love for Felix once did- but when he reappears in your life several years later, things are much different.

[this work was based off a request from @crookedt44th - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

Small town at the edge of the world. 11:30am. A Tuesday in Autumn.

If you told the average person to shut their eyes and think of their favorite city, they’d probably conjure up a lengthy description about the booming skyscrapers, the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the fancy restaurants and the well-kept people. Point it out on a map, you’d tell them, and their finger would land in the heart of the amorphous blob of whatever state they’ve chosen.

Now move your finger to the right- keep going, and going, and don’t stop until you’re almost off the map entirely. There will be no major indicators, no colorful dots on this area of the map. You might miss it, in fact, if you shoot too far.

That’s the town of Ember.

A town so insignificant, the only name they could think to give it was based on the fire that plagued it almost 50 years ago, which begged the question to those in neighboring cities- who even lives there?

Famous for absolutely nothing of importance, population who-knows-these-days, nothing to do and nowhere to go.

And the place you call home.

“Pieces of a Dream. 1970’s.”

“Yellow,” your manager responds, and you unravel a bulky roll of discount stickers, thumbing one off the adhesive and placing it gently in the corner of the plastic-wrapped vinyl.

“The rest of those should be discounted,” he says, quickly shuffling through the stack and giving them a little slap with the palm of his hand.

He slides the stack over to you, taking his spot on the wooden stool by the register again and flipping through a stack of pages on his clipboard.

Chris, your manager, has been the owner of Ember Records for the better part of a decade now. He succeeds his father’s role as store owner, who succeeded his father’s role, back when the record shop wasn’t mostly lost to the fire. Since its relocation, it’s much smaller, so you’ve heard, only about half the shelf space available to house the generous collection of records his great grandfather used to collect and sell.

This is one of just a handful of shops around here, located in the heart of the tourist attraction that is the town’s square. Thus, you’re well-acquainted with the baristas from the coffee shop across the street, the waiters at the diner, the librarians and even the car mechanics. You’re all familiar with the businesses you run to keep this town on its feet, many of you having chosen to stay here for a simpler life.

“I dig the grays,” you tell Chris, crossing your arms as you lean against the counter and slide him the finished stack of tagged vinyl.

He sighs, cocking his head and uncapping his pen between his teeth. “They creep up on you when you least expect it. You know this shit costs like, hundreds to get dyed?”

“Leave it,” you say to him, giving a small nod as you speak. “It makes you look more mature. I mean, what does Yena think of it?”

“She loves it,” he says, catching a glimpse of his reflection in one of the glass cases and running his hands through his hair. “But she’d also love if I shaved my eyebrows off. She’ll compliment anything.”

“Then shave your eyebrows,” you say, chuckling, as you stuff your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. “You’re lucky to have a wife who’s so supportive of your decisions. I’m taking my lunch!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris says, laughing as he shakes his head. “Oh, and Yena left you some pie in the back room.”

“Tell her thank you!” You call over your shoulder as you make your way to the back.

The back room is just a glorified storage closet, one dingy table pushed up against the wall, one wooden chair and shelves of records that need to be pushed out to the sales floor, or should’ve just been burned in the fire. You have to duck your head to not hit it on the hanging pendant lamp, its bulb buzzing concerningly loud as you take your seat and pry open the Tupperware container Yena left for you in the fridge- cherry pie, your favorite, from the diner down the street where she works.

As you take generous bites of your first meal of the day, you shuffle through a stack of records neglected on the table from last week’s donation. There are a myriad of genres- old jazz bands, electronic records, synth pop and even a few ambient pieces. As you flip over one of the covers, Chris calls to you from the front, his voice echoing around the dingy little storage closet.

“Y/n! I need you to come help out!”

And you sigh, promptly shutting the Tupperware closed again and making your way out to the front.

That’s the thing about this job- it’s small, but it’s busy, the hundreds of records demanding your very precise attention at any given moment of the day. You live to serve the people here, suggesting records to those seeking new sounds or curiously peering at genres unknown to them. And tourists are drawn to the place, often leaving with armfuls of old vinyl to add to their collections. It’s not a town they’ll likely ever visit again, you’re well aware, but the shop allows people to take a little piece of Ember with them wherever they go. And though the lack of grandiosity might not bring them back, your attentiveness to detail and passion for music sometimes do.

“Coffee?” Yena asks you, as you slide into the familiar spot of your favorite booth, next to the window in her diner. She saunters over with the pot anyway, setting a little white mug down in front of you and filling the cup halfway.

“Thanks,” you reply, already tearing open packs of creamer.

At half past 8, the record shop closes in only an hour, Chris taking on the role of closing procedures in your absence. It’s a routine life you lead, tending to the record shop by day and basking in the town’s simple pleasures by nighttime. And with all the people you love in it, you have no reason to leave, no rush to migrate elsewhere.

“How’s work?” Yena asks, sliding into the booth across from you and pulling a notepad out from her apron. She flips through the pages, stopping on a blank one and adding up her tips for the evening.

“Fine,” you say to her, taking a generous sip of coffee. “Just mostly repeat customers for today. But we did have a pretty hefty donation, so that’s a plus.”

“Anything good?” She questions, without looking up from her notepad.

“Negative. A lot of older stuff I used to listen to in high school.”

Yena finishes tallying up her tips, shutting her notepad and finally meeting your gaze.

“Hey, if that’s old, then I’m ancient.”

You both laugh, and she keeps her gaze on you for a moment before speaking again.

“Gosh, I still remember when you moved here. You were so… wide-eyed. And quiet.”

“I was so lost,” you say with a small chuckle. “I don’t even think I knew how to work a record player.”

“And now look at you,” she emphasizes, gesturing to your face. “You just seem… happy these days.”

She smiles for a moment, before gathering the empty cups of creamer off the table and sliding out of the booth.

“I hope you’ll stay here, if it means you’re always going to be this happy.”

You smile to yourself as she begins back toward the kitchen, humming to herself.

“Wasn’t planning on leaving!” You call out, and without turning around, she gives you a thumbs up before disappearing into the kitchen again.

Some days, your shifts feel like 5 minutes. Other days, they feel like 5 days. Today is the latter, the clock on the wall above the register ticking away by the second, and yet seemingly no closer to the end of your day. You’re on closing procedures this evening, Chris and Yena having taken the day off to have a much overdue date night. And it’s empty, like it usually is on Wednesday evenings, not a soul in sight as the town tends to their own duties, the tourists all working busy jobs in the city.

You slouch your shoulders over the wooden stool, dusting off a pile of folk records and shuffling through them, admiring the intricate paintings on the covers. It’s one of your favorite things about working here- locating the beautiful paintings and photographs that graze the covers of records, all of them vastly different from one another, but equally as evocative. You trace your fingertips over what appears to be a Polish record, a couple dressed in fancy colorful fabrics as he dips her into a bow. You can’t help but wonder what the atmosphere would be like if they were here in front of you, the whole room teeming with the choral ensemble as they’d tap their fancy shoes along the tile flooring and invite you to dance, too. The thought circles your mind with a smile, and you barely hear the next customer enter when they do.

The little gold bell hanging on the door chimes just once when they enter, indicating the arrival of a man, who promptly rushes to the back shelf without so much as a hello. Welcome, I guess, you want to say, dismissing their curtness with a shake of your head as you go back to organizing records.

You shuffle to the next record, admiring the black and white photo of a man with his guitar, a panama hat atop his curly head of hair as he sings into a microphone. It reminds you of the ones your dad used to collect before he passed.

“Excuse me?” A voice interrupts, and you practically jump, startled at the way he navigates the shop without a sound. He’s right in front of the register now, holding a CD in his hands and setting it down in front of you.

“I’d like to pay,” he continues, his baritone voice sounding painfully uninviting.

Without looking up at him, you take the CD from the counter, flipping it over to scan the barcode on the front. Four Decades of Jazz, the cover simply displaying the title in funky purple block text.

“This one’s actually on clearance,” you say, sliding the CD into a small paper bag. “Just 5.”

He pulls out a brown leather wallet, flipping through crisp bills as he searches for exact change. As he does, you take notice of the collection of silver rings that decorate his shorter fingers, a few of them painted with chipping black nail polish. Your gaze fixates on a thicker silver band, carved with black fleur de lis patterns that circle the band all the way around. You cock your head slightly, mapping out the pattern in your head as his hands move, the ring glistening under a beam of light that shines through the window and sets it aglow.

“It was a gift,” the man says when he notices you staring, and he holds out his index finger, rotating his finger to give you the full view.

You say nothing, your lips parting slightly as he does, transfixed by the way the silver hugs his finger and frames his veiny hands. The man stays silent, his gaze on the ring, too, as he pulls it off with a gentle tug and holds it up for you to see.

“Do you want to see it?” He asks, pinching the band between the pads of his fingers as he rotates it under the same beam of sunlight.

“No, thank you,” you reply, your mind still in a trance. “It just… reminds me of…” and your voice trails off, finally allowing your gaze to look up and meet the stranger’s.

His big brown eyes seem to widen when you finally lock eyes, his plump lips parting open as he scrambles to pull the ring back on.

“Something,” is all you can utter, folding the brown paper bag once in your hands and sliding it across the counter. “It reminds me of somebody I used to know.”

His breath hitches his throat as he finds the words to say, unable to string together a cohesive sentence as memories run rampant in his mind, everything coming back to him like a painful wound being reopened.

“Sorry,” is all he can say, clutching the brown bag in one hand as he gives you a small nod. “And thanks. For the CD. Or for ringing me up, rather. Thank you-”

“You’re welcome,” you reply briskly, pivoting on your heel to organize a stack of already-sorted records on the shelf behind you.

And you can still feel him there for a moment, his gaze boring into the back of your head like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t, instead observing the way your hair, a little shorter than he’d previously remembered it, sways gently in its ponytail as you go about your job.

You listen to the way the brown paper bag crumples in his grasp, before he finally retreats and exits, the little bell above the door indicating his departure.

And when you turn around again, there on the counter, his silver ring sits, glistening in the waning glint of the evening sun.

“The lattes are so expensive out there,” Yena says, as she takes a sip from her iced coffee. “I’d drink this gas station coffee any day over that stuff.”

You chuckle lightly, shaking your head as you wipe down the counter with a rag. Chris counts change in the register beside you, muttering counts to himself as he scribbles onto his clipboard and listens to your conversations.

“But hey, we still had a good time,” Yena continues, smiling over at Chris. “Sometimes leaving this town keeps you on your toes.”

“Yeah, well, I’m on my toes enough here as it is,” you respond, the three of you chuckling lightly amongst each other.

The bell atop the door chimes once, signifying the arrival of a new customer, and Chris gestures to the door as you look up.

“All you,” he says, going back to his work.

You fold the rag neatly, setting it on the counter and making your way over to the clearance aisle where the stranger stands. His back is turned toward you, his lanky frame towering over stacks of CDs as he thumbs through them casually.

“Can I help you find anything?” You chime in, your hands behind your back as you watch him. As you speak, he turns to face you, and you breathe a deep sigh of annoyance.

“Seriously?” You say, already retreating back to the counter again and turning away from him.

“Wait,” he calls, rushing after you and standing in front of the counter awkwardly. Chris looks up from his clipboard, furrowing his brows together as Yena shoots him an equally questioning look.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” you respond, unfolding the rag again and wiping down the register.

“Hey, hey,” Chris says, giving you a confused look.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say to Chris through gritted teeth, brushing off the interaction.

“I just wanted to-” the man begins, as he looms behind the counter, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

“Why would you come back?” You question, not looking at him still. “Wasn’t one time awkward enough?”

“I left my ring,” he finally says, dropping his hands at his sides.

Both your gazes fall to your hands, where the silver band rests comfortably on your index finger, almost like it’s always been yours.

“Yeah, whatever,” you reply, pulling it off and sliding it across the counter to him. “Here.”

He doesn’t say anything, not yet reaching for the ring, nor telling you to put it back on. A part of him is fascinated at the prospect you chose to wear it around at all.

The silence that falls over the shop is painfully awkward, Chris and Yena keeping their gazes locked between the two of you as you angrily scrub at a stain on the counter.

“Hey,” Chris says, finally pulling the rag from your grasp. “You’re scratching the wood, kiddo.”

“If no one wants that ring, give it here,” Yena says with a smile.

The ring is slowly lifted from the counter again, slid back onto the finger of its respective owner.

“We’ll give you guys a minute,” Chris says, motioning to the back room with the tilt of his head. And Yena follows him to the back, the till of the register balanced in his arms.

“What do you want?” You ask, finally meeting his gaze again. “I’m working right now.”

His face drops a little, giving you a small shrug before he speaks.

“I was just wondering how you were doing. And I thought-”

“Felix,” you say brazenly, your heartbeat quickening a little at the feeling of his name leaving your lips again after so long. “Cut the small talk. Just tell me why you’re here.”

He sighs as he fiddles with the band around his finger, the metal still warm from the contact against your skin.

“That’s it,” he explains. “I didn’t expect to see you here. And I wondered how you were doing.”

“So leaving your ring here wasn’t an elaborate plan to come back for it?”

“It… was,” he says sheepishly. “I needed an excuse to come see you again.”

“We sell records,” you emphasize. “That’s the only reason you should be here. And if it’s not, then leave.”

“Y/n,” Felix says frustratedly. His eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading manner, his lips quivering as he struggles to find the words to say.

It’s the first time you take notice of his changed appearance, completely opposite to the Felix you last spoke to. His once blonde locks are grown out, grazing over his bony shoulders, a robust shade of ebony that contrasts against his pale skin, tied up into a half ponytail. His plump lips glisten under a glossy coat of peach tint, and his freckles are almost unnoticeable from this distance. You furrow your brows to get a better look, trying to make out the beige constellations you remember so well. But you can’t locate them- not on his nose, or his cheeks or even around his eyes.

He dresses differently, too, a baggy white tank top under a black leather vest, almost too big for him as it swallows his lean figure. And he flaunts a hefty collection of silver jewelry- rings, rows of ear piercings, a chain link bracelet and layered necklaces. If you didn’t know his eyes like the back of your own hand, you might’ve not even recognized him to be Felix.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” You finally ask, your voice softening a little as he toys with the rings on his fingers.

“This is my favorite place for CDs,” he responds, his shoulders relaxing a little as he speaks. “I used to come here every weekend back in high school. I didn’t know you worked here now, I promise I’m not trying to make things weird.”

You sigh a little, shifting your eyes to the shelves and then back at him.

“Well what are you doing here now? Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”

Felix shrugs a little, his expression unchanging. “It’s complicated, I guess.” And then he furrows his brows at you, gesturing to the shop. “I could ask you the same question.”

“It’s complicated,” you reply, echoing his statement back at him. “And I’m not in the mood to indulge you with the story of my life.”

“I have time,” Felix says with a chuckle, and he’s met with your deafening silence.

“Sorry,” he follows, fiddling again with the rings on his fingers.

As you begin to ask him to leave, Chris and Yena enter from the back room again, carefully making their way toward you with hands shoved in their pockets.

“Hey,” Yena says, nudging you gently. “Everything okay, you guys?”

“Yes,” Felix is quick to chime in. “My apologies- I’m Felix,” he says with a beaming smile, holding out his hand to shake Yena and Chris’. They comply, exchanging warm smiles with him, still confused at why you seem so irate.

“I’m sorry to disrupt the peace,” Felix continues, giving them a little bow. “We’re just-”

“Old friends,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes at this act he puts on. “And he was just leaving.”

“Right,” Felix says, his lips pulling into a disheartened expression.

“Y/n doesn’t bring too many friends around here,” Chris chimes in. “What’s the rush to leave?” He chuckles as he finishes, and Yena hits him lightly as if signaling for him to stop.

“Actually,” Felix begins, and you sigh when you realize he’s not done talking yet. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner, or a coffee or something.”

“Felix, I really don’t think-”

“It’s on me if you wanna come to the diner tomorrow,” Yena chimes in. “We still have leftover pie.”

And you pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing deeply as Felix stares at you with a hopeful expression. His eyes are big, gauging your response curiously as you shift your gaze amongst the three of them. Chris watches Yena, who holds her breath as you think. And Felix’s lip seems to quiver when you open your mouth to speak.

“No dinner. Just coffee. And Chris covers my closing shift.”

Felix is at the diner much earlier than you are, comfortably reserving a spot for you on a table in the middle of the room and allowing Yena to fill your mugs with hot coffee. He adds three packs of sugar, two cups of creamer and a dollop of whipped cream he requests from Yena. And he waits for you patiently, stacking the spare cups of creamer into an organized pyramid, in between nervous glances out the window.

Yena wants to ask who he is exactly- why you’d seemed so off yesterday, and whether he’s here for a reason, or just to catch up as the old friends you claim to be. But she refrains, knowing to stay out of your business the way you so graciously stay out of hers.

“More coffee?” Yena asks as she approaches Felix, taking note of the near empty mug in front of him now.

“Sure,” Felix replies, shooting her a nervous smile. His hands tremble a little as he shoves the pyramid of creamers away from him, pretending to look occupied with his phone instead.

Yena fills his mug to the brim again, sliding him the mug across the table and giving him an empathetic look.

“I’m sure she’ll be here,” Yena says, nodding affirmatively. “She’s usually a little late getting off work.”

And Felix just nods, keeping his gaze on the giant glass windows. Outside, the sun has already set for the evening, darkened skies casting over the little square of Ember. The streets are sparse at this hour, just a few pedestrians who also flock here after their shifts, and the diner is fairly empty with the exception of a few young couples. Felix scans the atmosphere as he waits, observing the way everybody seems so acquainted with the place. Red vinyl booths line the large glass windows, dimly lit by hanging pendant lamps that give a yellow hue to the wooden tables below them. Each table is neatly paired with a silver napkin holder, salt and pepper shakers, hot sauce and a myriad of syrup flavors. And a bright neon red sign advertising fresh pies flickers over the kitchen, which is hidden behind silver swinging doors. It looks like something straight out of a movie, he thinks to himself, as a table nearby is served steaming plates of omelets and fries. And as Felix turns his attention back toward the glass windows, he finally sees you approaching, earbuds in and a nonchalant expression on your face. Your hair is tucked loosely behind your ears, a simple ensemble of loose fitting jeans and a sweater complementing your worn down sneakers. The bell on the door chimes as you make your way inside, a smile on your face as you talk briefly with Yena upon entering. And she gestures back to Felix, who gives a little wave from where he’s sitting, in time for his third coffee refill of the evening.

“This isn’t my table,” you say to Felix when you approach, gathering your mug of coffee and gesturing to your favorite booth against the window. Felix’s eyes flicker to the booth, a confused expression on his face as you wait for him to relocate.

“Well? Are you coming, or what?”

“Yeah, um, sorry,” Felix responds, clutching his mug in one hand and carefully bringing it across the room to the booth.

You furrow your eyes when you look back at the table, a tall pyramid of creamer cups placed where Felix was sitting.

Felix slides in the booth across from you, gesturing to your mug and meeting your gaze.

“Do you take cream? Or sugar?”

“Just two,” you say, picking your cups from the little bowl at the end of the table and tearing them open.

He nods, stirring his coffee around with a spoon as you prepare yours.

“Let me guess,” you say with a knowing smile. “8 packs sugar, 4 things of creamer and an entire can of whipped cream.”

He chuckles lightly, angling you the contents of his cup, which now contains a mixture of frothy melted cream and coffee the color of chocolate milk.

“You always did have a sweet tooth,” you respond, laughing and shaking your head. “Might as well just have a sundae while you’re at it.”

When you’re finished, you hold your mug in both hands, taking a generous sip of the steamy beverage and setting it back down with a gentle thud. Felix watches you intently, like he’s waiting for you to initiate the conversation, but you don’t, raising your eyebrows at him as you wait for him to speak.

“I’m just visiting for a bit,” Felix finally says, twiddling his thumbs on the table in front of him. “I’m doing my classes remotely this semester.”

You nod, saying nothing, as he searches for more words to say.

“Are your classes remote, too?” He continues.

“There are no classes,” you interrupt quickly, before he can press you for more information about school. “I dropped out of college.”

“You did?” Felix retorts, his eyes widening a little at how easily you admit to it. Not an ounce of shame, like it was planned from the start.

“Why?” He follows, tracing mindless patterns into the wood of the table below him.

“Because I hated it. Anything else you want to know?”

“Why are you all the way out here?”

“Because I love it here.”

“And how are your parents?”

“My dad died. Last spring. Are we done now?”

Felix swallows nervously, averting your gaze as he taps his knee nervously under the table.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

You just nod at him, pursing your lips a little and toying with the handle on your mug.

“Are you going to tell me about yourself, or do I need to play 20 questions, too?” You ask him, rolling your eyes as a smile grows on his face.

Felix chuckles lightly, relieved that you’ve already forgiven his clear overstepping here.

“I’m still in college. I’m just… undecided. I took a semester off a little while ago because I don’t know what I want to do. I haven’t actually been to class physically in… a good while.”

You nod empathetically at his words, the reality of them contradictory to the Felix you once knew. He was a straight A student when you knew him last, quick to join campus clubs and gain popularity wherever he went. People often commented on how different both of you were from each other- Felix, a bright young student who could light up a room with his smile, always so eager to ask questions and familiarize himself with the world around him. And you, a bit more reserved, your world often tainted by the reality of the hardships you’d faced, and the knowledge that life, when not lived for yourself, is often arduous.

“So you’re doing a bit of soul-searching,” you say to Felix, no stranger to the concept of tourists stopping through here to ‘start life anew’ at the sight of run-down coffee shops and bookstores. And when they find what they’re looking for, they’re gone again, like a soul could never thrive here in the town of Ember, even if it’s where it materialized.

“You could say that,” he responds, swirling the remainder of whipped cream around his cup with a spoon. “Things just haven’t been… great.”

You nod in response, averting his gaze as you study the wooden table below him.

“Well good luck,” you finally say, taking a generous gulp of your coffee and scanning the room for Yena before the conversation can go any further than the base-level declarations of your new separate lives.

“Do you remember that night we snuck out of your house?” Felix asks suddenly, just as you begin to get up.

“What?”

“It was raining. I think it was like 3 in the morning.”

You turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes as he speaks.

“I didn’t have a car at the time,” Felix continues. “So you rode on the handles of my bike in the pouring rain. We went to watch the sunrise, only we didn’t realize that of course because we were in the middle of a storm, there was-”

“No visible sunrise,” you interrupt quietly. “We just watched the clouds turn a lighter shade of gray.”

Felix grins a little as you finish, nodding his head.

“Exactly. And when we got home at 5am, your dad was already awake. And he’d never met me before- we swore he’d have it out for me. But he didn’t- he brought us blankets, and he made us tea and laughed his ass off at our stupidity.”

“There’s no sunrise in a fucking storm!” You exclaim, echoing your dad’s lighthearted lecture from so long ago.

Felix laughs with you, the warm memory circling your minds, both of you equally as endeared by the tale you so vividly remember. As your laughter dies down, Felix keeps his gaze on yours, shooting you a half smile as he speaks again.

“Your dad really loved you. And… it’s one of my favorite memories, even today.”

You hold his gaze too, clutching the handle of your mug again and giving him a small nod, your lip quivering a little at the mention of your father.

“Thanks, Felix,” you say in a melancholy tone, taking a deep breath in an attempt to hold back your tears.

When the feeling’s passed, Felix spoons another dollop of whipped cream into his cup and brings it up to his lips.

“Your hair’s shorter,” he says with a chuckle.

“Yours is longer,” you retort. “And black.”

“I’m trying something new.”

“I can tell,” you say, laughing lightly. “And what’s with all the screws and washers in your ears?”

“My piercings?” He replies. “They’re a fashion statement!”

“They look painful.”

“This one was,” Felix says, toying with the silver helix piercing in his lobe.

“And this one,” his fingers trail down to another silver stud, just below the first. “And maybe this one.”

“At what point is this just inflicting pain on yourself for fun?”

“I’m not finished!” Felix says, as you both share amused laughter. He thumbs over another row of silver studs, thinking intently as he speaks. “This one hurt, this one definitely hurt…”

“How was your dinner thing last night?” Chris asks in the morning, shooting you a knowing smile as he breaks a new roll of quarters in the till.

“Coffee,” you emphasize.

“Coffee,” he echoes. “How was coffee, with your old friend?”

“It was okay,” you respond, organizing a stack of records on the shelf across the counter. “Just catching up, mostly.”

“Yena said you guys were there for hours.”

“Maybe we were.”

“Hours?” Chris repeats, shaking his head. “What could you have possibly talked about that lasted hours?”

“Friend stuff,” you reply to him. “Maybe if you had some, you’d know.”

“Ouch, kiddo,” he says, clutching his chest in a joking manner as you both laugh.

As you turn to grab another stack of records, the bell over the door chimes, and your heads snap in the direction of the noise. And like you’d accidentally spoken him into existence again, Felix saunters in, a shy smile on his face. He looks a little more casual this time, in just jeans and a black t-shirt, but still different than you remembered him nonetheless.

“Speak of the angel,” Chris mutters, nudging you with his elbow as he waves at Felix.

“Hi,” Felix says cheerfully. “It’s nice and warm in here. Outside’s really cold.”

“Felix, what are you doing here?” You sigh, averting Chris’ shit-eating grin.

“What? I’m buying some CDs.”

“We have a good amount on clearance,” Chris says from where he’s standing. “Back shelf.”

“Thanks!” Felix replies, and you pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

“Chris, would you give us a minute?”

And he nods, shooting Felix a thumbs up, before disappearing to the back room with a stack of papers.

“Look,” you begin, turning to Felix. “Last night was fun and all, but I’m still working a job. This doesn’t just make amends or something. It was great catching up, but respectfully, I really don’t want to see you again.”

Felix nods a little, and then he hoists something over his arm. It’s the first time you take notice of it- a black crossbody satchel, draped over one arm, his hand resting casually on the zipper.

“Then I suppose getting help for my project is a no?”

You narrow your eyes at him, gesturing to the bag with a tilt of your head. “What’s in the bag?”

“You don’t get to know if you don’t help me.”

“Just tell me.”

“Promise you’ll help me.”

“Felix-”

He holds the bag a little further away from his body, effectively shielding it from your view and shaking his head. “And it was such a good surprise, too.”

“Just tell me what’s in the stupid bag!”

Felix finally holds the bag out in front of him, unzipping it and carefully pulling out its contents. He reveals a digital camera to you, slinging the strap over his neck and holding it up to squint into the lens. “Smile!”

“What- that’s it?” You question, shielding your face from his view. “How does this pertain to me?”

“I’m photographing the town,” he replies, fidgeting with the lens in his hands. “I need some help.”

“Why would you need my help with that? I’m not a photographer.”

“Yeah but you know this town, and all of its little quirks.”

“There’s a maps app on your phone for a reason, Felix.”

Felix gets quiet again as he fidgets with the lens on his camera, doing nothing particularly useful as he prays you’ll change your answer. And he’s not lying- he does need to photograph this town, and all of its hidden gems for his creative project this semester. But he would be lying if he said having you keep him company wasn’t all he thought about when he went to bed last night, and woke up this morning and inevitably found himself back at your record shop.

“You used to be the best model,” Felix says just above a whisper, letting his camera hang loosely at his waist now. “I still have all my film photos of you.”

The room gets a little quiet as you meet his gaze, not missing the way his eyes seem to soften into a somber expression. He’s always had this way of begging- pleading for what he wants, and you’ve very seldom been able to say no to him. Seeing him stand in front of you now, heavy camera in his small hands and a dream circling his mind, you know the fact still stands true.

“If I do this for you, this is the last favor I run you.”

His lips pull into a toothy smile, his eyes forming little crescents as he nods eagerly.

“I promise. I won’t ask you for anything else.”

When Chris reenters the room, he shoots you a questioning look, which you wave off with a casual roll of your eyes.

“What time are you off today?” Felix asks, and Chris purposely nudges you as he passes by.

“Later. Just come by at closing or something.”

“Yeah, I can do that. Do you want me to bring a coffee or anything-”

“See you at closing, Felix,” you respond with a smile, and you gesture back to the door.

He nods, seeing himself out, camera firmly grasped in his two hands as he waves again through the window.

Felix drives the same shitty car he did when you last knew him. Its chipped navy blue exterior clashes horribly with the beige leather seats, the inside tainted by the permanent odor of cigarettes from its previous owner, Felix making futile efforts to mask the smell with pine tree air fresheners. The seatbelts are frayed, the legroom is nearly nonexistent and the live radio is completely busted, with the exception of the CD player.

“All jazz?” You question, shuffling through a neat book of Felix’s CD collection.

“Yeah,” Felix replies, two hands gripping the steering wheel as he adjusts in his seat. “They’re mostly just whatever’s cheapest.”

“I can tell,” you say with a chuckle, reaching the last page, where Four Decades of Jazz now occupies a sleeve of its own. You pop the CD into the player, turning the volume up a few notches and sitting back comfortably as the melodic tune of a saxophone fills the space around you.

“What’s this next place again?” Felix asks, as you shut your eyes and listen to the jazzy beat.

You’ve stopped at three locations already, all spots in Ember you’re particularly fond of. The old bridge that runs over train tracks, a narrow pathway into another world in late evenings. It’s always surrounded by starlings, which flock when the trains pass through and chirp songs that mirror the train’s cacophonous whistle.

The cathedral just north of your record shop, which you don’t attend regularly like the other town-goers do, but always greets you graciously with its towering stained glass windows and crested walls.

And a now abandoned grocery store just a few blocks away, the walls on the back now housing impressive graffiti murals and doodles.

“This last one is a more scenic spot,” you finally respond, opening your eyes as his car passes over a speed bump. “It’s my favorite one.”

Felix just nods as he continues driving, the road narrowing into a one-way route, the area surrounded by wet grassland and barely visible amidst the thick fog.

“What’s the whole premise of this project?” You ask him, realizing you haven’t quite figured out what part you play in this, anyway.

Felix is silent for a moment, his hands rotating over the wheel as he turns into another narrow road.

“It’s just a photography project. About observing your surroundings.”

“Why does it have to be here?”

And he smiles, chuckling lightly to himself, as he reaches a hand out and sprawls his palm over your mouth.

“You ask so many questions! You haven’t changed at all.”

You respond in muffled laughter, prying his hand off your mouth with two hands and shoving it back toward the steering wheel.

“I’m just curious!”

Your shared giddy laughter fills the car for several minutes, exchanging amused glances as he pulls into an open parking lot and circles around to look for a spot. And you let your fingertips graze along your cheek, briefly, remembering the sensation of his hand on you very well.

The fourth spot is a spacious grassland just past the hills, not necessarily a hidden gem by the town’s standards, but a place you discovered shortly after you moved out here. It requires hopping a fence to access, jogging down a steep dirt path and then marching back up a grassy hill to make it to your “sweet spot”- or a little dip in the top of the hill, perfect for setting up a picnic blanket and sitting upon for hours.

And of course the best part about it- the view. The whole town is visible from up here, the little buildings and shops you know so intimately an entirely different perspective from this height. Sometimes you imagine what you look like from this view- just a tiny speck of a human in a town not much bigger, crossing back and forth between your apartment, the diner and the record shop.

“You got it?” You ask Felix as he hoists himself up the last stretch of grass, balancing his camera in his hands and dusting off his jeans.

“Yeah,” he replies, coming around to occupy the spot next to you on the grass. You sit back on your hands, your legs crossed at the ankles as you take in the view you know so well. Felix sits cross-legged, toying with the lens of his camera as he prepares to snap a few photos.

“It’s nice up here,” he comments, filling the silence with the clicking noises of his camera.

“Yeah,” you respond shortly, your gaze fixed on the record shop. “It’s a pretty special place.”

He turns the lens, bringing his camera up and snapping a series of photos as you watch him out of your peripheral vision.

“How’d you find it?” Felix asks, scanning the photos and going to take another set.

