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rosieofcorona · 5 months

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All We Do Not Say

Hi beloveds! I have crafted a soft little Gale fic for you because it's my firm belief that everyone's favorite wizard deserves all the warmth in the world. 😌 Also on AO3, if you prefer. As always, thank you for reading. 💕

There was a time in his life that Gale could sleep anywhere, provided he had a good book and a space to sit down.

In Waterdeep, he might wake in his armchair or on his balcony with the weight of an ancient tome still resting in his lap, or at his desk, his cheek pressed against parchment. The smell of it, of ink and lignin, would bring him back to his senses before his eyes were fully open, and he’d recall what he’d been studying, and begin reading again.

At home, in his tower, he could do this night after night and still feel mostly rested come morning.

But he is far from his tower, and farther each day.

Perhaps it is the orb that keeps him up as of late, with its insatiable, unnatural hunger, or perhaps it is the tadpole that wriggles and pulses impatiently inside his skull. Or it could, he supposes, be the simpler and less curable matter of aging– an affliction that seems, on occasion, more frightening than either of the others.

Whatever the cause of his recent insomnia, it pulls Gale into a rather distressing cycle– he cannot sleep, so he cannot focus, so he cannot read, so he cannot sleep.

Instead, he finds himself offering to keep watch over camp in the evenings, if only for the distraction. The far-off gibbering of a newborn gnoll, the crunch of foliage under goblin feet, an animal scream– each night a fresh and distant horror calls his mind away from greater threats, from illithids and tadpoles and gods.

It’s an odd remedy, he knows. But the alternative is lying awake in his tent, turning death over and over in his mind until the thought is worn smooth as a river stone.

It works well for a time, keeps his mind on the present and off of some vague, future doom.

That is, at least, until they reach the Underdark.

Deep beneath Faerûn, there is something profoundly disturbing about the lack of…well, everything. They find no grand cities or quaint little villages, few animals and even fewer people.

No trees, no light. No sky.

Most nights spent underground are so quiet that Gale may as well stay in his bedroll, staring up at a canopy of fabric, dark as the velvet earth above them.

He thinks, It is like being buried alive, without even the stars to bear witness.

On these nights he can feel the stones in his head turning over.

Even so, come the evening (or what he guesses is evening), Gale volunteers to stand sentinel for the fifth time in a tenday.

He always asks them after dinner, when his companions are most likely to agree, after his cooking has warmed them and filled their bellies and made them want nothing more than to close their eyes and dream of somewhere, anywhere else.

Tav is the only one who protests with any frequency, the only one who seems to notice that the circles under his eyes are half a shade darker than they were yesterday, when they were half a shade darker than the day before.

Even on nights when she convinces someone else to take his place, he will relieve them after Tav has gone to sleep.

It starts the same way every time.

Gale walks the perimeter in an infinite loop, looking for life in the darkness, illuminated only by the fire in the center of their camp. It makes him feel like a distant planet, nearly untouched by the sun. How strange to think that he’d once felt like the sun itself.

He continues in his orbit until the subterranean cold gnaws at his limbs. It bites down hard on his nose and ears and fingers, chases him back to the fire, back to the light.

Hypnotized by the flames and their radiant warmth, he does not hear the quiet stirring in the tent beyond his own, doesn’t hear the soft approach of nimble feet.

A voice comes to him out of the darkness.

“I hope you’re not keeping watch again.”

“Mystra,” Gale gasps, startled, the goddess’s name invoked in equal parts a prayer, a curse.

“Forgive me,” Tav says, through a laugh she cannot help. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” If it were anyone else he might be annoyed, or even a little embarrassed– but the sound of her laughter bubbles like seafoam over sand, rushes over and around him. Coupled with the relief that she is not some dreadful creature of the Underdark, he finds it difficult to feel anything besides affection.

“It’s quite alright,” he recovers, with a shake of his head. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

“Then I really hope you’re not keeping watch.”

She is teasing him now, just lightly, a familiar spark of warmth behind her eyes.

It is the same look she gives him when she brings him a new book, or when he cooks for her, or when he tells her about Waterdeep. It is the same look she gave him earlier in the day, when she had offered to brew him a tea that might help him to sleep.

Gale has trouble remembering the last time another looked at him this way, so interested and inviting and earnest.

