#vee writes

Bro literally asks yuuken's permission to date you. Just because of how much respect he has for him after he helped riddle with his overblot. You're definitely his first girlfriend, I mean we all know how his mom is. There is no way he has dated anyone else before you.

The way he finds out about your strength is actually through an accident. Heartslabyul was getting ready for an unbirthday party, when the students had put one of the tables in the wrong area. He was gonna ask you to help lift it with some other students, when you just picked up the whole table by yourself.

MY ROSE!! Put down that table before you hurt yourself!!

Would not ask yuuken's permission to date you. While Leona grew up learning to respect women, he doesn't think it's important to ask your brother because you're your own person. You can make your own choices, you don't need yuuken to make it for you.

Leona I think is the least surprised at your strength. He literally talks about how strong the women are from Sunset Savanna. He first witnesses your strength in P.E. one, probably the only class he regularly attends. He sees you shove a Beastman twice your size to the side to make a score for the game you were playing.

"Herbivore, don't think you can go pushing me around now too."

Would ask for yuuken's permission to date you. Though the main reason is that he's mostly curious about how human traditions work and he's heard that usually the boyfriend asks permission to date the daughter. Since your father or parent figure isn't with you guys, he decides to ask yuuken.

To be honest he doesn't know if he should be nervous or attracted to your strength (it's definitely the latter.) He finds out your strength through when you volunteer to help out at the lounge. Floyd was messing around while serving some customers and hit an aquarium behind him, luckily you were walking past to head to the kitchen. Seeing it starting to tip over you managed to uplift it and put it back on the table, it had been on before.

Angelfish, are you okay?! What- you fixed it??

Would not ask, jamil sees you as your own person. Your brother doesn't own you, so why would he ask yuuken's permission to date you. Hates the idea of asking permission like someone does owns you. You know what you want, not anyone else.

Is a little shocked but proud?? He probably first saw it at one of kalim's parties. You were helping him bring out another round of food. Instead of carrying two or three trays of food like he was. You had managed to balance five to six on your own. He was a little panicked at first, thinking you might drop all the food he just made. Though you showed perfect strength and balance carrying all the trays.

You drop all the food and you're remaking it, habibti.

Hard 50/50, on one hand he respects that you're your own individual person. So you can choose who you wanna be with. On the other hand after everything yuuken has done, he kinda respects him enough to ask. In the end though I think he comes to the conclusion to not ask. You choose your own path, not your brother.

I think he's a little surprised but not too much. i think vil from just looking at someone can tell how strong they are. He's more surprised in how you choose to show off your strength. You guys were getting ready for the SDC, when moving around equipment. One of the speakers almost fell right over on top of one of the students, luckily you were near them and managed to push it up away from the student.

"Sweet potato, please be careful. You don't wanna strain yourself before the competition even begins."

Wouldn't ask, mostly out of fear. He would probably think yuuken doesn't think he's good enough for you. So he just doesn't ask yuuken permission. I mean he probably doesn't even ask you, you would have to ask him out. He decides you can decide if he's good enough for you or not.

Is probably one of the most surprised ones, he probably finds out when you offer to help him lift some of the machine parts for the new commission he is working on. He turns around to tell you no and you're already holding the largest piece of the project like it's nothing to you.

"Flame-e!? Since when do you have SSR tier strength!!"

Wouldn't ask, mostly because he didn't know it was a thing. Malleus still has a lot to learn about human culture and that includes the way humans date. So he didn't really know it was a thing for him to ask yuuken. I think if he did know it was a thing he would ask yuuken since yuuken is his best friend.

Wouldn't be surprised, mostly of the fact that lilla has probably told malleus and the others stories of his past all the time. So he knows humans can be capable of such strength. The way he finds out how strong you are is on one of your nightly walks. You and malleus were exploring a part of the old ruins nearby when you guys moving around caused a part of the building to become unstable. The building shakes around before a big part of the roof falls. Malleus is too busy talking about the ruins to notice it falling right above him. Pushing him out of the way, you manage to catch the piece of ceiling before tossing it on the ground.

"My flower, are you hurt at all? You didn't need to do that."

The heavy oak deadbolt slides into place with a metallic thud, locking the roaring chaos of the Midsummer Feast on the other side. In the echoing quiet of Legolas’ private chambers, the air is already thick with the humid steam of the sunken marble bath – drawn hours ago by the palace staff and kept scalding by the hearth hidden beneath the carved floor. 

You do not lose a second. You turn to the attendants adjusting the linen towels by the basin. 

“Leave us,” you command, your voice carrying the crisp  authority of a lieutenant. “The Prince requires no further assistance tonight. Clear the chambers by the rear stairwell.” 

The servants bow quickly, keeping their eyes lowered. They slip out through the side corridor before they could look too closely at the heir of their realm, who leans his shoulder heavily against a carved stone pillar, his eyes glassy and dark. 

Once the tapestry settles behind them, you stride to the edge of the steaming bath, grab a handful of dried, crushed mint and winter-bark from a silver vanity and toss it into the water. The water hisses, the sharp scent of the woods blooming in the air, cutting through the cloyingly sweet stench of Dorwinion grapes clinging to his skin.

A frustrated grunt echoes from the stone pillar. 

You look back. Legolas curses under his breath in fragmented Sindarin, his usually lithe fingers tugging blindly at the reinforced bracer on his left forearm. He succeeds in only tightening the knot, his jaw clenching in irritation at his own sluggish movements. He yanks at it again, his heavy riding boots dragging on the rug as he sways. He glares down at them, and kicks them off his feet, swaying backwards dangerously. 

“Legolas, stop,” you murmur, stepping away from the bath and crossing the stone floor into his space. “You are only making it worse. Let me.”

“The laces are… knotted,” he rasps. He does not yield the arm immediately, stubbornly trying to force the leather over his hand. “The eyelets will not align. The room keeps shifting.”

“The room is perfectly still,” you say, catching his wrists to force his fumbling hands away from the leather. “It is your head that is spinning. Stand straight.” 

The moment your fingers clamp onto his wrist, the radiating heat of his body hits you like a wall. Legolas stops fighting the leather. His hands go slack, and his dark, dilated gaze snaps down to focus on your face. 

You drop your eyes to his forearm, deliberately avoiding his stare. Your fingers work the stubborn leather laces of his bracers, untangling the knot with the practiced efficiency of seventy years of duty. 

“You drank half the private stores of Dorwinion,” you mutter, your voice hushed but frantic as you strip away the first leather guard, letting it fall to the floor. “If your father had looked to the right during the toast — if he had seen the way you were holding your chalice—”

“He was looking at the lords of Mithlond,” Legolas interrupts softly. He did not sound like a prince right now, but as someone dazed and dangerously unbothered. “He did not see me. No one saw me.”

“I saw you,” you snap, your fingers moving to the silver buckles of his doublet, your knuckles inadvertently brushing against the linen of his shirt underneath. “The entire vanguard line saw you. You were staring across the hall like a madman.”

“I was looking at my shadow,” he murmurs. 

Your fingers falter on the second buckle. You keep your eyes trained rigidly on his collar, your heart hitting a sudden and erratic thud against your ribs. “Do not talk nonsense, Commander. Undo your shoulder guards.”

“I cannot,” he whispers, and there is a strange trace of a laugh in his chest. He does not lift his arms to help. Instead, before you can step back, his large hands come down, his palms anchoring firmly onto the sides of your waist. “I told you. The floor is moving like river-boats. If I let go of you, I will fall.”

Your breath hitches, your spine freezing as his thumbs press through the stiff fabric of your uniform, holding you flush in his space. 

“Legolas, remove your hands,” you whisper, the strict military mask faltering, revealing the desperate panic underneath. “We are in your chambers, but I am still on duty. Let go.”

He leans down, his face dropping into the crook of your neck, his wine-sweet breath fanning across your collarbone as he lets out a heavy sigh. 