“I get around,” you reply with a smile, keeping your answer short.

He takes one last set of photos, angling his camera at different sides, and when he’s done, he carefully places the camera in his carrier bag and leans back on his hands, too.

“You really have things figured out here,” Felix says a little quietly, turning to look at you while you keep your gaze straight ahead.

“I didn’t have a choice. It was up to me to keep things going.”

“And… how’s your mom?” He replies quietly.

You shake your head, adjusting your position so that you’re sitting cross-legged, too.

“I don’t know. Last I heard she was out west. New boyfriend or something.”

Felix nods reluctantly, not wanting to press the issue further.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he chimes in suddenly. “I hope you didn’t leave thinking that.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, brushing him off.

“No, listen to me,” Felix continues, turning to face you. “I know you hate talking about it. And I won’t bring it up again. But none of this was your fault. And that summer I wanted so badly to fix everything and take away your pain, and I just… I couldn’t. And I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything to him, fidgeting with a blade of grass on the ground below you and reminding yourself to keep it together. Don’t cry. Don’t feel.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Felix says bluntly, like he can read your thoughts.

“What thing-”

“That thing. Where you don’t let yourself feel.”

“I feel a lot of things, Felix.”

“Then why haven’t we talked about it yet?”

“Talked about about what?”

“Why you left,” he finally finishes, huffing frustratedly. “Why are we not addressing it? Am I supposed to just act like it didn’t happen?”

“Felix, I really think-”

“You said you would stay and fight for what was ahead of us. And then you disappeared on me. You know how hard it was to go on with my life like you weren’t a missing person for all I knew? You didn’t even call.”

“I changed my number,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, I figured that much after three years.”

Felix gets quiet again, shaking his head as he turns his gaze back to the view. You don’t say anything for a moment, his words swirling in your mind as your heart beats erratically. There’s so much to say- so much you want to explain to him. But the words are caught in the back of your throat, dissipating with every passing second you fail to vocalize them. He glances at you again, hoping you’ll come around- but you don’t, your gaze now transfixed on the blade of grass that rolls between the pads of your fingers.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it,” Felix finally says. “And… I’m sorry.”

A copper sunset falls over the buildings below you, casting shadows around you that dance along the blades of grass and disappear over the rolling hills. They shift from massive charcoal forms into smaller shapes that sway with the setting sun, quick to get away from you and disappear when they graze over your seated figures.

“You know there was a fire here, like, 50 years ago,” you say to Felix, still averting eye contact.

“There was?”

“Mhm. See there?” You question, pointing out a vast, empty field and gesturing to the buildings across from it.

“It started east, and it traveled west. And everything there burned, and a few people even died.”

“Wow,” Felix responds. “I didn’t know that. That’s terrible.”

“A lot of the neighboring cities didn’t know this place existed. But when they heard about the fire, many of them came out here, just to donate and help build things back up. Even the record shop burned. The one we have now is a lot smaller.”

He nods as he listens to your story, glancing back at the town as he pictures the blazing flames that ate away most of its structure back then.

“I always think about it,” you continue. “Everyday I imagine how hard it must’ve been to pick up and build things from the ground up again. Chris’ grandfather did it, with the record shop. And the diner did it. And they’re still doing it, keeping things running the way they are.”

Felix nods again, turning to look at you as you watch the town.

“No one could’ve prevented the fire. They could pick up and move on, but things still burned before they did, and people still died.”

Felix begins to say something, his lips parting, but his breath hitches in the back of his throat, and he settles in silence as you finish.

“I’m somewhere there,” you say to him after a silent pause. “I’m somewhere between the fire and the mending.”

And he doesn’t have to say anything else, understanding that this is your way of explaining things.

As darkness begins to fall over you both, you think back to the last time you sat with him like this, on the old hill in your hometown, waiting for a sunrise that never came around. You had passed the time kissing and touching each other so desperately, speaking visions of a new life into existence and making hushed promises to embrace the end together. An end that came to fruition without him, one you ran from before could look it in its face and brave it with Felix by your side.

But here on the familiarity of your hill, looking over a town that burned like the flames inside of you do now, you know there’s good, there are people who will make the journey to help you rebuild no matter what their reservations previously were. But it also takes time, and patience, and the strength to admit things have turned to ash in the first place.

And sometimes, like this town, things and people turn to Ember, a dim glowing reminder of what happened always present still.

Soul-searching capital of the world. 6:00pm. On the cusp of winter.

“Think you’re ready?” You query at Felix, pulling the straw out from your vanilla milkshake to lick the other end.

“I think so,” he responds, sorting through a stack of photos on the table.

“Felix, your whipped cream,” Yena says as she turns the corner and sets a small bowl down in front of him.

“Thank you,” Felix replies with a small smile, already spooning a generous amount into his coffee.

The last two weeks have been cordial between the two of you, a sense of normalcy finally present during your time together as Felix wrapped up his photography shots and developed them at the convenience store in town. The pictures are beautiful, little precious neutral-toned glimpses into your everyday life and the town you love so much. It feels like Felix finally understands you, neither pressing you for answers anymore, nor trying to initiate anything more between the two of you like you’d feared. And although the photography sessions have spanned a little more time than you’d originally anticipated they would, you’re well aware this will all be over soon, and then you can get back to the normal, simple life you lead, without having to look introspectively at the state of things. You’re fine, and Felix doesn’t force you to think about it anymore.

“I just have to submit these, and then I’ll be done for the semester,” Felix explains.

“Are you staying in town for the holidays?” You ask suddenly, realizing you’ve never even inquired what his plans are for after this photography project is finished.

“I don’t know,” Felix responds, glancing at the stack of photos. “I don’t really have any solid plans.”

You don’t miss the way he fidgets with the ring on his finger, averting your gaze and swallowing nervously. It’s another habit Felix possesses, getting you to drag him along practically anywhere, but it’s hard to say no when he makes every effort to be so polite and forgiving.

You sigh deeply, praying you won’t regret the words before they leave your mouth.

“Look, a couple friends I have throw a party every year around the holidays. We just get together to smoke and talk. You can come, if you want.”

Felix’s expression brightens almost instantly, meeting your gaze again with big hopeful eyes and a beaming smile.

“Really?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you say, chuckling softly. “It’s just a small thing to unwind.”

“I’ll be there,” Felix responds with a nod. “And I won’t make it weird, I promise.”

“So…” Yena teases, sliding into the booth across from you and raising her eyebrows. “What’s… going on between you two?”

“Who?” You question, cocking your head slightly.

“Oh come on,” she emphasizes. “You guys are attached at the hip. We barely get girl time together anymore. He can’t just be an old friend.”

“He is,” you voice back. “We just go way back, that’s all.”

“He’s cute,” she says, glancing out the window at Felix’s lanky figure making his way back to his car. You both watch as he struggles to get his car open, yanking on the door handle a little hard and stumbling back.

“Well he’s single,” you retort with a soft chuckle. “So if you ever get tired of Chris, he’s your guy.”

“I see the way he looks at you,” Yena explains, as she pulls out her notepad and adds her tips for the evening. “Like he has stars in his eyes or something. I remember when Chris and I met, he was a lot like that.”

“Yena, we’re really not-”

“I know,” she says, shaking her head with a smile. “Feelings, feelings. Yuck. I’m just saying.”

You turn your gaze toward the window again, watching as Felix starts his car and backs out of the parking lot, strands of his ebony hair falling into his eyes as he checks behind him.

And Yena smiles, taking notice out of her peripheral vision at the stars in your eyes, too.

Seungmin’s annual holiday party is a tradition you joined in on the first year you moved out here. Working at the record shop your first year, you had no friends, no family and you were completely isolated from the town when you weren’t picking up shifts. He was a regular customer with a knack for old rock records, and he pitied the shifts you worked while the rest of the town mingled at their annual holiday events you’d hear so much about. An invitation to his holiday party was a big feat for you, not only because it was one of the first events you attended here, but because it allowed you to spend the holidays alongside people again, something you hadn’t done since your father’s passing. And thus, Seungmin invites you back every year, never missing a chance to talk records with you and challenge you to eggnog shots.

“I just want to pop these in the trunk really quick,” you say as you open the car door on the passenger side and gesture for the key from Felix. “I usually lend Seungmin a few spare records we have-”

Felix hasn’t registered a word you’ve said, completely entranced by the way your short skirt hugs your hips, a black leather coat thrown over your shoulders and a different pair of sneakers than he’s used to seeing. It’s much different than how he’s normally seen you, dressed down in sweaters and baggy jeans.

And Felix looks particularly dashing, too, his ebony hair tied up again to display his impressive collection of ear piercings, a fitted leather jacket hugging his slim figure and black jeans that elongate his legs. You give him a once-over as he cranes his neck from the driver’s seat and tosses you the keys, unable to verbalize his regard for your outfit. But as you make your way around the car to the trunk, popping it open and placing Seungmin’s stack of records inside, he can’t help but stare in the interior view mirror at the way your skirt rides up when you bend over, exposing a little more of your thighs and leaving little to the imagination.

The drive to Seungmin’s is only a few blocks down from Ember Records, one which Felix completes while stealing very obvious glances at you and making every attempt to calm his erratically beating heart. You pretend the glances go unnoticed, keeping your gaze on the darkened road ahead and making small talk about the party. But you don’t miss the way Felix’s voice hitches in the back of his throat when he speaks, his trembling hands turning the wheel as he pulls into the cul-de-sac and puts the car in park.

And he wants nothing more than to stay here, with you, to sit in his dingy little car and talk with you about everything that happened, to assure you that you’re not alone in your process of mending- he’ll love you through it, regardless. But as Seungmin makes his way out the front door with a red solo cup in hand, calling loudly for you, Felix knows that’s not a possibility.

“Y/n!” Seungmin exclaims, a big toothy grin plastered on his face at the sight of you. He’s a bit taller than Felix is, long legs that frame his slim torso, and a chiseled jawline that makes Felix a little jealous. His voluminous chocolate tresses fall into his eyes as he speaks, and he uses a slender hand to push them away again, shooting you another flashy smile as he chuckles lightly.

“What’d you bring me this time?” He asks, balancing the presumed cup of alcohol in one hand as he watches you retreat to the trunk of the car.

“Couple rock, some alternative and that one artist you liked last time?”

“Hell yeah,” Seungmin replies, as he takes the records from your grasp and shuffles through them eagerly.

Felix clears his throat as he stands beside you, his hands shoved awkwardly in the pockets of his leather jacket as he waits for an introduction.

“Sorry,” you voice, stepping aside and gesturing to Felix.

“This is Felix. He’s an old friend of mine.”

Seungmin hardly looks up from his stack of records, just briefly glancing at Felix and giving him a small nod.

“Hey man. Cool to meet you.”

And Felix’s lips pull into a thin-lipped smile, averting his gaze, too, as he nods.

“Yeah. Same.”

Your eyes dart between Seungmin and Felix, both of them painfully awkward as they stand beside you, avoiding eye contact like some unspoken challenge and looming over you like you’re meant to be the host.

“Should we get inside?” You finally ask, wrapping your arms around yourself and gesturing to the house with a tilt of your head.

“Yeah, sorry,” Seungmin says with a soft chuckle, still averting Felix’s gaze and pivoting on his heel to begin toward the house. Felix gestures for you to follow, trailing behind you and doing his best to steady his nerves as the three of you finally make your way inside.

The house is already crowded for the evening, people standing just about everywhere, red cups in hand and joints pinched between their fingers. They exhale white clouds of smoke as they converse amongst themselves, their eyes all tainted red, as they let all the weed and alcohol consume their consciousness and instill a calm demeanor in themselves. Felix finds himself standing a little closer to you as you approach the sofa everyone’s sitting around, their bodies lazily slung over one another as they chat and drink.

“Y/n’s here,” Seungmin says, as he passes the sofa and heads into what Felix presumes to be his bedroom, with the stack of records in hand.

“Hey!” They call in misarticulated voices. You make your rounds, greeting each of them and exchanging brief anecdotes with them, while Felix remains standing with his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the way you smile cheerfully and acquaint yourself with everyone in the room.

You look so relaxed, so well-adjusted to your new life in this little town. As stories are thrown back and forth between yourself and the guests, Felix wonders how long you’ve known them to be able to converse with them to such an intimate extent. They share stories of your shifts at work, stories of previous parties, tales of past lovers they’ve had and late nights all of you spent up in this exact household. Felix can’t help but wonder what he was doing during those moments- probably studying for a test at university, or hooking up with someone he didn’t exactly care for. And by nighttime, he was likely up thinking of you- pondering where you’d gone, what you were up to. If you thought about him just as much as he thought about you.

Part of him wants to be angry, listening in on your stories like this- you’re laughing about parties, exchanging tales of difficult customers- moments that occurred while he was up waiting for you, hoping one day you’d change your mind about everything and return. Felix swore every sunset began to look the same without you there to watch them alongside him, every sunrise much bleaker than the last- even the stars he’d gaze at through his window seemed to lose their meaning.

But watching you like this, a smile that hasn’t left your face once since entering the house and the familiar sound of your harmonious laughter, he knows maybe you did the right thing, after all. Maybe Felix wasn’t a part of this plan life had for you- and perhaps, it’s time to come to terms with the fact that he never will be.

“Felix?” You question, effectively snapping him out of the trance he’s fallen into just by watching you.

“Huh?” He responds, aware that the row of guests on the couch appear to be waiting for him to say something.

“How long are you here for?” One of them repeats, his stare a little cold as he raises his eyebrows and prompts an answer out of Felix.

“Oh, uh… I’m not sure yet. Just for the holidays, I guess.”

They nod in collective unison, no one saying a word as they gauge how nervous he seems to be. And you shoot them an apologetic smile, also clocking Felix’s awkward demeanor as he remains silent and avoids carrying on with the conversation.

“Anyone got a light?” You finally break the silence, and everyone chimes in to answer, offering you joints from between their fingers and fishing colorful lighters out from their pockets. You take a seat on the rug, patting the space next to you, and Felix follows your lead, crossing his legs in the spot beside you and taking a hit from the joint you offer him.

Felix feels himself calm a little as the mellow sensation begins to wash over him, his worries dissipating as he listens to you begin to share another story with the group of people. And his mind wanders back to the past, contemplating your actions and mirroring them with the current state of things.

Three hours into the party, you’re both a little buzzed, feeling much more mellow than you had upon entering, despite taking only one hit from a joint. The room is heavy with thick clouds of smoke, the pungent smell of weed and alcohol present at every corner of the room. Just sitting here and talking gets you high, and you find yourself enjoying the company alongside Felix.

It reminds you of back then, when you and Felix used to attend parties together and run off to random bedrooms for a quick fuck. You’d often find yourself leaving early to spend time just between the two of you, hitting all your signature spots to catch sunrises or binge greasy food. And Felix feels much more relaxed around you now, making small talk with the guests and observing the way you try your hardest to include him in the conversations. As Seungmin takes another hit from his joint, he slouches back in the concave leather of the couch, his gaze darting over the two of you as Felix eyes you curiously.

“So what’s the deal between you two?” He asks, narrowing his eyes as he awaits a response.

“We’re just old friends-” Felix begins to say, but you interrupt him before Seungmin can catch the answer.

“He’s my best friend.”

Felix’s head snaps in your direction, unsure if maybe he heard you incorrectly, or if you’re genuinely claiming that Felix, whose guts you’ve hated for the better part of three years now, is your best friend.

“Best friends?” Seungmin repeats in slurred speech, and you give him a nod.

“Yeah,” you say again confidently. “He’s my best friend.”

And Felix’s lips pull into an involuntary smile, the tips of his ears turning a bright shade of red as he reaffirms your words.

When you turn to smile at him, he pats the space in front of him, extending his legs so that he’s created a spot for you to settle in. And in your buzzed, mellowed out state, you comply, scooting back and slotting yourself between his long legs, letting yourself lean back against his chest and shutting your eyes briefly. Felix reluctantly brings two hands around you, holding you a little closer to him, but you don’t protest the action, the familiar sensation of his arms around you feeling comfortable and safe like it always used to.

“I’d think you guys were fucking if I didn’t know any better,” Seungmin voices, joining a chorus of laughter as he brings the joint up to his lips again.

“So what if we were?” You retort casually, feeling the way Felix’s embrace gets a little tighter around you.

“Nothing wrong with it. It’s just easy to see through you guys. Especially the way this Danny from Grease wannabe looks at you.”

And Felix’s eyes furrow at the statement, well aware of the fact that Seungmin’s begun to get a little aggressive, but not wanting to incite anything that might jeopardize your friendships.

“I should probably go,” Felix says just above a whisper, his mouth hovering just over your shoulder so that you can hear him over all the noise.

“What? No,” you reply, turning your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are wide, his lip trembling a little as he speaks. Felix isn’t confrontational- a fact you’re very aware of.

“I don’t want to start anything-” he begins to say, and you place a hand on his forearm comfortingly.

“Then let’s both get out of here. I’m kinda bored, anyway.”

He’s surprised at the offer- and undoubtedly moved by the prospect that you’ve chosen to stick with him instead of stay here at the party with all your friends. And because he wants to spend the time with you, he doesn’t protest when you turn to voice your decisions to the crowd.

“Well Danny from Grease and I are getting out of here. So you can let your imaginations run wild since you’re so obsessed with us.”

Seungmin chuckles lightly, too stoned to ask you to stay, and candidly, to care about any of it.

“My old records are on the kitchen table,” Seungmin says, as he shuts his eyes and exhales a generous cloud of smoke. “Catch you guys later.”

“Where are we going?” Felix asks, as he puts the car into park and watches you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“I have to put the records I lent to Seungmin back in the shop. It’ll only take like two minutes.”

He nods in response, his gaze fixed on the darkened record shop, not used to seeing it at this hour.

“You coming?” You ask him, gesturing to the door, and Felix snaps out of his tranced state, unbuckling his seatbelt, too.

As you twist your keys and push the door open, Felix feels a bit unsettled seeing the shop at this hour. The shelves are pitch dark at the hour, the usually colorful vinyl all looking indistinguishable as they sit in stacks against each other and gather dust. The neon sign above the CD wall is shut off, not even the gentle hum of the bulb present amongst the silence. And the doorway to the back room looks like something out of a horror movie, seeming as though someone- or something, could pop out at any given moment. It feels wrong being here- and he knows he probably shouldn’t be, but he’s not in the place to leave your side just yet.

“Don’t turn on the lights,” you say to Felix when you enter, him following closely behind you. “I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”

You begin toward the back room, glancing over your shoulder to ensure Felix is following. And he is, albeit reluctantly.

The back room is much smaller than Felix had originally anticipated it to be. It smells of paint, looking far more run-down than the rest of the store, and he’s not sure how anyone can take a lunch break back here considering the lack of table space and seating options.

“This is the break room?” Felix asks, squinting his eyes when you pull the chain beside the medallion lamp and illuminate the room with a dim, orange glow.

“Yeah,” you reply, now shuffling through Seungmin’s old records and putting them in their respective genres. “This is where I eat my sandwiches.”

He chuckles softly, running his hands over the series of music posters pinned to the cork walls, taking in the view you see everyday at noon.

“There’s a record player in here!” Felix exclaims, bending down to examine the 6200 marantz wood turntable on a little cart, just to the left of the dining table.

“Well this is a record shop, you reply with a chuckle, slotting the last few of Seungmin’s vinyl into the shelf. “It wouldn’t make sense if we didn’t have one.”

“Does it work?” Felix asks, tracing the silicone grooves of the platter with his fingers.

“Of course,” you respond, finally turning around to meet his gaze. “Pick something.”

Felix scans the shelves at the neat rows of vinyl, all packed together and indistinguishable from their thin colorful spines alone. He pulls one out, examining illustrations of flowers on the cover, and then slots it back into its respective home. Another flaunts an abstract pattern of cool-toned hues, which Felix observes briefly, and places it back where it belongs, too.

“I can’t decide,” he voices plainly, his eyes scanning over the rows that span the entire length of the room, some of them visibly much older than the rest.

Your fingers graze the spines, too; letting the cracked ridges serve as indication of their age, and then you pinch one between the pads of your fingers, pulling it out to examine the cover. It’s painted sky blue, with images of autumnal trees that stand tall and contrast the gentle hues nicely. In bold red cursive text, the title is scrawled at the top, followed by a brief list of credits and arrangements.

“The Seasons, by Tchaikovsky,” you read aloud.

You recall putting this one on the shelf after a donation a few weeks prior, never having listened to it yourself.

“Will you play it?” Felix asks, and you nod your head in response, already pulling out the black disc and placing it neatly on the record platter. You flip it on, and then bring the tonearm to a random spot, letting the cue lever lower it into place and begin playing. After a few seconds of fidgeting with the volume, the soft sounds of piano begin to fill the room, a somber arrangement that slows into gentler, discoordinate notes.

“This one’s probably winter,” you say to Felix, hoisting yourself up on the table and sitting on your hands. “It sounds sad.”

“Yeah,” he responds, his eyes fixated on the slow turn of the disc, a soft crackling noise emitting as the tonearm runs over the grooves.

Felix suddenly reaches for the bag slung over his shoulder, unzipping the pouch and pulling out his camera.

“What are you doing?” You ask with a soft chuckle, amused at the way he so quickly rushes to adjust the settings.

“I want to take a picture. It’s a nice record player.”

And with the rhythmic click of the lens, he snaps a series of photos, angling himself a bit higher to capture every moving part of the old thing. When he’s finished, he examines the photos himself, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looks over the moment in time captured so perfectly on the little screen of his device. Without warning you, Felix then holds the camera up once more, snapping a quick photo of you and chuckling softly to himself.

“Stop!” You say through laughter, holding a hand up to shield your face as he snaps a few more. “Felix, I’m serious!”

“It’s just for me!” Felix exclaims, bringing his camera down again and scrolling through the candid photos.

As he examines them, you notice how close he is to you now, standing in between your legs that hang lazily off the edge of the table, his frame towering over yours.

He meets your gaze again after a moment, taking notice of the proximity, too, and swallowing nervously.

“You used to let me take pictures of you,” Felix says after a moment of silence.

“That was so long ago,” you reply with a smile. “Things are different now.”

His eyes dart over your bare face, your eyes a little hooded from exhaustion and the mellowed state that overtake your body. It’s a sight familiar to him, still, the way you keep your words short when you’re not asking him questions, nothing except a small knowing smile on your face. But it’s one he’s thought about for so long, painting pictures of you in his head and scanning old photos, like your physical state would somehow come to fruition the more he studied it.

“Please let me take a few more,” Felix says, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes flicker between your lips and your gaze. He knows you’re going to say no, go away, or some other version of it.

But this time, you don’t, taking careful note of the way he so politely asks for what he wants. Memories of him have plagued your mind all night, the feeling of his hands around you still lingering on your body, recalling the way he used to ask so politely to fuck you in the bathroom of house parties like you wouldn’t say yes every single time.

And in the absence of your words, you slide your coat off, discarding it on the table behind you and keeping your gaze locked on his, in just a tight-fitting t-shirt and skirt.

Felix brings his camera up immediately, lest you change your mind like he knows you probably will, and adjusts his lens again, before snapping a single photo of you, sitting so innocently on the table in the back room of the record shop. Your expression remains unchallenged, your eyes softening a little as he pulls away to look at you again. And this time, you let two hands cross over your torso, pulling up the corners of your shirt and letting it ride up until it’s nearly off of you. Felix doesn’t waste any time, bringing his camera to eye-level again and snapping a photo eagerly, his eyes wide as he observes the sight of your hardened nipples through the lens.

The discoordinate piano music still plays from behind him, its tempo increasing gradually as you let one hand position itself over the mound of your breast, kneading gently as Felix positions his camera to zoom in. He snaps another set of photos, bringing his camera even closer to capture you at every erotic angle, and then he pauses briefly, as your hands move to your skirt.

You tug gently, not yet pulling it off, and his photos capture the moment you finally undo the small zipper on the side, revealing the hem of your lace panties to him and looping a finger through them. He feels his breath hitch in his throat, wanting to clarify that he’s not forcing you to do any of this, but too mesmerized to ask you to stop.

And then before he can verbalize his thoughts, you’re tugging the skirt down, too, pulling it off over your sneakers to discard it on the floor below you. Felix can’t look away from the sight, your body hugged so delicately in lace lingerie, your legs parted a little for his photos and practically begging him to come touch you. And yet you say nothing, amused at the sight of Felix gasping over your sitting figure, letting him take the reins and do whatever it is he pleases, even if the implications are clouded by your past.

Felix’s slender hands snap a few more photos, focusing meticulously on your clothed core and your hardened nipples for his own personal use. And then he sets his camera down at his waist again, pulling the camera strap off his body and shoving it back into his satchel. When he turns to say something, he can’t, still entranced by the familiar feeling in his stomach at the body he’s bore witness to so many times.

“Felix,” you say softly, coaxing him to come a little closer.

He obliges, lips parted nervously, as he takes another step forward and allows your legs to rest casually on his.

“I meant to ask you,” you say, cocking your head slightly, bringing one hand up to caress his cheek with your thumb.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice just barely above a whisper. “Anything.”

“Where have all your freckles gone?” You finally ask, observing the way his skin still runs completely clear around his cheeks and eyes, not a hint of a galaxy visible to you, even at this proximity to him.

“Makeup,” Felix responds with a soft chuckle. “They didn’t match my new look.”

And you bring your other hand to his other cheek, grazing your thumbs over his soft skin, before pressing down a little harder and wiping the foundation off of him. He’s right- the beige stars you’d remembered so well begin to appear once again, scattered generously across his button nose and his big eyes. He lets you rub it off of him, not taking his eyes off of yours as you rid him clean of the stuff and then graze your thumbs over him again, in much gentler motions.

“That’s better,” you reply, your eyes darting between his now visible freckles and his plump, parted lips. “They’re my favorite part about you.”

And Felix doesn’t respond, his mind running rampant with thoughts and intentions, as he brings his lips a little closer to yours and finally kisses you, like he’s been dreaming of doing all winter.

You reciprocate instantly, your hands cupping the back of his neck as his lips work against yours, desperately leaning into you and letting his hands snake down the sides of your waist. His kisses are familiar, so reminiscent of years past when he’d kiss you exactly like this, in the proximity of whatever house party bathroom you could run off to and let him have his way with you. And Felix remembers the sensation all too well, this mutual pining of silently yearning for each other in the presence of other strangers until he could confess his love to you through whispered love making sessions when you were finally alone. Felix whimpers softly between kisses, as your hands snake up his t-shirt and graze along the toned flesh of his abdomen. You hum in response, letting your hands tangle in his hair now as he presses further into you and works gentle kisses down your neck. Both your hands find his silky ponytail, pulling off his hair tie in one swift motion and tossing it aside so that his long tresses hang loosely in front of his face, and you tangle your fingers in his ebony roots, tugging slightly as you pull him into your embrace and feel him trail back up to your lips. He pulls away momentarily to gauge your expression, worried you might ask him to stop, but your eyes are wide with anticipation, your breaths labored as you pull him into you again and arch your back into him. You can feel Felix smile into the kiss, satisfied with the turn of events from tonight's party- he’d been so certain you would leave with Seungmin, or shut him out again. But here in the dimly lit room of the record shop, your lips on his as your hands trail lower to unbuckle his belt, there’s no denying you want this just as badly as he does.

And Felix can’t help but wonder how long have things been this way- had something changed at the party? Something that would’ve led you to call him a “best friend” rather than an old one, leave the party with him and even drag him to the record shop after hours, knowing very well you could’ve come alone? Something that instilled an equal sense of desperation in you, to want his lips on yours as badly as he does right now, your bodies yearning for each other like you once did, as you undo his belt buckle and snake it out from his belt loops to discard it on the floor?

He’s not entirely sure- but he also can’t think straight when your hands are tugging at the hem of his jeans, begging him to take them off and mirror the same level of undress you are now. What he can think about are your lips working against his, the gasps that escape you when he grazes his fingers down your sides between kisses and the forte echo of Tchaicovsky’s piano record filling the room with sultry harmonies.

As Felix unbuttons his jeans, you help him tug them down so that they’re pooled around his ankles, the two of you now equal parts undressed and grabbing desperately at the now exposed flesh. You let your hand find Felix’s, wrapping your fingers around his slender wrist, and then bringing it to your panties, where you rest his hand against your clothed core and allow him to graze over your growing wetness.

“Jesus,” Felix exhales, pressing his middle and ring finger down against your core and rubbing in slow, back and forth motions. “I forgot how horny you get when you smoke.”

And you chuckle lightly, not breaking eye contact as he continues to rub you over your lace panties, the wetness against your thin fabric increasing with every gentle movement of his fingers.

“Will you do something about it?” You ask sweetly, one hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

Felix cocks his head slightly, a smug expression pulling on his lips as he works you a little faster now.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

You chuckle in response, growing impatient as he teases your aching clit over the fabric of your panties and keeps his gaze on yours. He’s calculated with his movements, rubbing in gentle motions, pressing down firmly with every other stroke to watch the way your legs squirm desperately around him and ache for more.

“Don’t make me ask,” you say shyly, your hips rutting toward him to chase the friction of his fingers.

Felix’s gaze drops to your core, his lips parted with curiosity at the sight of you now rocking gently toward him, letting your movements do the pleasing as he almost entirely stops rubbing you.

“What if I wanted you to ask for it?” Felix says briskly, a serious expression on his face as he pulls his hand away from you momentarily.

“Felix, you already know what I-”

“Ask for it,” Felix interrupts, keeping his gaze locked on yours now. His eyes are hooded with lust, his eyebrows slanted in a challenging expression as he waits for you to say something. And he knows he’s never been one to make you ask for it- in fact, he was usually the one doing all the begging, whining when you’d take too long to touch him or begging you to let him finish. But coupled with the recent development of his new look, you can’t help but wonder if it’s not the only thing that’s changed about him.

“Ask for it,” Felix states again. “Or I’ll get dressed again.”

And you can’t bring yourself to, still riddled with questions at the peculiar phenomenon of Felix making you ask for sex, desperate to ask if this is a one-time occurrence, or if he’s intent on getting you to beg for his cock from here on out. Does he make all his hookups beg for it like this? Do they oblige without question, or are they just as taken aback with it as you are?

When Felix takes note of your silence, he doesn’t waste another second, pulling up his jeans again and beginning to work the buttons once more. And you feel your heartbeat quicken at the sight, disheartened at the action and still desperate for him to touch you, to fuck you, like your body’s been craving the past hour you’ve been back here.

In a desperate attempt to stop him, your hands reach out, grasping his wrists in yours and watching the way his cock remains tented under the denim fabric of his jeans.

“Please,” you say shortly, a sheepish pout on your face.

“Please what?” He responds, cocking his head to gauge your reaction.

“Please would you fuck me?” You finally say, exhaling frustratedly and flickering your gaze away from him, almost embarrassed to be asking him like this. But Felix’s lips pull into a toothy grin, leaning back into you for a kiss and beginning to work his jeans off of him again.

“Was that so hard?” He mumbles against your lips teasingly.

“Mhm,” you murmur back against him, hearing his jeans pool around his ankles once again as his hands cup around the small of your back.

“It was?” Felix queries, one hand looping through the hem of your panties and grazing along the elastic. “If I remember correctly, we used to play this little game all the time.”

You gasp a little as he pulls the elastic between the pads of his fingers, letting it snap against your delicate skin again and rest against your reddened skin momentarily. Felix observes the way you say nothing, waiting for him to undress you, touch you- anything, without so much as a plea for him to do so. And he’s undeniably roused seeing you this desperate for him, adjusting your position on the table to calm your pulsating core, your hands searching for him and your lips trying so hard to keep purchase on his. Felix feels his cock swell at the confirmation that perhaps you have been thinking of this just as much as he has, and that maybe leaving was the hardest thing you ever did, the way he always hoped it was.

“Are you sure about this?” Felix asks before he can ponder the words.