Perhaps, he thinks, another never has.

“Are you alright?” Tav asks, when he’s been quiet for too long.

“Of course,” he says with the sincerity of a promise, offered with a smile that he hopes will be convincing. “Just lost in thought.”

There is a part of him that doesn’t want to leave it there, that wants to share his every thought with her, his every terror, every dream. She must know that there is more to it, must’ve learned by now to recognize when Gale isn’t telling her everything, but he is grateful that she doesn’t press him, never presses him.

Instead she breaks into a grin and says, “You’re lucky I’m not a bulette.”

“I’m lucky they’re not so light-footed. What are you doing up, anyway?”

“The cold always wakes me, sooner or later,” Tav sighs. “If I’d known it was so godsdamned frigid down here, I might’ve nicked a fur or two from the Zhent.”

It’s Gale’s turn to laugh, though she’s only half-joking.

She’s drawn near to him, to the flames, her palms outstretched, her fingers spread wide as if to grab hold of as much warmth as possible.

“But it’s alright,” she continues, “So as long as I’m close to the fire.”

“Any closer and you’ll be in it, I’m afraid. Perhaps I can help.”

Tav tilts her head and quirks an eyebrow in a curious little expression. “Can you?”

“If you’ll allow me.”

Gale turns to face her fully, and she mirrors him out of instinct.

“Hold out your hands to me,” he says. “Palms together, just barely. Like you’re praying.”

“Like this?” “Like that.”

The spell is one his mother taught him, among the first he’d ever learned.

He still remembers that winter in Waterdeep, when the snow fell hard and fast. When the ice in the harbor kept the ships at arm’s length and the frozen streets shone like glass. He was young then, six or seven, but even now he can feel his small hands in Morena’s, warmed by a word and a touch.

Warm and fed, she used to tell him. That’s how you show someone they’re loved.

Gale cages Tav’s hands lightly in his own, the way he might hold a butterfly. He pushes all thoughts of winter away and calls to mind the rippling heat of summer, an orchard grown fat with peaches, the silvery shimmer of sweat on skin.

The rose-petal flush of a cheek cradled in a hand, her cheek, his hand…

“Calor aestas,” he says quietly, when the image comes into clear view. He feels the cold melt from her fingers, hears the comfortable sigh that follows. “Better?”

“Yes,” she murmurs. “Much.”

She is looking at him now with an intensity he has not seen since the night he first showed her the Weave, all that time ago. The night he saw her thoughts laid bare, had all but felt her lips on his.

Had she seen them now, the visions he had conjured? Had she felt him pull her close in his own mind?

Tav clears her throat softly and he comes back to himself, his heartbeat thrashing wildly in his chest. He realizes with some urgency that he has not let her go and pulls back suddenly, but not without reluctance.

“I hope,” he swallows, trying to compose himself. “I hope it helps you sleep.”

“Do you want me to stay up with you?”

Yes, he thinks selfishly, Yes. Stay up with me, stay close to me, always.

He shakes his head instead. “You should rest while the spell holds.”

“And how long is that?”

“As long as I’m able to concentrate.”

He will think of her hands and their pull on a bowstring, their pluck of a lyre, their grip on a sword. How they weave her own magic, how they cradle a book. How they felt clasped in his, soft and cold.

A focus worth holding, at last.

“Only if it’s no trouble,” she says.

“None at all.”

Gale is grateful that he manages to stop himself, for once, from saying the rest of the thought as it enters his head. I would think of you anyway, magic or no.

Tav takes his hand in hers again, this time to squeeze it fondly.

For a moment, he feels that if he were to die just now– from the orb, from the tadpole, in the jaws of a hungry bulette– it would all have been worth it, for this.

“Thank you, Gale.”

Her smile is warmer than any summer he remembers, brighter than any star he can name.

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artificial-transmutations · 8 months

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Class Change

"Halt, criminal scum!"

Brolar's voice boomed through the small alley and some pigeons flew up, startled by the loud noise.

Brolar knew he had won now. The thief he had been fighting and following through half of the city had maneuvered himself into a dead end now. The walls of the surrounding buildings were too high to easily climb and Brolar doubted the thief would have been able to, even if they were. Both the thief and himself had exchanged some blows before, although the knight's armor on Brolar's powerful frame prevented more serious injuries. Still, the stealing scum had been surprisingly nimble and had managed to land some hits on the lesser protected parts of his body.