“The deadbolt is thick,” he slurs against your skin, his grip tightening on your waist until it is almost bruising. “The uniform is off…the court is gone. Let me hold you until the room stops spinning.”

The warmth of his breath against your neck sends a traitorous shiver straight down your spine. For a second, your hands hover uselessly over the remaining silver buckles of his doublet, your knuckles trembling against his chest. The scent of the mint and winter-bark steam envelops you both like a shroud, your skin tingling in the mist. You tug at the buckles once more, and the shoulder guards and doublet tumble onto the floor, forgotten. 

You have to get him in the water. You have to sober him up before your own resolve disintegrates entirely.

“Legolas, lean back. Walk with me,” you say, your voice clipped. You wrap your arms around his torso, trying to bear his dead weight as you force your feet to take slow, dragging steps backwards toward the edge of the sunken bath. “Three steps. Just three steps and you can sit.” 

“Too many steps,” he mutters against your skin, his voice a mere lazy vibration. He barely lifts his feet, simply letting you drag him, his fingers tightly hooked into the leather at your waist, entirely refusing to yield an inch of the proximity. “Why are we…why are we walking?”

“Because you are going to ruin us both if you collapse on the stone,” you breathe, your heel finally finding the smooth lip of the marble. “Sit down, Legolas. Let go of my waist and sit—”

He did not let go.

Instead of releasing you, his grip tightens. His boot catches on the raised trim of the marble basin, his already compromised balance giving way as his larger frame tilts forward into the steam. 

You don’t even have time to gasp. With his hands clasped firmly around your hips, he pulls you straight down with him. The world inverts in a deafening explosion of white foam and scalding water. 

The pool swallows you both whole. For a suffocating, disorienting moment, you are submerged in churning heat, the dark grape of the wine and sharp sting of the crushed mint flooding your senses. The heavy wool of your lieutenant’s uniform and thick leather of your boots instantly turn to lead, holding you down. 

A moment later, your head breaks the surface. You gasp for air, coughing as you push your soaked bangs out of your eyes. The silver steam of the bath rises in thick clouds from the disturbance. You jam your toe against your heel, aggressively kicking the heavy leather off your feet and letting the boots sink into the shadow of the basin. 

Legolas rises beside you, the water cascading off his broad shoulders in a torrential sheet. His intricate warrior braids completely unravel, the long blonde silk of his hair plastered against his chest and neck. He looks beautifully unhinged, water dripping from his jaw as he blinks through the fog, a slow, dazed smile spreading across his face. 

“What did you do?” you hiss, panic finally breaking through your defenses like a flash of ice water. You lunge forward, your soaked leather gloves slapping against his slick shoulders as you try to push away from him. “Legolas! Look at my gear. Look at what you’ve done!” 

“The uniform…” he slurs, a laugh bubbling in his chest as he sways in the water. He does not move back. “It is too stiff anyway. Always…always so stiff.”

“This is not a joke,” you rasp, your chest heaving as you fight the dragging weight of your wet tunic, eyes darting frantically towards the bolted door. You unbuckle your own shoulder guards and doublet, squirming against his grip. You toss the waterlogged leather out of the bath, peeling your gloves off along with it. The linen of your undershirt clings to your upper body like a second skin, and you don’t miss how his half-moon eyes wander down, pupils blown wide as he meets your gaze again. “If the guards heard that splash—if anyone comes through that door, it is my sword they will take. It is my name they will ruin. I will be stripped of my rank and exiled before the sun hits the gates.”

The word exile did not sober him. It seemed to strike his dizzy brain like a physical blow, turning his lazy drunken smile into a look of frantic terror. 

He shakes his head, his wet hair spraying droplets across your face. His grip on your waist tightens, with a force which surely leaves bruises blooming in its wake. His large palms drag you through the water until your chest slams against his. He stumbles and wades forward, his feet slipping on the marble before he pins your shoulder blades flat against the slick wall of the bath. 

“No,” he whispers, voice cracking, thick with wine and desperation. He leans down, forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot and rapid against your lips. “No, no. No one… no one can take you. I will not let them.” His lips are but a hair’s breadth away, flushed and stained with wine. “I will throw the swords into the river. I will lock the gates.” 

“Legolas, you are out of your mind,” you whisper, hands pressing flat against his chest to try and put some space between your faces. “You are entirely drunk. Look at me, you don’t even know what you are saying. Tomorrow you will—”

“I know what I am saying,” he interrupts, voice ragged. His hands slide up from your waist, fumbling blindly until they cup your jaw, fingers threading into the hair at the back of your head. You hiss slightly from the tension at the roots. His breath is heavy, his eyes — once a reflective, royal blue — stare into yours, dark and dilated, with an intensity you do not recognise.

"I know your steps. Seventy winters... seventy winters I have been counting them." He lets out a low, miserable sound, half a laugh and half a sob, letting his head drop to rest in the crook of your neck. 

“Three paces,” he mumbles against your skin, shaking his head slightly as if trying to clear a fog. “Every morning on the terrace. Every patrol. You walk behind me. Always…always behind me. Never beside me. I have spent a lifetime staring at the slant of your shoulder, wondering…absolute madness…wondering why I was not allowed to turn around.”

“Commander, please—”

“Do not,” he chokes out, his thumb dragging clumsily along your wet cheekbone, a burning trail left in its wake. He lifts his head to look at you again. “Do not call me that. Not here.” He swallows hard. “The water is… it is too hot. You are burning up. Or am I?”

He blinks heavily, his hands tremblings where they hold your face. The heat of the water and the swirling steam seems to blur his mind entirely. 

“It is like the cave,” he slurs, his voice softer and far away. "The northern pass... the ice cavern. We sat in the dark for three days. It was so cold, the air was turning to frost. My skin was freezing. But here... right here..." He drags his hand down from your face, grabbing your palm, pressing it against his chest. His heartbeat gallops; an erratic thud threatening to escape from his chest. Your own matches his. "I was on fire because your head was against my chest. I had to turn myself to stone. I had to freeze my own blood so I would not…not turn around and ruin us both in the dark." 

A droplet of water slides down his cheek, catching the dim candle glow of the room. He leans in closer, until his lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispers, composure undone by the decades of silent pining. 

“Look at the water now,” he says, each word fueling a glowing, consuming heat in your bones. “We are not freezing anymore. Let me burn. Let me burn alive…just do not make me go back to the ice. Do not go three paces away from me again.”

His lips find yours, blazing and urgent, and the hand that cupped your jaw slides to the back of your neck, angling your face, breaking down every barrier you built up, every military protocol that you seared into your mind for decades. 

He pulls back, breathless and desperate, panting against your mouth. “I will not let them take you from me,” he says, voice husky and raw. 

Damn the military protocols. 

Damn the rules of the court. 

Damn the fabric that separates you. 

You pull him back in, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and kiss him back, feverish and hungry. He groans against your lips as his arms wrap around you under the water, forearms locking around your back and pulling your chest flush with his. You melt into the kiss, the ghost of Dorwinion grapes dancing on your tongue, the heat of his body blazing against you in the water. 

He trails open-mouthed kisses along your jaw as a hand slides under your shirt and along your ribs, cupping your chest. You gasp as he continues down your neck, tongue languid and warm, kissing and nipping at the sensitive area above your collarbone, peppering marks that scatter across your skin like a constellation only he could bear witness to. 

“I need you closer,” he breathes into your neck, gossamer strands of his wet hair falling across your shoulder . 

The hot water made the fabric of your shirts entirely translucent, clinging to his broad chest and your skin like a futile attempt at modesty. His large hands hook onto the open collar of your wet shirt, his fingers clumsily tugging it up. You lift your arms to help him slide it off, baring your skin to the humid air. You reach for the hem of his sodden shirt, bundling the translucent linen and pulling it over his head, letting the wet cloth drift away into the dark water of the pool. 

When he straightens back up, you are both bare from the waist up, his torso radiating an unnatural, consuming heat that you wanted, needed, to feel against you. 