And in painfully slow movements, you find the hem of your elastic waistband yourself, tugging it down and breaking away from the kiss to snake it off your ankles and discard it onto the floor. The sight alone is confirmation enough for him- your pussy is glistening with wetness, your folds coated generously in your own arousal and your aching clit a robust shade of pink as you wait for him to finish his little game of neglect. Felix can’t even respond at the sight of your cunt on display for him, too engrossed in the familiarity of what it looked like all those past years, exactly like this, begging for him and only him. On the counters of bathroom sinks, in empty fields, in the back of your car and even when his fingers were shoved in it under blankets in a room full of people. Always taking him so wholly and effortlessly, like your cunt was made to have him fill it, squirming around him with hushed moans and whimpers, your bodies intertwining into one tangled mess of pleasure and pure, unadulterated love for one another.

“Felix, please fuck me,” You repeat, a small smirk on your face as you watch Felix stumble over his words, his cock fully erect in the fabric of his boxers.

And Felix can’t answer you, already attaching his lips to yours again and letting his hands come around your back to unclasp your bra. His motions are much quicker now, no lingering intention to make you ask for it or confirm your stance- but every intention to fuck you, fill you, like he knows you deserve.

When your bra is unfastened, he tosses it aside, letting his hands find the mounds of your breasts and kneading them with steady motions. You moan into his mouth as he works you, your legs wrapping around his hips to press his clothed cock into your wetness and grind softly against you. Felix winces at the sensation, doing his best to stave off a premature orgasm while you rut your hips gently against him and let your head fall back in pleasure. And mirroring the pleasurable sensation of his thumbs rubbing circular motions over your nipples, he brings his mouth down to your chest, taking a breast in his mouth and sucking with little whimpers. Your head comes forward to meet his gaze again, his big, innocent eyes locked on yours as he takes the flesh between his lips and swirls his tongue around your nipple. His plump lips remain locked around your mound, alternating between gentle kisses and then back to sucking on your nipple, like he might coax fluids out of it if he tries enough. And he looks so guiltless, so incorrupt as he lets his eyelids flutter shut and your nipple graze his teeth. His actions almost don’t match this darkened, grunge appearance he now sports- and you swear you can still see the blonde locks that once framed his wide eyes and his bright appearance.

As Felix moves to your other nipple, you wrap your legs tighter around him, swaying your hips in gentle rocking motions to stimulate his clothed erection against your wetness and provide some relief to both of you. And he arches his eyebrows up in pleasure, stifled moans escaping his lips as he finally releases your breast from his mouth, a string of saliva connecting you still, as his gaze drops to his boxers.

Hard- he’s unbearably hard underneath his boxers, the tip of his cock kissing the constraining fabric of his boxers that ruts against your exposed clit and sends waves of pleasure through both your listless bodies. And Felix knows if he doesn’t fuck you now, he might finish at the sight of you alone, your cheeks flushed a dark shade of pink and your cunt arching desperately into him as you wait for him to undress. So he does- one hand finds the elastic waistband of his black boxers, pulling them over his cock and wincing as it grazes against the precum dribbling down his tip. You run your hands over his toned abs, letting your eyes meet his cock as it protrudes so eagerly for you, and it looks almost painful how hard he is for you, reddening at the tip and dripping with beads of his preemptive arousal.

Felix leans in to kiss you again, and as he does, the bare flesh of his cock finally grazes your clit, running smoothly over your arousal and making you clench around nothing. You gasp at the sensation, scooting closer to him as your clit finally gets some attention from him, and Felix smiles as he trails his kisses down to your neck. While he sucks little bruises along the flesh there, he brings a slender hand around the base of his cock, guiding his tip back to your clit and rubbing his length along your flesh with more pressure now, a fervent moan escaping your lips as he does. He glides so effortlessly along you, your arousal allowing him to move so freely against you, still eager for him to fill you up. And when his lips move back up to yours, his hand guides his tip back and forth again, now rubbing against your clit in steady motions. He mimics the way his fingers stimulate you, only it’s better like this, your cunt contracting as you prepare to take his length.

“Felix,” you whine, as his cock rubs back and forth over your wettened entrance.

“What is it?” He coos gently, smiling into you as saliva dribbles between your hungry mouths.

“Put it in,” you order plainly, parting your legs a little further to signify what it is you want so badly. And Felix already knows, pressing his tip into you just a mere centimeter to gauge your reaction, satisfied at the way you whimper and push yourself against him even further.

“Is this what you want?” Felix muses, holding his base to keep from sliding into you involuntarily.

“Yes,” you whine again, tangling your hands in his hair. “Just fuck me like you used to.”

And Felix feels his heartbeat quicken as the filthy memories grace his mind again, images of you exactly like this.

He says nothing, opting to end his teasing streak, as he finally steadies his hands on the sides of your waist and pushes into you, your sopping pussy taking him with complete ease. You let out a fervent moan at the feeling, your cunt clenching desperately around him as he works to bottom out inside of you and find his footing. His girth takes little to adjust to, but he’s long, taking a good minute or two until the base of his cock is disappearing inside of you and being coated in your arousal. Before even moving, his tip is grazing your cervix, the familiar feeling making your stomach turn with anticipation as you remember what it feels like.

Felix’s lips part in pleasure, his eyebrows arched up as he pulls out again and then thrusts just once, relishing in the way your pussy contracts around him again and takes him so perfectly. Your hands find purchase in his hair again, tangling in his ebony roots, as he pulls out a little, and then begins to move. His cock fills every inch of you so well, grazing every corner of your dripping cunt with such fullness, as his wet kisses work against your lips and coat your mouth in his needy saliva. Felix has always been a particularly vocal lover, you remember, as the room fills with his deep grunts and moans at every thrust. His fingers dig into your flesh, holding onto you with strength as your legs wrap around him to steady yourself and push him into you fully. Your bodies one again, your limbs tangled until it's discernible who is who atop the table like this. But when he slows his movements and kisses you tenderly, you don’t care about the implications, about the past or what this will mean for your future. All you care about is Felix inside of you like he used to be for most of your relationship, making up for all this wasted time as he fucks you and breathes heavy grunts into the shell of your ear.

“God, I missed this,” Felix breathes, his voice shaky as he continues to pump into you.

“Me too,” you moan back, lining his jaw with kisses as he moves a little faster.

“You used to let me take pictures of you,” Felix repeats for the second time this evening. “You remember? Used to touch yourself while I’d snap photos of you. God, the way your fingers would disappear into your tight little pussy. Had me begging to fuck you at the end of every session, baby.”

“I remember,” you voice back in labored breaths. “You’d fuck me so well. All you had to do was adjust that stupid lens and you had me dripping for you.”

“Fuck, baby,” Felix groans, shutting his eyes as he thrusts a little harder. “Gonna make me cum for you.”

“Yeah?” You echo, wrapping your legs a little tighter around him and crossing them at the ankles. “Will you fill me up like you used to?”

Felix nods as his eyes remain squeezed shut, the room teeming with the squelching sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of your cunt.

“Come on, baby,” you plead, one hand angling his face toward you to press repeated, chaste kisses to his lips. “Fill me up. I know you want to.”

“I do want to-”

“Cum for me,” you order, grazing your free hand over his abdomen and tracing little circles over his v-line.

And Felix’s cock twitches inside of you twice, signaling his nearing finish as he quickens his pace again, now fucking you with even more force and hitting your sensitive cervix with every thrust.

“I’ll let you take whatever pictures you want,” you say to him as you pull him close and nibble the lobe of his ear. “As long as you fuck me like this every time you’re finished.”

And the promise is all it takes for Felix to reach his orgasm, his cock twitching inside you once more before he spurts ropes of his warm cum inside of you, filling your cunt with copious amounts of his arousal for you and fucking every last drop back into you. Your pussy contracts at the sensation of his warm cum grazing your insides, reaching your finish, too, as he brings a hand to rub your clit through your release. The table below you is sticky with your juices as you steady your breathing, Felix bringing a hand around the base of his cock to pull out of you and rest limply against your pulsing, sore entrance.

The room around you is quiet again, the gentle buzz of the pendant lamp replacing your moans as you let your hands wrap around him and hold him in your embrace. Felix presses a series of tender kisses to your forehead as you remain, his slender hands moving strands of sweaty hair out of your forehead to replace them with his loving kisses.

And the record has run through all its seasons now, having ended several minutes ago, as the needle runs over the last groove in repetitive clicking sounds, an indication to flip it over.

A precious town once set ablaze. 4:00pm. Spring on the horizon.

“To have hysteria or mania. 7 letters.”

Felix thinks for a moment, his eyes darting up to the ceiling and then back to where Yena is sat across from him.

“Madness?”

She glances over the crossword puzzle once, counting empty little boxes, and then begins to pen in his answer.

“How are you so good at this?” Yena asks, shaking her head. “You could be on a crossword puzzle reality show. If that exists.”

He chuckles lightly, observing as Yena checks her watch, and then shuts the book in front of her.

“My break is almost done,” she says as you chew on a French fry. “I’m gonna catch the bathroom really quick. You guys need anything?”

“I’m good,” you chime in, and Felix shakes his head from across you.

“Thank you,” he says politely, shooting her a little smile as she slides out of the booth and back toward the kitchen.

Felix’s gaze turns back to you now, a smile on his face as you nibble the remainder of the french fry, cocking your head at his curious gaze. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his sneaker glide gently up your ankle, grazing your bare skin with the sole of his shoe and shooting you a knowing smile.

“Felix, not here,” you say, pushing him away gently with your own shoe and letting your soles rest atop his laces.

“That’s not what you said this morning,” Felix says, swirling half-melted cubes of ice around in his glass of water.

“Harder Felix, harder!” He mimics quietly in a high-pitched voice, as he brings his glass up to his lips and takes a generous sip.

You stomp on his laces as he chuckles between sips of water, dribbling a stream from his lips when you kick him lightly in his ankles.

Don’t fuck your exes.

Advice that anyone with half a brain would give you- and advice you really should’ve taken to heart. But you can’t help it, finding yourself between the sheets with Felix nearly every night for the past two weeks, his lips all over yours and pleasuring you better than you’d ever remembered it. You tell yourself you’re just making up for lost time, both of you still young and naive, all of this over once he actually leaves for college again. He stayed for Christmas, gifting you a new pair of canvas sneakers and fucking you while reruns of Christmas rom-coms played in the background of your apartment. He was your New Year’s kiss at Seungmin’s party, where you swore again that the two of you weren’t dating, forcing you to press your lips to his only when you were sure the others weren’t paying attention at the drop of the ball. And when you’re not picking up shifts at the record shop, you’re with him every waking second of the day, keeping Yena company during her shifts as you feign your giddy attraction to him while she’s not looking.

We’re not dating, you’ve emphasized to Felix several times, and he doesn’t fight it, giving you a knowing nod as he utters a repetitive yeah, yeah. But it’s mostly because he knows you can’t say no to him, not when he’s bringing you slices of pie at work and burning CDs with all his favorite songs for you, slipping them into your bag without you even noticing until you’re home again. Of course there’s the physical factor, too- Felix is undoubtedly your best sexual partner, and he always has been. He’s quick to recognize when you’re aroused, slipping away with you in the backseat of his car to pleasure you, without any protest from you. He’s also understanding of all your intimate moments together, not fighting it when you remind him this is just temporary, all while he’s thrusting into you on the back room table of the record shop at late hours of the night. He just smiles against your bruised skin, reminding you that you have yet to push him away yet. And when he’s holding you in the gentle embrace of your afterglow, pressing kisses to your skin and reminding you how beautiful he’s always thought you are, he’s right- you don’t push him away from any of it. Maybe it’s the physical factor, maybe it’s little acts of service he performs to win you over. And perhaps it’s also because you don’t feel so lonely for once- the last time he was beside you like this, you still had a family, one that loved Felix like their own and encouraged this shared life with him. You still had dreams of being something bigger, aspirations while you were in school and visions of a life with Felix, because back then, he was always a part of your plan. And though things are different now, his beaming smile and lighthearted jokes serve as a reminder of a simpler time, and it feels right. So you don’t push him away- it’s a secret kept between the two of you, but he’s here with you, regardless.

“Will you let me take some photos of you today? ” Felix inquires, flipping through the book of crossword puzzles left on the table by Yena. You watch as he adjusts the familiar fleur de lis ring on his finger before uncapping a pen and filling in one of the words.

“I have an early shift tomorrow,” you reply, toying with the crumpled straw wrapper in front of you.

“I won’t be long,” Felix retorts.

“I know, Felix, but I have to get up really early tomorrow and I-”

“Let me take you out,” Felix says, not looking up from the crossword puzzle in front of him. “Just tell me where.”

You sigh, scanning the empty tables around the diner. There are only a handful of guests at this hour, most of them elderly folk chatting quietly amongst themselves. A slow jazz tune plays overhead, and sunlight beams through the large window beside you as Felix finishes penning in an answer, shutting the book again and folding his hands in front of him to meet your gaze.

“I have something for you,” Felix adds.

“You don’t have to buy me gifts, Felix.”

“I’m aware. But this one’s special for me, too.”

“What is it?”’you ask, a growing curiosity at his words.

“I don’t have it with me. You’ll have to let me give it to you later today.”

You sigh, crossing your arms in front of you and rolling your eyes sarcastically. He’s always known how to get exactly what he wants.

“Just this one time,” you reply, knowing you sound like a broken record at how many times you’ve sworn it to be just one more time.

“Just this one time,” Felix echoes, toying again with the ring on his finger.

And you nod reluctantly, agreeing to whatever he’s planned, for the purpose of pleasing him and because you’re unable to decline.

As he flips open the book again, he uncaps the pen once more, picking up where he left off and reading the question aloud to you.

“A discussion aimed at reaching an agreement,” he voices, nibbling the cap of his pen again.

“Negotiation,” you say, observing the way a smile grows on his face as he pens in your answer.

“That’s it,” he says, gripping the pen enthusiastically as he crosses out the question.

And the sole of his shoe grazes your ankle again, trailing up your flesh teasingly as he moves onto the next.

“Where’s she going?” Felix queries, reaching into the bowl of popcorn in his lap to grab another mouthful.

“I don’t know,” you respond, chuckling at the way he shoves a generous portion into his mouth and chews loudly.

“Is she leaving him?” He says, pausing his chewing as the main lead in the movie makes a dramatic exit on screen.

“Felix, I’ve never seen this movie either,” you state, chuckling as he finally resumes his chewing and brushes stray kernels off his shirt.

He reaches into the bucket again, gathering a generous handful of popcorn, and then he sprawls his hand over your mouth, pushing the popcorn into your still-laughing mouth as he moves a little closer to you.

“You argue too much!” He says between giggles, throwing his head back as he watches you try to down the handful, failing as loose kernels find purchase on your shirt, too.

You reach out to shove him playfully, and Felix intertwines his hands with yours, pulling you onto his lap as the bucket of popcorn is promptly set aside and neglected.

He doesn’t even give you time to finish chewing before his lips are on yours, kissing you with such tenderness and warmth. It’s moments like these you find yourself glad he’s here with you, grateful for his unwavering persistence to account for lost time and make amends. Of course you also know he’ll be gone soon, back to university to proceed with his education while you tend to the record shop. And you’re undoubtedly a little sad about it- but you also know it’s the way things have panned out to be. Felix has blossomed into the bright young soul you always knew he was, filling the shoes of a generation of good-natured people that came before him. He’s generous, and unselfish in his ways, and a part of you knows that leaving him was the best thing that could’ve happened to both of you.

Was sleeping with him a mistake after all this time? You would’ve answered yes in a heartbeat, at the first instance it happened, feeling you might accidentally led Felix on and ruined things between the two of you. But the more it happened, the more it affirmed the beautiful notion that he’s just a fleeting part in this process of mending- your souls intertwining to relive memories of simpler times, connecting like they had when you once belonged together. He gives himself to you as a way of saying I’m still here, if you need me. And you give yourself to him to respond I know, and I’m still healing.

“You want your gift?” Felix asks as he pulls away, his hands grazing the small of your back.

“Depends,” you say with a small smile. “If it’s anything like your gift this morning, then yes.”

He chuckles softly, caressing the dimples in your lower back as he sits up and nods in the direction of the kitchen counter.

“I’ll go get it. Be right back.”

And you slide off of him, crossing your hands between your thighs as he exits the room, the soft-spoken dialogue of the movie still playing as he shuffles about in your apartment kitchen. When he returns, his hands are behind his back, a smile plastered on his face and his eyes forming little crescents as he approaches you.

“You have to close your eyes,” he says, kneeling down and sitting cross-legged in front of you. “And put out your hands.”

You oblige with an equally endeared smile, closing your eyes and cupping your hands in front of you. Felix seems to get something situated in front of you, and then you feel him place something small in the palm of your hand. It’s cold to the touch, no bigger than an inch, and he positions it so that it’s centered perfectly in your hand.

“Now open,” Felix finally says, pulling his hands back and folding them in his lap.

You do as you’re told, your eyes fluttering open again and your gaze falling into the palm of your hand. And your heart melts instantly at the sight-

It’s a ring- his ring, the silver fleur de lis one he always catches you staring at.

“I can’t take your ring,” you say, your wide eyes meeting the crescents of his eyes that remain as he grins.

He holds his hand up, flashing you his own fleur de lis, and wiggles his fingers to show it off.

“It’s not mine,” Felix says. “I got you your own.”

And you feel tears prick the corners of your eyes, doing your very best to pull back and avoid crying in front of him. But Felix takes notice at the way your face contorts sadly, scooting closer to you and taking your hands in his.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his face full of concern as you examine the ring.

“Nothing,” you’re quick to respond, sniffling and rotating it between the pads of your fingers. “I just…”

Felix waits for you to answer, giving your hand a little squeeze as you struggle to find your words. He knows that verbalizing your feelings isn’t exactly your forte, giving you time to think over the action and speak when it feels right to you.

“Your ring,” you say with a soft chuckle. “It was a gift from my dad.”

His expression turns serious, holding up his index finger to rotate it around in front of you. “This one?” He inquires.

“Yeah,” you respond with a smile. “The one I gave you before we broke up. I know I’m not the best with my words, but I never got to say thank you. You stayed up with me the night they told us he was nearing the end. And again when my mom left. And somehow you found me in this shitty little town, and I like to think it’s so that I can properly thank you for everything. That’s why I wanted you to have the ring.”

Felix can’t properly reciprocate with a kiss while he’s sat below you like this, but he brings his lips forward to kiss your knee tenderly, staring up at you through innocent eyes and humming against your flesh.

“You were not alone,” he says, pressing another kiss. “You’re never alone. I would do it all over again.”

And you smile down at him, as he takes the ring from the palm of your hand and slides it onto your ring finger, an unspoken promise that he’s always going to be here to help build you up again, regardless of your reservations or your conditions. That just like this town lost itself so many years ago, there’s always a way to build things back up again, you just have to hold onto the hope that it’s possible.

“I love it,” you say, examining the way it sits around your fingers just like his does. And Felix doesn’t answer, pressing more kisses on the pads of your knees and using a hand to part your knees slightly. You take note of the way he keeps his eyes shut as he trails kisses, relishing in the way you give into his actions, laying back to part your knees and observing his eager state.

“Can I take a picture of you?” Felix asks shyly, his eyes darting over your visible crotch as your skirt rides up. You shoot him a little nod in response, gesturing for him to go get his camera, which he wastes no time doing, pulling it out of his black carrier bag and slinging it over his neck. Felix sits cross-legged in front of you again, watching intently as you flip your skirt up and let your fingers graze over your soaking panties. Your new ring glints in the dim glow of the overhead lamp, glistening as you rub your clit over the thin fabric of your underwear and stare into the lens of his camera.

Felix clicks a set of photos, his breath hitching in the back of his throat at the sight of you tugging on your panties and spreading even further for him. You make a big show of staring innocently into his lens, your eyebrows arched in curiosity as you toy with your waistband and tug it down a little further, your hips swaying a little as you struggle to pull it off entirely. And Felix takes note of your struggle, snapping one more photo of your desperate state and slinging the camera back off.

“Let me help you,” he says with an amused smile, placing the camera on the bag beside him and scooting closer to you. His hands loop themselves in the hem of your panties, keeping his gaze locked on your core as he pulls them down, being met instantly with the sweet aroma of your arousal and your glistening folds.

“Fuck,” Felix breathes, swallowing in anticipation at you spread for him.

You let yourself slouch back into the dip of the couch cushion, propping a leg up to give him a better view, and your hands graze over your breasts as you watch him struggle to comprehend the sight.

“Go on,” you order simply, biting your lip as his eyes widen when you knead your breast gently.

And Felix doesn’t spare another second, his hands finding purchase on your inner thighs, as he brings his face forward and licks a long stripe up your folds. His tongue is instantly coated in your arousal when he does, moaning at the taste of you as you writhe in pleasure below him and clamp your knees around his pretty face. He holds them open again, letting his tongue graze over your pulsing clit, before licking another stripe and then latching his lips around your bundle of nerves, pressing a chaste kiss before sucking harshly.

The room fills with your high-pitched moans, gasping for air and clutching desperately onto the fabric of the couch as he works you, alternating between sucking your clit between his teeth and grazing his tongue over your entrance. He darts his tongue into your sopping entrance to gather more of your arousal, spitting harshly onto your cunt and grazing it around your folds using his tongue. And the more you writhe desperately below him, the more his movements become ravenous, working you like a starved animal as he eats you out and pries your legs open.

“Felix,” you groan, reaching a hand out to push his face further into you. “Feels so fucking good.”

He smiles against you, responding with little kisses peppered on your inner thighs, before moving back to your clit and licking in harsh back and forth motions. Your cunt clenches around nothing, desperate for him to fill you, but not wanting him to halt the motion of pleasuring you with his tongue. And as his fingers graze along your thigh to pry you open again, you gasp when he brings the same hand to your clit and rubs vigorously.

Your body is shaking now, trembling with anticipation as you approach your orgasm. But Felix doesn’t stop to gauge your reactions at all- in fact, if you were to cum right now, he’d keep going at this pace regardless. He’s too fixated on the taste of your arousal in his mouth, the melodious moans you let out for him and the way you reach for nothing tangible as he works you.

As your head throws back in pure ecstasy, you feel his fingers move lower, and lower, until he’s grazing your entrance with his knuckles in a teasing motion. And before you can ask him to fuck you with them, he’s already inserting two fingers, increasing the pace of his tongue as he begins to thrust in and out of you. Your cunt contracts eagerly around his fingers, desperate for release now as he matches the rhythm of his tongue with his fingers, the room teeming with the sounds of your squelching pussy. As he pushes deeper into you, you feel his ring- the cold, stiff metal of your now matching rings, graze your entrance, sending a wave of pleasure over your trembling body. His fingers work in and out of you, the cold metal pressing itself on your clit as he bottoms out inside of you and moves his fingertips in quick come hither motions to stimulate you. Your abdomen contracts harshly with every thrust now, your clit throbbing as he traces it with his tongue and peppers it in hot, wet kisses.

“Felix, fuck, I’m- gonna cum for you,” you warn, your voice shaky as he moves even faster, showing no mercy with his movements as he groans against your exposed flush.

“Let go for me,” he commands plainly, his deep voice vibrating against your clit as he holds his tongue there. “Always give me such a fucking show, baby. Make a mess for me.” He speaks between kisses on your glistening folds, alternating between pouting his lips to make out with your cunt and let his tongue wag over your sensitive core.

As you feel his fingers thrust into you one last time, the cold metal of his ring gliding over your folds in its coat of arousal, your abdomen contracts over him, your cunt clenching in syncopation with your fervent moans as you finally let go and dribble your juices all over his freckled face. He wastes no time cleaning you up, lapping at your core to swallow your release and pepper your dampened flesh with tender kisses.

“Stay there,” Felix orders, reaching beside him as your eyes flutter shut in overstimulation. You lie completely listless, your limbs languid and heartbeat pulsing at a now slowing rate throughout your body.

Felix brings his camera up to you again, sitting up on his knees and snapping a photo of your wearied state, his eyes wide with lust as he admires the way your legs hang loosely at your sides. His lens adjusts to capture your parted lips and flushed cheeks, your hands tugging your skirt down again and the smile on your breathless lips when you open your eyes again.

Felix stands up now, approaching you with the camera and letting his slender fingers graze your lips.

“Suck,” he orders, inserting the same two fingers down your throat as his other hand positions the lens in front of you. And you oblige eagerly, your lips wrapping around his digits to suck your own arousal off of him, your tongue swirling around the salty metal of his ring to rid him of your juices.

His photos capture exactly that- your lips wrapped around his knuckles, the kisses you trail down his fingers and the way your tongue licks the perimeter of your matching jewelry clean.

When you’re finished, you release him with a gentle pop, Felix letting his camera hang loosely at his waist again and using his now free hand to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“So beautiful,” he says resolutely, bringing you up for a gentle kiss. “You were always such a good model for me.”

When you work an early shift, you make it a point to kick Felix out of your apartment no later than 9, or sometimes 10. You’re not staying the night, you’d explained as a non-negotiable condition, wanting to avoid the awkward antics that come with sleeping alongside each other and waking up in his arms. But tonight, you can’t seem to let go of him, letting his arms wrap you in their warm embrace as he presses kisses to your forehead and tells you stories of college that you weren’t around for.

“It was the worst group I ever had for a project,” Felix says in a chuckle. “I don’t know how I passed that course.”

“You should’ve requested a different group,” you say in a sleepy voice, smiling as you play the humorous tale in your head.

“I did!” He exclaims. “I don’t think the professor liked me enough to let me switch so late in the semester.”

“Well, you got through it,” you reply, letting your hand intertwine with his as your rings rub tenderly against each other. “I can’t say the same.”

Felix chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and letting your hands rest against each other. He thinks for a moment, and then rubs his thumb along your hand lovingly as he begins to speak again.

“I want to take so many photos of you in the spring. There’s this new lens I want to try.”

You pause briefly, opening your eyes to look at him, and then you cock your head slightly before responding.

“You won’t be here for the spring, Felix. You’ll be back at school.”

He swallows nervously, pondering your words, and then he exhales deeply before continuing.

“I don’t think college is for me, either.”

The words hit you like a truck the second they escape his lips- you sit up in bed to look at him, releasing his hand from yours and furrowing your brows together.

“What?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, I just wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I want to stay here, with you.”

“No, you don’t,” you’re quick to say, shaking your head.

“I do,” Felix admits sheepishly. “Everything makes sense here. Being with you, the town, the people- I think I’m meant to be here, too.”

“No, you’re not,” you say, pulling away from him even further as he sits up now, too. “Felix- this isn’t your life. You need to go back to school, and pick a major and live your life.”

“I don’t want those things,” Felix responds frustratedly. “I want you. I want this town. I don’t care if you don’t want to date, I’ll stay by your side regardless. I can’t just leave you.”

“You can, and you will.”

Felix narrows his eyes, anger quickly overtaking him as his face flushes a dark shade of red.

“So you’re allowed to and I’m just not? Who are you to dictate what I do with my life?”

“This is the life I made for myself,” you reply, exasperated. “It’s not some soul-searching pit stop like it is for you.”

“Maybe it’s not for me, either.”

You’re entirely off the bed now, your hands making angry gestures as you try to verbalize your feelings toward him, Felix’s voice growing increasingly irate as you attempt to.

“You know why I left you in the first place?” You question. “Because I was dragging you down. You had everything- a family, a future and a girlfriend who didn’t quite have things made the way you do. No one even understood why we were together, Felix. I’m not gonna drag you down a second time just because we had sex a couple times.”

“Is that all this is to you?” Felix inquires angrily. “Just sex? It doesn’t seem that way when you’re all over me at Seungmin’s parties calling me your ‘best friend’. That doesn’t sound like just sex to me-”

“You are my best friend,” you interrupt frustratedly, tears falling from your eyes now as you try to make him listen.

“You are my best friend, and I don’t want this life for you. The night I left you, my dad was moved to hospice, and my mom decided she wanted nothing to do with it. I knew you’d be wasting the best years of your life taking care of me, staying by my side like the good person you are, but that it would get in the way of college and your life. It wasn’t easy for me to do, Felix, breaking up with you and getting as far away from you as possible before I could change my mind. But you have a life outside of me, and I need you to go be that person still.”

Felix says nothing in response for several minutes, his eyes welling with tears, too, as you wipe your eyes with your inner wrists and avert his gaze. You hate when Felix sees you cry- it’s embarrassing, and it feels shameful. It feels the way it did when Felix skipped classes to be with you, neglected studying for his exams to hold you as you cried, rain checked his own family to be with yours and dragged you to every house party, so that he could fuck your sadness away in an environment that wasn’t a hospital bathroom or your childhood room.

“How dare you imply the time I spent with you was wasted,” he scoffs, his lip quivering as he wipes his own eyes. “You were my life, outside of all of this. And you still are, and you’re so stubborn in doing that thing where you don’t let yourself feel.”

You watch as Felix gathers his camera, stuffing it back into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“You said you’re somewhere between the fire and the mending. But you don’t talk about the fire. You just shut it out like you do with everything else.”

He pivots on his heel, making his way toward the door and walking with loud, purposeful strides. You begin to say something, quickly swallowing your words again as he reaches for the doorknob and turns it slowly. Felix pauses momentarily, hoping you’ll ask him to stay, apologize, forgive- anything, any sort of indication that this is what you want, too. But as the door opens, your silence is answer enough for him.

“No one could have prevented the fire,” Felix says before leaving, echoing the words you told him so long ago. “You can pick up, and move on, but it still happened. And just because things burned, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to thrive again.”

Without another word from you, he’s disappearing out your front door, his camera bag swaying on his side as he marches out the building and back to his car.

And you feel yourself begin to cry, your heart contracting painfully in your chest, a pit forming in your stomach as you witness him walk out of your life again. The flames burn inside of you all over again, turning organ to ash as you wipe your never-ending tears and slam the door behind him. It’s akin to when your mother left, when your dad passed and when you left Felix the first time. It’s overwhelming, it consumes you whole, your entire figure trembling as you fail to extinguish the flames. The phenomenon begs the question- had the fire ever really stopped? Were you ever in the process of mending if not wailing like this, your vulnerability on display for the world to see as your walls are finally let down? Is this what it means to feel?

There are few people in this world who have seen you cry. Your mom, one of them, when you begged her to stay. Your dad, another, when you held his hand through his last breath. Felix, the third, several times throughout your relationship with him.

And the folks in this town- never. Not once have they witnessed you wail the way Felix has, tears brimming your eyes as you fail to keep your emotions at bay, mucus trickling down to your lips in an inelegant manner as you cry, and cry and cry.

“You want some coffee?” Chris asks awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as he watches you bury your face in the sleeves of your sweatshirt.

“No.”

“Yena should be here any minute,” he adds, his voice softening as he watches you lift your head to give him a nod.

“Hang in there, kiddo,” Chris finishes, rubbing your back in small circles and giving you a gentle pat.

As you rest your chin in your hands, a pounding headache overtaking your whole being, a knock at the front door catches your attention. It’s Yena, a hood thrown over her head as she balances a tupperware container in her hands and peers through the window. Chris gives her a knowing look, making his way to the door and unlocking it for her.

“Hey,” Yena says softly as she enters, setting down a slice of pie in front of you and taking a seat on the stool beside you. “You okay?”

You sniffle once, shaking your head sorrowfully as she awaits your explanation. But nothing is verbalized yet, and for a good few minutes, all you can do is cry.

Yena wraps you in her loving embrace, letting your tears stain the shoulder of her hoodie, as Chris shrugs from behind you and delivers reassuring pats to your back. They’re just as confused as each other, awaiting a reason or some story, but you can’t bring yourself to vocalize your thoughts, especially when you’re a crying mess like this. Chris finally ushers Yena to say something, and she does, albeit reluctantly.

“You know, just between us, I think he’s a little dorky, anyway. It’s his loss if he can’t see what he’s missing.”