It mattered little. As it was to be expected, Brolar had won in the end, and the little rat had nowhere to run now.

The dark haired man he was following had apparently notice his mistake and his hands shot up in defeat.

"I yield! Please spare me!" he squeaked, with a voice like a rat.

Brolar smirked. Even though the newly returned prince Alaric had a questionable reputation, the kingdoms knights were upholding honor and righteousness. And Brolar was proud to be one of them.

"Empty you pockets!" He commanded.

"Alright, alright! Don't hurt me, please." the thief pleaded.

Slowly and with trembling fingers, the dark-haired man pulled out the stolen jewelry from his pockets and offered it on an open palm to the knight. Among the gold and silver rings and necklaces there were some other items as well: Some coins, a velvet handkerchief and a crystal vial, filled with a red liquid.

Brolar recognized the vial immediately: It was an item the kingdom's alchemists were selling, and the red liquid was a healing potion - a potent, yet not overly valuable mixture.

"You even stole from the apothecaries." Brolar said and shook his head. He carefully pocketed the valuables and looked at the potion. "And you couldn't get anything better than a health potion."

The thief looked like he was about to say something, but a single glare from the knight shut him up.

Such a remedy wasn't a big loss to any alchemist. For Brolar on the other hand, it was a welcome way be able to make his way back to the castle with less pain. With a quick motion, he uncorked the bottle.

"Sire, please, this isn't..." the thief began anew, but it was too late. Brolar had already downed the contents of the vial in one single gulp.

"...a healing concoction." the thief ended, eyes wide at Brolar's impulsive action.

"You rat!" shouted Brolar and pointed his sword at the other man's throat. "Did you poison me?!"

"No, it's not poison." the smaller man squeaked, with sweat on his forehead. He didn't mention that the knight had decided to drink the unknown potion all on his own - it would hardly have bettered his situation.

"Then what is it?" Brolar asked, still aiming his blade at the other man.

The thief gulped. "It is an ... elixir of class change."

"A what?" the knight asked. He had never heard about such a thing before.

"Please, put your sword away, and I'll explain."

"Very well, but the slightest attempt of escape will be the last thing you'll ever do."

The thief nodded. He didn't know the details, but what he knew is that the effects should start soon. With any luck, whatever was going to happen would even help him get out of this situation. He just had to bide some time.

"My name is Cerric, by the way." he started.

"Cerric." the knight repeated before snorting. "As if I care. Now, what is an... elixir of class change? What did I just drink?"

"Well, Sir Knight, I know little more than the name, but... it is said to have some quite transformative qualities."

Cerric watched Brolar carefully. If he was not mistaken, the effects were starting already. The clean shaven chin of the noble knight was showing some signs of stubble. Of course, the knight's hair was blonde - what other color could it have - but the small hairs appearing on his chin were darker, clearly visible against the fair skin.

"You're lying." Brolar said and raised his sword again, ready to strike.

"I swear, I'm not, Sire!" Cerric squealed. "You will see soon."

In fact, Brolar felt strange. He was feeling the heavy weight of his armor more than usual right now. He had long since gotten used to the weight of the metal plates that protected him, and he had developed muscles to support them. But right now, it felt as if he was lacking these very muscles. The longer he stood the less comfortable his breastplate became: It wasn't just becoming heavier, but also bigger on his frame. It was as if his torso thinned out and he got more and more wiggle room inside the rigid plate armor.

At the same time, his armor's pants were getting looser. His once trunk-like legs thinned considerably, until only a lean shadow of their former selves remained.

"What... is happening to me?" Brolar dropped his sword which fell to the ground with a metallic sound and touched his face with both hands, just in time to feel it get slimmer. His once square jaw would have gotten considerably less manly hadn't it be for the coating of brown stubble that now adorned his chin and upper lip.

Just as the weight of his armor was becoming too much to bear, the transformation reached his clothes. His sturdy armor pants changed texture and material, transforming from shiny metal and blue fabric to worn, brown leather that was being fastened to his thinner legs by multiple straps of the same material. Moving up, his metal belt turned into a slightly darker shade of brown leather, complete with a cheap bronze buckle.