But the waterlogged wool of your trousers remains a frustrating barrier between your hips, blocking the very warmth you are starving for. Legolas feels it too; a low, frustrated groan leaves his lips as his hands dive beneath the churning surface, his thumbs dragging against your hip bones as he tries to pull the heavy fabric. His unsteady balance sways, his bare feet slipping slightly on the smooth floor of the pool. 

"Help me," he mumbles against your jaw, his grip uncoordinated but fiercely possessive as he clings to you. 

You catch his bare shoulders to steady him, guiding his warrior’s frame backward a half step as he sinks heavily onto the submerged marble bench behind him. Standing right between his knees, you lean down into the swirling mint-scented water, fingers finding his belt. There is no neat protocol to it — just a breathless urgency as you unbuckle the leather and peel the heavy wool down his muscular thighs. The water’s buoyancy carries the dead weight away effortlessly, and he kicks the trousers into the dark depths of the pool before his hands find your waist again. His touch is an impatient and demanding weight as you undo your own fastenings, sliding the last of the lieutenant’s uniform down your legs and letting it float away. 

When you slide back towards him, there is nothing left between you.

Legolas lets out a low sigh of relief, his bare thighs instantly locking around your hips beneath the surface, hauling you flush onto his lap. He is a furnace, his large hands cup the back of your thighs, anchoring you securely against him, pulling you impossibly closer. You run your hands up his smooth chest to his shoulders, rising and falling with heavy breaths. 

He does not move yet; he just holds you there, his chest heaving against yours, midnight-dark eyes blinking through the silver steam as if trying to memorize the feeling of your bare skin under the water. 

“Tell me I am not dreaming this,” he rasps, his voice wine-sweet against your lips. “Tell me I will not wake up on the terrace tomorrow with three paces between us.” He gazes up at you through thick lashes, droplets glistening on them as if on a silken web. The glow from the candles dances across his porcelain face, his cheeks flushed and lips swollen, and even now you think that he looks as if carved from pure starlight. 

“This is real,” you breathe, gently brushing his sharp jaw with your thumb. He shivers at your caress, eyes fluttering shut. “I am here, Legolas.” 

You lean down and his mouth finds yours again — no longer just a clumsy, drunken spill of words; it is a burning surrender to the fire you had both been running from for seventy years. Your hands slide up to lock behind his neck, your fingers tangling in the damp silk of his unraveled braids, as you sink onto his length, your mind going blank to all else but the feeling of him inside you. Legolas lets out a fractured groan, a sound that sends heat right to your core as it echoes off the damp tiled walls. 

The hot water laps at your chest as you move, the friction of your bare skin meeting under the water electrifying you, sending waves of pleasure coiling in your abdomen. You welcome the searing stretch as you take him, all of him; you welcome the burning of your thighs as you ride him in the churning water. 

Legolas shivers against you, moaning under his breath, a full-body tremor that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. He slumps forward slightly, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as his breathing goes ragged and fast. His lithe hands slide up from your thighs to your waist under the water, his thumbs pressing hard into your hipbones, fingernails leaving crescent imprints into your flushed skin. He anchors you to his lap so tightly that every frantic thud of his heart beats against your own ribs, every movement of his hips meets yours. 

“Mine,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your hot skin, sending a jolt of raging fire down your spine. He lets out a desperate groan, a broken mutter of hushed Sindarin, an unraveled confession he would never dare utter in the light. “My lieutenant, my shadow, my…you are mine. I will not let you go.”

"Yours," you promise him, tilting your head to give him better access, your own restraint completely melting into the steam. "Always yours." 

“They think I am a prince…” His grip tightens on your waist, the pace of his hips bruising and possessive, chasing his high. “But I am a beggar.” He bites your neck, teeth dragging along your skin, a moan escaping your mouth as you arch into him without thought. “I have been begging for…for a single glance from you for seventy winters. I have been starved of you.”

White hot pleasure rolls through your veins as you find your release, your arms going weak around his shoulders. His arms tighten around you, drawing you in flush against him, his own hips stuttering against yours as you feel his abdomen tighten. With a final groan you feel him tense against you, head buried in the crook of your neck, blonde hair draped over your shoulders like a gossamer curtain. 

After a long moment, Legolas tilts his head back against the marble rim of the pool, eyes fluttering shut. The frantic storm of his desperation has finally quieted, leaving only the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest against yours. Around you, the steam has begun to thin, and the amber glow of the candles on the vanity flicker out one by one, leaving the chamber bathed in the velvet dark of the moon and stars. 

The scalding water lost its edge long ago, turning soothing and cooling against your ribs, but Legolas does not budge beneath you. His hands are still hooked securely around your waist, his grip looser, softened by the deep pull of sleep, but no less unyielding. Every time you try to shift, to ease the weight on his thighs, his fingers tighten and pull you back flush against his sternum. 

“Legolas,” you whisper into the quiet room. “The fire in the hearth has died out. The water is getting cold. We have to get out.”

A hum reverberates deep in his chest. He does not open his eyes, but his head slides down to tuck over the crown of your head. 

“Stay,” he murmurs, his voice honeyed and sweet. “The water does not matter. I am warm. I have you.”

He lets out a sigh, his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles against your hip underwater, a tactile promise that he is not letting the distance return. 

“No more three paces,” he whispers into the dark, his voice growing closer to the hazy edge of dreams. “Tomorrow…you walk beside me. I am so tired of looking for you behind me. Walk beside me.”

He presses his lips to your temple, a soft and sacred vow. In the silver dark of the chamber you close your eyes, resting your forehead against his collarbone and listening to the steady beat of his heart. No longer erratic, no longer cold, but entirely and forevermore yours. 

A = Aftercare (After sex treatment)

Robby is exceptionally caring and gentle after sex. It starts with a warm towel to clean you off, whispering sweet nothings to you as you lie and recover. Then he runs a hot shower or bath with a glass of your favourite wine or a hot beverage, depending on the mood. While you’re relaxing, he changes the sheets if needed. He rubs and massages your back, kissing any little marks he left during the heated passion - small bruises, hickeys and scratches, all consensually left. He tells you how perfect and beautiful you are and how much he loves you. 

B = Body Part (His favourite on you and himself)

Robby LOVES your mouth. He not only loves how you kiss so passionately, but he loves what you say to him, how you comfort him after a particularly gruelling shift, or the pillow talk during sex. He also loves how good your mouth feels up and down this cock or biting and licking his neck. Your mouth is a gift that never stops giving. 

On himself, it's his hands, he loves touch, to touch you, feel every inch of your body. He always has a hand on your thigh or on your hand. In public it's a hand around your waist. He just can’t help but touch you. His hands also do numbers on you. They wreck your holes, pull your hair, choke you, and spank. They hold your legs over your head, or your legs on his shoulders. 

C = Cum (His cum, your cum)

Robby loves cum. He loves when you cum. He loves when you beg to cum. When he cums. He’ll cum anywhere. He doesn’t have to try hard to make you cum, you’ll cum on his hands, from his mouth and of course on his cock. He knows his way around your body. Now for him, he’s got stamina but when he finally does cum, its like the heavens rain down. His favoriote way to cum is deep inside you. But he also loves to cum down your throat as you stare up at him. And my god isn’t he vocal, he moans obscenities and sweet nothings into the crook of your neck as he collapses on top of you in pleasure. 

D = Dirty Secret 

His dirty secret is that before you dated, he’d go home after a shift with you and he’d release all his tension out, thinking of you. You’re beauty is a borderline distraction for him every shift. He was drawn to every little move you made, how you’d bite your lip when you thought about a case or were writing notes. He’s lay in bed, or in the shower and releasing himself on his hands, with only you on his mind. 

E = Experience 

Robby has fucked. During his undergrad, medical school, during his residency and as an attending. Nothing crazy but the experience he does have makes him good. So so good. He is a doctor of making you cum. 