And to their surprise, you chuckle lightly, still wiping tears with the corners of your sweatshirt.

“What?” You question, a soft hiccup escaping your lips as you speak. Yena furrows her brows, together shooting a questioning look to Chris, who shrugs in response.

“Is this… not about Felix?” She queries hesitantly.

“It is,” you emphasize, another giggle escaping your lips. “But it’s not that he’s not interested. We used to date, Yena.”

At this, Yena reaches around to swat Chris’ shoulder, pursing her lips together as she speaks again. “I knew something was up,” she voices, swatting Chris again. “Christopher over here was convinced he was too into you.”

“You guys talked about it?” You add, giggling softly into the sleeve of your sweater.

“It was hard not to,” Yena responded, giving you an empathetic look. “The way you guys light up a room when you’re together, it’s like winter turns to spring or something. I was so certain he was the one.”

At this, more tears escape the corners of your eyes, falling onto the counter below you as you nod slowly in regards to her words.

“I love him,” you finally say, and the room goes silent when you do.

“I love him, and he deserves better than me. Than this,” you finish, gesturing around you to the town. “He wants to drop out of college and stay here. Like that’s a good idea for anyone except me.”

Yena and Chris give each other staggered looks, unsure of what to reply to first. They’ve never heard you speak of your emotions like this, never seen you cry and never would’ve guessed that you would let down your guard to this degree around them. It’s a little frightening, at first, to watch you tear down your own walls so much, like watching a different person than the one they’ve known for all these years. But it’s also reassuring to see that you are capable of letting yourself open up for the right people. It takes a weight off their shoulders to bear witness to the confirmation that they’re the people you can go to when you need help, the same way they don’t hesitate to lean on you. And it especially gives solace to know that you feel so deeply at all, a trait Yena and Chris have always pushed you to familiarize yourself with.

“Well what’s stopping you?” Yena asks, threading her fingers in your hair and combing it back like your mother used to.

“Exactly that,” you respond. “I don’t want to confine him to this life of mine.”

“Let me ask you something,” Yena states, taking your hands in hers and bringing your gaze up to meet hers. “Are you happy?”

And the question throws you off guard, requiring a moment to think before you can say anything in response. It’s a fair question, too- one you should’ve asked yourself when you agreed to move here years ago. But it’s not a difficult one to crack, either, when you take in your surroundings. The diner across the street is packed with patrons, happily sipping away at milkshakes and glass bottles of soda. This old record shop, with its dingy back room and rows of genres you make an effort to learn about whenever you get a chance. The starlings that flock when the train travels through, the holiday parties you find a home in and your favorite spot on the hill, overlooking all of Ember. They’re all working parts of one larger phenomenon- that of happiness.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding to affirm your answer. “I love it here. And I love you guys, and I’m still healing most days, but I wouldn’t want to be doing it anywhere else.”

A smile grows on Yena’s face as she glances back between you and Chris, and he shoots her a little nod.

“Then do something about it,” she finally says, giving your hands a little squeeze. “The first step is letting yourself feel. The rest is up to you to run with.”

And when you meet her gaze, and Chris’ gaze, their loving expressions looking down at you like you’re one of their own, you can’t help but pull them into a hug, letting yourself cry a little harder at the prospect of your found family, these tears ones of happiness.

“I love you guys,” you voice confidently. “And I’m sorry if I’ve never said it out loud.”

Chris’ hand pats your back, Yena’s combing through your hair tenderly, as they hug you with equal enthusiasm and allow you to cry as long as you need.

“We love you, kid,” Chris answers.

And when you pull away again, the three of you laugh, your tears staining your reddened faces as you bask in this unconditional appreciation for one another.

“Eat your pie,” Yena says, shoving a fork toward you. “And Chris, play some music, will you?”

Chris salutes her, pulling a random record off the shelf and scanning its contents.

“Polish folk?” He questions, and you glance at the familiar cover of the record, the same couple dipping into a bow as they dance in their colorful fabrics.

“This one’s really good,” you chime in, taking a bite of cherry pie as you nod toward the record player. “We should dance to this one.”

And as Chris starts the upbeat music, pulling Yena in for a comedic waltz, you can’t help but laugh through your tears, at the home this town’s given you in all your mending.

Felix hasn’t been at the record shop since your fight. He hasn’t been at your apartment, nor the diner, or even Seungmin’s place (and yes, you did ask). There’s only one place you know Felix would flock to after a night like the one you shared, and if you’re lucky, you should still be able to catch him on his supposed last night here.

The grassy hill is a little slippery at this hour, caked mud enwreathing your sneakers as you trudge your way up the hill and into the familiar dip of the land. And as the horizon becomes visible to you, spanning the length of the town and showcasing all the bright lights the nighttime flaunts, so does Felix, sitting with his back to you in a plain white t-shirt and jeans. He looks more casual tonight, less dressed with the intention to look a specific way, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of his slim frame taking in the view you led him to. He leans back on his hands, eyes scanning the sight of the town, before picking up his camera and snapping a series of photos.

When you occupy the spot next to him, he glances over at you briefly, before turning his attention back to the camera and waiting for you to speak.

“It’s prettier at night, isn’t it?,” you finally say, breaking the silence, and Felix fixes his gaze on the blurry lights of the record shop.

“Yeah,” he responds curtly, swallowing nervously as he ponders what to say.

And you know if you let him facilitate this conversation, it’d be over much sooner rather than later, but you also know that it’s up to you to make amends now.

“Your photography is still so beautiful,” you state, gesturing to the camera in his hands. “It’s always been so artistic.”

Felix remains quiet, toying with the strap on his camera as you speak.

“You’re artistic,” you continue. “And that’s why I want you to finish college. Don’t throw all this away for me.”

He turns his face to meet your gaze, his eyes trembling a little as you give him an empathetic look and shrug.

“I don’t want to go where you won’t follow,” Felix says, his voice coming out a little shaky.

“But I’ll always be here,” you retort, tears beginning to prick the corners of your eyes again. “Don’t put your life on hold for something that already lives in your past. You are an incredible person, Felix, and I’m not gonna drag you down a second time.”

Felix thinks for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat as he thinks over your words. And he knows that there’s a possibility this isn’t what he wants, either- to stay in this little town with your friends he’s not even sure like him very much. But he does know he wants you, and that staying here would mean sacrificing his old life.

“I want you to know it wasn’t your fault,” Felix says after a brief pause of silence. “Nobody who walked out deserved you. And your dad loved you- a lot. I think about that moment watching the sunrise with you every day. He’s there too, part of that memory tucked away in my mind. I’m sorry it happened so suddenly and disrupted things. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, Felix,” you tell him, chuckling lightly as you respond. “I have a whole family here. I don’t spend my holidays alone, I meet new people working at the shop everyday. There’s so many people I haven’t introduced you to. There are coffee shops, and parades on weekends, and I’m happy. I’m still healing, but I’ve also realized that being healed doesn’t equate my happiness. I can be one without the other, and still get by just fine.”

Felix’s gaze is fixed on yours for a moment, not saying anything as he lets your words circle his mind. And there’s so much he wants to say in response, so many questions about what the future means for you both, but he also knows very well that the rest is up to him to figure out, just the way you did when you moved out here. Maybe you’re still healing- and maybe Felix is still figuring out the rest for himself, too. And though the past may be clouded by a story much more complex than either of you can even begin to comprehend, the happiness you seek is attainable, whether or not you’re together to see it through to the end. That although sometimes things may burn and decay like this town once did, there are people who will make the journey to help in the process of rebuilding, and you can thrive again. You can always thrive again.

“You’re right,” Felix says, as he looks over the horizon again. “It is prettier at night.”

The dim glow of the streetlights contrasts the flashy signs of the diner and the record shop, painting the blackened town with vivid color and bringing life to the small town of Ember.

And with a half smile, Felix pulls you in for a tender kiss, the two of you letting your apologies flow through each other in the gentle embrace of your lips and your hands intertwining atop the grassy hill.

Felix pulls you close, letting your head rest comfortably against his chest, as he caresses your hand softly in the grasp of his. And his index finger rubs lovingly against your ring finger, your matching rings grazing against each other as if to say I’ve always loved you.

Small town at the edge of the world. No particular time of day. A blossoming summer.

That’s the small town of Ember. A town Felix holds very close to his heart. And one you call home.

The cicadas buzz with high-pitched melodies of summer as you slip your sneakers on, the piercing blue sky around you almost too bright to look directly in its face. The clouds seem to shift with the summer breeze, drifting along the canvas sky like a painting in motion as you take in the sight around you

“Let’s go!” Yena calls, honking her horn twice to signify her arrival.

“I’m coming!” You call back, making your way down the stairs of her porch, balancing trays of food in hand as you account for everything you’ve agreed to bring. Drinks, plates, pie, napkins- your signature arrangement for the town’s summer festival you attend alongside Chris and Yena every year.

“Slow down, kiddo,” Chris says with a chuckle, as you rush to place everything in the backseat. “Oh, and there’s a letter for you on the porch table,” he adds, shooting you a small wink.

“I’ll be right back!” you call to Yena, jogging back up the stairs to collect the little beige envelope that rests atop the wooden surface.

It’s addressed to you, the handwriting in neat swirly black cursive letters, the envelope feeling sturdy between your fingers. You tear it open with no real aim, a giant gash working down the envelope as you rush you pull out the contents and examine them.

It’s a stack of photos, you quickly realize, sorting through them to make out the glossy digital prints.

There’s a photo of you in the back of the record shop, your hands brought up to your face and your legs hanging lazily off the table. Another showcases you in the familiar beige interior of the passenger’s seat, laughing cheerfully and staring out the window. There are photos of the town’s horizon, photos of the record player at your work, Yena’s famous pie, Seungmin’s holiday party and even the matching rings, intertwined hands that rest on the car console. As you shuffle to the last photo, you recognize it to be much more recent than the others, even the quality looking clearer, perhaps a new camera or a different roll of film.

It’s a still photo of Felix, from the waist up, holding a peace sign up to the lens with a small smile. He’s dressed brightly in a white vest and layered jewelry, the background showcasing a blue harbor with rows of boats, the location indistinguishable to you. He’s blonde again, his now shorter golden tresses framing the myriad of freckles that scatter his face once more. And he looks happy, much like himself again.

You wonder briefly who took the photo of him, the angle being of very close proximity. And you can’t make out which hand usually houses the ring you both wear, the only hand visible to you covering his ring finger, regardless. You scan the photo for a moment, running your fingertips over his figure, before turning it over and reading the neatly scribbled text on the back:

Sydney, last fall. I think I’m the only photography major who doesn’t drink my coffee without sugar. And you were right, the freckles do suit me better.

All my love,

Felix.

#Lee Felix #lee felix smut #stray kids #skz smut #skz felix #felix yongbok #felix smut #stray kids felix #felix #skz #stray kids hard hours #skz scenarios #request #fanfic #felix fic #Lee Felix fanfic #ask #felix fluff #Spotify

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pucksandpower · 3 months

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Pretty Woman Moment

Max Verstappen x wife!Reader

Summary: you have your very own Pretty Woman moment in the glittering shops of Monaco

You take a deep breath of the fresh Monaco air as you walk hand-in-hand with Max down the cobbled streets. He gives your hand a little squeeze and smiles at you. Even after all this time, his smile still makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re both dressed casually — just simple jeans and t-shirts, with caps pulled low over your faces. It’s one of the things you love most about your life here. The two of you can blend in and just be yourselves, without the glare of fame and fortune.

As you pass a small cafe, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts out. Your mouth waters.

“I’m dying for an iced coffee,” you say longingly. “Do you mind if we stop for a quick drink?”

Max chuckles. “Of course, schatje. You stay here and keep browsing. I’ll go grab us something.”

He gives you a peck on the cheek before heading into the cafe. You watch him go, your eyes drifting down to admire his cute butt in those jeans. Yup, you’ve definitely still got it bad for him.

Humming to yourself, you continue down the street, peering in shop windows at the latest fashions.

Up ahead you spot the iconic red awnings of Cartier. On a whim, you decide to browse the opulent jewelry shop.

As soon as you enter the store, you can feel the receptionist’s eyes sweep over you, no doubt taking in your casual outfit. Her gaze lingers on your much-loved sneakers. You pretend not to notice as you begin looking at a display of gem-encrusted watches.

Moments later, a saleswoman approaches you. “May I help you find something?” The saleswoman asks in a frosty tone.

You give her a polite smile. “Just looking, thanks.”

The woman’s eyes flick to your sneakers again, and her lips press together in disapproval. Still, she gives a curt nod and stands stiffly nearby like she is waiting for you to leave.

You feel a flare of annoyance at her judgmental attitude, but brush it off. You don’t have anything to prove to her. You know who you are, sneakers and all.

As you admire a display of delicate tennis bracelets, you feel the saleswoman’s eyes on you. She hovers over your shoulder, as if worried you might steal something. You bite back an amused laugh. If only she knew the size of your jewelry collection back home. Max loves spoiling you with extravagant gifts just because.

You wander towards the case of Panthère de Cartier rings, their tiny emerald eyes glinting up at you. As you lean down to admire them, the saleswoman swoops in.

“I’m afraid those particular pieces are off limits to handle without intent to purchase,” she says crisply.

You straighten up slowly. “Of course. My apologies.”

You turn away, irritation prickling. The other salespeople eye you suspiciously too now. Pretentious snobs, you think.

Just then, the glint of your own diamond tennis bracelet catches your eye — the one Max gave you for your anniversary last year. It’s slipped partially down your wrist unnoticed. You nudge it back into place just as the first saleswoman appears at your elbow.

“Excuse me, but I believe you’re attempting to steal that bracelet,” she hisses.

You gape at her. “What? This is mine, I’ve been wearing it since I came in.”

“Likely story,” she snaps. “Jacques, could you please call security?”

A bulky guard steps forward, eyeing you distrustfully. “Let’s just take a look at that bracelet, miss.”

Mortified anger rises in you. “Absolutely not, I don’t need to prove anything to you,” you say heatedly.

The saleswoman’s expression hardens. “If you make a scene, we’ll be forced to restrain you until the police get here.”

Just then, the door opens and Max strides in, caramel-drizzled iced coffee in hand. His eyes instantly take in the situation. He steps forward, eyes blazing.

“What the hell is going on here?” He demands, voice dangerous. You’ve never seen his racing temper directed at you, though you know it lurks beneath his calm demeanor.

“It’s fine, Max, just a misunderstanding-” you start gently.

He silences you with a look, then turns his glare on the cringing salespeople. When he speaks again, his voice is lethally quiet.

“This is my wife, Y/N, and I suggest you treat her with the utmost respect. She is the most important person in my world.” Though his words are soft, they crack sharply like a whip. “Now apologize. Immediately.”

The saleswoman who accused you blanches paper-white. “M-Mr. Verstappen, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize-”

Max holds up a hand, cutting off her stammering. His sharp features are carved from stone. “Save it. Your behavior was unacceptable. We’ll be taking our business elsewhere and you can be assured that I will be speaking to corporate.”

But the security guard blocks your path. “Just a moment. I still need to verify this bracelet did not come from our store.” He reaches out towards your wrist.

Quick as a flash, Max grabs the man’s arm, halting him. “Don’t touch her,” Max says in a low, dangerous voice. You feel a shiver run down your spine at the ice in his tone.

The security guard tries to yank his arm away, but Max holds firm. “I suggest you let us leave right now, before I call my lawyer.”

He drops the offending arm as the security guard takes several steps back, then takes your hand gently. “Come, schatje. Let’s get you home.”

Once outside, Max halts and turns you gently to face him. His handsome face is creased with concern.

“Are you okay?” He asks, brushing a lock of hair tenderly from your face. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

You lean into his touch, letting it soothe away the sting. “I’m okay now that you’re here. But Max … the way she looked at me, treated me like I was garbage just because of what I was wearing …” You trail off, throat tightening.

Max’s jaw tightens, a storm brewing in his beautiful eyes again. “She had no right to talk down to you that way. No one has the right to make assumptions and treat you like anything less than the amazing woman I know you are.”

Despite everything, you feel yourself smile slightly. No one can make you feel better like Max can but furious tremors in his fingers tell you his wrath still simmers below the surface. You squeeze his hand. “I’m okay, really. Don’t let them ruin our day.”

His expression softens as he looks down at you. “Of course. I just can’t stand to see anyone disrespecting you.” He smiles ruefully. “I may have overreacted.”

You laugh. “Just a bit. But it was gallant of you to come to my defense.” You lean up on tiptoes to kiss him sweetly.

Max wraps you in his arms. “I’ll always protect you, Y/N. I love you.”

“And I love you.” You take his hand again. “Come on, let’s go for a walk. I saw the most adorable baby swans in the harbor earlier.”

The tension eases from Max’s shoulders as you stroll together along the glittering marina. You chat and laugh, the unpleasant scene at the jewelry store already forgotten. Because nothing can touch the happiness you’ve found here, in the sun-drenched streets of Monaco, hand-in-hand with the love of your life.

***

The next evening, you and Max stride arm in arm into Cartier, looking every inch the glamorous millionaire couple that you are. You’re dressed in a slinky black gown with diamond earrings while Max cuts a sharp figure in an Armani tuxedo. The salespeople gape as you saunter in, not recognizing you as the girl from yesterday.

You head straight for the saleswoman who accused you of stealing. “Remember me?” You ask breezily.

She flushes, stammering apologies. You silence her with one manicured finger.

“Let’s start fresh, shall we?” You extend a hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“S-Suzanne,” she manages.

“Suzanne, my husband Max and I are looking to make a significant purchase tonight.” You gesture around the lavish store. “You have some beautiful pieces. Why don’t you show us some options?”

“Of course, right this way.” Suzanne leads you to a private viewing room. Hands shaking, she brings out diamond necklaces, tennis bracelets, rings — tens of millions of dollars in jewels laid across velvet.

You and Max pretend to consider each item seriously, before waving it away. “Oh no, that won’t do … this one’s not quite right either …” With each rejection, Suzanne’s smile grows tighter.

Finally you turn to her, feigning disappointment. “Well Suzanne, I’m afraid nothing here has caught my eye. It all seems a bit … subpar.”

She gapes. “S-subpar?”

“Mmhm. I think we’ll try Bulgari next. Their quality is much more superior.” You pause, tapping a finger against your chin thoughtfully.

“You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I realize this just isn’t going to work out between us.” You gesture around the store. “It’s not you, it’s me. I’m sure this is a fine jewelry store for some people with lower standards, but for me ...” You trail off, shaking your head sadly.

Suzanne is white-faced, swallowing hard. “Please, give us another chance. I’m certain we can find something to your satisfaction.”

You pretend to consider it. “Well … I suppose we could take another look.”

For the next hour, Suzanne desperately shows you their most elite pieces, diamond necklaces worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. You and Max have a gleeful time trying them on, admiring yourselves, but ultimately waving each one away.

Finally, after rejecting a spectacular €500,000 art deco diamond choker, you say airily, “You know what, Suzanne? I just don’t think Cartier is right for me. It’s been … educational, but I believe Max and I will be going now.”

As you saunter out, Suzanne calls desperately, “Please come again soon!”

You pause, looking back with a dazzling smile. “I would … but you made a big mistake. Big. Huge.”

And linking your arm through Max’s, you sashay into the balmy Monaco night, leaving the frantic saleswoman behind.

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bat-boys · 29 days

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forever, my love

pairing: Azriel x fem reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: 18+, mentions of battle and war, references to depression, smut (fingering) but it's romantic, angst but also fluff.

summary: you and Azriel had seen many battles over the centuries but when something goes wrong and has a lasting impact on you, Az promises to take care of you.

a/n: thank you so much for the love on the first fic! here's another one! I promise next time I'll write something happier haha, suggestions are welcome! I hope you enjoy.

The cruel, unyielding symphony of battle swelled in you as you continued to swing your sword at the enemies in front of you. Grunts of pain and screams of frustration left your lips as you continued to carve a path through the soldiers in your way, desperately trying to hold the line as Cassian had commanded.

Your body moved automatically, thanks to the centuries of muscle memory drilled into you from the intense training and the many battlefields you had found yourself on during your long life. In recent decades, you may have taken a step back from helping to command the Night Court armies and turned your attention to training the next legion of warriors and aiding your spymaster in more covert missions. Still, your body would always remember the steps needed in battle. It would never shrink from charging head first.

Once, you had been told you were beautiful to watch in battle—second only to Cassian himself as you danced your way through enemy hordes. But now, as you cut through another bottleneck of soldiers, you could only focus on keeping yourself alive, so you were extremely exhausted.

Step, swing, push, slash, pivot, hit.

As you managed to gut the last soldier in front of you, you allowed yourself a small moment of reprieve to collect your thoughts and take a gulp of air. The sound of battle raged around you, and you could faintly see your friends and allies around you, diligently fighting for a future you had only just battled for a mere handful of years ago. You sent a pulse down that precious thread, tucked deep within your heart and nodded your head in relief when you felt a responding pulse from the male on the other end. Alive. He was still alive. That's all that mattered at the moment.

You heard a shout close beside you and watched an Illyrian soldier, who had been grounded due to semi-shredded wings, fight off a group of soldiers starting to swarm around him. Taking a deep breath, you sheathed your long blade and palmed the knives strapped to either thigh.

Winnow, slash. Winnow, stab. Winnow, swing. Your High Lady herself had taught you this particular move after you had seen her yourself face enemies from a different war, a different conflict. You kept the image of your friends smiling at Feyre as she had embarrassingly walked you through how she did it, blushing furiously at your instance in teaching you at the forefront of your mind, and you continued to dance to the sound of the battle's symphony.

That was the future you continued to fight for, and you were determined to protect it.

…

Your entire body heaved as you shoved your blade through the chest of the last soldier in front of you. The sounds of battle were quietening and dying out as the last of the enemy horde were tied up or killed.

A groan left your lips as you yanked your blade free and used the last of your power and strength to winnow to the edge of the battlefield. You stumbled as you landed, cursing yourself for letting your power drain so thoroughly during battle. Az would chastise you about that later. Speaking of which…

Where are you? You sent down the bond, waiting for the familiar calm voice to reach your mind. A frown fell on your face as the minutes stretched past, and you didn't hear a response from him.

Az?

You refused to panic just yet. While this was unusual, you knew the moments after a battle was the most crucial for a spymaster as he gathered up defeated enemies to spirit them away for interrogation. He was probably just busy, you reasoned with yourself.

But a small part of your brain also whispered that he always kept the precious channel between you both open and always responded when you called.

You trudged through the mud towards the huge fortress in front of you. It may have been dilapidated and crumbling, but it provided a place where Rhys could gather his allies and forces and not be constantly caked in dirt and mud from his war camp. Once, it had probably been beautiful, home to some illustrious High Fae family, but now it was home to tired soldiers and had clearly seen much better days.

Azriel. You tried again to reach your mate through the bond, your heart thundering louder in your chest when you didn't receive a response. This time, you stretched your consciousness along that bridge…and slammed into a cold stone wall on the other end. Panic began to claw up your throat, but you refused to give in. He was probably busy with Rhys or Cassian; you desperately tried to reason with yourself as you sheathed your heavy blade into the scabbard strapped to your back and walked up the stone steps to the bustling entrance of the fortress.

"Injured that way, please!" You heard the familiar voice of your High Lady directing her people from inside the entrance. She turned around, and you saw her face relax in relief as she spotted you, "Y/N. Oh, thank the cauldron, you're alright."

Feyre was wearing her Illyrian leathers, her hair windswept and looking just as tired as you felt. She walked towards you, and you hugged her tightly, grateful to see one of your dearest friends safe and sound. You gently manoeuvred around the bow strapped to her back as she hugged you back just as fiercely. Much to everyone's surprise and yours and Rhys' amusement after the war with Hybern Feyre had mastered the notoriously tough Illyrian bow - why anyone doubted her after her past in the human realm you were still confused by. You had seen her sweeping over the battlefield today and dispatching enemies, saving your life more times than you cared to admit. Her flying wasn't strong enough to join in with the Illyrian legions yet, but she had become invaluable on the battlefield once again.

"You looked awesome up there today." You both grinned at each other, warriors recognising each other, "where is everyone?"

"Amren and Mor are in the war chamber, exhausted but ok. Cassian was dropping off a soldier to the hospital wing."

"Az?"

"I thought he was with you?" A quick shake of your head had her face falling, "Ok, he's probably busy with clean up - let me see if Rhys can reach him."

"Thank you," you whispered, and she squeezed your shoulder and kissed your cheek before going back to directing people coming through the entrance.

You jumped as you felt a bigger, wider hand fall on your shoulder but relaxed when you turned to see Cassian grinning down at you. Not the Illyrian warrior you were desperate to see but still a fucking welcome sight.

"You saved our asses out there, as usual, tiny angry one." You rolled your eyes at the nickname he had given you hundreds of years ago as you let him pull you into a bone-crushing hug.

"Glad to see you survived another battle, General, and without getting yourself torn to shreds."

"Yeah, yeah, shut up you." He teased as he gently pushed your shoulder. You may be Az's right-hand woman with his spy network now, but you were Cassian's second in command first. A formidable warrior whose name struck fear into your enemy's hearts, renowned for being utterly ruthless in combat and undefeated. How long ago it now felt when you and Cassian had first led the armies in that war hundreds of years ago.

"Have you seen Az?" You hated how quiet your voice sounded, but you struggled to keep the panic at bay.

"No," Cass frowned, "is he still out there?"

"I don't know, I can't reach him." You whispered, and immediately you felt Cassian shift, ready to head back out there and find his brother - could see the panic that settled in his eyes at the thought of finding him dead on the battlefield.

"Let's not panic yet. We'll go find Rhys, and we can set up a patrol-"he continued to talk to you, laying out a plan before you, but you couldn't hear him. Couldn't hear over the sound of your own panic as you tried to not give in to the fear that was eating away at your heart. You absolutely refused to even think for a minute that he was dead. But why was the bond cold? Why hadn't he gotten in touch, and why hadn't anyone seen him since the battle ended?

You turned your head to the side, ready to throw up the small amount of food you had choked down earlier, when-

Y/N! You froze as you heard a familiar roar and couldn't place if it was something you had heard echoed around the stone room or through that precious bond you shared.

Immediately, you turned from Cassian toward the sound of that shout, and your knees nearly buckled when you finally spotted Azriel walking through the fortress's entrance, bathed in his shadows.

His eyes were wild as he scanned the room, looking for you. His hair was matted to his sweaty forehead, blood coated his face, and he was stalking forward with a slight limp. But he was alive. Alive.

"Az." You had barely whispered his name, but you watched as his eyes snapped to you, and something broke in his carefully carved facade as his gaze took you in. Pure, undiluted, raw relief settled on his face as he realised you were still here, unhurt and standing.

Sobbing, you left your friend behind and ran towards your mate. He just stopped where he stood and held his arms out, catching you as you barrelled into him. He rocked ever so slightly back as he caught you, a testament to the exhaustion seeping through his body, but you felt that primal part of you that had been thrashing around your heart ease as his arms circled around you tightly and he buried his head in your hair - breathing you in.

"I thought I had lost you." You sobbed as you pushed your face into his neck, breathing in that comforting smell of night-chilled mist and cedar.

"I know, baby, I know." His beautiful, scarred hands gently stroked down your blood-soaked and matted hair as he continued to mumble, "I'm here. I'm safe. We're safe."

"What happened?" you asked as you pulled away ever so slightly from his body, letting your feet hit the unforgiving stone floor. Azriel's face was so tender, so soft, as his hands came up to cup your face. You watched, giving him a minute to scan your face for any injuries. A sigh left his lips when he noticed that you were largely unharmed apart from the usual cuts and scraps from battle.

"Faebane," he muttered darkly, and you gasped. "One of the soldiers had some and threw it on my face when I got close. Clearly, they haven't got much, and it's a diluted solution leftover from the war with Hybern as it cleared quite quickly, but still…this is something we now have to factor in."

"I couldn't feel you down the bond." Your voice hitched.

"I couldn't feel you either, sweetheart, I didn't know if you still breathed. I was so scared." Another sob slipped through your lips, one of sadness but also one of relief as you gripped his Illyrian leathers and pulled him closer - unable to stand any distance between you. You rose up on your shaky legs and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss wasn't sweet or tender; it was demanding and all-consuming. It was a kiss between two mates who had been terrified that after their years of searching, they had lost each other. You felt the rumble of Azriel's moan as you tilted your head to get better access to his lips. His hand reached up to cup your head to hold you in place as he licked into your mouth, and his arm snapped around you as your legs finally gave out and caught you before you sank to the floor.

You broke away gently, not going far as you rested your foreheads together. Your bodies heaved as you sucked in air for what felt like the first time since the battle ended. You closed the distance again to press your lips to his again, once, twice, thrice.

"I can't do this anymore, Az." You whispered, tears slipping down your face. Tears that Azriel captured with his thumbs as he looked at you with such devastation, "the wars, the battles, not knowing whether our friends are alive, not knowing if you are still alive. I have never felt so old."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

You both sighed as you felt the soldier hovering near you, waiting to catch your attention. Once, you would have known every soldier's name, but now you just had a vague recollection of his face. "Azriel. Y/N. I'm sorry to interrupt, but Rhysand has requested your presence."

Az pulled away slightly to nod at the soldier, who offered you both a respectful salute before leaving. You felt his scarred hand drift down your arm to grip your hand. You felt his squeeze, and you squeezed back, "Come on, love, let's go get this over with, and then let me take care of you."

…

The fortress was quieter now, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the next attack; the next moment, you would all be dragged out onto the battlefield again to face your enemies. You and Az had been stuck in meetings for hours after that initial reunion, and you had felt so hollow as your friends recounted what they saw throughout the day, the tactics the enemies were using and how you stood a chance at defeating them once and for all if you hold strong. You hadn't let go of Az's hand the entire time, only letting go once he had told his story about the faebane and he had seen tears slipping down your cheeks again and had pulled you into his arms.

A sadness clanged through your chest as you watched all of your friends that afternoon once the allies from other courts had left for their own war camps. Even through the exhaustion, the court of dreamers was still fighting, even though you had all been on the battlefield in a different war only a handful of years ago.

Azriel had made good on his promise. The minute Rhys commanded you to rest, Azriel gripped your cold hand and pulled you towards the room down the hall you were sharing. Immediately, he had asked a passing soldier to grab you a plate of food, something warm, before strolling into the room and firmly closing the door behind him. With such gentle hands, he had taken your frozen body and sat you down on the impressive four-poster bed in the centre of the room, your body sinking deeply into the comfy mattress.

He firmly pressed a loving kiss to your forehead before moving away to stoke the fire that someone had forethought to start while you were in meetings. Once satisfied, he quickly looked back over his shoulder at you - to check you were ok - before moving into the expansive bathing chamber. You could hear his footsteps on the tiled floor and the water gushing out of the taps into the large bathtub, but you couldn't stop the fear from clawing up your throat. Panic began to settle in again because he was out of sight.

What your enemies would think at the mighty Y/N reduced to this quivering mess.

Just as you couldn't take the roaring in your head anymore, at the nausea swirling in your stomach, and were about to get up to run to his arms again, Azriel stepped back into the room. You must have been shouting down the bond again because he had a soft, sad look on his face.

"I'm here, sweetheart." A whimper left your lips as you flew from the bed into his arms again, unable to get enough of the feeling of him, of being safe with him. His hand skated up and down your spine again, mumbling soothing words and pressing his lips into your hair: "I've drawn you a warm bath; come on."

You hadn't realised how much you had been shivering or how long you had been cold until the idea of settling into warm water felt so appealing. He smiled at you as he took your hands and guided you into the large bathing chamber. The bathtub sat in the middle of the room, large enough for not only you but also to accommodate wings, you realised. A soft smile fell on your lips at the thought.