Next to go were the plates protecting his arms. They became cheap green linen, not providing any protection but highlighting his unimpressive arms. They were lean and slim, and, compared to their former shape, twig-like. The sturdy, yet fine leather gloves on his hands dissolved entirely, exposing his now way more agile fingers. Brolar had never been a man who was good with his hands, but these hands could probably play an instrument well or undo a man's buckle in seconds.

Wait! Where did that thought come from? Brolar had sworn an oath to remain pure - and the very few instances he had to fight unclean thoughts were directed at women. Yet, now the picture of manly bulges came to his mind unbidden - and caused a swelling on another part of his body.

Just as his mighty metal pauldrons turned into cheap leather shoulder guards, Brolar's mind became fogged by lust more and more. He couldn't stop thinking of men! His leather pants showed a clear picture of his arousal. Apparently, his rather mediocre member had grown to a truly animalistic size - at least, that was the only explanation for his bulging pants front.

Suddenly, a big weight was removed, as the last piece of his armor, the chest plate, dissolved into nothing, exposing his lean and slim torso under his open shirt for the world to see. This was a peasant's way to dress, and a raunchy one, too. Brolar exhaled as body hair crept onto his clean upper body (and probably onto other parts of his body as well). It was brown and common, and made him look like a simple person.

However, what was not common, at least to Brolar's knowledge, was the massive bulge in his pants, straining the seams with its size. Brolar was a knight! He shouldn't be feeling these feelings. He closed his eyes in an attempt to cling onto his identity but was interrupted by a sudden touch on his privates. His eyes flew open, and he looked down to a grinning Cerric in shock.

"Need some help with that, stud?" The thief asked with a wink. Brolar wanted to slap away his hand, behead the other man for his insolence, but the pleasure he felt was far too great. He was so confused!

"I'll take that as a yes." the smaller man said and began to work his hands on the massive cock, making the once mighty knight moan uncontrollably.

He had lost the fight as Cerric took his massive rod into his mouth. Brolar's hair grew out longer and turned brown as well. When he rolled back his eyes in pleasure, they, too, changed color: From the steel blue eyes of a knight to dark brown ones, more fitting for the rogue he was now.

What a great change of class, requested around the time of Baldur's Gate release from a subscriber over at riot. While there are no subscription benefits anymore, you can still use my riot page as a tip jar.

#male transformation #straight to gay

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siempre-bucky · 2 years

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Velvet

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Fem!Reader

Summary: For the third time in twenty-four hours, Jake's brain short-circuited as he saw you. Three words in the back of his throat and all he could think about was how pretty you were standing before him in a dark green velvet dress.

wc: 3.8k

warnings: smut 18+ ONLY, penetrative sex (piv), creampie, soft!jake

What to read: silk | nomex

a/n: it took me a minuteeee but here's Velvet! I hope you like it

The morning was filled with fleeting glances and aching fingers. Jake’s emerald green eyes flashed in your direction more than once as Maverick spoke with urgency at the front of the room. The side of your body was on fire from his burning stare, but once you looked over, a cool rush went through you. He was his own remedy. Jake smirked at you, twirling his toothpick between his pearly white teeth. In return, you rolled your eyes and trailed your fingers up your clothed thigh just to tease him.

His fingers longed for your touch. The same fingers that had a death grip on the throttle of his jet, the yells of his ‘teammates’ in his ears through the comms. All he wanted to hear was your laugh and the clang of distant silverware in a quiet restaurant, not the squawk of Rooster and Mav.

“My favorite spider,” Jake smirked as you joined him in the ready room after your team completed the course, leaning against the only bare wall. You smirked in return and stood across from him, your finger pulling down on the dusty white plastic of the curtain to get a view of the jets. Jake’s green eyes scanned the rest of the team, no one paid attention to him in the corner—well, all except Javy and Natasha, they were always there with their knowing expressions. His attention returned to you, but when was it not? “I got us a reservation for that place you mentioned at eight,” he whispered.

Your face lit up, “No,” you gasped, trying to keep your voice down. “Who’s dick did you have to suck to get that?”

He feigned hurt, looking down at you with a pout, "My natural Texas charm," he grinned.

You formed a face.

"That and I pulled the military card."