F = Favourite position

Robby loves to watch you, so naturally missionary is where its at. Not just a regular missionary though, he likes the missionary where your legs barely reach his broad shoulders as they’re folded back far as they can go. In this position he can get DEEP and pound into your holes. He can also stare you down as your eyes roll far back into your beautiful head and your mouth rests open, in such a haze you have lost the ability to form words. 

G = Goofy 

Robby is the kind of guy who can be laser focused one second and giggling the next.  He tries to keep it together in bed—serious, intense—but sometimes things just happen. Like when he accidentally knocks his head on the headboard or when you’re hair flies into his face. Sometimes, it just keeps slipping out, especially in those positions where his strokes are quick. You both start laughing and he teases “Guess your body just wanted a moment to recover from me huh baby”. The two of you have giggle in the middle of things, playful teasing, laughing through tangled and sweaty bodies. It never ruins the moment. If anything, it makes it better. Because with Robby, sex is hot and fun.

H = Hair

Robby has a bush. Nothing crazy but he has hair. He trims it but you can still run your fingers through it. When you’re on your knees in front of him and your nose is touching his tummy, his happy trail tickles your nose. His bush touches your cheeks. Your hands placed on his thighs, you can feel the hair on his legs. His hair is a suble sensory addition to sex. 

I = Intimacy

Robby is Mr Intimate. Even in kinkier sex, its all about connection to him. During foreplay and undressing you, he peppers kisses over your body, eye contact galore. When he enters you, he watches your reaction and then goes straight to kissing or nibbling on whatever he can each. Afterwards he’s sweet as pie and loves up on you. Always touching, cuddling, his head nuzzled into your neck. 

J = Jack off

Robby doesn’t need to jack off that often because your sex is regularm however when he does he completely surrenders. Regardless where he does it it involves his hand firmly stroking his aching cock up and down. One hand cups his balls, normally you’d do it but he has to suffice with his own hand. Sometimes if he’s feeling frisky and adventurous he used the silicone stroker that you got him for his birthday. It’s ribbed and feels amazing. It normally doesn’t take him to long to cum on his own, and when he does he releases a big load, toes clenched, head thrown back, eyes glued shut. 

K = Kink

Robby is a kinky man. Period. He is willing to try anything once, especially if it’s something you come up with. He likes any where he is in control. It’s communicated control that you willingly give up to him for pleasure. He has an affinity for tying you up. Hands together above your head, you can’t move or escape him. You both also dabble in CNC (consensual non consensual) which thoroughly discuss boundaries and expectations. Part of his job is consent and that translates into your sex life. In the moment it’s all about you taking it, being helpless and at his mercy, being used for his pleasure. A breathing sex toy, just a hole for him to use. 

L = Location (where he likes to fuck)

Robby if given the chance will fuck you anywhere. In the car after or before work because he can’t wait. Fogging up the windows, hand prints left on the windows. In the shower, the foreplay, washing each other’s hair. In the kitchen, you bent over the counter, or maybe it started with you sitting on the counter kissing each other, and it turns to a quickie. He is also a sucker for the good old fashion bed. 

M = Motivation (what turns him on) 

You drive Robby crazy, and you know it. The teasing gets to him like nothing else. It’s the way you act so casual when your hand brushes too low on his stomach, or when you press up against him just a little too close during a chart review. You’ll whisper something supposedly harmless, “you missed a spot”  while wiping his jaw with your thumb, and Robby’s already half-hard under his scrubs in the break room.

He loves it when you flirt and pretend you’re not. When you pretend you don’t notice the way he stares at your mouth while you talk. All the little touches, the innuendos. Anything that leaves him thinking of the last time he had you. 

You don’t even have to say anything explicit. Just a look, a touch, a breath near his neck, you know how to wind him up until he’s fidgeting in his seat, trying to stay cool. 

N = No

Robby will try everything once, but something he won’t do is hurt you. Sure, a bit of spanking here and there, some hair pulling. But he won’t hurt you simply for his pleasure. 

O = Oral (giving or receiving)

Robby is a munch! He loves to eat the kitty. He devours you like nothing else. His rule is you cum at least once before sex either on his hands or mouth, or both. He licks stripes up and down your cunt before focusing on your pulsing clit. 

Robby is responsive when you go down on him, hand braced on the back of your neck, jaw tight, breath hitching. Especially when you drag your nails up his thighs or pause to kiss his hip just to tease him. That’s when you feel it: the subtle twitch of his cock against your tongue, the way his hips roll ever so slightly. He can’t help himself. He’s vocal, gravelly moans, muttered curses, your name punched out like it’s been knocked from his lungs. “Fuck, baby… just like that,” he groans, his voice gone ragged when your tongue swirls or you take him a little deeper. Sometimes he’ll talk you through it, all praise and filth. Other times he’s gone quiet, lost in the glory of your mouth. And the way he grips the sheets or your shoulder when he’s getting close? Pure desperation. He’ll tell you to slow down, not because he wants to stop but because he wants to make it last. Robby edges himself even here, groaning, hips twitching, fingers clenching. But when he finally lets go, he lets go. It’s overwhelming. Messy. Beautiful. He’ll be breathless, dazed, and stupidly affectionate afterwards, petting your hair and dragging you up for a kiss even if your mouth is slick with him.

P = Pace

Robby’s pace is steady but relentless. He doesn’t rush, but he’s never slow either. It’s the perfect mix of control and urgency that keeps you screaming. His thrusts become sharper and faster in the heat of the moment, pounding with a rhythm that matches his growing need. He knows exactly when to pick up speed and when to slow down, teasing you and himself, the pleasure building until he can’t hold back anymore. It’s intense, powerful, and always perfectly timed to leave you falling apart.

Q = Quickie

Quickies with Robby are intense and urgent, no wasted time, just pure, heated need. He’s all about making every second count, grabbing you with rough hands and kissing you hard before finding the nearest wall or surface. It’s messy, fast, and electric. The hospital supply closet was cramped and dimly lit, which only made things hotter. Robby pressed you against the metal shelves, his breath heavy, hands roaming with desperate urgency. The beep of the machines outside faded as he kissed you roughly, pulling you closer. His pace was fast and hard, barely allowing you to catch your breath before he was moving again. There was no time for slow build-up here, only just raw, hungry need exploding between the boxes and sterile supplies. 

R = Risk

Robby’s into the thrill of risky moments when it comes to sex. He’s not afraid to push boundaries or sneak off when he shouldn’t, especially at work. That feeling of almost getting caught makes everything more intense. His touch gets sharper, his kisses more urgent. The tension between you, the adrenaline makes everything feel raw and real. He loves that rush, knowing someone could walk in at any second. It keeps things exciting and makes every time together feel unforgettable.

S = Stamina

Robby’s has good stamina, he knows how to pace himself so neither of you gets worn out too fast. He’s not just about quick bursts; he can go for the long haul, keeping the intensity steady. Even when he’s tired after a long shift, he still finds the energy to make every moment count. He listens to his body, making sure you both get exactly what you need, whether that’s a marathon session or something sweet and slow.

T = Toys

Robby has a stroker he uses when you’re not around — something he keeps tucked away for those moments when he needs to unwind. But when it comes to you, he’s all about the vibrator. He loves seeing the way it makes you react, those small gasps and quivers that tell him exactly how much you’re enjoying it. Sometimes, he’ll hold it himself, watching your face as the buzz hits the right spot. 

U = Unfair 

Robby is unbelievably good at teasing you. It’s like he knows exactly how to push your buttons without ever fully giving in, leaving you desperate and wanting more. The way his fingers or lips linger just long enough to make your skin burn but then pull away, making you ache with need. He loves watching you squirm, biting your lip or hitching your breath as he slows down just when you think you’ll explode. It’s almost unfair how expertly he can make you crave him, stretching out your pleasure until you’re completely undone.

V = Volume

Robby is definitely vocal. He doesn’t hold back from his moans, groans, whispered curses, and your name come out of him without effort. His voice is low and gravelly, other times it gets louder, almost desperate, especially when he’s about to cum. 