In a comfortable silence that you and Az had always been able to enjoy, he gently began to unbuckle your damp and blood-encrusted leathers. With slow, methodical movements, he pulled the material from your body before throwing it into a basket in the corner of the room. You watched, your breathing shallow as Az ran his soft fingers up the exposed skin of your arms before hooking under the strap of your bra and removing it carefully from your body. Only then did his fingers skate down the soft valley of your breasts, over your abdomen, before slipping underneath the waistband of your underwear and slipping them down your thighs. Az had seen you in every state and had marked every inch of your skin with his lips and tongue, but this moment, him undressing you as you tried desperately to keep yourself from shattering, was the most intimate thing you had shared. It was warm and sweet, flecked with starlight.

That same warm smile was still on his lips as he took your hand and guided you into the warm water in the bathtub. An appreciative groan left your lips as your feet, legs, and body were submerged in comforting, warm water.

You turned around and grinned at your mate as you watched him unbuckle his own leathers and shuck them off his body. You couldn't help gazing appreciatively at his body, that body you also knew as well as your own: the proud contours of his shoulders, the toned muscles of his arms, his chiselled abdomen, the thick, powerful thighs. He truly was sculpted by the gods themselves.

Az silently padded over to the bathtub, slipping into the warm water himself before resting against one end and gently slipping his arm around your waist to pull you against him - your back pressed tightly against his chest.

With a gentleness that you know would shock so many people, he reached to grab the washcloth and soap from the side before he lathered them up and softly washed the mud and blood from your body. He took his time, kneading his hands into your aching muscles. He even undid your tattered braid and carefully washed the blood and dirt from your hair. The moment was so loving and beautiful after what happened earlier in the day that you couldn't help the tears that silently slipped from your eyes and tracked down your cheeks.

Once you were both clean, he pulled you flush against his chest again, letting you lean against him with your eyes closed as you enjoyed the feeling of being this close to him in the warm water. You idly traced the scars on his hand underneath the water where it was resting against your stomach whilst his other hand slid up and down your thigh, over your hip and up your body.

"I love you, Az." You whispered into the soft silence that had settled between you.

"I love you too, baby." You felt him press a kiss to your temple.

After today, after the horrors you had seen, after the panic that had coursed through your veins, you needed to feel something more. He wasn't close enough; you needed to feel him. Without saying a word, you lifted your free hand to gently grip the hand that was trailing up and down your body, stopping it in its lazy movements to slowly place it closer to that now throbbing part of you at the apex of your thighs.

"Sweetheart?" He questioned quietly. You could sense through the bond his willingness to touch you and feel his want with the way his erection was pressed against your lower back. But he needed to check that you really wanted this and that he wouldn't overstep some line, especially after today.

"Please, Az. I need you." You whimpered as you felt his slender fingers skim along your inner thigh.

"Relax, sweetheart, let me make you feel good." He rumbled against you as he gently began to press kisses under your ear, at that sweet spot he had found on that first night all those years ago. Your chest heaved as you felt his calloused fingertips trace up your thigh, over the curve of your hip, and along your bikini line before sensually slipping down to trace your slit.

A soft hiss escaped your lips at the feeling of his fingers so close to where you needed him most, a whimpering, "Please," leaving your lips as he chuckled behind you. His breath ghosted over the shell of your ear and caused a shiver to run down your spine.

"I have worshipped your body for centuries, love," Azriel murmured, his strong nose nudging the side of your head so he could begin placing open-mouthed, hot kisses down your neck, "and I never get tired of hearing those noises you make when I touch you."

You whined softly when Azriel moved his hand, but it was quickly silenced when you felt him suck on the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder as his strong hand gripped your thigh to move it to the outside of his so he had better access to you.

One of his slender fingers returned to your centre and traced your slit once again before gently swirling around that bundle of nerves. A curse ripped from your lips as your hips bucked at the contact, and another primal chuckle rumbled up Azriel's chest at your delicious reaction.

Azriel continued to swirl his finger ever so gently over your clit, every now and then applying the smallest amount of pressure and causing a sharp cry to leave your lips as white-hot pleasure shot up your body. It wasn't enough; he was teasing, and you needed your body to shatter in a way you were familiar with.

"Use your words, love. Tell me what you need." You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and if you weren't wound up so tightly, you might have called him out on it.

"Your fingers, Az. Please." You whimpered.

"Because you asked so nicely." He mumbled into your skin as he gently slid one finger into your core. A sharp cry left your lips at the feeling of those scars creating the most delicious friction against your walls.

He set a slow but deep pace as he pumped his finger inside you, his thumb still drawing figures of eight on your clit. You could feel the pleasure building inside of you, your toes curling as you felt Azriel taking you higher and higher. His hand that you had been gripping, resting against your stomach, slid up your body to cup your breast. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he expertly rolled your nipples between his fingers and tweaked them in the way he knew you liked. You could feel that familiar crest of your orgasm approaching, and he had barely touched you. So expertly knew your body. You threw your head back against his shoulder, unable to do much but go limp against him.

"I love you so much, Y/N." He whispered, and you turned to face him and saw that raw emotion on his face again, an emotion that mirrored yours. As he slipped another finger inside you, curling his fingers to reach that spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars, you reached up to grip his hair and press your lips to his.

You felt him grin against you as you kissed him, your hips undulating and rolling against his fingers to meet his lazy thrusts. The kiss was full of teeth and passion, and you felt the rising tide of your pleasure as you writhed against him. A cry left your lips as you felt yourself reaching the top of the wave, your mind turning foggy and hips bucking sloppily as you felt your orgasm approaching.

"Let go, love, cum for me." His words, whispered lowly in your ear, his tone dripping lust and awe, and the soft thrust he gave behind you that had you feeling how much he was enjoying seeing you like this, caused that band in your body to snap and the pleasure he had been slowly building crest and shatter. Pure, white, hot pleasure sparked throughout your body, sending every nerve-ending alight as your orgasm washed over you. Chants of his name left his lips as your back arched and your hips thrashed as he continued to pump his fingers deliciously inside you.

After what felt like hours, the wave of pleasure began to subside and be replaced with a bone-deep satisfaction. A sigh left your lips as you slumped back against your mate, his arms catching you - as they always did - and pulling you close to him. You felt Azriel mumbling your name whilst pressing soft kisses to your temple, cheek and jawline.

"Rest, love. There will be time for more later. I promise." It was that promise you clung to as you rested against your mate and let your body relax in the cooling water of the bath.

671 notes · View notes

vivid-ink · 7 months

Text

Kinktober #1 - Handjob "Mission Accomplished"

fem!HumanReader x Neteyam or Lo'ak (you pick! 😉)

Summary: You've been asked to fill in for Norm on one of his Na'vi patient observations, except this isn't any old observation appointment... You need to collect a semen sample and the appointment doesn't go at all to professional plan...

Warnings: 🔞 Sexual content 18+, MDNI 🔞 Word count: 4.6k

Author's Note: Happy Kinktober everyone! 😁 I'm late with this prompt as it was completely unplanned. I got inspired late last night after posting Part 4 of 'The Love Shack' and this is what my brain spat out! As usual, my inability to write short drabbles means that what was meant to be a short, sweet kink-scene turned out to be 4.6k. I've not used any names in this piece, so you're free to imagine either Neteyam or Lo'ak as the male lead in this. Enjoy the spice ya'll!

Tagging some mooties who may be interested (no pressure though): @pandoraslxna @blue-slxt @adrianarose7 @vintaqestar @eyweveng @qcswrites @daeneeryss @oasiswithmyg @delacruzyari @teymars @neteluvr @sulieykte @teyamsatan

And OMG (I feel absolutely rotten for overlooking this until now) - Thank you to the incredible @cinetrix for her render of Neteyam which I've used in the story cover.

You swallowed tightly as Dr Blaise briefed you around the purpose of today’s observation and what was required of you. Your heart was galloping in your chest and you could feel yourself breaking out into a nervous sweat. It amazed you how unconcerned and unaffected she was about the whole thing.

“It’s a simple observation. We’re looking for any key physical differences in appearance, as well as any differences in physiological function.” Dr Blaise stated casually, “No swabs or bloods needed today. Just some notes, photos, and a semen sample. There are sample collection jars in the consultation bay already.”

A semen sample… Good Lord, she said that with all the nonchalance of someone asking for a saliva sample. Though you figured that’s what medical professionalism was all about, right? No awkwardness, no emotion, just plain science and fact.

When Dr Norm Spellman had said that he was writing a book about Pandoran Biology and Na’vi Physiology, you’d jumped at the opportunity to be involved. After all, Pandora was your home. It was the only home you’d ever known. As one of the only two human babies to be born on Pandora, you and Spider were the only generation of humans who’d never known the dying mother planet Earth.

Unlike Spider though who had taken to life on Pandora like a duckling to water, scaling trees, swinging from branches and pretty much adopting himself into the Omatikaya clan, you weren’t anywhere near as outgoing. You’d stuck to the medical labs and the avatar camp for majority of your life, rarely venturing out into the wilderness except to accompany the other scientists on their excursions. Perhaps the only similarity you shared with Spider was that you too were an orphan of war. Your parents had been on the frontlines of the battle between Toruk Makto and the RDA, and they’d met their maker on that fateful day.

You were just an intern currently, but the older staff and scientists were more than willing to teach you. Doing lab observations, drawing blood and other lab technician work was your job, so this morning’s appointment shouldn’t have been any different. And yet it was.

You’d never had to collect a semen sample before.

“Patient is a young unmated male, 23 years of age. Fit. Occupation is hunter-warrior. No pre-existing medical conditions and no recent injuries.” Dr Blaise rationally, handing you the clipboard and pen, “The patient has also been briefed about this appointment, so he knows what to expect and he’s aware he needs to produce a sample.”

“Right, understood.” You mumbled and the words were slightly hoarse. You cleared your throat, dislodging the sticky lump of uneasiness there.

Sensing your discomfort, Dr Blaise placed a heartening hand on your shoulder. Her eyes were kind and the crows’ feet at their corners crinkled as she smiled, “Look, the patient is friendly with the team, one of Jake Sully’s sons actually. So you needn’t worry about any hostility. You’ve done numerous observations and collected all sorts of samples. This is no different. It’s only awkward if you’re awkward. Besides, I’m sure you can understand why Dr Spellman didn’t want to conduct this particular observation himself, what with them being family friends and all.”

A giggle and snort left you at the humorous thought and you found you had to agree. Dr Blaise chuckled alongside you. It would definitely be ten times more awkward if the patient and medical professional were familiar with each other during this observation.

The fleeting moment of hilarity eased the nervous roil in your belly. Tucking your pen into the breast pocket of your lab coat, you took a deep breath and nodded, “Ok, I’ve got this. Thanks Dr Blaise.”

With two thumbs up and a wink, Dr Blaise turned and left you to depart down the corridor, her black pump heels clicking neatly across the hard floor.

Turning to the wall, you grabbed an exopack kit and hooked it to the leather belt around your hips. Tucking your hair behind your ears, you positioned the mask over your face and returned to the doorway that led into the consultation bay. The doorway was tall, much taller than you were used to. All the consultation bays were built big enough with high enough ceilings to accommodate the Na’vi and the avatars. While the main ventilation in the compound was suited to human lungs, the consultation bays were fitted with ventilation to suit their Pandoran patients. Scanning your ID card on the panel of blinking lights on your right, the door slid open with a hiss and you stepped into the bay.

The first thing that always hit you when you entered any of the consultation bays was the sterile scent of it. After a couple of years working here you’d think you’d have got used to it, but every single time the smell was like a synthetic slap to your senses. You wrinkled your nose in distaste. Everything smelled so chemical; too clean and too artificial. It was no wonder the Na’vi didn’t like being in here. If the smell was strong to your human nose, you could only imagine how much more potent it was to their heightened senses.

The second thing to hit you this morning was the sight of the magnificent creature that was standing in the corner of the bay, peering at the various medical models, instruments and books in the wall-mounted glass cabinet. He’d been facing away from you at first, but the sound of your footsteps had caught his attention and he turned to face you then.

A genial smile stretched across his face and he greeted you in a voice that was deep and warm, “Good morning, doctor.”

His use of English surprised you and while his words were accented, his pronunciation was clear. Go figure that Jake Sully would’ve taught his children to speak his mother tongue.

You gave a clumsy laugh and you were quick to correct your patient, “Oh, I’m not a doctor. I’m just an intern. I’m just filling in for Dr Spellman for this observation.”

Your patient grinned toothily at you and gave a nod of his head in acknowledgement, although his tone was teasing when he replied, “Alright Dr ‘Just-An-Intern’, where would you like me?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up from your throat at his playful demeanour. You smiled at him. He was charming this one, handsome too. Like all Na’vi, he towered well above you in height at approximately nine and a half feet. Though you noted that he was very well-built. Courtesy of being a warrior, you supposed. Yes, he was muscular in all the places you appreciated in a male… You silently reprimanded yourself for your unprofessional thoughts.

“Just take a seat on that gurney for me.” You replied, gesturing towards the make-shift bed against the wall. Retrieving your pen, you began to scan through the notes at the top of the form on the clipboard, double-checking the patient’s details and ensuring everything on it was as it should be.

“Ah, do you want me to take my tewng (loincloth) off?”

Suddenly remembering the aim of the observation again, you felt hot blood rush to your cheeks and ears in embarrassment, “Umm, yes please.” And in a bid to stop your embarrassment running away with your courage, you launched into a rambling outline of the appointment agenda, “Today’s appointment is an observation around Na’vi male genitalia and sexual function. I’m going to need to make some notes and take some photographs of you, both in a r-relaxed and a-aroused state, and I’m going to need to collect a s-semen sample. If you feel uncomfortable at any point…”

He watched you attentively as you babbled onward, the smooth skin of your face and neck taking on a ruddy and flushed hue. He smiled to himself. You were shy and today’s agenda clearly made you uneasy. He felt a twinge of empathy for you. His father had told him that humans were private about matters of the body, especially where it came to sex and pleasure. The Na’vi held no such restraints; sexual freedom was celebrated.

He’d already removed his tewng and had perched himself on the gurney as instructed, unbothered and uncaring of his own nakedness. He was quietly enjoying your discomfort, but not in a rude or condescending manner. He actually found your unease rather endearing.

“Any questions?” Your prattling came to a finish and you took a deep inhale as if you’d squeezed every last ounce of oxygen out of your lungs rushing to finish your speech without taking another breath.

He graced you with another charming smile, “No. You may proceed.”

Willing yourself to get a grip, you walked on slightly shaky legs to the desk in the corner and plucked the glass tablet from its stand and returned to place it on the end of the gurney. You kept your eyes lowered to your clipboard, filling in the date and the time. You could see the striped cobalt of his muscular legs in your peripheral vision where he sat with his shins dangling off the gurney. For the meantime, you dared not glance any higher than his thighs…

Your eyes moved to a set of highlighted bullet points in the middle of the page that indicated questions the patient had to be asked.

You read the first question aloud, its meaning registering simultaneously in your brain as the words left your lips, “When was the last time you ejaculated?”

You fought the mortification that threatened to consume you and your mind struck up a chant of ‘stay professional, stay professional’ in your head.

“Yesterday morning.” His answer was composed.

“And was that with a partner or was it self-stimulated?” Fuck, maybe you should’ve read the questions before coming in for the observation…

“It was self-stimulated.”

“And do you have a preference for male partners, female partners, or both?”

“Female. Definitely female.”

His voice was a smooth, velvety rumble. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something in his tone stroked over you like an invisible caress that made something clench in your lower belly. You scribbled his answers on the page in a messy scrawl that had more to do with your nerves than your actual style of handwriting.

He continued to observe you as you worked. Your knuckles were pale where your left hand gripped hold of the clipboard and you were so focused, almost concentrating too hard on what you were writing. Nose twitching quietly, he parted his lips and scented the air around. The artificial smell of the bay was unpleasant, but a sweeter and much more appealing smell was filling the vicinity now. Your scent.

The blush on your skin remained and he was sure that if he reached out to touch you that your skin would be hot to the touch where your blood had rushed to the surface. He could smell hints of your perspiration and he could also detect a musky and moist feminine undertone. You were attracted to him… His masculine pride delighted in the realisation. Despite your human form, he found you attractive too.

Finishing up your notes, you settled the clipboard down on the gurney and mentally prepared yourself for the ‘looking’ part of the observation.

Eyes still glued to the brown leather of the gurney’s mattress, you declared your next action, “Alright, just stay relaxed for me with your thighs slightly parted. I’m going to begin the physical part of the observation now.”

“Sure.”

Your gaze travelled from the beautiful stripes on his outer thighs inward to the slightly paler blue of his inner thighs and finally, up to his groin. Suddenly, you didn’t understand why you were so nervous about this. He looked fairly… normal? Apart from the general larger size of everything and the blue hue of his skin, everything was as expected. Feeling a little braver now, you grabbed the glass tablet and took a couple of photos and then set it down to return to your clipboard.

“Is everything the same?” He asked out of the blue, “Same as with human males, I mean.”

You looked to his face instinctively and found his amber eyes trained on you, “Ah yes, more or less. Penis, foreskin, testes; everything expected is there and I haven’t noted any real differences in physiology apart from the lack of hair, but that’s consistent with the lack of body hair all Na’vi have apart from on your heads and tail tufts.”

Following the words down the clipboard sheet you came to a section that was titled ‘Texture and Sensitivity’. You paused. How the fuck were you supposed to assess those? The section didn’t have any required questions or sample questions to help you, and no suggestions either, just a space for you to jot down your notes. You looked from your patient’s body and then to his face, and when he gave you a small smile, your gaze shot back down to your clipboard sheet in embarrassment. Texture and sensitivity were tactile aspects. You didn’t really understand how you could assess them without touching the patient.

Evidently you were taking too long in your deliberation, because your patient’s voice sounded again with a gentle query, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sorry. I’m just trying to work out how to assess the next bit.” You apologised sheepishly. You weren’t doing a very good job of appearing collected, you realised.

“What’s the next part?”

“Texture and sensitivity. So, what it feels like and which parts respond the most to touch.” You stated in as even a voice as possible. You huffed out a laugh then and shrugged, “It’s a tricky one because they’re tactile observations and I don’t know how to assess them when you can’t touch the patient.”

“Why can’t you touch the patient?” His response was clearly a surprise to you and he couldn’t suppress his grin as you goggled at him in shock, “You can touch me if it will enable you to do your job.”

You were almost about to say that you couldn’t possibly do that, but you stopped yourself. You were a med-science professional. The patient was consenting and your research required you to perform a physical examination. In a professional capacity, there was no reason you couldn’t touch the patient to achieve the intended outcome of the examination.

You remembered Dr Blaise’s words: It’s only awkward if you make it awkward. Fuck, you needed to swallow a bucket of concrete and toughen up. The sooner you completed this observation, the sooner you would be out of this uncomfortable situation.

Nodding resolutely, you agreed, “Alright, but you will guide me with your own hands. That way I can be assured that you’re only leading me where you’re comfortable to be examined.”

Your patient dipped his head in agreement, the tuft of his tail curling and uncurling charmingly on the gurney next to him. You set your clipboard down and moved to position yourself before him, standing between his knees. You lifted your eyes to his and they locked with his gentle gaze. Tentatively you offered him your hand and he took it, his large palm and long fingers engulfing it easily.

“So first up, texture?” He reminded, and you nodded.

Slowly, he brought your hand to his crotch and settled your hand over the shaft of his cock. It was very warm beneath your palm. Gently, your fingers tested the slightly springy flesh, noting how smooth and silken his skin was. At this closer proximity, you noticed that there was also spattering of bioluminescent freckles on the shaft. You made a mental note of that.

You touched the base of his cock, gingerly feeling around the length of it and you asked, “What’s the sensitivity like here?”

“I can feel it, but it’s not intense or anything. It’s more sensitive up here.” He guided your fingers nearer to the tip and you stifled a small gasp when he assisted you in pushing his foreskin back to reveal the smooth, dark purple head of his cock.

You’d never interacted with a naked man this close, human or Na’vi, and you certainly had never touched one in such an intimate place. Your body was starting to tingle in various places; in very unprofessional places. It was a surreal situation to be in and you found that you felt oddly calmer now than you were a few minutes ago.

Trailing the pads of your fingers over the smooth tip, you found it was moist and a little slippery. Your thumb tested the underside of it, “Sensation?”

A quiet hiss left him and you instinctively attempted to move your hand away, but his hold over your wrist kept it there, “That’s sensitive. That feels good.”

Your heart was still thumping and your cheeks were still warm, but it wasn’t nerves anymore that were causing your reaction. God, his skin was so soft and so warm… Your curiosity was growing now; your innate desire to explore taking hold of you.

You traced the raised rim of his cock head with your thumb and forefinger, watching as your patient emitted a rumbling groan. His hold on your wrist tightened and he began to move your hand over him. You intuitively wrapped your fingers around his cock. You felt entranced almost, caught up in the moment as you unwittingly began to enjoy the feel of him in your grasp.

The hot flesh in your hand was growing, elongating and engorging as the stimulation aroused him. You watched, amazed, as it swelled to its full capacity. The fingers and thumb of your hand could no longer meet each other. The girth of his cock was easily the same width as your forearm and by your approximations, it looked like it had also more than doubled in length from its relaxed state.

The erect shaft had lengthened out of his foreskin and it was a lovely shade of striated blue all over, except for a paler purple underside and head. In its aroused state, you discovered that while it shared structural similarities to a human male’s genitalia, it also possessed other aspects which were very different. The engorged shaft of his cock was ridged all along its length and as your hand smoothed up and down the column of it, you noted that the ridges were firm and palpable against your hand.

It was the most arousing thing you’d ever seen… Those ridges must feel so good inside for the woman…

You didn’t perceive his eyes on you, watching you as you explored his hard flesh. You were so engrossed that you didn’t even cotton on to the fact that he wasn’t even guiding your hand anymore. He could smell you, smell your arousal dampening between your thighs and the sight of your much smaller hand stroking and squeezing his cock was incredibly sexy.

You ran your enclosed hand in one full stroke from the base of cock and up to the head of it, fascinated by the ridged texture of it and the slippery, bulbous tip. However, your patient emitted a hissing intake of breath then and you jumped a little, snapping out of your thoughts.

“S-Sorry! Is that painful?” You stammered, shooting him a slightly apologetic frown.

He shook his head with a husky chuckle, “No, it’s just very sensitive. A lot more than earlier.”

“Where?” You asked, stroking him from tip to base and back up again.

“Everywhere. The ridges and the head especially.” His voice was notably breathier than before and his breaths were coming quicker, shallower and less even.

“That is fascinating.” You muttered, and your other hand joined in on your exploration. You fondled his balls lightly, observing the weightiness of them.

Your patient grunted and he parted his thighs a bit more. He leaned back to brace his weight on his palms behind him. He gave a small roll of his hips, which caused the top half of his cock to push and pull within your grasp. He moaned and the sound shot straight to the apex of your thighs. When you didn’t object, he continued the motion, thrusting lightly into your hands, both of which were now grasping his length one on top of the other.

Clear and viscous pre-ejaculate began to ooze from his tip, increasing in quantity with each roll of his hips. It was so copious that it was beginning to pool on the backs of your palms and drip down towards your wrist. Lord help you… there was nothing professional anymore about what you were doing… Not that your patient appeared to have any objections…

Still completely spellbound by the situation, your curiosity pushed a murmured query past your lips, “Is there always so much pre-ejaculate?”

“Depends. Generally the more aroused a man is, the more he produces.” He replied and when your bashful gaze lifted to meet his, he smirked wickedly.

You were such a pretty little thing to him, your smaller hands trying their best to keep hold of his slick cock. He knew that this was beyond the normal boundaries of the appointment. He knew that while you would’ve been required to touch him to examine him, stroking him off was probably not anywhere on the agenda. He suspected he was supposed to produce the sample on his own, but looking at you now, so enraptured by his body… How could he have resisted? And besides, he knew you were enjoying this as much as he was, your scent told him so.

You tightened your hold on his cock experimentally, squeezing harder. Each time the swollen head of his cock pushed out of your hands to greet you, you swiped your thumb over the oozing slit on its tip. He was panting heavily now, his impressive abdominals bunching and flexing as he continued to thrust his thick cock through your hold. The bioluminescent freckles that dotted his shaft were glimmering brightly and you never thought you’d ever use the word ‘beautiful’ to describe genitalia, but his cock was gorgeous.

All of him was gorgeous, truth be told…

You were attracted to Na’vi men. Ever since you were old enough to notice the opposite sex, you’d been drawn to male Na’vi. After all, you’d grown up on this moon, inhabited by and surrounded by tall, beautiful Na’vi. The humans who surrounded you at the compound and the camp were your family, and they were all much older. There were no men of your own species to look at or be attracted to. Spider was the only one of your generation and he was like your annoying, gross brother. Your attraction to Na’vi men had been an inevitable result really.

So now as you stood in the consultation bay, between the knees of this striking and aroused Na’vi male while he pumped his cock in and out of your hands, you’d never felt more validated and aroused in your life.

Your patient’s fingers were digging into the squeaky brown leather of the gurney now, straining slightly as his hips continued their onslaught. Your hands and wrists were completely drenched, soaking in his thick pre-cum. The slippery mess caused his cock to squelch obscenely as it slipped through your hold. The whole situation was so sensually explicit and you were never more thankful in your life than you were now that there were no CCTV cameras installed in the consultation bays.

You’d be expelled from your chosen profession for patient abuse… Though by the half-lidded, slack-jawed expression of pleasure on his face, he didn’t look much like he was being unwillingly abused…

A string of Na’vi curses left him then, followed by several panted moans. He abruptly pushed off his palms to sit upright and he stuttered, “W-Where is the container?”

A little stunned by his sudden and urgent tone, you stumbled in your own response, “The w-what? Oh, the sample jar?”

Panting heavily through parted lips, he nodded at you and you pointed to the desk on his left. You saw his gaze follow your eyeline and when he caught sight of the plastic collection jars that sat patiently waiting, he let out a hearty guffaw.

He reached for one and deftly flicked the already loosened lid from its mouth, still chuckling away between his huffing breaths, “It’s so small. You ready, doc?”

“For what?” You asked, realising only as the words left you what a dumb response it was as he handed the sample jar to you.

Your patient smiled at you and it was a salacious leer, all narrowed eyes and pointed canines showing, “You’re about to get your sample.”

One of his hands returned to guide yours, wrapping around your one remaining hand where it encircled his stiff cock. The pace of this rocking thrusts increased and he began to exhale with throaty moans that you swore made your own feminine core throb with desire. Gingerly, you held the collection jar up to him, being extra careful not to drop it.

With two more lurching breaths, his abdominal muscles contracted and his back bowed inward, his entire torso going rigid. You felt his cock harden impossibly before it pulsed and the breath he was holding left him in a coarse growl while his face twisted into an almost pained expression. His cock pulsed again and the first spurt of ejaculate missed the sample jar entirely, landing with a warm splat in the middle of your chest where the frills of your blue blouse peeked out from behind your lab coat. Quickly, his free hand grabbed hold of yours to position the jar better, while his other hand attempted to position his cock so he could shoot straight into it.

He was absolutely breathtaking in the midst of his orgasm. The luminous freckles on his face were twinkling and the striped cobalt skin of his neck and chest was glossy with a sheen of sweat. His cock continued to throb and pulse, emitting rope after rope of thick cum that splattered untidily over the mouth and sides of the sample jar.

You could see why he’d laughed at the size of it. There was no way the small jar could have held the full volume of what he was producing.

Coming down now off the high of his climax, your patient slouched against the wall behind the gurney, breathing hard. He caught your eye and he grinned indolently at you.

The adrenalin and heightened arousal in the atmosphere was fading rapidly now, and cold, hard reality was slowly returning to you. You looked at the pearlescent contents of the sample jar, which was still decently full despite majority of the sample not making it in there. You smiled to yourself.

Mission accomplished and what an exciting mission it was…

Carefully setting the jar down on the flat worktop of the metal sink next to you, you replaced the lid on it with sticky fingers and made a note to thoroughly wipe the jar down later before handing it to the lab techs.

Returning your attention to your patient, you smiled at him, suddenly shy again, “Thank you for your co-operation today. I’ll leave you to clean and freshen up. You can see yourself out after.”

His answering laugh was husky and he dipped his head at you, “I should be thanking you for your co-operation I think, doc.”

“Not a doc, remember?” You grinned at him and you were about to turn on heel to depart into the adjacent washroom when you heard him call out to you again.

“Hey Not-A-Doc, if you ever need another sample, I’m happy to provide another one, whether for med-science research or your own personal research.”

A girlish giggle left you and you felt your face flame again. You shook your head, making your way into the washroom to clean yourself up. He was a naughty one that one…

2K notes · View notes

myfictionaldreams · 10 days

Text

Talk To Me // James Potter x Fem!Reader

Part 1 // Part 2

Summary: It had been three weeks since you'd spoken to James. Three long weeks since emotions were subtly revealed, you weren't sure how long you could go without seeing him. However, will a Quidditch accident draw you both back together or push each other apart?

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, ANGST (!), depression, arguing, injury/blood, ex-friends w/benefits to lovers, kinda love triangle, mutual pining, kissing, confrontation, fingering, praise kink, happy ending

Words: 5.3k

Tagslist: @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo, @kezibear, @liv2post, @imdoingbetternow, @omwtohellttyl, @sheblogs, @keemsweems, @mora-miserium, @marmie-noir

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

During your second year at Hogwarts, James had accidentally dyed your hair bright green, and you'd given him the silent treatment for a shocking 6 hours before he found you in the corridor, his hair a matching shade of green. The two of you laughed about it until tears were streaming down your cheeks. The had been the longest the two of you had ever gone without talking or being mad at the other.

Until now.

Three weeks ago, you and James had a potentially friendship-ending argument. It all started weeks before; James had finally secured a date with his long-term crush, Lily, but, in his haste to make sure he was perfect for the date, he admitted to you that he'd never kissed another person. Being the good friend that you were, you offered to teach him.

This was your first mistake. Blurring the lines between friendship and physical relief broke down the barriers around your heart, and as the lessons continued, you found James on your mind, filling your stomach with butterflies. It all came to an end, however, after you both admitted feeling jealous of the other but couldn't take that step to secure any form of relationship other than friendship due to Lily, so after an emotional quickie in the spare room at the Hog's Head, you decided to walk away altogether.

Three weeks didn't seem like much time at all in the grand scheme of things. But to you, it felt like a lifetime. A lifetime of faking smiles to your other friends, ignoring questioning stares and conversations about why you and James weren't talking to one another. Pretending that everything was okay was slowly and intricately destroying your soul. You were slowly running out of shadows and quiet corners to cry when the others weren't looking.

It had been so long now that there was even a silent routine between you and James. He'd rush to breakfast in the morning, eat and leave before you slowly trudged your way there. During classes, you'd be at the front and he at the back, running away before you had even collected your bag to leave. Then there was the downtime, usually the Shrieking Shack or the Common Room, where you'd relax and unwind, but now the library had a special place in your heart or your bed.

Many whispers had spread about why the two of you had suddenly stopped being the inseparable force you once were. Even teachers had questioned you as to why you were distancing yourself from Potter. Every time it was discussed, a shrug of your shoulders and an 'it's none of your business later', the conversations were dropped.

Every second of every day, you would plaster a fake smile onto your face and pretend everything was okay, but in reality, you were cursing yourself for ever letting your emotions dictate your friendship. You missed James so much that it felt like you'd lost your shadow, like something you had become so used to being at your side that the moment it wasn't there anymore, you never realised how lonely life could be.

Then, of course, there was Lily, who tried her utmost to support you and vigorously questioned James at every opportunity about why he had hurt you. Even after insisting that it wasn't the case (it was, but she didn't need to know the specifics), she still couldn't comprehend why the two of you had suddenly stopped talking.