You reached out, to any innocent bystander it looked like you were adjusting the little parts connected to his gear, but the long graze of your fingernails down the front of his suit told a different story to a select few in that room. Your eyes trailed down the stitches of hit embroidered patches, before shyly flickering upward. He was looking away, eyes trained on the sky and your eyes soon followed after retracting your hand. “I don’t like those clouds,” you told him.

The clouds were building in the distance, puffy and white as snow on the surface but underneath they were a dark gray; a storm was brewing. “They won’t ground us,” Jake reassured you. There were two sides to that statement, no storm could ruin your first date—he wouldn't allow it.

—

He felt like he was in his early twenties again as he sat fidgeting in the driver's seat of his freshly washed truck. Jake Seresin didn’t get nervous for dates, or if you could even call them that. He’d get dressed, drive to the girl's place, and end up in their bed. Tonight, he stood in front of his closet for a half hour with its contents strewn out on his neatly made bed. He finally chose a burnt orange polo; the one he tried on first but thought he had a better option. He spent extra time on his hair and put that lotion Coyote gave him as a joke on his hands.

As soon as he shut the truck’s door behind him, he was suddenly sixteen again and going on his very first date with a girl. The small house they gave you looked different when he wasn’t drunk off his ass and semi-confidently stumbling to your front door. Jake stood on the sidewalk, his heart pounding as he looked at the porch light. Don’t trip, don’t mess this up, he thought as he began to walk up the stone steps. His hands anxiously flexed at his sides.

It only took three soft knocks on your door for you to open it. His heart stilled, skipping several needed beats as the door slowly unveiled how you looked. Your skin was clothed in dark green velvet, the porch light creating a beautiful golden glow on the creases of the scooped neckline. Jake wanted to drop to his knees, worship at the altar that was your velvet-clad hips, and grip the short hemline. That small slit on the side was sinful, he knew he could instantly rip it open. “Jake?” you question, not hiding the small knowing smile.

“You look…”

Pretty, you thought, silently filling in his sentence.

“Very pretty,” he managed, his brain short-circuiting for the third time at the sight of you. You smiled kindly and stepped to the side to allow him in, masking the rush of warmth. You looked past him, the dark clouds moved forward since you last saw them. Dark and full of water.

"You've added an adverb, I'm impressed," you chuckled as you walked towards your living room, your black purse sitting on the back of the sofa.

Jake's eyes remained on you, his poor brain cells working overtime. The clack of your heels matched the thumping of his heart. Whoever designed the exposed back of your dress needed a raise and a kiss on the forehead. "I'm appalled," he jokingly scoffed, "I've been here a whole thirty seconds and you haven't complimented me yet."

You turned and shook your head, draping the gold chain of your bag on your shoulder. He wasn't wrong, but he didn't need to know that. You enjoyed the lovesick expression he'd been wearing, it was a good look for him. "You look very good, Jake," you smirked, walking over to him, your hands finding the corners of his collar to straighten them.

He looked at you in the dim light, the soft golden lamp light created beautiful shadows on your skin and it just pulled him in deeper—pulling down all the walls built by his ego. His hand gently raised, his knuckles stroking your jaw. You were expecting a smirk, followed by a cocky “I know”, but it never came. Jake just looked at you like you hung the moon that was covered by stormy clouds, thin lips slightly parted and emerald-colored eyes looking so intently at your face.

“What were you going to tell me this morning—and last night?” you whispered, afraid he’d instantly rebuild his defenses. Jake's hands fell from your face, outstretching his fingers to touch the soft skin of your bare arms before resting them on your waist. The feeling of the soft fabric under his palms was intoxicating, disorienting; but the words were still there, still trapped behind tight lips.

You felt the gravity become too much, making you take that shy step forward and your chests touching, heartbeats pounding against rib cages. “I wanted to tell you,” he gulped, fingertips pressing harder as if you’d slip away. “That I l-”

For the third time in twenty-four hours, he was interrupted. A house-shaking, fear-inducing crash of thunder halted him. You finally managed to pull away, your eyes looking at the front door. Pulling away, you rush to the door and yanked it open.

“Fuck,” Jake sighed from behind you.

The street was flooded. You two were so wrapped up in each other to notice the downpour outside your place. The wind was blowing aggressively, and the rain started to change direction on the pavement. “I think it grounded us,” you groaned.

Jake looked out at the street, trying not to grimace at the fact he just washed his truck. “I can drive.”