W = Wildcard

Robbys wildcard is when you are having soft and sensual sex, and in doggystyle, he rubs and gently massages your back. It brings you closer together, a sweet little gesture. 

X = X-Ray

Robby has a thick, veiny cock. His size is intimidating. When you are hanging out together on the lounge and you’ve been teasing him all night, his cock pushes against his boxers, aching to be released and when it does its a powerful spring thats ready for attention. 

Y = Yearning

Robby misses you before you’ve even left the room. It’s in the way his eyes linger a second too long when he glances at you, or how his hand stays at the small of your back just a beat after a goodbye kiss. He’s not the type to get clingy, but you can feel the quiet ache when you're apart, the way he looks at you like he’s already counting down the minutes until he can touch you again. When you’re gone, he thinks about the way your voice sounds when you're half-asleep, the shape of your smile when you're trying not to laugh. He’s not subtle about it, either. You’ll get a text that just says, wish you were here, or come home to find your favorite takeout already waiting, like he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to do something, anything, that brings you closer. It’s not just desire. It’s this steady, full-body pull toward you, like no matter what he’s doing, some part of him is always reaching. Yearning. 

Z = Zzzz

You knew this was coming. It’s been simmering in between you two for the last few months, really. And being honest to yourself, you had little to no hope to ever be loved by her again, which was what hurted you the most.

All the things you knew, all the caresses and the love and the smiles she gifted you. Dear Lord, her smiles. It hurt to see them now, so shiny and big and knowing they weren’t because of you.

Her green eyes didn’t shine like they did before when she saw you get home after a long day at work. Her greetings were now polite, almost forced, lacking all the warmth that made you fall in love with Wanda Maximoff. And you couldn’t blame her. Not really.

Sometimes love stories had a sad ending, and if this was your case, then you couldn’t keep fighting against the current that threatened to break your bones the more you swimmed back to shore. It wasn’t fair for Wanda, either. You never wanted to be the cause to keep someone that didn’t love you back, no matter how hard it became to breathe.

So that’s why you stepped into your shared house with a manila envelope in your hands.

“Wanda?” You called as you took off your shoes.

“I’m here,” she answered from the office down the hallway.

You took a deep breath and walked on shaky legs to your destination. The envelope in your hands burning your soul with its contents.

“Hi,” you smiled sadly as you stepped into her home office.

“Hi,” she answered without looking from her laptop. “What you need?”

“I-” You looked at the documents in your hands for a few long seconds and then stepped over and placed them on the desk. “I went to the lawyer,” you winced at your own pathetic voice. And those words seemed to have Wanda’s attention on you, finally.

“I crafted an accord to sell the house,” you paused, more to contain the pain at bay than to give her time. “We can modify it if you want.”

Wanda leaned back on her desk chair, her green eyes moving from the sealed envelope to your eyes and you felt a cold shiver down your back.

“You went to the lawyer behind my back? Are you serious Y/N?”

“What else was I supposed to do? You barely give me the hour of the day!” You countered. “We’re living together because we’re stuck here until the house sells.” 

“I don’t recall you being desperate to get rid of me last night.” Wanda spayed venomously.

“Last night was a mistake. You said it yourself. Very convincing, in my opinion.”

“Oh, so now I’m-”

“Stop playing the victim. You don’t love me anymore. You can barely stay in the same room as me. You barely communicate when you get out. We became strangers living under the same roof, Wanda! And I can’t do this anymore.”

“So now you’re throwing me away like trash? Knowing I have nowhere to go?”

“You do have options. For fuck’s sake, just read the agreement and let me know if you want to change anything.” You turned around and walked away. She didn’t need to see your tears. She didn’t deserve them.

Wanda’s eyes stood on the door you had disappeared through for a long minute before her gaze shifted to the brownish envelope on her desk. Her fate was inhabited there. And if she was honest, she didn’t know if she was ready to face something different than what has been her life the last 5 years.

With trembling hands, she opened the envelope and read the documents you had planned. 

And despite her resentment, the longer she read on the pages, the more her heart ached and the more her guilt grew because she couldn’t love you the way you deserved. Not anymore.

In said documents, you gave up your rightful share of the house, splitting the total in two, despite you having paid the majority of it when you bought it together. And now she was conflicted between agreeing to it because it meant she’d have the money needed to finally go her own way and stop hurting you, but the pride in her itched to calculate the right total of her share.

But then again, she knew your soul better than she knew her own. Wanda knew you didn’t do it out of spite or loyalty to the years spent together, but because you really wanted to. Despite breaking your heart and sheltering herself while pushing you away, you still looked after her wellbeing. Despite all the pain she caused, you still put her in front of yourself.

By the time Wanda gathered her courage to face you, it was past 8pm. As she walked into the hallway, the smell of roasted chicken and garlic could be smelt and her heart squeezed itself in a not-so-good way. When she stepped into the kitchen, she saw the covered plate waiting for her, the kitchen spotless clean. As if no one had used it.

He turned around and walked to your room, knocking on the closed door and waiting, waiting, waiting.

After what felt like eternity, you opened it in a bathrobe and your damp hair.

“Can we talk?” Wanda asked timidly.

You stared at her for a pregnant second before stepping away. “Come on in,” you agreed while  walking to your closet, looking for the comforting clothes you wore to bed.

“Why did you do it?” Wanda almost winced at her voice. “I mean, I know why, but…” Wanda paused, trying to find the right words. She didn’t want to upset you even further. But everything she could come up with would stab your heart anyways.

“How can you be so nice after I hurt you?” She defeated.

You turned away with your clothes in your hands and the look reflected in your eyes was enough to punch the air out of Wanda’s lungs. “Because you still deserve good things, Wands. You deserve a fulfilled life even if it’s not by my side.” You smiled something painful that had Wanda on her feet, closing the distance between you automatically.

“I’m sorry,” Wanda grabbed your free hand and kissed your knuckles. “I’m so sorry I can’t-”

“Please, don’t say it,” you begged with the grief tinting your voice. “Please,”

Your pathetic voice still resounded in your ears. The pity in Wanda’s eyes still pierced your wounded heart. Those green eyes that used to hold the galaxy, inviting you to explore them, now looked at you with nothing but sorrow.

The silence reigned in your room for a few minutes that felt like eternity before Wanda broke the staring contest you both had fallen under.

“You’ve always been too good for your own good, Y/N.” Wanda smiled something that had you swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “I hope you find someone who can love you the way you deserve.” She squeezed your hand before she dropped it slowly. “You can proceed with the realtor.”  

Wanda gifted you one last smile and walked away, leaving you to pick up the pieces that had broken long ago.

Maybe it was time to start all over again. To find yourself and see if you had a true love waiting for you. Or maybe you were destined to live in solitude and this relationship taught you just that. Although you knew your heart belonged to Wanda and always would, you were smart enough to understand that sometimes, saying goodbye was the best thing to do. 

You lean against the cold wood of the bedroom door, your heart pounding so loud you can’t hear yourself think. Your chest heaves. What the fuck was that? What did you just do? You feel the comings of a panic attack begin, you shake your head to try and calm yourself. It was just a slip up. You’re both tired. That’s all it was, right? You rationalize with yourself, taking as deep of breaths as possible. After stewing in your own thoughts for a moment, you finally make your way to the bed. Exhaustion grips at your chest, fighting the simmering anxiety that lingers. You manage to go to sleep at some point, though you don’t remember much of it.  

At some point, you feel the ghosting of hands on your waist, hesitant and gentle. You chide yourself at how quickly you recognize them. Still in a sleep-ridden daze, you feel yourself pulled against a firm chest. You feel his warm breath on your neck, how your legs tangle under the thick duvet. You allow yourself to melt into the touch. Your head leans back against his shoulder, hands resting on his arms as they circle your frame. You trace the tattoos on his wrist and forearm, feeling the way his muscles ripple as trail further up. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, maybe this could–– 

The quakes and loud chimes of your 7:30 alarm makes you jolt upright. Once again, your heart is pounding. You look around, finding your bed empty and cold. Of course it was a dream. You run your hands along your face, dragging them down in a weak attempt to snap yourself out of your daze. Deciding a shower would be the best option right now, you stumble into the en-suite and start the water. You analyze your face in the mirror, the bags under your eyes from the fretful sleep, and how your face is still flushed from the dream. Sighing deeply, you step into the warm shower. You take extra time to stew in your own thoughts, repeating last night over and over in your head.  