You were worried that it was beginning to affect the relationship that had been building between James and Lily, which also was why the breakdown between you and James had occurred. However, Lily insisted that everything was fine between the two of them.

You'd never been in love before; you were pretty damn sure that what you were feeling was close to it because you were just about ready to give it all up and apologise to James just to have him back in your life. Even if that meant having to watch his relationship with Lily blossom into more, you just wanted him back in your life. However, you still need to work up the courage to do this.

They say that time is the greatest healer, but right now, time is kicking your ass and making everything feel worse. Precisely as the weekends rolled around. Where did you go? Where could you hide?

"Why don't you come along to the match later?" Lily urged from where she had perched at the edge of her bed opposite yours.

You were facing her from where you lay on your bed, spooning your pillow and ignoring the rest of the world outside of the dormitory doors. "Who's playing?" you asked in a thickly croaky voice from its lack of use.

Lily paused for a second, knowing the answer probably wasn't what you wanted to hear as she confirmed, "Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff".

"No thanks", you say tiredly, closing your eyes and deciding that you could sleep all weekend instead.

Lily's bed creaked as she moved to sit beside you instead, pulling the pillow from your grip and gently pushing against your shoulder so you shuffled backwards, making room for her to lie beside you.

"Well, if you aren't coming because of a certain Marauder, maybe it's better that he'll be playing. At least you won't have to talk to him or stand in the crowd with him during the match and after, he'll be celebrating with the others anyway".

Thinking it over, you already knew from the determination in Lily's forest green eyes that she wasn't going to back down from this conversation until you had opted to go, so with a lazy shrug of your shoulders, you agreed to join, "But only if I can skip the after party".

Lily sighs, already springing out of bed, "Thank Merlin for that. I was worried I'd have to jinx you to get you out of this bed. No offence, love, but moping around and feeling sorry for yourself doesn't suit you. I want my bad bitch friend back, the one who doesn't care what others think as long as she's having a good time. That's all that matters".

Her encouraging words bring a smile to your face as you sit up with a bit more enthusiasm. "You're right; we can still have fun, can't we?"

"That's the spirit!" Lily cheers as she begins to layer her body for the crisp, cool weather outside. However, as she wrapped the red scarf around her neck, she paused and looked at you sceptically. "I don't support. Can I convince you to talk to me about what's going on? I've hardly seen James in weeks, so I can't get any information from him. I've even tried to get the information from Sirius, but he's just as confused as everyone else. It seems out of nowhere for you both to be giving each other the silent treatment."

Attempting to keep your face neutral at hearing that Lily and James' potential relationship was being affected was more complicated than you'd thought. Guilt panged in your stomach, filling it with an unnatural heaviness as you realised that a speck of hope had filled your heart at this news. However, it all diminished as you realised that if anything had happened between you and James, it would have done so much by now. He had made no effort to talk to you, and the same depressive cycle was still rotating around.

Lily sighs, having watched the emotions spiral across your face. Reaching over to warmly hold your hand, she insisted, "Listen, you don't have to tell me what's happened, but I need you to know that whatever it is, you know I'm always going to be your friend, and I don't want you to feel alone either so whenever you're ready. I'm here for you".

Even though her words were comforting, they only made you feel worse and reminded you of just how bad of a friend you were. There was no way you could tell her you'd been seeing James, even if it had been disguised as teaching and that he and Lily weren't officially dating yet; it still felt like a betrayal.

Squeezing her hand back and not being able to find the words to say, Lily filled the silence with her sarcastic words. "Right anyway, up you get and go and shower. You're starting to smell as bad as the boys, and we'll head to the pitch".

You tearfully laugh at her words and clamber out of bed.

With your arm linked with hers, it was refreshing to be outside for once, but the nerves remained regardless, even if you had plastered a fake smile onto your face and began to cheer with the rest of the crowd without a care in the world. It was simple to watch Quidditch whilst trying not to look for James; you'd resorted to starting at the goals on either end and waiting for the points to add up.

About half an hour into the game, a boisterous shout came from Frank Longbottom behind you as he bellowed, "Come on, Potter, what's taking you so long!"

Only then did you notice he'd flown so close to the crowd that you looked to your right and saw James hovering on his broom only a few meters away, his brows furrowed in concentration as he searched from the golden snitch.

Without missing a beat, he lifted his middle finger and pointed it toward Frank, a smile spreading across his handsome face that soon faltered as he followed the direction of the finger, and his eyes solemnly turned to you, noticing your presence for the first time.

The hand lowered as you both seemed to be caught in a breathless staring content, not wanting to look after. It had been the closest you'd been to one another in three weeks. The want, the need, the ache of missing him returned full force, and even though you wanted to look away, you couldn't. It was like an elastic band was tied between the two of you, not allowing the other to tug or stretch away.

It was only as a blur of darkness appeared over James' shoulder that a different sort of urgency overcame you as you screamed his name in warning. "JAMES!" however, there was no time to warn him adequately as the impending bludger collided with the side of his head, knocking him unconscious, and his body slipped from the broom, hitting the sides of the stands before tumbling to the ground.

You moved on instinct, pushing past the bodies surrounding you at the moment of collision, not even waiting to see if his fall was a cushion or caring that students couldn't go onto the pitch mid-game. You frantically sprinted down the stairs, ignoring the pain flaring in your lungs and calves from the sudden exhaustive exercise and then you were on the grass.

It felt as if your heart was going to stop beating when you saw James lying unmoving on the pitch; you weren't even aware that you were screaming and pleading his name as you ran to his side just as Sirius ungracefully landed on James' opposite side.

The two of you rolled him onto his face, and as you released an almighty sob, Sirius mumbled, "Holy Shit", as he pried the smashed glasses from his face, carefully trying to make sure no further glass had embedded into his face.

There was so much red on his head and face, but also down his arm and side where he'd collided with the stand, ripping the clothes and scraping the skin beneath.

Without thinking, you pressed your hand to the side of his face, ignoring the warm wetness that flowed from his injuries, staining your fingers as you pleaded, "James, please wake up. Can you hear me?"

"There's so much blood", Sirius whispered in shock as he began to try and wave his wand over the injuries to try and stem the bleeding.

"James, I really need you to wake up! Please, it's me, I'm here – I'm sorry," it was your turn to whisper as you leaned over his body, your face now over his, the tears dripping down your cheeks falling down onto his, causing little rivering paths in the blood on his face.

Thankfully, hope came in the sign of a deep groan from the man beneath you, his eyelids fluttering as they fought to open. "James, can you hear me? Please open your eyes, I need to know you're okay".

James opened his eyes, the hazel having never appeared so bright before even if they were unfocused, and he blinked in confusion. "You're here?" he asked, trying to raise his injured arm, but all it did was twitch awkwardly beside Sirius, so you quickly grabbed the other hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Yes, I'm here, it's me. Try not to talk; I need you to save your energy and stay awake. Everything will be okay".

"You're really here? With me?" James asked, still staring but not really seeing anything.

"Yes, I'm here. So is Sirius; you scared us, you know that, right?" you tried to joke, but it just came out sounding desperate.

"I missed you", he drawled tiredly, his words becoming slurred as his eyes dropped, so you gently patted his wet cheek.

"Hey, please don't fall asleep; you've had a big knock to your head. I need you to stay awake. I need you to listen when I say I've missed you too".

James smiles as his eyes look like they're searching over your face, but you know it is probably a blur without his glasses. "Love…" then his eyes closed and didn't open again.

You and Sirius stayed in silence for a breath. You weren't sure of his following words, whether it was just a pet name or something more, but as Lily and the other Gryffindors, as well as the teachers, finally arrived to help, you tried not to overthink it as you took plenty of steps back to allow him the help he needed.

However, a firm hand around your upper arm had you pulled away out of earshot of the others as Sirius furiously looked down at you, "What the fuck happened between you two?"

You couldn't think straight, only answering him with a shake of your head as you stared at the redness beginning to dry on your hands. Sirius took a deep breath, trying to calm his manner before speaking again. "Whatever it is, it shouldn't have taken him to look like this for you to talk to him or him to talk to you. I hate seeing my friends like this; the world is dark, and you can't let these emotions get in the way. Whatever the emotions are. I need you both to be okay".

James was carried to the hospital wing just as Hufflepuff caught the snitch and won the game. You'd remained a step behind the rest of the group of teammates and friends, feeling numb and broken as everyone kept talking about the brutal fall James had experienced. Once in the hospital wing, everyone was escorted away by Madam Ppomfrey, who declared that she couldn't tend to her patient with the entirety of Gryffindor watching over her shoulder, which gave you ample opportunity to go to the dormitory and sit in the shower until your fingers had pruned from the amount of time spent in the water.

Gryffindor Tower was remarkably quiet that evening, most deciding to have an early night in. You, on the other hand, were wide awake, stuck between whether you should visit him or not, but in the end, as the sun had set, you realised there was no way you could sleep without making sure he was okay first.

Playing with the edges of your sleeve as you approached his bed, you halted as you heard a soft feminine voice, then noticed that Lily was next to James, holding his hand, and you cursed yourself. Of course, she would be here; why wouldn't she?

Lily had heard your footsteps and turned her head, standing when she saw you'd joined before looking down at James, who hadn't blinked once since he saw you enter the room; he now had glasses on and bandages crossed over his right arm and bare chest. A bandage also wrapped around his head, half covering his hair, but the scratches and cuts still peaked from beneath and travelled down his cheek from where his glasses had cut his skin.

As you stepped further into the room, you could sense something in the atmosphere but couldn't quite name the feeling. Lily glanced at James, who finally looked away from you to her. They shared a smile that had you turning away.

"I hope you're feeling better soon, Potter. And don't forget about next week", she reminded lightheartedly, and your chest tightened. "I'll leave you two to talk".

Finally looking away from the crack on the floor, you saw that Lily was giving you a bright smile, her eyes twinkling as she stopped next to you, her fingers gripping onto yours as she leaned close to whisper, "We have lots to talk about, but you're still my best, don't forget that".

Confused by her words, you watched her leave before turning back to James. There had never been a moment you had ever felt awkward whilst in the presence of James, but as you stood there playing with the edges of your sleeves, you were at a complete loss for words.

"Madam Pomfrey said there was nothing she could do; I'm stuck like this" James finally broke the tension with an awkward shrug of his shoulders, his eyes wide and full of disdain.

Your breath caught in your throat, "Nothing she could do? Wha-What for? Is it your head? Your arm?" you ask whilst taking an unsteady step towards him, your heart pounding so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear.

James shook his head, a glimpse of a smile beginning to turn at the corner of his lips, "She said there was nothing she could do for my handsomeness, that I was going to be stuck with this pretty face for the rest of my life. She's just as gutted as I am", he finished with a shit-eating grin, showing his straight teeth.

Breathing heavily out of your nose, you drop your head to hide your smile, "You're such an idiot", you say lightheartedly.

"I know", he responded in a more serious tone. "A big fucking stupid idiot who misses his best friend".

"I've missed you too", you say, rushing to his side, sitting close to his bandaged arm, taking his hand delicately and relaxing as his thumb brushed against the back of your knuckles.

"I'm sorry", you both speak simultaneously and then lightly chuckle. You admire your joined hands, hating the way that your heart feels that it looks so right to be holding his hand. When had you become so infatuated with him?

"This entire situation had become such a mess", you admitted, still not looking him in the eyes.

"I know," he agreed solemnly, still squeezing your hand. Finally, your eyes flick up to his, and you release a slow breath, seeing his eyes are focused and entirely on you, the caramel flecks in his eyes shining brighter than ever. James tried to sit up further in the bed, attempting to hide a wince that you noticed immediately before collapsing back into the pillow and looking at you sadly. "Tell me how to fix things between us", he implored. "I can't keep going without you there every day".

"I don't know", you admit whilst watching his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose and without thinking, you reach forward to push them back to normal; however, your fingers linger in the air before settling on cupping his cheek, brushing against the side that wasn't injured.

James sighed, closing his eyes to lean into the touch, but then his following words had dread stiffening your spine, the sensation of ice being poured over you as he admitted, "I told Lily everything".

You're standing and moving away before you can even gasp the word, "What?!"

James looked at you in alarm, trying to sit up again and failing, swearing up his breath as he grabbed his side. Seeing him in pain, you rush back to his side, gently push him back into the bed and tell him to stop moving. Only when he finally stopped breathing hard and had drank the green potion that was on his bedside table for pain relief did you confirm with him, "When you say you told her, how much exactly?"

"Everything. I had to. It was eating me up and getting between us; I couldn't let it keep going on; I thought I was going insane with guilt".

"What did she say?" you asked tentatively.

"Honestly? She suspected something was going on, but not quite what was actually happening. Well, to be truthful, she found it funny that you'd been teaching me all these sex things to potentially use on her and couldn't comprehend that the popular James Potter hadn't kissed anyone before, let alone anything else" You rolled your eyes at his words but remained silent, waiting to hear more. "I've been pushing her away since that first date, especially over the last three weeks. This gave her something to be suspicious of, I'd been after her for years, and the moment there was a chance, I could hardly talk to her. I think my mind and heart was preoccupied".

The sincerity in his eyes had you leaning closer, taking his hand once more. "What happens now, then? Does she hate us?"

"No, I don't think so. Evans is such a bloody good friend. She congratulated me on admitting how I felt for you before slapping me on my good arm for being an idiot and letting this silent treatment go on for so long".

You couldn't help but giggle at your friend's fiery reaction, but then his words dawned on you. "And how do you feel?"

His gaze softened as his eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips. "I need to tell you something", he finally admitted, and your first thoughts were the one word he mumbled whilst half unconscious on the quidditch pitch.

"Don't say something you're going to regret, Potter".

"I'd never regret it. I've never done anything like this before, but I know I can't ever not have you in my life. These last three weeks have been, frankly, fucking shit. I haven't been able to sleep, I can't concentrate in class or during quidditch practice, I feel like I'm missing a part of me".

"That's how I've felt too", you admitted hopefully, leaning closer. James released a slow breath, hearing that you felt similar to how he had.

"I want you to be mine", he desperately asked before closing his eyes and shaking his head like he hadn't meant to say that but couldn't help himself. "It's just that it's probably too soon, I mean, obviously, with Lily, people might get confused- I don't want- I mean, I do want, I-".

You'd never before seen James stumble over his words. There was one thing that he was and that was confident and somewhat arrogant so to see him struggling to form the correct sentence had the anxiety melting away and your face leaning forwards until your lips softly pressed together. His mumbling stopped instantly as he relaxed into the kiss, taking a second to simply close his eyes and be in the moment.

The restraint he held smashed into a thousand pieces, however, as his hand came up to cradle your cheek, pulling you even closer, his lips pressing with more urgency and needy as you whimpered into the caress. Your hands raised to wrap around his neck, being careful of his bandages as you moved.

As you both kissed, you couldn't help but think back to all those weeks ago when James was experiencing his first kiss with you, and now you were the one clinging to him, breathless and dizzy with need.

His soft lips moved and opened, deepening the kiss further but then pulled back an inch so that he could finally say against your mouth, "I'm so fucking in love with you". You pressed your body and lips firmly against his, burning with emotion and desire as you desperately pleaded the words back to him in between kisses.

You needed him, body, mind and soul. You were gripping onto the patch of unbandaged hair like it was your lifeline, just as he was doing to your face with his left hand. Then it all came crashing down as a stern cough came from the bottom of the bed.

You both pulled away from one another so swiftly that you tripped over your own feet and nearly caused his bedside table to crash over. Still, you quickly rectified your mistake just as James covered his lap with the pillow behind his head, hiding the apparent bulge that had hardened as Madam Pomfrey looked between the two of you with her lips pursed.

"Well, it seems you're recovering quite well, doesn't it, Mr Potter?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

James coughed awkwardly and then grinned cheekily, shrugging his good shoulder, "Well, I didn't injure my mouth now, did I?"

You glared at his cocky reaction, mortified that you'd just been caught making out by a teacher. "Sorry, Madam Pomfrey, I was just leaving", you answered whilst still staring daggers at James, who frowned at your words.

"No, you weren't. Actually, she's here to help me apply that salve you gave me for the cuts" he nodded toward the clear tub next to his bed. "I'm sure there are plenty of other things you'd rather be doing than rubbing my back, Madam Pomfrey".

You could have screamed at James' blatant sass. The Matron looked towards the ceiling of the hospital wing and sighed, "I don't get paid enough to deal with your sass, Mr Potter. You both have 15 minutes and then the hospital wing is closed to all visitors. Do I make myself understood?" When you both nodded eagerly, she finally began to move away. She stopped, looking pointedly at James, who looked at her with big, innocent eyes. "Might I remind you, Mr Potter, that any extracurricular activities will tear open the wounds I have just closed, and I have an excellent hearing".

Your face burned with embarrassment, but James took it in his stride, pretending to look innocent, "I don't know what you mean, Madam Pomfrey? I'm sure I won't tear any stitches with hand holding".

The Matron rolled her eyes before walking off to her office at the door at the end of the room. Once alone again, you couldn't help but curse at James, who laughed with his head tipped back, removing the pillow to see the bulge still evidently there. "James, you bloody idiot! That was mortifying!"

Sitting on the side of the bed, you held his uninjured hand in one of yours and then reached for the clear tub of salve in the other. "So how do I apply this? Does it need to go everywhere?" you asked curiously.

However, James didn't answer and removed his hand from yours. Instead, he moved it to the waistband of your jeans, especially to the button, and quickly undid it with a simple flick of his fingers. You gripped said fingers tightly, nearly dropping the tub and looking at him sharply. "James, what the fuck are you doing? Did you not just hear her? Your wounds could open again, and might I remind you that she's just at the end of the fucking hall!" you whispered at the end of the sentence harshly as he continued to look at you nonchalantly.

"You'll just have to be quiet then," he shrugged, trying to return his fingers to the zipper of your jeans, but you halted his movements again.

"James, no! I'm not having you become more injured!" you insisted.

James rolled his eyes. "This hand isn't injured, is it? All you need to do is sit on my fingers; it's not exertive, right?"

Heat flushed through your entire body at his words as you bit your lip, subtly attempting to cross your legs to squeeze your thighs together. "We- We still can't!"

"Why not?" he asked, and you couldn't quite answer as all you could think about was his fingers inside of you. When you didn't say anything, he continued with his voice lowered, "I've been craving to touch your body for three long weeks; I thought I'd lost you forever. I've finally got you back, and I know we have lots to talk about, but right now, all I can think about is your beautiful cunt and my fingers getting to touch it. My team lost their first game of Quidditch since I joined, I'm sore and fragile, are you really going to say no right now?" he blinked rapidly in a pleading manner with his best puppy dog eyes impression.

You giggled under your breath before releasing a slow breath, looking him deeply in the eyes before moving a little closer, uncrossing your legs and letting go of his hand.

"Thank Merlin", he pleaded thankfully as his finger moved back to the waistband of your jeans. "Remember to stay nice and quiet for me, Sweetheart, okay? Once I'm out of here, we can talk properly, but in the meantime, I just need to touch you".

You couldn't talk anyway as your thoughts were wholly overtaken with lust as you felt and watched his fingers touch the bare skin of your tummy as he pushed his left hand further beneath your jeans and then into your underwear. Your breath hitched as you unconsciously spread your legs whilst holding onto his forearm as the tips of his fingers grazed your labia.

Teasing beneath, he sucked in his own breath before muttering, "Already so wet for me. Has she missed me?"

"Yes", you whispered, looking up into his face, noticing a natural blush now coloured his cheeks as he licked his lips. Biting the inside of your cheek to remain quiet, your hips rocked forward as his middle finger finally stroked your clit, causing it to throb and your pussy to clench with need. Circling it slowly, he spread your juices over the sensitive nub before lowering two fingers to ease into your eagerly awaiting hole.

Your eyebrows furrowed from the subtle stretch of taking his two fingers past the first and second knuckle before stopping and allowing your body to accustom to the sensation. "I've missed this", he admitted as he began to rock his fingers in and out, hardly even blinking with how he watched your emotions flicker across your face.

You were concentrating so hard on trying not to make a noise that you hadn't realised how firmly you were holding onto James' forearm, but he never complained.

In and out, the fingers moved, slowly inching deeper until nearly the entire digits were consumed in your cunt, and the heel of his palm was pressed firmly against your swollen clit. "There she is", James praised as he began to curl his fingers whilst rubbing his palm against your bundle of nerves, causing your eyes to widen and mouth to drop open in silent pleasure.

Quickly covering your mouth with your hand, you tried to cover your soft gasps as you continued to look into James' hungry eyes. The only noise that could be heard was the squelch of your wetness and the rapid breathing from James.

A noise at the end of the hall had you both pausing as a candle flicked from movement outside of the hospital wing. The door was right there; anyone could walk in, including Madam Pomfrey and yet James didn't stop; he was a feral man in need of feeling you cum; he wasn't even sure he'd stop if you were both caught.

Your body was beginning to tremble with how good his hand felt, and you wished you could repay the favour, even glancing over to the noticeably throbbing bulge beneath the thing sheet, but then he shook his head.

"Not tonight. Let me just feel you. Come on, Sweetheart, I know you're holding back. I want you to cum on my fingers; you can do it", he pleaded, his digits continuing to curl right into that beautiful spot that had the tightness in your abdomen coiling until you were on the very edge of bliss.

Your thighs clamped around his hand as you held your breath, dropping your hand to grip the blanket across his lap, leaning your forehead against his as you sweetly moaned, "James", ever so quietly under your breath.

"Fuck yes, Sweetheart, that's a good girl, taking my fingers so well", James praised as you came all over his fingers, soaking his hand and your panties further. He didn't stop the press of his palm or the curl of his fingers until you were sated, half slumped against his chest, completely relaxed.

Carefully he pulled his hand from your underwear and began to greedily suck the juices that soaked his hand. Watching him obscenely roll his eyes back and moan at the taste, you couldn't deny the intense arousal that pulsed in your cunt once more, but instead o acting on these emotions, you hastily had to button up your jeans as Madam Pomfrey's office door opened.

Standing on unsteady legs, you tried to ignore the MAtron as she approached. Leaning forward, you kissed James quickly on the lips. "I'll come and visit you in the morning", you say in a rush, not being able to look Madam Pomfrey in the eye as you pass her, trying to walk as normally as possible.

"I'll be counting down the seconds until you're here", James shouted after you with a deep chuckle. Just as you exited the hospital wing, you could hear James ask the healer, "Looks like I do need your help after all with the salve. Unfortunately, we both got so lost in each other's eyes we simply forgot".

You tried not to release the laugh until, further down the corridor yo,u heard the heavy sigh of Pomfrey in response.

Things were sure to be stranger for a while, and now alone once more, you realised that you needed to go and speak to Lily about everything. At least you had James back and hoped that what he had said was true and that Lily would understand.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fic #james potter smut #hp smut #hp fic #hp #harry potter #mine*

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joshfutturman · 2 months

Text

"good boy" 18+

oneshot (request) - inexperienced virgin failure josh futturman asks the reader over for some 'video games' (4.4k words) pairing - josh futturman (future man) + reader (no gendered pronouns, reader has a vagina + boobs) tags: utter filth lol, porn with tiny plot, dom/sub, dom!reader, sub!josh, LOTS of good boy mentions, oral f & m receiving, penetration, kissing, no use of y/n, missionary, slight dumbification ig, lots of wet mentions lmao, orgasm control, probs more i cant remember rn

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

the janitor from work was cute in a nerdy, adorable yet super naive way. in passing he'd attempt to flirt with you at your reception desk, attempt being the keyword here. but you'd flirt back, stronger and harder - which most of the time simply flew over his dense little head.

"i'd love to see it sometime," you say enthusiastically, referring to his video game collection he'd rambled about for 10 minutes straight. again.

his face lights up and a smile tugs on the corner of his lips, "yeah? really? you should totally come over - i've been dying to play this new one i picked up on co-op. - i mean," he falters, "if you want to. . ."

oh my god. was he asking you over? finally? josh futturman asked you over to play video games in his bedroom. alone. score.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

notes: this was requested by @fatinhadesiners06 hehe, i hope you like it! tried to make josh as much of a virgin failure as i could but turns out that he's pretty good at eating pussy ig ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) officially the first smut ive written and finished

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

"i'd love to see it sometime," you say enthusiastically, referring to his video game collection he'd rambled about for 10 minutes straight. again.

oh my god. was he asking you over? finally? josh futturman asked you over to play video games in his bedroom. alone. score.

. . .

however, that's exactly what you do. you play video games together. on his cramped single bed.

it's not like you don't enjoy it, it's actually pretty sweet. he allows you to choose your character first, he guides you through the levels he knows off by heart, and he even offers you his favourite controller.

but you can't help but note the uncomfortable silence that lingers every so often. you notice him glancing at you in between games. you wonder what he's thinking about, is he thinking about how his hand would feel inside your underwear? how his fingers would get slick and glide over your folds and slip beneath the surface and - ...

well, you certainly know what you're thinking of.

high scores flash on the screen at the end of the level, yours and his. yours is a few hundred points higher to josh' surprise. this earns a loud laugh from you and a laugh from him, tossing his controller down in defeat.

"beat you at your own game." you tut and turn to him with a smirk.

josh grins and looks down at his lap with a shrug, "what can i say? you're pretty good at this."

scooting a little closer, you tilt your head, trying to catch his gaze again. "do you think so? or. . . do you just like it when i come out on top?" a hum sings from your lips.

his eyes widen and he looks at you with an arched eyebrow, finally catching on to at least one of your dirty jokes, or at least partially. it was about time. "it was only a two-hundred point difference." he says, glancing at your lips with an unsure smirk, "i'll dominate next time, for sure."

"who are you kidding, futturman." you whisper, leaning in towards his lips. "i was always going to be the one to dominate you."

you're both inches apart. you can hear how his breath hitches in his throat slightly with each inhale. shaking, his hand raises in an attempt to cup your cheek. but you reach up to grab it, lacing your fingers in his as your lips connect.

immediately, futturman melts into you. you swear you hear a whimper escape his lips as your tongue glides along his bottom lip, seeking entrance. he allows you in, squeezing your hand. he's sloppy, but you don't mind, you like it, actually. it's hot that he's so lost in it that he can't even control his tongue.

his other hand grips the bedsheets, knuckles turning white. he's trying to ignore how his cock is already twitching in his boxers, wondering if you're already wet. josh sighs your name into your lips and you take this as a sign.

your hand finds his crotch as your kiss intensifies and you begin to palm his hardened dick through his jeans, grinning. his mind goes blank and all he can focus on is the fact that your hand is on him, it's actually on him. this isn't just in his head. you're touching him and - fuck, it feels so good.

"you like that baby?" you ask him, his kissing growing sloppier and slower as his breath picks up. you're hardly touching him and he's already squirming under you. hot.

josh hums in response and you find his hand, bringing it to your skirt, slowly sliding it under to meet your growing heat. his fingers feel wetness through the material of your underwear and he swallows hard. gingerly, his fingers dance across your panties.

a giggle slips from your lips as you pull back slightly, ". . . is this your first time?" you ask with a smile.

he's taken aback by this question, suddenly embarrassed as his cheeks begin to flush. "i . . ."

"it's okay, i'll take care of you," you reassure him, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips, "don't worry."

it's time for you to take the lead and you remove your hand from his crotch, this earns a soft whine from him that causes you to bite your lip. placing a hand on his chest, you push him back slowly until he's flat on his back. carefully, you straddle him, sitting just below his waist.

your fingers find the button on his jeans and unbutton it at an excruciatingly slow pace. josh looks up at you with pleading eyes, panting softly as his tummy rises and falls with each breath. "are you. . ."

"i want to taste you." you admit, licking your lips as you unzip him, pulling his jeans down to reveal his boxers.

"f. . . fuck. . ." he whimpers, leaning up on his elbows to watch you.

the outline of his cock is clearly visible through his blue boxers, he's so hard already, it's adorable. josh' heart pounds as he eyes you, his dick springs free and he gasps at the cold air around it. he holds himself back from begging you to touch it in some way. you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little surprised by the girth, it makes your mouth water.

your warm hand wraps around him and his eyes glaze over, head tilting back. he swears he could cum right there just from your touch and if he looks at you again, he just might.

"look at me, baby." you whisper, beginning to pump him slowly. "i wanna see your face while i touch you."

josh pulls his head up, brows furrowing as he tries to slow his breathing. the strokes are slow and deliberate, he moans under his breath. watching him slowly come undone underneath you, you can't help but feel the pulsing of your wet cunt intensify.

lowering your head, his eyes begin to widen and before he can figure out something hot to say, your lips are on his cock. tongue swirling on the tip, he swears he's seeing stars. his trembling hand desperately reaches up to find the back of your head, lacing his fingers through your locks.

"holy fuck, that. . . that feels so good." he mumbles with a gasp as you begin to take his length into your mouth. a high-pitched whimper escapes him as he bucks slightly. you keep your eyes on him the full time, taking in as much of him as you can until he hits the back of your throat.

picking up pace now, you start bobbing on him, lapping your tongue all the while. josh is curling his toes, gripping your hair and whispering your name into his bedroom like he's trying his best to tell a secret. he wonders how he got so lucky, the way he'd fantasised about this constantly and for it to actually be happening? it was his lucky day.

he'd imagined you both at the lab, in the back room, he's bent you over and you're dripping wet. he slides in with ease and you call his name a little too loudly. or, behind reception, he would crawl beneath your desk and you'd spread your legs and he'd dive in like a man starved. or sometimes, you were in this very bed, your juices coating his sheets.

you swirl your tongue on the tip once more, causing him to let out a loud, pleading moan before pulling away with an obscene pop. this allows him to catch his breath slightly, but man - he was so close. it takes everything within him not to beg you to put those pretty lips of your back around his aching cock.

glancing over your shoulder, your eyes find his gaming chair and you grin. you wonder how many times he's jerked off in that overused thing, thinking of you. pumping his cock, wishing it was coated with your wetness instead of some cheap lube. calling your name into the palm of his hand as ropes of hot cum land on his soft tummy.

it drives you crazy just thinking about it.

and you need him, more of him.

you shuffle off the bed and walk towards the chair before sitting in it, facing him on the bed. legs spreading, you relax them over his armrests, exposing your underwear beneath your skirt. josh watches on, mouth agape, blinking.

"c'mon baby, don't you wanna taste me too?" you ask and his eyes sparkle. you've never seen him move so fast - he scrambles from the bed, boxers and jeans around his ankles. kneeling like he's about to pray for you, (and maybe he should, with the sinful images plaguing both of your thoughts), he looks up at you with that same puppy dog look.

"please," you whisper, exhaling, "i need you, josh."

he bites his lip at those words and has to actively try and suppress a moan. hearing you plead like that. . . fuck, you were so hot.

slowly easing closer, josh hooks two fingers into your underwear and pushes it to the side. your cheeks flush as your wetness is exposed to him, but you can see by the look on his face that he's elated.

"your pussy is so fucking pretty. . ." he exhales, gradually getting closer before his tongue begins desperately lapping at your dripping cunt. a squeal escapes you as you arch your back, finally getting the relief you need. his licking is messy, it's wet, he's drooling and mixing his saliva with your juices but it's so filthy it's hot.

your gaze finds his and watch as his nose glides up your folds. his name falls from your lips repeatedly as you reach for his head, getting a firm grip on those messy curls. you guide him higher with your grasp and his tongue finds your clit finally. it's so sensitive, you'd been edging for days leading up to this.

"s. . . slow." you purr, "i'm. . . i'm gonna- fuck, i'm gonna cum if you keep going so fast."

he abides, slowing his tongue on that spot you enjoy so much. his hand presses into your thigh, pushing your leg out further to get in closer. wetness drips down his chin as he laps long licks, stopping briefly and hesitantly only to begin sucking your clit gently. he looks up at you for your approval.

a gasp and your head is thrown back, fingers in his hair tightening. there's pleasure building in your core, little sparks working inside your belly as josh obediently eats you out.