“No,” you snapped, your eyes widening. “I won’t let you.”

The man humphed and looked backward, “Well then,” he chirped, “guess I’m making you dinner.” You raised your eyebrows and looked at him.

You walked back into the house, tossing your bag carelessly back on the couch. “I’m going to change. I have pasta in the cabinet,” you tell him, masking the disappointment of a ruined night out but also masking the joy of Jake cooking dinner for you. He’d done it once before when you were stuck in the medbay and complained about the food.

“No, no, no,” he laughs, his arms wrapping around you to pull you into him. You let out a soft giggle and placed your hand over his. “You got all dressed up,” he rumbled against your ear.

He took you by the hand and led you into your small kitchen and hoisted you up on the counter smoothly. His eyes glanced downward at the valley of your breasts, doing everything in his power not to place hot kisses there. Your legs slid open, Jake instantly taking his place in between them. His eyes went lower at the exposed skin, your dress rising higher. He gulped.

“Seresin,” you placed your finger under his chin, making him meet your stare. He matched your smirk. “No more distractions,” you sighed, expression softening. Your hands found his chest, feeling the ribs of his shirt as you climbed higher until you were able to wrap your arms around his neck.

Jake found your hips, sliding you closer. “I-” his voice faltered as the rain picked up.

“Yes?” you breathed, your face coming closer.

He leaned in, his eyes still carefully studying your face.

“I love you.”

Your eyes flew upward as his words hit your ears, your heart thundering as loud as the sounds outside. Pressing your palm to the nape of his neck, you pulled him in. Lips touching, an instant park flying between you. Your fingers carded through his soft blond curls, pulling him away and detaching your lips. Your eyes lingered on his lips, tainted with the pleasant-tasting gloss you wore. “I love you too,” you tell him, your tone soft. “I want you, Jake.”

He forced out a Hangman grin, the signature smirk made you roll your eyes. “Do you?” he hummed, leaning forward to place open mouthed kisses on your collarbone. He guided you lower until your back hit the cold stone of the counter. His soft hand slid up your thigh, pulling your leg higher to rest on his hip.

He then trailed higher, taking in every ripple and every fold of velvet under his fingers.

“Mhm,” you mewled, putting your shaking hands over his and letting him lead you up your own body. His hands squeezed your tits, covering them perfectly like they were made for you. As you arched your back from the pleasurable contact, his tongue lightly stuck out to soothe the dark marks he was making, claiming you as his own. You let him.

Jake pulled away, standing at full height while you prop yourself on your elbows. He took off his shirt, tossing it on the floor to the side of him. You grinned, finally getting what you’ve always wanted: the beautiful adonis-like man with pecs carved from marble and mesmerizing green eyes.

“I’m not gonna do this on your kitchen counter, darlin’,” he panted as he effortlessly picked you up. Your eyes widened, there was no grunt or sign of struggle as he carried you to your bedroom. Jake only chuckled as he threw you down on your bed, reacting to the squeak you let out. You went to pull down the thin straps of your dress but stopped when he saw the stern shake of his head.

“See something you like, Jake?” you tease.

“I sure do—and you’re gonna keep it on,” he said lowly, his voice full of want as he undid his belt and popped the button of his pants. You pressed your thighs together, already feeling the arousal pool between your thighs. Who gave him the right? If he weren’t crawling to you, you would have kissed every inch of his prominent v-line. Your hands were itching to touch the man on top of you.

The blond raised his hand to stroke your cheek, “I love you,” he whispered. Your legs spread, wrapping around his waist, drawing him in as you grabbed the growing bulge that was begging for release. The moan the aviator emitted put every other man to shame, no one could sound as perfect as him, touch you the way he did.

“Say it again,” you told him, rising up to press small pecks to his shoulder.

“I love you.” You slid your hands down the sides of his pants, pulling them down so his hard cock sprang free. A chill went through you as you heard it smack against his abs, coating the muscle in beads of precum.

“I love you.” He dragged his lips down, lower and lower down the center of your chest—finger hooking the fabric of your neckline and pulling to expose your breasts. A low rumble escaped his throat as he sucked in your pebbled nipple.

“Fuck—Jake!” you gasped, digging your fingernails into his hips which only made him suck harder. “I need you inside me—please. Please.”