After the long shower, you throw on clothes that are comfortable but still presentable. You stare at the closed door to your bedroom, debating on just staying in here all day. It’s almost 9 o’clock. If what Noah said was true, then he already got up and went for a run. Listening intently, you don’t hear anyone else in the house. You take a deep breath, twisting the doorknob and peaking outside. The hallway is empty, and as you make your way to the railing the living room is also quiet. Maybe they went out for some work?  

You tiptoe downstairs. The studio door is wide open, no signs of anyone. You breath of sigh of relief, making your way into the kitchen. You grab a bottle out of water from the fridge, cracking it open and taking a long sip to soothe your aching throat.  

“Hey.” You yelp when a voice cuts through the echoing silence of the house. You turn around, only to be met with the last person you wanted to see.  

Noah sits at the small dining table by the fireplace, nursing some sort of smoothie in a styrofoam cup. He’s got the look of a kicked puppy on his face, it makes your chest ache.  

“Noah... Hi.” Your voice is shakier than you wanted it to be, and you clear your throat to try and steady it.  

“Listen...” Noah stands slowly, as if trying not to scare a frightened kitten. “About last night.” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have cornered you like that. I was,” He pauses, watching your face intently. He sighs once again. “I was... tired. And I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” 

You nod slowly, “I uhm-” You try to find the words. Confrontation was never your strong suit, unless it was in a venue with bitchy old men. “It’s fine. I was... also tired and I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry too.”  

Noah squints at that, barely noticeable, but he doesn’t push further. He nods, giving you a small, apologetic smile.  

“I know we’re still on break, but I’ve got a song I wanted to keep working on. You... wanna join me in the studio?”  

You take a deep breath, nodding wordlessly. The two of you makes your way to the studio, settling down in the rolling chairs. His back faces you as he sets up whatever project he’s working on. The Logic session is already filled with more tracks than you can count, hundreds of audio files strewn out rhymically. You scoot close enough to see, but far enough that would be considered a professional distance.  

The next few hours is filled with listening, brainstorming, and passing headphones back and forth. The tension in the room slowly dissipates as the day goes on. You watch as he riffs on the guitar, finding that perfect rhythm. Later in the day, you set up a make-shift vocal booth, recording his siren-like vocals. The lyrics are somewhat messy and more fit for the demo that this is. Despite not being a great songwriter, you manage to give him a few ideas to bounce off of. You keep yourself tucked in the work, not letting your eyes or thoughts wander. This is better. Professional. Safe. 

The rest of your week looks similar. Noah decides to let you mix the still in progress song alone in the studio. Something about not worrying about his feedback. On Thursday, you end up visiting one of the larger studios they’d be recording in later. You examine everything while the managers and Noah talk. You try to commit every detail to memory, the order of the patch bay, the huge analog console, the outboard racks, and everything else that has you buzzing with excitement. Too caught up in the studio, you don’t notice how Noah’s gaze follows you around the space. From behind the credenza, he watches you with a soft smile, barely absorbing the words of the studio managers before Jolly elbows him.  

Friday is spent as a rest day after a week of long hours and dramatics. The rest of the band and crew come over around the afternoon, the house bustling. Davis talks to Noah about the future merch drops, scrolling through designs on his iPad. Jolly and Nick sit quietly in the living room, watching whatever weird show is on tv. With his usual energy, Folio stands in the kitchen with you helping you as you cook, but not without talking your ear off. You notice when he gets excited about something, his voice gets a bit southern. It makes you smile. Folio helps cut up vegetables, with your instructions. He talks about the recent songs he’s discovered, the drum covers he’s been wanting to learn, and raves about these fancy cigars he was gifted.  

Once dinner is ready, a simple pasta dish, everyone fills in around the living room, enjoying the meal in comfortable silence. Folio seems attached to your hip tonight, even Jolly has to tell him off for smothering you. You wave it off, enjoying the friendly atmosphere.  

Around 8pm, Davis declares he’s going to go get alcohol, that this Friday night was too boring. Around 20 minutes later, he returns with various canned drinks and a bottle of vodka, to which Noah cringes.  

Deciding you need the distraction, you take one of the whiteclaws. Jolly gives you a look, “I thought you didn’t drink? Are you even old enough to drink?” You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder.  

“I do drink! On occasion.” You bite your tongue, not mentioning the part where you need to forget what happened this week.  

As the night goes on, one white turns in three, which turns into a spinning room and way too many giggles. It had been awhile since you last drank, which accounted for why you were significantly more tipsy than the rest of the guys.  

Noah retires to his room early, his gaze lingering on you as you dance with Folio. Your moves are stumbled and you cling to his hands for life. But you were as happy as could be. 

As midnight rolls around, the happy buzz turns into a tired, slurred, headache. Ever the sweetheart, Nick decides to help you up to your room, cooing at you drunken mumbles.  

He guides you to the bed, sitting you down and stabilizing you by your shoulders. His grey eyes search your glassy ones, noticing the somber look as your pulled away from the distracting fun.  

“What’s wrong, Hun?” He asks, grabbing a trashcan and setting it down beside the bed.  

“Noah and I almost kissed...” The words tumble out before you can stop them, you cover your mouth instantly. Nick freezes for a moment, before laughing softly. He straightens up when he sees your pouty face. 

“Okay Okay, I’m sorry for laughing.” He sits down next to you, wrapping a friendly arm around your shoulder. “How... did that make you feel?” He askes. 

“I.. hm. I don’t know. I do think he’s attractive, but I just-” You sigh. “I can’t lose this job. This is the best things that's ever happened, and if I fuck this up-” 

“Okay. Lets stop here before you announce it to the whole house,” He smiles, which makes you realize you were talking a lot louder than you realize.  

“Get some rest. We can talk about this later, if you want. But not while your drunk.” After that, he gently guides you to lay back, pulling the comforter over your frame.  

You nod softly, mumbling a thank you as he steps out of the room.  

The walls spin and bend as you lay still, it makes your head hurt more. After a few minutes of breathing, the spinning behind your eyes stops and you fall asleep.  

You sleep like a log, waking up in the same position Nick left you in. Your head pounds and your throat is uncomfortably dry. Finding your footing through the bright morning lights, you make your way downstairs. Your hair is messy and your eyes are no doubt bloodshot.  

Noah greets you, already shoving an ibuprofen and water into yours hands. You take it without a word, the cool water waking you up a bit more.  

“Thanks...” you mumble, shielding your eyes from the bright sunlight outside the back door.  

Noah only chuckles, guiding you with a gentle hand on the shoulder towards the couch. You notice Nick is still here, and you curl up into the cushion next to him, your knees tucked to your chest.  

“Sleep well?”  

“Absolutely not.”  

Nick laughs aloud at that one, tapping the cap of your water bottle to tell you to drink some.  

After slowly waking up and easing the hungover headache, you decide to shower. The warm water helps wash away the gross feeling on the skin that the alcohol leaves. You stay under the gentle stream longer than you probably should, still looking back to that night a week ago. The way his hands held yours against his chest, the way his gentle breath lingered on your skin. If you close your eyes, you can still feel the thrumming of his heart under your fingertips.  

Once you’ve finally had enough of wallowing in your own self-pity, you dry yourself off and get dressed in a simple, all black outfit. You make your way downstairs, hoping to find something to snack on, only to see Nicholas hopping off the couch to meet you at the bottom of the steps.  

“...Everything alright?” You raise an eyebrow, stepping off the final carpeted step to meet him.  