"good boy," you manage to say through breathy moans, "good boy. . . you're doing so good for- for your first time. . ."

and it was true - though he was sloppy, clumsy and got a little lost in the moment, that only served to turn you on more. his inexperienced moves were endearing, they were hot, and it felt kinda good that you were the one to finally experience this with him.

small moans sing from his mouth at the pet name 'good boy' - and you make a mental note to call him that more often. this urges him on. he moves his hand to your pussy, massaging with two fingers around your tight hole, fluttering at the sudden contact. it takes him a few circles to find it properly before sliding one inside.

the chair almost tips back as you feel him slide in, his tongue back to flicking over that sensitive spot while his digit pumps into you. your hand grips the back of the fake leather chair, digging your nails in. it's not long before he inserts a second one, and though his rhythm is off with his poor coordination, it's such a relief to be filled, even if only a little.

hand combing through his hair, you look down at him, encouraging him with every moan. wet sounds fill the small bedroom now, between his tongue on your clit and his fingers exploring your slick hole. his dick is aching to be touched, desperate for any sort of friction as it spasms occasionally under the chair - but he'd stay here forever, eating you like this, if it meant he could hear those sounds sing from your lips.

"you sound so fucking hot. . ." he mumbles, the low vibrations of his voice against your pussy, sucking harder to increase your pitch and it works. you're almost there and you'll cum all over his sweet little face soon if you're not careful. who knew that josh futturman could be so good at eating pussy?

"-n. . . need you to fuck me," you blurt out, completely breathless. josh pulls back a little to look up at you fully with wide eyes, excitement piquing. the dim light from the television dances across him and you notice the lower half of his face is completely coated in your juices.

you continue, "you need to fuck me too, i bet. you're aching, aren't you? i bet you've been thinking about this for years." - and he had, fuck, he had. he'd lost count of the number of times he'd imagined you both here, a writhing, moaning, wet mess against each other.

"please, please let me fuck you." josh begged, fitting that he was on his knees. he looked good down there, you thought, pleading with his hands grasped together and that pathetic, lovable, pussy drunk expression of his as your wetness drips from his chin.

staying there for a few moments to admire him in this position, and to hear him beg just a little longer - you finally stand and step over him deliberately to watch him underneath you for just a little longer. wriggling out of your soaked panties, you throw them towards him and collapse back onto the single bed whilst removing your skirt. surprisingly, he catches your underwear and relishes how wet they feel in his palm.

you spread your legs once more for him and he watches in awe like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. wiping his chin a little, he scampers to you like a lost puppy, crawling up onto the bed and kicking his jeans and boxers off in the process.

he slots between your thighs and you see how his jaw goes slack when his dick brushes against your dripping cunt. you grab his chin, still a little wet, and pull him in for a deep kiss. when his tongue enters your mouth, you can taste yourself and it makes you smile. letting go of his chin, your hands roam to his hoodie, yanking it off and tossing it to the side. the only barrier between you both now was your damn shirts.

pushing him back, you begin to slowly pull your shirt up revealing your bra. josh bites his lower lip, swallowing hard as his eyes roam across your chest. his hands inch closer and you slap them away. "your shirt first." you tease.

he holds back a whine and removes his shirt, throwing it far across the room in frustration. "now, can i?" he hums, glancing at your chest and then back to you.

you wait a few moments, then a few more. and then nod.

your shirt isn't even fully off when his hands are desperately roaming your chest, squeezing both breasts as you gasp. his eyes glaze over as he continues to squeeze and you feel his dick twitch once more against your pussy. you begin to grind against him, his saliva and your wetness mixing against his cock.

holding back some moans, josh slips his hands behind your back to unhook your bra. it takes him a little longer than he'd have liked, and you arch your back a little to help him - but he finally removes it to reveal your chest.

between your perfect fucking body below him and the way you were slowly working his desperate cock along your pussy lips - he was in heaven. immediately he's sucking on a nipple, flicking his tongue over it with soft, breathy moans. you moan in return and cup the back of his head, petting him softly - "good boy," you whisper, "good, good boy. . ."

fuck, he loved it when you called him that. it lit a fire in his belly like he'd chase you to the ends of the earth just to hear you call him a good boy one more time.

he moves to your other nipple now, giving them both equal attention and you squirm a little, gripping his hair. the cold air drifts across your erect, soaked nipple he'd left behind but the coldness is quickly replaced by his fingers, rubbing.

"your tits are fuckin' perfect-" he mumbles with his nipple still in your mouth, pulling himself away finally as he begins to move in rhythm with you.

"josh." you say, commanding his attention with a sultry tone.

he snaps out of his dizzy state and looks at you.

"fuck me," you demand, reaching down to push his cock harder against your drenched cunt, "i need you inside of me. can you do that? can you be my good boy and fuck me?"

jesus fucking christ. josh wasn't sure he'd ever been this hard in his life.

josh nods with a whimper, it's so cute. he's so desperate. just as he begins to move into position, you reach up to grab his chin.

"use your words." you instruct him.

those hazel eyes widen, taking a breath to compose himself before nodding, "i'll fuck you. i'll be your good boy and fuck you." his voice wavers. he wants to be so good for you. he wants to be your good boy so badly, "please? please." josh pleads whinily.

"good boy." you grin and let go of his chin, trailing your hands down his chest and his soft tummy, taking great pleasure in grazing your fingers past his fuzzy snail trail.

lining himself up with your entrance, he makes a few sweeps with his cock, lubing it up and enjoying the feeling of your hole sucking his length in. his eyes glance to you for permission one final time and this makes your stomach flip, he's too fucking cute.

you signal, giving him permission with a nod and he slowly pushes inside of you.

he's slow, purposefully, so that one thrust doesn't cause him to immediately explode inside of you - cause the way you'd worked him up, it wouldn't be long before his cum was stuffed deep in there. your walls wrap around him so perfectly, his words get caught in his throat and all he can do is whine. but it feels so fucking good to finally have him inside of you. his thick fingers pumping into you were fine, sure, but his cock is what you craved all along.

your stomach tenses as he fills you completely, eyes locked on his to see him fully experience this for the first time.

"does that feel good, baby?" you ask him, trailing your hand across his lower stomach.

"s. . .so fuckin' tight- ah-" still, he can hardly speak, bottomed out inside of you with his cock pulsing, "so wet, so so fucking wet."

"just for you." you coo, beginning to roll your hips slightly to help him along. this earns a loud gasp from him, positioning his hands on your hips to get a proper grip on you. slowly, you both find a rhythm and he's thrusting inside of you at a slow pace.

each thrust has you moaning as you roll your hips to meet him, his strong grip on your hips only intensifying the feeling as he gets lost in the sensation. already, you can tell he's close - having almost finished him off earlier definitely adding to his desperation.

"faster," you tell him, gripping his stupid blue patterned sheets and holding one of his wrists in your other hand.

a whimper - no two - no three, falls from his lips as he picks up pace. josh is slamming into you now, his hands glide up the side of your body to meet your tits again and he leans over, unable to keep himself upright through the thrusts. his lips find yours once more, half to muffle his moans and half to ground himself a little.

over and over, his cock pumps into you speedily, creating loud, wet, slapping noises. you wrap your legs around him to pull him in deeper, closer and arch your back.

"-g...gonna. . . i'm. . ." his words are muffled by your lips and you pull back slightly, your breath mingling together as his eyes struggle to stay open through the pleasure.

"you gonna cum?" you ask with a grin, pulling his chin up for him to look at you.

"ah - yeah. . ." he swallows, and you squeeze around his dick causing him to whine loudly.

the thought of him exploding inside you had you close too. that girthy length was slamming you, over and over, slick from what he had done to you. josh was totally lost in the pleasure, sweat coating his brow as his hips worked hard to chase your climax and his own.

"can i?" josh suddenly asks, gasping for breath.

you deliberately don't answer, but moan louder and squeeze your cunt around him - you feel his rhythm waver in response.

"fuck - baby, please," he cries, locking eyes with you as his brow furrows, "please, i need to cum, please let me cum."

the words falling from his lips were so fucking hot, he was begging you for release. all he wanted to do was unload inside of you and he was pleading and wet and adorable. how could you possibly say no to that face?

"have you been a good boy?" you ask.

"yes!" he almost screams, "yes! i've been such a good boy, please, please. i need it, i need to cum in your tight, fuckin' perfect - ah, ah. . . - pussy, please." the words trip over themselves and he's really sweating now. the way he's pistoning into you, you can feel the desperation in every thrust of his hard cock.

"then cum, my good boy." you finally say, pushing him into you with your legs around his back for a hard deep thrust - and he keeps this up.

his whines heighten in pitch, going higher and higher as he gets a little rough. with each thrust, you're thrown back a little on the bed and it earns large explosive moans from you each time. his hands are back on your hips and he digs his fingers in, leaving harsh red marks.

you don't care though, watching him lose control is the hottest fucking thing you've ever seen. a desperate, whining, whimpering, cumming mess.

josh tries to announce it, let you know he's really about to cum, but all that comes out are breathy moans as his rhythm falters and his eyes start to roll back. you can feel it too, the way his cock is twitching and pulsing harder inside you. it brings your own climax closer, the inevitability of your pussy walls being painted white with all of his cum. . .

and though you try to hold off, you cum. lights flash behind your eyes as you reach out for him, pulling him by the back of the neck down to you. pressing your forehead to his, your hole flutters around him, squeezing and clamping down as your orgasm milks him - causing him to cum. ropes of hot, white cum fill you over and over, his mouth stuck half open.

you continue to grind through the orgasm, albeit with a faltering rhythm due to your climax, as he's mostly still beside the way his dick is jerking as it empties inside of you. his cum begins to leak out of you slowly with each grind you make against him and it causes you to gasp at the sensation. your moans fill his mouth, looking into his eyes as he struggles to make eye contact through the blinding pleasure. praises sing from your lips for him, coaxing him through it as you feel his movements slow to a halt.

he pulls out reluctantly and slumps against you with heaving breaths, his head falling on your chest with his cheek flush against your skin. his body is hot, and sticky. you begin to pet his head gently, your other hand tracing your fingers across his arm around you.

"that. . ." he pipes up, "- was amazing," josh tilts his head to look up at you with a dumb smile on his face.

"yeah?" you answer, smirking, "it was pretty fucking amazing, wasn't it?"

and you admire him like this, the way he's looking up at you with that familiar smile, practically with hearts in his eyes as your fingers pet through his hair. his eyes are sleepy, half-lidded - and the rest is deserved too, after what a good, hard-working boy he's been.

"you were so good for me." you lean down to kiss his forehead, peppering soft kisses all across it.

he giggles and snuggles against you closer, "stop - you'll get me goin' again." if his cheeks weren't already flushed from exertion, they'd be red once more.

"right, i'll save the praise for next time - since i know you love it so much." a grin tugs on your lips.

and he likes the sound of that.

his head suddenly springs up, his smile growing wider with his mouth half open, joy filling his face. ". . .next time?"

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weatheredpoetry · 28 days

Text

Superpowers

I have superpowers, I can disappear and be silent like a ghost. I am a hollow heart, it slowly filled with sorrow, it was dug out by love that hurt me and left me behind as it ran away from me into the dark. As love devoured me I struggled, it’s chains were tight and rotted from my tears I cried its rust grew and decayed. My pillow is soaked in my blood, my tears drowned me, the mud came to take…

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#A Series Of Unfortunate Events Gothic Rose Poetry Collection #Awareness #Bat Brat Poetry - Open Coffin Cafe #Bat Cave Poetry #Bite Me Open Coffin Poetic Collection #My Dying Heart Collection #poem #poems #poet #Poetry

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thesecretsofthedivine · 3 months

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Pick a Pile Reading | Messages From Your Future Spouse 💍🪐

Business Carrd 🍶🧺

Paid Services 🍇⭐

Tip Jar 🍾🎱

*Disclaimer: This is a collective reading - take what resonates and leave the rest. If this resonates with you, please show support by reposting (with credit), tipping, or booking with me! :)

*Exchanges with other intuitives/readers are available via dm's

──────

PILE 1 COLLECTIVE

• I love the sound of your laughter.

• You’ve turned me into a more carefree person.

• Let’s spend the day baking/cooking then heading right back to bed to cuddle!

• I feel like we could never have enough quality time together.

• You’re my favorite person in the world.

• I’m addicted to your scent.

• We should start a family (🐾/👶).

• You’re my lock screen.

• I tell all my friends about you. If you checked my notifications, all you’d see is a group chat roasting me for how obsessed I am with you.

• There is no place I’d rather be than here with you in my arms.

• I like to watch you sleep. You just seem so peaceful and still that it’s intensely captivating. I hope you don’t mind 😵‍💫.

~ miscellaneous: earth sign placements. homebodies. 2 introverts or an introvert & an extrovert. hard-working, masculine qualities in your spouse. wholesome domestic moments.

PILE 2 COLLECTIVE

• I want to drown in the sea of your existence.

• Dedicating poetry and art to you — my favorite muse.

• There is nothing in the world that I wouldn’t give to have more time with you.

• I’m afraid of loss/dying, but entering old age with you would make my existence complete.

• Please don’t leave me.

• Can I wake you up early if I’m craving your attention? It’s hard for me to contain my excitement when you look this beautiful/attractive.

• Let’s watch the sunset together and stay up late talking for hours.

• Every detail of your existence does not go unnoticed by me.

• We were meant to love each other in this life/I know that we are past life lovers who have found one another again.

• Come on, baby. Don’t be shy with me.

~ miscellaneous: water sign placements (especially scorpio or for their moon sign). 2 night owls or a night owl & a morning person. hozier songs. romantic moments caught on camera/posted online. artist x muse trope.

PILE 3 COLLECTIVE

• You light me on fire with desire.

• I love teasing you more than anything else in the world.

• You’re my best friend and lover, all wrapped into one.

• My heart feels warm and glows from the inside whenever you’re around.

• I can’t lose you. If I do, I’ll go crazy.

• Let’s go for a drive, listen to music, eat food, and forget about our worries.

• I want to be the first person you call when you’re in trouble.

• I will never judge you.

• We will travel everywhere and make the world our own.

• I want to surprise you with grand gestures (especially via gifts or shared experiences).

~ miscellaneous: fire sign placements. ready or not — bridgit mendler. sneaky smirks that make you smile uncontrollably. spontaneous memories or communication. fluffy hair & tan skin features for some.

PILE 4 COLLECTIVE

• Pulling out all my best jokes just for you.

• Give me a nickname and I’ll give you one back.

• How can I possibly deny your charm?!

• Your style is impeccable. Every time we’re in a shop together, I just want to watch you pose in front of the mirror.

• I’ll make you homemade snacks and share my family’s recipes with you!

• Spoiling you with acts of service.

• We don’t even have to speak to understand one another. Mere eye contact is enough.

• You bring out my (good) crazy side 🤪.

• I love how we can always bounce off each other’s energies so well.

• I wanna give you expensive jewelry or items with my initials on it.

~ miscellaneous: air sign placements. a quirky sense of humor. distinct eyebrows. friends to lovers trope (Monica & Chandler came to mind). latin/hispanic backgrounds for some.

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kiss-me-cill-me · 3 months

Text

Predator

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: You are obsessed with Jonathan Crane. And tonight, you're finally going to show him just how much you love him - even if he might not remember the encounter. But when things don't go according to plan, you are the one forced to deal with the consequences. Not that you're complaining...

Warnings: DUB-CON smut (the con is extremely dub on both sides here, folks), mentions of non-con, stalking, yandere!reader, loss of control, mind games, needles, mentions of drugs, mentions of sex work, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, degradation, praise, name-calling, multiple orgasms

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Your heels tap against the tile, clicking like a raptor’s talons, as you make your way across the hotel lobby. You smile, leaning over the counter to talk to the concierge, and try to look a little embarrassed.

“I'm so sorry to bother you,” you say. The hotel clerk is staring, not quite subtly, at your breasts, which is exactly where you want him to look. “But I seem to have lost my room key. May I have another one?”

The clerk collects himself; puts on his business voice as his fingers poise above his keyboard.

“Of course,” he replies. “Name on the reservation?”

“Crane. Jonathan.”

The clerk types rapidly for a moment, and then looks back at you.

“I'm sorry, miss, but I'm only showing one person on this reservation. You're not, ah…”

“Mmm.” You smile. “My boyfriend is here on a business trip. Speaking at the big conference in town. I'm not… exactly supposed to be here with him. I'm sure he wouldn't have told his work I'd be staying with him.”

Your voice drops just a bit lower, hinting at conspiracy. You consider winking, but decide against it. No need to oversell things.

“Boyfriend. Is that right?” the hotel clerk drawls. He looks you up and down briefly.

Rage flashes white hot behind your eyes, there and gone too fast for him to notice. This man assumes that you're some kind of prostitute. You can see it on his face, and it angers you. You're infuriated that he doesn't believe what you’ve told him. Though of course, it's not as if you're telling the truth.

“That's right,” you agree, pleasantly. “And I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a rush. I'm dying to get out of this dress.”

You only have to act a little. The tight black dress you're wearing really is uncomfortable, but to play the part you have to dress the part. And besides, you want to look your best tonight.

The image of you undressing seems to be enough to convince the man, who turns back to his computer and starts typing again. You're not proud of throwing yourself around like this. Honestly, you would prefer it if no one but Crane got to enjoy you tonight - even if having him actually see you would throw a wrench into your plans. But you have to do what it takes to get your prize, and you're not above using the tactics that work.

“Could you just confirm the room number for me?” asks the hotel clerk, in a last-ditch effort to preserve some of his professionalism.

“Three-oh-three,” you say with a smile.

The clerk hands over a key card.

“Have a nice night,” he tells you.

You thank him. Snatch the card and walk away, toward the elevators that are waiting like steel traps at the other end of the lobby. That was easier than it should have been. You tuck the card safely into your purse, next to the little syringe and the three condoms. Traveling light tonight. The doors open as you reach the first elevator, as if they were waiting for you.

You smile.

You feel your heart beating heavy in your chest when the elevator doors finally open on your floor. Well, not your floor, really, but Crane’s floor. You've invited yourself, but that doesn't make what's about to happen tonight any less special.

Before you know it, you're standing in front of his door, the numbers above the peephole staring back at you as you pause for a moment. You're almost lightheaded, just from being here, so close to fulfilling the dream you've had for months.

Jonathan Crane. A genius. A visionary. And the man at the center of your every fantasy. For too long, you've watched him from afar - at first not daring to let yourself dream of having him, but then, slowly, realizing that you have no life without him. That he is the center of your universe, and that your purpose is to trail after him like a desperate satellite. Once you knew that, it became impossible not to be with him. Unbearable to bear spending every day on his periphery when all you wanted was him, him, him.

You steady yourself. Close your eyes for a few seconds just to savor it. Just being here. Then, you take the card out of your purse and swipe it, quickly tucking it back away before you open the door. The handle turns easily - why wouldn’t it, after all? You are, clearly, meant to be here - despite the fact that you are most certainly not supposed to be here. You step into the room, letting the door close behind you, and take another moment to bask.

“You know, I’d really prefer if you’d knock,” says a voice, suddenly coming from inside the room.

From where you’re standing you can’t see much, but you freeze, instantly. You’re stuck in that strange little hallway that seems to be at the entrance of every hotel room, with just a few coat hangers and a full-length mirror for company. And you can’t move because that’s his voice coming from around the corner. You would recognize it anywhere.

As you stand frozen, two things occur to you. One: it’s strange that Crane sounds like he’s expecting someone. And two: it’s even stranger that he’s here. His schedule says he’s at one of the conference’s dinners right now. You were supposed to have time to prepare. This is not going according to plan.

“I told you,” says a slightly annoyed Crane, his voice getting closer, “that I’d have your money tomorrow. So if you could just-”

His words cut off as he sees you, clearly not whoever he was expecting, and your heart skips at least three beats as you finally come face to face with him.

“Who are you?” he asks, reasonably.

“O-oh, I’m… terribly sorry,” you reply. Your heart is now hammering at a million miles a minute, making up for lost time. You feel yourself fumbling for words, but manage to wrestle control of your tongue. “I must have the wrong room.”

Crane rakes his eyes over you suspiciously. You can see from the tilt of his head that he doesn’t buy it, and now he’s sizing you up as a threat. You let yourself swoon for just a moment. He’s so intelligent. This is exactly why you’d planned to lie in wait for him; you could never outsmart him and you very likely also couldn’t best him in a fight. Not that you’d ever want it to come to that, but if it did… Well, you doubt you’d be able to keep your mind on self preservation for very long once he got his hands on you.

“How did you get in here?” he presses.

“This is the room they gave me,” you explain. “There must have been some kind of mixup at the front desk.”

It's a slightly different story than the first, but hopefully a more believable one. You open your purse; reach in to pull out the key card and show him. Or maybe you'll go for the syringe. But before your fingers can wrap around anything, Crane snatches your purse and turns swiftly on his heel.

“Hey!”

You follow after him as he strides to the large bed, and dumps out the purse’s contents. The syringe, the condoms, and a few errant bobby pins spill out across the duvet. The key card falls to the floor.

“It’s rude to go through a woman’s purse, you know!”

Your anger flares in his direction before you can control yourself. You bite your tongue, horrified that you've snapped at him.

“I'd say it's pretty clear that the rules of civility don't apply to you,” Crane retorts, as he reaches for the syringe. “Just what exactly were you planning to do with this?”

“That's… personal?” you mumble.

“Try again.”

God, he's so sexy. How are you supposed to concentrate on getting out of this when his voice is all graveley and dark like that, and he's staring at you with those eyes that look like they could pierce through skin and bone, and-

“Well?”

Crane is growing impatient. You scrabble together your thoughts and open your mouth to speak, plan still only half formed.

“Ah, I mean, that's my medication,” you explain. “It's for… migraines.”

“Hm, really?” Crane replies. “Then you wouldn't mind if I administered it to you.”

“No!” you say, a bit too sharply.

He's already removed the cap from the needle, and has taken a few steps toward you when your voice rings out. He stops in his tracks, and you swear you can hear your heartbeat thunder around the room. A tense moment of silence passes, before Crane finally speaks again.

“So, this isn't your migraine medication,” he states. “And you're a strange woman who's just shown up in my hotel room, with a purse full of drugs and condoms. I'm calling security.”

Crane calmly walks to the bedside table, stabs the syringe into its wooden surface, and picks up the phone out of its cradle. Your heart rate spikes as he starts to dial.

“Dr. Crane, I don't think you should do that,” you warn.

“And why the fuck is that?”

“Because I don't want to have to tell them… who you really are.”

Crane pauses, and cocks his head at you again. You can feel yourself regaining control of the situation. Like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders; it feels good. So good that you can't help but smile at him as he scrunches his eyebrows together and frowns.

“What do you mean by that?” he asks.

The word passes over your lips like a sin, spreading its venom over your tongue as you say it.

“Scarecrow.”

Crane's eyes widen. You feel red heat rise to your cheeks. He wasn't expecting you to have leverage, and the fact that you've managed to surprise him fills you with an immense pride.

“Who are you?” Crane asks softly.

“I'm a fan of your work,” you reply. It might be the first truth you've told all night.

Crane replaces the phone with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair as he looks up at you.

“Okay, who are you working for?” he asks. “Who sent you?”

You shake your head.

“No, no, no, Dr. Crane - I mean it,” you giggle. “I heard you speak at a different conference a few months ago, and I… Well, is it crazy to say that I fell in love?”

Crane fixes you with a glare that says, yes, it most certainly is crazy. You don't even notice as you rattle on - Jonathan Crane is your favorite subject, after all.

“From there, I wanted to learn everything about you,” you continue. “Where you live, where you work, where you shop for groceries. Some of it was easier to figure out than the rest, of course, but once I learned your schedule it became clear to me. You spend a lot of time out of the house late-late at night.”

Crane studies you carefully as you go on your monologue, but you're too wrapped up in it to care.

“So I dug deeper, and guess what I found?” you tease. “Dr. Crane has a secret, and now it's our secret to share. You and me.”

You've closed some of the distance between you, and now Crane is so wonderfully close that you could reach out and brush your fingers against him. You resist, not wanting to scare him away, but look up at him expectantly as you wait for his reaction. You've just laid your heart bare for the first time in forever. He has that effect on you, you guess; it's impossible to deny him anything.

“So you're obsessed with me,” Crane says calmly. “I can't lie; it is kind of flattering.” He smiles. Only for a moment, before his expression turns dark. “But you still haven't told me, what the fuck were you planning to do with this?”

He gestures to the syringe, still sticking up with its needle planted in the bedside table, greenish liquid swirling inside of it. You lower your eyes, suddenly bashful. It feels so utterly silly now; you feel like you've actually started to build up a rapport with him, and you don't want to risk harming Crane’s perception of you. Still, knowing him, it will be worse for you if you don't tell the truth upfront, so you're honest yet again.

“It's a blend of a few things,” you admit. “An aphrodisiac, a relaxant, a very mild sedative. I was planning to use it on you so I could…”

“Rape me?” Crane supplies.

“Don't say it like that!” you beg. It sounds so ugly when he says it that way. “I just wanted to show you my love. I wanted to share it with you. That's not a bad thing, is it?”

You take another step toward him, desperate to show him what you mean. If only he'd let you show him. It would be so good for both of you. As you get closer, Crane backs up until he's sitting on the bed, then leaning back into the mattress. You lean down, trying not to hover over him too much, your fingers barely ghosting the sheets as you plant your arms on either side of his body.

“Please,” you whisper. Crane doesn't look afraid, but he is eyeing you carefully. “Please just let me show you?”

Crane considers the situation for a moment. You wait with bated breath, not daring to let yourself imagine what will happen if he says yes. The room spins as you forget to take in enough oxygen, and you feel yourself dip an inch closer to him.

“If I let you live out your twisted fantasy,” he begins, slowly. “You won't tell anyone about what you said earlier?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” you promise, your smile immediately brightening at his words.

Crane nods, just once. Curtly.

“Fine then,” he says. Your heart explodes in your chest. “But you’re not using that syringe on me. And you're going to do all the work.”

As he's talking, he's already shrugging out of his shirt. You practically drool at the sight of his bare chest; struck with the irresistible urge to drag your fingers over it. You feel yourself smiling wildly. This is so much better than you'd ever imagined it. Your beloved is actually a willing participant! Why had you ever been prepared to settle for anything less?

Crane slowly unbuckles his belt, and then looks at you expectantly. Your fingers feel almost removed from your body as you reach out to pop the button on his pants. None of this feels real; you must be in a dream. You hope he doesn’t notice how much you’re shaking. It wouldn’t do to have him get any ideas about wrestling his way out of this.

“Let’s go through your little plan together,” says Crane, as you tug down his zipper and start to pull on his waistband. “You were going to drug me, knock me out - and then what?”

The only thing separating you from your prize now is the thin cotton of his boxer-briefs. Beneath, you can tell that he’s already half hard. The realization sends a throbbing ache between your legs. The musky scent of his arousal - or maybe it’s yours - starts to seep into the room, and you lick your lips to get a taste of it like a snake.

“Was gonna get you ready for me,” you answer, already slipping into a haze of fantasy.

“How?” Crane asks.

“With my mouth…”

Maybe it’s your imagination, but you swear you see his cock twitch at your words. The air catches in your throat again, and you have to force yourself to take deep breaths through your nose.

“Go on, then,” Crane prods. “Show me.”

He’s sitting up slouched on the bed, arms bent just a little so he can look down at you as you bring yourself to eye level with his cock. He is definitely getting hard; you don’t even have to do anything to him, honestly. But you want to, and even more important than that - Dr. Crane is telling you to. You can’t deny him.

You pull down the thin fabric, and watch as he springs free. His cock is beautiful - just like you’d imagined it would be. There’s already a bead of precum on the tip, just begging to be licked off. You wrap your lips around him eagerly and worship the head of his cock, tasting the salty tang of him as you kiss it. Lovingly. Gently. That’s what you want to be for him as you part your lips and take him deeper, moaning around his length.

Crane has other ideas.

He ruts up into your mouth, letting out an absolutely sinful groan as he does it. The sound has you clenching your thighs for dear life as a wave of arousal and pressure runs through you. You want to touch yourself desperately, but know you need to hold on. There’s no way you’re going to waste the energy to get off on your own fingers tonight.

“Sorry,” Crane says. “Forgot I was supposed to be unconscious.”

You can’t reply with his cock in your mouth, but the biting sarcasm in his voice makes you feel things that are probably best left unsaid. Thank goodness you abandoned your morality a long time ago.

In direct contradiction to what he’s just said, Crane tangles a hand in your hair and starts pressing you further down onto his cock. You gag as the tip of your nose touches him, and let out a muffled whine.

“What, too much for you?” Crane laughs. “I thought you wanted to get me ready.”

You try not to whimper as you nod your head. You can feel your mascara starting to run as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and try to blink them back in. Once you’re composed enough to refocus, you start to swirl your tongue against him. Crane’s grip on the back of your head tightens, and you feel a sense of pride swell in you, pressing down the panic. This is exactly what you wanted - to make him feel good. To show him your devotion. You bob your head, pushing past the point of your own comfort to take him as deep as you can.

He lets your throat clench around him for a few minutes before he abruptly pulls you off. Your mouth makes a wet pop as it sucks around nothing, and you look up at your beloved with something that borders on sadness and lust.

“What next?” he demands. “I know you didn’t just come here to suck me off like a cheap whore.”

You stand up and try to collect yourself. Wipe the spit that’s pooled at the base of your chin. Organize your thoughts into some semblance of an intelligible response.

“Want to… to feel you inside me,” you pant.

“Of course you do,” Crane says. He has something in his hand, and he holds it up to show you. The condoms. “You even came prepared. But, let’s not pretend for even a second that you were actually going to use these.”

He throws the roll of condoms behind him, and they disappear somewhere over the side of the bed. Your mouth is hanging open in shock, and Crane smirks at your disbelief.

“It’s not fun if there’s not a little risk, right?” he says. “Don’t tell me that’s not why you came here in the first place - to get off on the thrill of doing something dangerous.”

“I… I came here for you,” you insist.

Though it is getting harder and harder to think straight as Crane slips himself fully out of his lingering clothes. When he’s done with that, he moves on to reaching up and grabbing at the zipper on your dress. He pauses with his hands at the back of your neck.

“And what drew you to me in the first place?” he presses. “You know I’m a dangerous man. You know my deepest, darkest secret. But instead of scaring you away, it only pushes you closer. You can’t resist the fear that you feel at the thought of being near me. Wanna know something? I think, deep down, you wanted to get caught.”

Your head is already spinning too much to comprehend what he’s saying. All you know is that his voice has dropped several octaves and it’s making you incredibly, almost painfully, wet. Your eyes roll back in your head as Crane tugs at your zipper and helps you slip out of your dress. Your bra and panties are black lace, and Crane seems to admire them for a moment before unclasping the hooks and pulling off your bra.

“You’re pretty fucking twisted, but you do have a nice rack,” he comments. “I’ll let you take care of the rest.”

With shaking fingers, you slide the lacy waistband over your hips, relishing the soft scratch of fabric as it moves down your thighs. Once they’re pooled on the floor, you step delicately out of your panties, and look down at Crane, still sitting on the bed in front of you.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he says. “I warned you that you’d have to do all the work.”

You straddle him, moving a bit too fast in your eagerness. You’re getting clumsy, but you don’t care. Planting your hands on his shoulders, you feel the way he glides into you as you lower yourself. So insanely good. The stretch as his cock is buried inside of you makes you see stars. You gasp, and then moan as your hips reach his.

“Feels better this way, right?” Crane teases. “A little risk always makes freaks like you cum faster.”

“Mmhmm,” you agree, barely listening to what he’s saying.