“Your car is here, finally. I was wondering if you wanted to go for a drive and get some food. My treat. It’ll help you learn the area.” He offers with a smile, but something in his voice tells you there's an ulterior motive.  

You think for a second. Food does sound good, especially free food. But driving in LA? Not so much. You concede, sighing softly, “Fine.” 

The two of you gather your things, stepping outside in the hot LA weather. You smile at the sight of your car. The blacked-out Challenger Hellcat, that was a graduation gift from your family. She starts up just fine, thanks to the stupidly expensive transportation service the band hired. You settle into the leather seat, letting the car warm up for a moment.  

The drive was... not as bad as you expected. Nick guides you out of the neighborhood and through the main area and tells you where all the stores nearby are, as well as the places to get cheap but good food.  

Eventually, he pops the serene bubble of light conversation, “So, you wanna talk about what happened with Noah?”  

You look over at him for a moment, before turning back to the traffic in front of you with a sigh.  

“I don’t know.” 

Nick takes a breath, turning down the radio so he can’t talk clearly, “Listen, I’m not gonna tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. And I don’t wanna lie to you either.”  

Your stomach sinks, and the traffic comes to a standstill from whatever accident happened in front of you.  

“Nick, you’re scaring me.” 

Nick sighs again, adjusting in his seat, “Y/n, we weren’t-” He pauses to think, “The band wasn’t looking for a new engineer. Could Noah use the help? Absolutely. And you’ve proved that. But it wasn’t exactly an active search when we met.” 

Your heart races, “What are you talking about?” 

“We got sent the roster for the crew after the venue changed. And when Noah saw you, its like his world went technicolor. And he only got worse after he looked at your work.” He smiles softly, his voice gentle. 

“A whole six weeks of him raving about you constantly, always finding a way to bring up the work you had done in your university.”  

You stare straight ahead, trying to stop the world from spinning. Your fingers tap against the steering wheel anxiously. Luckily, the traffic is stopped completely, so you don’t have to worry about crashing as you put the car in Park.  

Nick notices your anxious and stunned silence, “Honestly, I think he was a bigger fan of you, than you were of him. He was practically buzzing when we got to the venue finally.” 

This can’t be right... What would make him so interested in you? Sure, you did good work and enjoyed your job, but you didn’t exactly think of yourself as his type. You had seen his previous girlfriends through old photos that made their way into your Instagram feed. They were all skinny and seemed athletic. They looked like models. Sure, you could at least acknowledge that you seemed to be conventionally attractive. You had your fair share of guys flirting with you, wanted or unwanted. But Noah? The man who was the epitome of your type? There was no way.  

“I... I don’t understand.” A part of you deep down does. You were hired because Noah liked you and wanted an excuse to be around you. But you needed to hear it. Needed to know if it was true.  

“Y/n.” Nick says, turning towards you in his seat. “This doesn’t mean that you were a personality hire or anything like that. You are, and I know you will be, a valuable addition to the team. But...” He smiles, “If you want something with Noah, if you like him. You’re not going to lose your job over it. There’s a reason the contract you signed didn’t say anything about it.”  

Your breath catches, your lip quivers slightly. You don’t even know why you’re crying. Relief? Acceptance? You push away the tears, taking a deep breath that turns into a soft laugh.  

“I’ve known Noah since we were kids. I’ve seen him through countless relationships, good and bad.” He pauses, making sure you’re paying attention. “I’ve never seen him so enamored by someone.” 

The tears come back up at that, and you thank whatever forces that there’s so much traffic because you can’t even see the road through them.  

“Really?” Your voice is small and shaky, eyes bleary.  

“Seriously. It was fucking annoying on the busses. Anytime someone mentioned work he brought you up.” He laughs.  

You laugh as well, wiping the tears and straightening yourself up. Nick gives you a soft smile when you finally turn to him and you return it, finally taking a deep breath.  

With amazing timing, whatever accident has had you held up for almost 30 minutes clears up. The drive continues smoothly, your consciousness now feeling somewhat lighter. You and Nick decide on some sort of drive through fry shop he recommended for food.  The place seems a little run down but man, the food is good. It lifts your spirits. The two of you sit in the parking lot while you eat, chatting about various topics until his phone chimes.  

“Shit, Nadine needs me home. You wanna drive me? You could meet her. It’s not far from here.” He smiles at the mention of his fiancée, and you’re pulling out of the space before you can even think.  

Nick directs you through the less busy streets of this area. True to his words, it's no longer than 10 minutes before you’re pulling into the driveway of his cozy home. The rumble of the engine stops, and part of you cringes at the sound of your too-loud Challenger disrupting whatever serene neighborhood you stumbled into.  

Nick gets out, and Nadine is already stepping out of the front door. The couple greet each other warmly, and it makes you smile.  

“Nadine, this is Y/N. The one Noah was tormenting us over.” Nick teases sarcastically. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” You smile, greeting her warmly.  

“It’s nice to finally meet you! Noah wouldn’t shut up about you on tour.” She says, laughing softly. Her hand tattoos peak out from under her sweater, clearly dressed for a cool house and not the summer heat.  

Nick interjects, “Do you wanna come in and meet the cats? You mentioned you liked them.” He looks to his lady for permission, and she nods.  

You originally only stayed to meet her, but the idea of meeting their cats overrides your planes. You agree immediately, following them into their home.  

The house is cozy and cluttered in a way that makes it feel lived in and homey, not messy. It's a contrast to Noah’s habit of being a neat freak.  

You and the couple talk for longer than you meant to, surrounded by their cats and a comfortable atmosphere. It’s only when your phone chimes that you realize it's almost 6pm.  

“Shit. I should get back to the house.” You stand, carefully moving the kitty off your lap, much to both your dismay. “Thank you, guys, for having me.” The couple return the sentiment and walk you out to your car. Nadine pesters Nick to give her your number, and you smile, thankful that she seemed to enjoy our company.  

Once the three of you finally decide to stop chatting, you get into your car, waving goodbye and waiting until they get back inside to start your car. It’s these moments that make you regret your impulsive muffler delete. You check your phone, seeing a text from Noah that said they were going to Davis's house, attached was the address. Your shoulders slump, remembering you actually have to drive again. Why couldn’t human teleport yet? 

Once again, the drive isn’t that bad. You play some music and sing along the whole time. Your mind constantly thinks back to Noah and the conversation you had with his best friend. You know Nick wouldn’t lie about something like this, but you can’t help but still feel like it doesn’t make sense. You weren’t famous, you weren’t the stereotypical model material, and you certainly didn’t look like his exes. Could he really feel this way about you? 

You don’t have the time to think as you pull into Davis’s driveway, only certain when you see him and Noah’s cars out front. You take a deep breath, leaning your forehead against the steering wheel. Maybe you should just go back to the house. It would be easier, plus you wouldn’t have to drive at night. Were you ready to see him? It was easy to be around him when you had the idea that that night was just a fluke of tiredness, but now? You couldn’t. You weren’t ready for this.  

Your hand is already reaching for the gear shift when a pair of knuckles is tapping at your car window. You jump, seeing Noah’s stupidly handsome and smiley face through the glass. He motions for you to roll down the window.  

“You gonna rev it? Or just sit in there the whole night?” He teases, clearly high energy tonight.  

“Noah, it's almost 8pm! We’re in a neighborhood!” 

Noah just shrugs, challenging you further.  

You smirk, flipping it into neutral and revving the engine. You cringe as the car roars through the cul de sac, the supercharger whining with every rev. Noah seems happy, smiling like an idiot. Once the rpm’s drop, you drop it back into Park and shut it off.  

Noah opens the door for you and steps back, you're not sure whether he’s admiring you or the car.  

“I still can’t get over your car. Definitely not what I’d expect from you.”  

“Why not? Women can’t drive muscle cars?” You tease him, feigning hurt as he sighs, not even trying to argue.  

You drop the act, admiring his clearly good mood. You’re about to speak when Davis and someone you haven’t met yet come out to see what all the noise was.  

“Was that a fucking Hellcat?!” The mystery man asks, and you smile, leaning against your most prized possession.  

The man, who Noah introduces as Jordan, admires your car for a moment before you all head inside. Once again, Noah’s large hand rests on your back as he guides you inside Davis’s home.  

You’re immediately greeted by Max, a small blonde dog who seems all too interested in your smell. 

“Aww Hi! I think you smell the kitties, huh?” You smile, using your classic baby voice you only use for animals as you crouch down to his level.  

“Kitties?” Noah asks, kneeling next to you to pet Max.  

“Mhm! I went to Nick’s place and met his cats. And Nadine.”  

Noah’s face seems to fall for a second, and you barely catch it before he smiles again, picking up Max and smothering him with kisses. You stand as well, but you’re quickly pulled into a hug by Davis. You can practically feel Noah’s gaze burning a hole through your back at the affection. Was it always like this?  

Davis pulls back, giving Noah a smug look. Seriously, was it always like this? You look between the two men, which seems to snap them out of whatever staring contest they’re having. You’re about to follow Davis into the kitchen when your wrist is snatched from behind you and you’re pulled into a firm chest. Noah’s arms wrap around you like a snake’s and for once, you let yourself melt into it. He smells good, his cologne seems heavier than usual and you’d recognize the Dior Sauvage anywhere.  

The two of you stay like that for a while, a reconciliation of some sort. Or maybe a quiet confession. Noah’s lips on your shoulder snap you out of your haze as your breath hitches. Ever so gently, they travel up to your pulse point, making your knees weak. They settle on the soft thrum of your heartbeat, not sucking or biting, just sitting there. It doesn’t feel sexual, it just feels... soft. His stubble tickles your sensitive neck, and it makes you giggle involuntarily as you pull away.  

“If you guys are gonna have sex, at least do it in the spare room!” Davis yells from around the corner, making both of you blush red. Noah laughs, breaking the spell you two have found yourself in.  

You pull away fully now to look up at him. His cheeks are flushed a cute pink and his pupils are dilated so much you can’t even see the soft brown. With shaky hands, you cup his face, and he leans into your touch like a kitten. He steps closer, his own hands finding your waist beneath your hoodie. He leans a little closer, his eyes flickering to your lips. You decide to tease him a little further.  

When he leans in, barely inches away and ready to kiss you, you cover his lips. It makes him look at you, eyebrows furrowed together.  

“You have some explaining to do first. But not here.” You smirk, pointing at him with your free hand as he pouts, shoulders shrugging.  

You smile, giving in just a little and stepping onto your tiptoes to kiss his burning on cheek. He beams at that, his pretty smile on display. Noah takes your hand and simply holds it for a moment; you take the opportunity to trace along his hand tattoos.  

Speak of the devil, the sound of a tattoo machine makes you perk up. You follow the sound, dragging Noah along with you to where you guess is the living room and kitchen. Noah laughs as you pull him along by the hand, snooping out the sound of a tattoo machine.  

As you round the corner, you’re met with Davis on a tattoo table, and Jordan tattooing him. They both wave, Davis with a slight cringe as the needle grazes a particularly painful spot on his leg.  

“Jordan wanted to try out a new style, so he asked if we wanted free tattoos.” Noah lifts his pants' leg to reveal his own fresh ink, safely wrapped in second skin. You hum, admiring the style.  

Jordan speaks up, dry wiping Davis’s leg which makes him groan dramatically. “Do you want one? We’ve got time, if you’re up for it.”  

You perk up, instinctively looking to Noah as if for permission. 

“Don’t ask me, you’re an adult.” Noah laughs, stepping aside to take a sip of Redbull.  

You nod enthusiastically to Jordan, who nods back. You’re practically vibrating with excitement, having not gotten a tattoo in ages.  

After Jordan finishes Davis’s tattoo, he cleans up the station and calls you over. Davis hands you a flash sheet, clearly a collaboration between the two of them. You vaguely remember seeing Jordan in the old Omens’ streams, and how he usually does a lot of trad work, so seeing these much more cyber looking styles of Pokémon surprises you. You decide on the Snorlax, and Jordan steps away to print the stencil in a few sizes.  

“You’ve eaten today, right?” Noah asks, his hand rubbing your shoulder gently.  

You nod, smiling, “Yeah. Nick and I went to some sort of loaded fry drive thru place. It was really good!”  

Noah nods at that, clearly a little relieved since he hasn’t seen you all day.  

Jordan finishes printing and prepping the station. You decide on a stencil size and placement, going for your calf since you still have ideas for the rest of your body. Noah is by your side the whole time, despite you telling him it wasn’t that bad.  

The small tattoo doesn’t take very long, the little snorlax now wrapped up in second skin as you hobble off the table.  

The rest of the night is spent with laughter and random conversations. The whole time, Noah has you tucked into his side on the couch; his arm wrapped around your shoulder possessively. After hours of talking and laughing, your head feels heavy and your eyelids begin to close without your permission. You feel a large hand cradle your head and guide it onto his broad shoulder. You smile, nuzzling into his shirt as you inhale his scent.  

Eventually, Davis decides it’s time for bed. Jordan had packed up a few hours earlier, leaving the three of us in the living room until one in the morning. Noah picks you up with an ease that makes your heart do a few backflips. He holds you bridal style as he carries you out and into the passenger seat of his car. 

“Noooo... My car...” You mumble, but you’re clearly not in any state to drive.  

“We’ll come get it tomorrow, sleepy. It’s safe.” Noah assures, kissing your forehead and buckling your seatbelt. 

You try not to sleep on the way back to the house, you really do. But after too many days of being up past midnight, you can’t help it. In your half-asleep daze, you feel Noah carry you into the house and up the stairs. You feel him stop abruptly, debating whether to bring you to his room, or to leave you in the guest room.  

“Y’er room...” You murmur into his neck, and he kisses your shoulder once more. You open your eyes when you hear the door to his room close, groaning at the bright purple Led lights from under his bed.  

“Sorry, baby.” He whispers, setting you down on the bed ever so gently. He dims the lights to the lowest setting.  

You want to sleep immediately but the wires of your bra are poking you and your jeans are too annoying. You sit up reluctantly, which makes Noah worried.  

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah... I just need to go change.”  

“Wait, here.” He turns around for a moment before handing you one of his shirts and a pair of basketball shorts. “You can change in the bathroom, if you want. Or I can turn around.” 

You contemplate it; you’re too tired to walk right now. And even lugging these jeans off feels like work.  

You stand up, “Can you... help me?” You ask shyly, “I’m too tired.” 

Noah takes a breath, but he nods immediately and steps closer. 

“Arms up.” He says, pulling off your hoodie. He tries not to stare, and it makes you giggle softly.  

“C’mon. We’re adults, no?” You tease, and he laughs breathlessly.  

He unhooks your black bra, pulling the straps down your arm. You see his Adams apple bob at the sight, and it would turn you on if you weren’t dead on your feet right now. When he’s finally done admiring, he slips on the well oversized shirt, the hems reaching your thighs.  

You unbutton your jeans and Noah kneels down to untie your shoes. Your hands rest on his shoulders as he pulls your shoes and jeans off. Leaving you in your underwear and his shirt. When he comes back up, you can see his flushed face, and the way his ears are as red as the gaming chair behind him.  

“I can sleep like this. Unless you can’t behave.” You raise an eyebrow, its fun to tease him, the small pout on his lips and the slouch in his shoulders making you laugh.  

“I can behave. I promise.” He assures and guides you back onto the bed.  

You make yourself comfortable under the warm covers, shivering from the cold room. Noah tucks in behind you, one arm under your neck and the other wrapped around your waist. His face nuzzles against the nape of your neck, and he hums softly. His warmth spreads to you as he presses light kisses to your neck and shoulders. You could interrogate him about everything in the morning. But right now, you feel safe. You feel happy.  

End. 

dividers by @dividers-are-us <3