“Go ahead and get yourself off,” Crane says. It almost sounds like a challenge. “Use me like a glorified dildo, just like you wanted.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you start moving, bouncing up and down on his cock as you chase your high. Crane stays still, letting you do all the work just like he said he would. You grind into him, desperate for friction against your clit, and wish more than anything that he’d reach up and play with your nipples. It’s a lewd thought, but you’re so far gone that you don’t care anymore, and eventually you move your hands to pinch them yourself.

The air in the room is getting hotter; thick with sex and filled with moans as you get closer and closer to your release. Crane stares at you, somehow managing to keep a straight face while he watches you fuck yourself on his dick. You press yourself close as you can as you grind down again.

“Gonna come!” you whine.

And then you do; waves of pleasure crashing over you as the coil in your stomach finally lets go. Your legs shake, both your eyes squeeze shut, and you have to hold onto Crane’s shoulders to keep from falling right off the bed as you gush onto him.

You’re panting with exertion as you come down from the high. Brain still foggy from the rush of endorphins and the elation of finally fulfilling your fantasy. And the best part is knowing that Crane got to feel all of it. The way you clenched around him; the way you screamed, shameless, as your love for him coated his cock. Getting to share the moment like this was better than you’d ever dared to dream of.

“Good girl,” Crane says. “Now do it again.”

Your eyes shoot open in disbelief. Crane looks up at you, smirking.

“You heard me,” he growls. “You’re not done yet. I want to see you play with yourself.”

The only reply you can formulate is a moan, but Crane pays no mind to it as he grabs one of your sweaty hands and shoves it between your legs.

“No moving, now,” he warns you. “Use your fingers and that’s it. My cock stays in you, but you don’t get to use it.”

It’s so hard not to swirl your hips, even just a little. You want so badly to feel that pressure of him, moving against your walls. Even staying still, he fills you up deliciously - but you want more. But, you do as he says and rub your clit, until you’re on the edge of another orgasm.

“I-I’m close,” you whimper.

“That fast?” Crane taunts. “You’re really that desperate for me?”

You nod, biting your lip. You’re so close you can feel the heat rising in your chest. Your fingers press harder; your breathing goes shallow.

“Please fuck me!” you beg.

“Mm-mnn,” Crane refuses. “This is what you wanted, remember? Make yourself come for me.”

His words are all you need to tip past the point of no return. You cry out, almost shocked at the pleasure that rips through you once again, even more intense than the first time.

“Fuck…” you gasp.

You lower your head to Crane’s shoulder, exhausted after two orgasms back to back. Your sweat is slick against his skin, and it’s so good to rest for even a moment. Your whole body is buzzing so intensely, it feels like you could fall apart at any second.

“Think you can do one more for me?”

Crane’s voice is rough, and right in your ear. He’s relentless. Weakly, you shake your head no. You loll off the side of his shoulder, slumping against him as your body gives out.

“I think you can,” Crane insists. “Come on, you brought three condoms - must have had big plans.”

“Can’t…” you say.

It comes out as more of a breath than a word. Every ounce of your energy is gone.

“How disappointing,” Crane sighs. “And you haven’t even made me come once. I guess I’ll have to fix that.”

In the next instant, your back is pressed against the bed. Crane hovers over you, smug grin spreading across his face.

“I know this isn’t part of your plan,” Crane tells you. “You wanted to be the one in control. It scares you more than anything not to be. But honey, it’s time to accept the truth. You weren’t in control from the moment you stepped in this room.”

You feel his cock drag slowly out of you, before slamming back in so hard that the force lifts your hips off the bed. The shock makes you yelp.

“Doesn’t it feel so good to let go? You begged me to fuck you earlier. Really, I’m just giving you what you want.”

“Want… want you to cum in me,” you pant.

Your eyes are heavy, but you open them to look at Crane as you say it. You watch his eyes darken as he looks down at you.

“Just like I thought,” he says. “You wanted it to go like this. Your little cocktail of Ambien and Viagra was just a safety net, pretend, so that you wouldn’t have to admit to yourself just how much the idea of losing control over me turned you on. But something got twisted in that fucked up little head of yours, and now you can only cum if I tell you to. Is that right?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe.

“Good.” Crane smiles darkly. “And now you’re going to come one more time for me. We’re not stopping until you do.”

You can tell that he’s serious, and you can already feel your third orgasm building. He's right, about all of it. He's read you like a book, and laid bare the things that you couldn't even admit to yourself. There's a terrifying intimacy in the way he seems to get inside your head, and maybe that is what you wanted all along.

You don't have long to consider it, though, because Crane is pulling at your wrist and bringing your fingers up to his lips. He sucks on your pointer and middle fingers, taking them into his mouth and swirling his tongue as he looks down at you. You're frozen in his glare, unable to look away despite feeling like you're on the verge of passing out.

When he's done, Crane moves your hand so that it's pressed between the two of you, wet fingers brushing against your clit. You squirm, and Crane smiles again.

“Good girl.”

His thrusts are slower, but more powerful now. Even without moving your fingers, your clit is getting rubbed with each surge of his hips, as he forces your body into the mattress.

“S-so close,” you gasp.

“I know, sweetheart,” Crane rasps in reply. “I can feel you trying to hold it back, but you won't be able to for long. Come on my cock again.”

As he orders, you obey. It really is impossible to deny him. Your chest feels like it's about to collapse as you stop sucking in air, and your mouth hangs open, useless, as you freeze in time for just a moment when the orgasm finally floods through you, dulling all your other senses. When you regain the slightest amount of control over your body, you cry out for him, rut your hips against his, bring your hands up to claw at his shoulders.

“I told you you'd do it,” Crane pants. “Now it's my turn.”

He pumps into you again, the friction against your too-sore clit almost unbearable. But you're so drunk off his cock that you don't care. The pain is pleasure by this point, and you hold tight to him in a desperate attempt to make him finish inside you, just like you wanted.

Crane is so much stronger than you, though, and he tears away just as he reaches his peak. He isn't careful with his aim; painting you and the bed with white lust as he empties messily, all over you. It's in your face; your hair; and splattered across your chest like fresh blood. You bask in the feeling of being marked by him.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Your chest is heaving with each breath. Crane, still on top of you, brushes a hand against your cheek and uses his thumb to collect some of his spent cum. He brings it down to your clit as he slips out of you, pressing against the still-sensitive nub.

“Ah!”

Overstimulated, you arch your back at his touch. His thumb is rough, but the lubrication of his cum on it feels good. He chuckles softly, and moves away.

“Get some rest,” Crane tells you. His eyes gloss over the bedside table, to where the syringe still waits. “You have a very long night ahead of you… I don't think that we've gotten even, yet.”

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #jonathan crane #LemmyFics

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roosterforme · 15 days

Text

Covering the Classics Part 5 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob was willing to try to be friends with Anna, but he knew his feelings wouldn't go away overnight. The more time he spent around her, the harder it seemed to make that happen. When Bradley and Jake make a suggestion about Bob's dating agenda, Anna doesn't seem crazy about it. And Bob ends up even more confused by her actions than her words.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, mentions of cheating, eventually 18+

Length: 5700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Being friends with Anna was one of the worst things Bob had ever had to do. But being around her while still keeping his distance was better than the alternative, so he had to do it. When she texted him, he responded immediately, and he couldn't stop thinking about how much he'd like to hold her hand.

She was all smiles when he saw her again a few days later. This time, she was the one who invited him out for a cup of coffee on Saturday morning, and he jumped at the chance to go. After cancelling his breakfast plans with Mickey with the promise that he'd be at the bar before Dungeons & Dragons, he hopped in his truck and drove off to meet Anna.

He was early, but she was already there. "Hey, Bob," she said, waving to him from a small table near the back as he approached. She already had two drinks in front of her, and Bob's brow creased in something like annoyance as he made his way to her.

"I was going to pay for your coffee," he said, meeting her brown eyes as he dropped slowly into the empty seat.

"You paid the other day," she replied, sliding the hot tea a little closer to him. "Plus, you bought me two books."

All Bob could think about as he looked at her tentative smile was the fact that he wanted nothing more than to buy Anna every book she wanted for the rest of her life. Massive anthologies and slim romance novels and poetry collections and autobiographies... he wanted to get her every single one that sparked her interest. He wanted to catch her attention in just the same way literature did. He wanted to be what she curled up in bed with after a long day.

Bob cleared his throat. "Thanks for the tea, but next time I'm paying."

"Deal," she said softly before blowing on her hot coffee with another smile.

"Great. In that case, we can go out for an expensive lobster dinner," he told her with a little grin. "You already agreed."

Anna looked at him as she took a sip. "Is an expensive lobster dinner something friends would enjoy together?" she asked, cocking her head to the side.

Bob's heart started beating a little faster. "I think friends can do whatever they want."

She studied him for a moment before reaching into her tote bag and pulling out a book. "This is for you. It's from my own personal stash, so it's a little worn out, but I thought you might like to borrow it."

When he accepted the dog eared paperback copy of The Remains of the Day, her fingers brushed against his. "Thank you. I'll add it to my list of Dr. Webber recommendations."

She blushed slightly, and her hand went to her cheek as she said, "Dr. Webber. Sometimes I still can't believe I finished my doctorate after putting it on hold for so long."

Bob sipped his tea. "Why did you put it on hold? It's easy to see how much it means to you."

Anna chewed on her lip before she softly said, "I made some bad decisions, but I won't be doing that again. Do you want to split a croissant?"

----------------------------

"So," Jessica said, heaving a deep sigh at lunchtime on Monday. She looked like she had just received some devastating news, and when Anna glanced toward her other friend holding her tie dyed lunchbox, she found a similar expression on her face as well. "It's true? You and Bob are friends?"

"You don't have to say it like that," Anna replied, dropping down onto the bench between the two of them with the weird looking tree behind her. "You were the ones who encouraged me to make a new friend in the first place!"

"We thought you'd snap out of it after like ten minutes alone with him again," Advanced Calculus said as she bit into the pretty lunch that Bradley had clearly packed for her. "Poor Bob."

Anna scuffed the toe of her old, beat up shoe along the concrete in front of her as she sipped her can of ginger ale. "It's not like I'm some amazing option or something," she muttered, remembering how adorable he looked when she handed him her own book for him to borrow. "Bob could do better."

"Anna!" Jessica gasped. "Don't say that about yourself! It's simply not true! You're the best!"

Anna swallowed hard, embarrassment starting to fill her up as tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She wasn't used to being around anyone who said kind words to or about her. The fact that she almost couldn't handle hearing them was making her feel vulnerable. "I just mean... I'm not really emotionally available, so it would be in his best interest to stop returning my crush on him." She was fairly certain she wouldn't be able to stop her own feelings at this point.

The other two women were quiet for a beat, and Anna started to get nervous, but then there was a fancy container of veggies and some sort of dip being held out in front of her. She helped herself to a carrot stick as her friend finally asked, "Are you ready to talk about Kevin?"

She crunched hard into the carrot before saying, "I don't like to talk about cheaters."

Jessica made a disgusted sound and said, "That's probably half of the male population. But... I think it's safe to talk about Bob." Anna groaned, and Jessica quickly added, "Okay, fine, I'll stop now!"

"Kevin cheated on you?" Advanced Calculus said, cutting right to the chase. "What a fucking dick."

"Yeah," Anna whispered, wondering why this lunch meetup was becoming so emotional. "It went on for years, as far as I can tell. I was just too busy working and trying to stay above water to notice at first. He's... still with her. I think." But Anna knew the truth; all Kevin really did was find an upgrade and stick with her. He found another medical doctor with a thriving career, just like himself.

"Men are disgusting," Jessica said ferociously. "I was going through a bit of a rough patch when I met Jake, so keep your head up, okay? There are some good ones out there."

Anna snorted. "I think the two of you found the only good ones left."

"Nah. But I do think they might all be in the Navy."

--------------------------

Bob was surprised on Friday night when he got to the Hard Deck a little later than usual and found Anna there. The deep copper of her hair was illuminated by the lights above the pool table as she stood next to Jake, sipping a glass of ginger ale. She looked like she belonged here now, even though it was just her second visit, and when Bob got closer, he could hear her asking Jake about him.

"So everyone has a call sign? In the entirety of the United States Navy?"

"No," Jake replied with a chuckle. "Not everyone."

"And your call sign is Hangman? And Bradley's is Rooster?"

"That's right."

"What's Bob's?"

Bob smiled softly, enjoying the fact that she was asking about him without realizing he was standing right there. "It's just Bob," he said, making her jump a bit in surprise as she looked up and found him immediately with her dark eyes.

She examined him with a soft smile on her lips. "Just Bob. I think I like that better. I'd probably want to be just Anna if I had a call sign. Do you want to play pool with me? We can lose to Jessica together."

It took Bob a second to put everything together in his mind. Anna wasn't making fun of his call sign where everyone else usually would have been. And now she was holding out a pool cue toward him with a hopeful look on her face that was slowly starting to fade away as he stood motionless. "Yes," he finally said, reaching out to take it from her. Just like at the coffee shop, their fingers met briefly, and Bob just wanted to hold her hand in the worst way. And maybe try to count her freckles. And maybe kiss her. He cleared his throat. "I'd love to play. Losing to Jessica is so much fun."

"It's everyone's favorite way to spend a Friday night!" Jessica replied, brandishing a Sam Adams in one hand and a blue chalk cube in the other.

"No way, Smart Girl. I like what comes later even better," Jake replied, wrapping his arm around her waist, and Bob had to look away as he kissed his girlfriend. Jake had been talking about engagement rings in the locker room the other day, and Bob was sworn to secrecy.

He promised not to say anything. He wouldn't. The two of them belonged together, and Bob could tell how happy they would be, but he still felt nauseatingly jealous of their love. Especially when Jessica kissed Jake and whispered, "Save the dirty talk for later."

Bob's eyes found Anna's as she got the table set up. He was going to work really hard at this friendship thing, but someday when he inevitably saw her with another guy's arms wrapped around her, hugging her, he was certain he was going to have to excuse himself from her presence. But for now, all he could do was look at her.

"Do I have something on my face?" she asked, touching her cheek after she set the eight ball in place.

"Just a cute smile," Bob replied, and then he had the distinct desire to disappear as said smile grew a little bigger before she pressed her lips together. Clearly he couldn't be trusted not to make things weird. "Let's play."

They were about five minutes into the game when Bradley and his wife walked over, and Bob was really enjoying the way Anna accidentally bumped into him. Twice. But then he was reminded of the other topic of conversation that had been brought up in the locker room at work.

"Hey Bob, you still thinking about downloading a dating app?" Bradley asked him casually. Anna fumbled and dropped the blue chalk that she was holding. Bob picked it up and handed it to her, but she didn't even meet his eyes when she took it.

"Uh, I might," he replied, watching Anna miss her shot at the nine ball by a mile. Bradley and Jake were the ones who mentioned the app to begin with, and when Bob showed the slightest bit of interest, they ran with the idea. "Still undecided."

"I can help you make a profile," Bradley said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'll just have to let me know if you'd rather find your soulmate or be knee deep in as much pussy as you can handle."

Bob felt his cheeks warm up as Bradley's wife smacked him on the chest and told him to be quiet. When he chanced a glance at Anna, she was already looking at him with wide, brown eyes. Truthfully, Bob kind of wanted to find his soulmate and be getting a lot of pussy, but just from that one person.

"Can we talk about this later?" he muttered, sinking the nine ball for his team when it was finally his turn.

"Sure. We can download it later," Bradley said with a smirk that didn't quite sit well with Bob. That wasn't what he meant at all, and now Anna wasn't even looking at him. It took him bringing her another glass of ginger ale for her to even acknowledge he was still there.

"Thanks," she said softly as she took it from him. They'd been trounced by Jess and Jake, and now they were standing off to the side together. "You know," she added, "if you download a dating app, you'd probably get a lot more attention if you put up a photo of you in your uniform. Or one of those jumpsuit things."

Bob shook his head and looked at his feet. "You'd swipe right?" he asked before he could think better of it.

Anna laughed and said, "Honestly? I'd swipe right if you were wearing your Dungeons & Dragons shirt."

Once again, he didn't know what to say. She only wanted to be friends with him, but this was the second time she told him she found him attractive. "It's called a flight suit," he said, waiting for her to meet his eyes. When she did, she looked confused. "Not a jumpsuit."

She smiled again at the clarification. "Well, whatever they are, I like them. And the call signs. Especially yours. You seem like you don't need a lot of fancy stuff. Just Bob."

"Just Bob," he whispered. He didn't need anything fancy, but right now he sure wanted Anna.

--------------------------

On Tuesday at lunchtime, Anna was the first one to the bench, and she had to sit there awkwardly and hope that her friends showed up. She could be back in her office, alone, thinking about what she wanted to do in her next Feminist Literature lecture. She was about to text them when she glanced up as Jessica's glasses reflected the bright sunlight, and both women were heading her way. Then she saw her beat up copy of The Remains of the Day held in the same hand that was holding the tie dye lunchbox.

"This is from Bob. He gave it to Bradley to give to me, and I had to promise to give it to you."

Anna took the book from her and whispered, "Thank you." Had Bob already finished reading another of her recommended books? Was he really this perfect? That's when she noticed there was a slip of paper peeking out between the pages, and she barely heard her two friends talking as she pulled it out.

Anna,

You really need a bookmark. All of the dog eared pages made me feel terrible for this poor book as I read it. I enjoyed the story immensely, but seriously, you need to stop folding the pages over to save your spot. Unless it was your intention to bring an element of horror into the tale? If so, well done. Also, now that I have your attention, do you feel like grabbing a drink on Thursday evening? We could go to Chippy's and eat some of the best peanuts in the world. Just text me and let me know.

Bob

She whimpered softly. Everything this man did delighted her. She wanted to recommend a dozen more books to him if it meant she could have one more little handwritten note to tuck away. Or to use as the bookmark that would keep him from stressing out about the pages.

"Earth to Anna," Jessica said, waving a hand in front of her face and making her finally look up.

"Bob asked me to go to Chippy's with him," she blurted out, holding the note tight in her hand.

"Oh!" Advanced Calculus gasped. "You should go!"

"No," Advanced Physics whined. "That was supposed to be a girls' night outing!"

"I want her to go. It's the only thing that will get Bob off the dating app. I can't believe Bradley brought that up in the first place. He doesn't know a damn thing about it."

"I want her to go with us for the first time!"

Anna looked back and forth between the two of them, that familiar whiplash feeling returning as they argued with her in the middle. But in the meantime, she got her phone out and texted Bob.

If we go to Chippy's without Jessica, I think she might have a fit.

Bob must have been on his lunch break as well, because he wrote back a minute later while the two of them were still arguing.

Bob Floyd: All the more reason to do it, really.

Anna laughed quietly as she told him about her office hours on Thursday, promising to meet him for some life changing peanuts at 7:15. Then she put her phone away and announced, "I'm going with Bob. The three of us can go to Chippy's on a different night."

Jessica looked mildly annoyed while her other friend looked smug and said, "Get him off the dating app. Those women will eat that sweet man alive."

But Anna knew she couldn't and shouldn't even try to do anything about that. Friends were supposed to be supportive of each other, and Bob was her friend. Just her friend. But when she thought about how much attention he was probably getting, it just made her so sad. She could have had that. She could have been the one with his beautiful eyes focused on her while she inhaled his delicious scent.

Maybe she'd just make one quick comment about the app when they were together. "I'll see what I can do."

---------------------------

Of course Bob would get dismissed early on Thursday when he had nothing better to do than wait around until it was time to go to Chippy's with Anna. He skipped the locker room shower, opting to head home to get ready instead, and it looked like Jake and Bradley were of a similar mind as they walked out to the parking lot at the same time as him.

"You said you'd share your lasagna recipe," Bradley said, annoyance laced in his voice. "Sugar really likes it."

"I said I would think about it," Jake replied smoothly. "It's not like you need help getting laid. It's not like you're Bob. No offense, Bob."

He just sighed and glared at the blonde. "I don't need help getting laid."

"Sure, pal," Jake replied as he approached his truck. "But I'll give you a free tip anyway. I'm going to go home and shower and pack up dinner. Then I'm going to stop and get some flowers for Jess, because girls like that shit. Then I'm going to her office hours where the combination of a homemade meal and pretty flowers will have her pulling her panties off as soon as I walk in."

"Please," Bob moaned. His stomach turned at the thought of Jessica, who made up a ridiculous voice for her D&D character, removing any article of her clothing. "Please stop. She's my friend."

"So is Anna," Bradley said with a smirk. "Did you download Tinder yet? Or are you going to stop and get some flowers and man up before you go to Chippy's?"

He didn't know how to explain to them that the last thing he wanted to do was push her away, and he was almost certain that a romantic gesture like giving her flowers would do just that. He also wished he hadn't even told them that he and Anna were going to Chippy's together. It was another excuse to see her, sure, but he was convinced she'd really like the peanuts.

"I have it under control," Bob muttered, passing Bradley's Bronco and heading for his own truck. Anna told him she'd made some bad decisions in her life, and he wanted to know more. Maybe going out tonight would be a way for her to open up to him a little bit. He knew from real life as well as some of the books he read that love could be built on solid friendships, but he tried not to tell himself that something like that could work out for him. Friendship was enough.

"Robert!" Suzanne called from her open front door as he walked up the path. "You're home early."

"Hey, Suzanne. Yeah, got out early today."

"You know what you should do, Robert? You should spend this extra time getting on a dating app."

He paused with his key in the lock of his own front door and listened to the game show that she was watching as the sound filtered outside. "Thanks so much for that amazing idea, Suzanne. Have a great night."

It didn't take him too long to get ready, and while he definitely didn't want to show up at Chippy's with a bouquet of flowers, he came up with another idea. A better idea. And if he could manage to locate Anna's office in the English building, he would meet her there.

---------------------------

Anna had one student show up to her office hours, and even then, it was just so he could complain about how they were only reading 'books by girls' in English 522.

"It's Feminist Literature," she explained slowly. "The main themes and topics revolve around equality of the sexes and advocacy for women's rights. The female point of voice is what we are exploring this semester."

"But why is it all chicks? I don't really like these books."

She sighed and said, "Everything has been on the syllabus since the first lecture, and I haven't deviated from it. If you don't think you can handle it, then I suggest your drop the class."

When he finally left, she groaned and put her head down on her desk. Just a few more minutes, and she could go meet Bob. Bob Floyd. The man who read books by authors of every kind. The man who would probably enjoy sitting in one of her lectures. The man of her dreams.

"Fuck you, Kevin," she whispered before picking her head up and fixing her braid. When there was another knock on her door, she jumped in her seat. "Come in!"

And then there he was, pushing the door open and filling up her tiny office with his broad shoulders and handsome features. Bob smiled at her, and she immediately believed everything would be okay forever. "Hi," she whispered, standing up behind her desk, the large piece of furniture the only thing between them now. "Bob."

Then her eyes dipped down as he held out his hand. "These are for you." He was holding a six pack of ginger ale cans, and it was then that the smell of clean soap and hot tea invaded her senses. "An office warming gift."

"You're sweet," she said softly, and he smiled as she accepted the treat from him. "Thanks."

He just shrugged and looked around the room. "Nice place you got here."

Anna laughed. "You don't have to lie about it. You're tall enough that you could touch that wall with your hand and the opposite wall with your foot at the same time," she said, pointing from one side of the space to the other.

"It's still nice," he told her as he adjusted his glasses. "You must have two hundred books in here. And it smells like a library. And bread?"

She nodded and said, "That's because I'm near the cafeteria. You get used to it."

Bob's laughter and genuine smile had her whole body clenching. "Smells better than jet fuel. You ready to go to Chippy's?"

"Yeah." It came out like a whine. This felt like a date. She wanted it to be a date. She wanted to live in an alternate universe where she could feasibly date someone. As she set her ginger ale cans down and picked up her office key and tote bag, she started to make her way to the door. When she stopped, Bob bumped into her, his hands landing on her waist.

"Sorry," he muttered, and he put some space between their bodies immediately.

"It's okay," she replied, pulling the door closed and locking it. Anna couldn't control the thundering of her heart as they walked side by side down the hallway and stepped outside into the cool, evening air. What was she supposed to talk about with her friend Bob when she just kept thinking about his hands on her body? She cleared her throat as they walked quietly down the sidewalk toward the bar. "Did you wear your jumpsuit at work today?"

Bob's smirk made her giggle. "Flight suit, Anna. For someone who has a bunch of friends in the Navy, you could really use a tutorial. And yes, I did wear my flight suit."

She bit her lip and tried to picture him in it. "I liked your khaki uniform with all the pins on it."

His brow scrunched up as he looked at her, leading the way toward Chippy's. "When did you see my service khakis?"

Oh shit. She'd been staring at the selfie he sent from the bookstore so frequently, she just outed herself. "Um. You sent a picture to me. A while ago."

His features smoothed out as he held the bar door open for her to walk past him. "Right." His voice sounded a little deeper as she passed him. "Forgot about that."

She sure hadn't, and she never ever would. Scrambling for something to say as she walked across the sticky floor littered with peanut shells toward a group of students drinking beers, she blurted out, "I thought all Naval uniforms were navy blue."

When he pulled out a stool for her at a high top table, she took a seat. His voice was close to her ear as he said, "Your tutorial begins now. Can't have you embarrassing yourself like this next time you come to the Hard Deck. You want a beer?"

She wasn't much of a drinker, and the last thing she needed was something that would amplify the way her heart felt like it was beating erratically right now, but she simply nodded. Then Bob disappeared, leaving her really wondering what this tutorial might include. She tracked his movements back toward the bar where an older man with a deep scowl on his face started to reach for two pint glasses. Bob pulled his wallet out of his snug pocket, and Anna was too distracted to realize that he was paying for something for her. Again.

"Damn it," she groaned, realizing how quickly she was slipping tonight. She wanted Bob to explain in great detail everything about the United States Navy while she ate peanuts. She wanted to feed him some and let her fingertips brush his lips. "Stop it." He was returning to the table now, and she watched as two women at another table pointed at him subtly. He was so attractive, and the way he was carrying two full glasses cupped in one big palm left her dizzy.

"Here you go," he said, handing her one of the beers along with a big dish of peanuts. "Best peanuts in San Diego. I swear."

Anna took one and smashed it open as she said, "I'll be the judge of such things." Bob looked really sure of himself as he sat down opposite her, and as soon as she tasted it, she knew he was right. It was roasted to perfection with just the perfect amount of salt. "Oh, god."

"Told you," he replied, reaching into the dish for a few. "But don't tell Penny I said that. I don't want to break her heart."

And that was just thing about Bob. Anna would have believed him if he said he never wanted to break anyone's heart. His fingers brushed against her as they both reached for more peanuts at the same time, but he ended up scooting them a little closer to her.

"There are some that are navy blue," he said, his eyes bright behind his glasses. "Uniforms, that is."

"I knew it!"

"But we hardly ever wear them," he added with a soft smile. "We wear the white ones even less frequently."

"White ones?" Anna asked as she took a sip of her beer, eyes fixed on Bob's fingers as he worked a peanut out of the shell. She could write poetry about his hands, they were just that graceful and strong looking. He was talking, but she could barely keep up with the conversation, and when she set her beer down, it was half empty.

"But that's just when I fly with Phoenix," he was saying. "I've been getting tossed around from pilot to pilot recently, which I hate. But my flight suits are what I wear the most, followed by my khaki uniform."

"It looked nice on you," Anna whispered loudly, surprised that she said it out loud. Again.

"You said that before," Bob replied, his cheeks flushed a delicious shade of pink. Would he feel warm to the touch? Why was it so hot inside Chippy's? Why did Anna agree to come here without the girls?

She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants, wishing she wasn't so awkward. "Why did you study aviation? You seem like you'd have been a spectacular English major."

Bob shrugged. "A free ride to the Naval Academy is prestigious enough that you just don't turn that down. Where did you get your PhD?"

Anna hated answering this question, but she'd be honest with Bob. "I started out at Princeton, but it was expensive, and I decided to use my money for... other things. I finished at a state school. A New Jersey state school."

"But you finished," he said with a smile as she gulped down the rest of her beer in one go. "You've got more letters after your name than I do."

Anna laughed, because he wasn't wrong. "But you've got more letters before your name than I do. Lieutenant Floyd."

"No, I don't," he said easily. "Dr. Webber."

"Shit," she croaked, really feeling the beer now. "You're right. That sounds so badass."

"It is badass," he promised as Anna's head swam with warmth and desire and contentment. He cracked open another peanut, slipping it between his parted lips. She leaned in a little closer, and his eyes went wide at what she said.

"Did you download a dating app? I don't think you should. The guys don't know what they're talking about, and you don't really need it. You could get anyone."

Bob studied her as she tried to keep her expression neutral, fingers spinning her empty glass around nervously in front of her. "No," he said slowly. "I didn't download an app. If I'm being honest, I think I'm still hung up on the idea of meeting someone and falling for them naturally. Like accidentally bumping into them in a bookstore." Her mouth went dry as he softly said, "That's kind of what I always wanted."

It was her. She was the one he bumped into before they even knew they had mutual friends. She was that girl from the bookstore. Why couldn't she have this? She wanted it, too! And now he thought she didn't.

"It's okay," he said before finishing off his beer. "We can be friends." He set the glass down, and Anna felt his gaze move from her lips up to her eyes. "You ready to go?"

"Yes," she whispered, slowly reaching for her things. "Thanks for the beer."

Bob shrugged as he helped her down from the stool. "Any excuse to come to Chippy's."

As they walked past the clusters of students on their way toward the door, Anna waved to the bartender. "Does he always look that cranky?"

"Ol' Chippy? Yes. Always."

She made a point to wave a little more vigorously as Bob's hand found her side and guided her outside while she laughed. "Sorry, I'm a bit of a lightweight, and now it's my goal to get him to laugh."

"I have a feeling you'll be working on that mission for a while," Bob said close to her ear. "Are you drunk?"

"No," she whispered. "Just silly."

Bob couldn't seem to help himself as he chuckled and led her along the sidewalk with one hand resting softly between her shoulder blades. "I don't really know what that means yet when it comes to you, Anna. Let me drive you home."

"Okay. It's not far," she replied, trying to imagine what it would be like if Bob ever saw the inside of her tiny apartment as she rattled off her street address. She climbed into his truck with a little bit of help, and then he reached for her seatbelt before pausing and placing it in her hand.

"Buckle up," he told her as she stared down into his face.

"I will," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "If you promise not to download that app."

His lips twitched into a smile. "You have my word."

Bob walked around the front of his truck before climbing in and starting up the engine. He played with the radio dials while he drove as Anna breathed in her surroundings. Everything smelled good in here where Bob's fresh soap scent seemed to blend with the tang of jet fuel. She had to press her thighs together as she imagined running her nose along the front of his flight suit before he got himself cleaned up after a shift at work.

"Oh no," she whispered as Bob pulled up to a red light a few streets from where she lived. Sky Writing's poetry swirled around in her mind, and she was afraid she might have whispered the words out loud when Bob turned and looked at her in surprise.

"What did you just say?" he asked, eyeing her closely.

She thought about the words she had memorized once again. Passion pulses through my veins like a wild river. Binding me to you in a dance of fire.

"Nothing," she told him as the car behind his truck honked, still sitting after the light turned green.

When he parked at the curb in front of her building, he turned toward her with curious eyes and whispered, "I thought you said-"

But Anna had reached her limit with Bob. She released her seatbelt and leaned toward him, feeling more and more sure of herself the closer she got to his mouth. Then she pressed her lips gently to his and whimpered as she kissed him. Bob reached out and ran his graceful fingers along her cheek, and Anna melted into him before he abruptly pulled away.

"Anna. I don't think this is something friends do," he croaked, voice raspy enough that she was forced to consider that she just kissed him.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, hauling herself back across the seat and throwing the door open. "I'm so sorry, Bob."

--------------------------

I can't decide if that was a mistake or not on Anna's part. But the longing got to be too much for her. She wants him badly. I hope she doesn't go into hiding. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 6

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