Jake pulled away, darkened eyes flashing up to meet your upturned brow and glassy eyes. This would be the time he would make some ego-fueled comment about how much you wanted him, then mercilessly tease you. He covered your chest and quickly kissed you. He needed to do this right. He could have foreplay later, get you on your knees before doing the same for you in return. There wasn’t much time, two weeks were quickly passing like cars desperate for their destination.

“I won’t make you wait,” he muttered, shedding the rest of his clothing before returning his attention to you. He looked down at you, laid out on your bed—and it was all for him. His face was soft, a look filled with love and devotion. You smiled in return as he lowered himself down on his elbows, recapturing your lips.

You were so wrapped up in the gentle smacking of your lips that you didn’t notice his hand snake down and cup your bare core, his middle finger pressing inside you. Moaning into the kiss, your hips bucked, his finger sinking deeper. “More,” you mumbled, clenching around him.

Jake slid in another finger, “You’re so wet for me, sweetheart,” he drawled, briefly pulling away to look down at his forearm thrusting in and out of you.

“All for you,” you told him, kissing along his sharp jawline.

He withdrew his fingers and sat back on his heels, letting you watch his chest rise and fall, his thighs flexed. “I need you,” you panted pathetically, surely he’d make fun of you for that in the morning. Jake gave his cock a couple of long strokes before circling the head around your clit, dragging it down to line up with your entrance.

Bending over, Jake put his forehead to yours, guiding himself inside you. In perfect timing, the two of you moaned at the same time, little gasps and curses falling from your lips. You arched as the head slipped inside, your walls stretching to fit him. It stung so good. “Big,” was all you could manage.

“I know,” he hummed, sliding in further, “and you take me so well, so perfect for me.”

He stilled as he bottomed out, allowing you to adjust to his size. His hands roamed your clothed body, the warm velvet only adding to the heat surrounding him. “You can move,” you informed him quietly, wrapping your arms around his neck for support.

He started to pull out, the stretch added to the pleasure in between your thighs. Jake stopped when only the thick head remained and you clenched around the ridge. “Jesus,” he cursed, biting down on his lip before pushing back inside.

“Fuck me, Jake. I can take it,” you gritted as he sat back, hands gripping your clothed hips. You dragged your hands down his beating chest, palming the pecs you’d always admired, his tits glistening with the sheer layer of sweat.

“You sure, darlin’? Wanted this to be romantic,” he teased as he continued his slow thrusts, letting your eyes fall to his abs and hips. He knew you were watching. What a ham, you thought, resisting the eye roll at his perfect face.

You cocked your head, pouting at him. “Want you to make me cum. We’ve waited long enough, Jake.”

His grip tightened first, thumbs tempted to leave reminding bruises then he started to thrust harshly. The sounds of slapping skin and breathy moans rivaled the storm. Pillows had fallen to the ground at the movement and the bed slid at least a quarter inch. “So fucking beautiful,” he grunted, looking down at your fucked out expression.

You dragged your nails down his pecs, leaving angry red scratch marks in their wake. “Just like that, don’t stop,” you begged as he started to hit that spongy spot inside you, your legs feeling more like jelly with each thrust.

The praise pressed every button inside the man deliciously, a familiar knot forming in the pit of his stomach. It was a rare occasion that he felt like the first to cum, he was proud of the fact he could go on for long periods of time without cumming. It was always different with you, you were capable of bringing him to his knees, bringing him to the precipice of pleasure in mere minutes. “I-I’m gonna cum,” he panted, trying to mask the disbelief.

Letting out a gasp as his pelvis managed to brush your clit, you glided your nails down the sides of his waist. He dipped down, teeth clamping down on your neck as your limbs clung to him and your chest pressed against his. “Cum inside me, Jake. Want you to make me yours,” you whimpered in his ear.

The knot grew tighter, time was fleeting. One of his hands flew down and started to rub your clit while his thrusts became faster. “Cum for me, pretty girl, I feel you clenching around me,” he told you as he trailed his lips upward, finally catching your lips in a kiss.

You let out a weak, broken moan as your orgasm washed over you, your pussy clenching around him tighter, his name on your lips. Jake bit down on your lip, careful not to hurt you while you came down from your high. “Jake, baby, cum for me. Please—please—fill me up.”

“F-fuck,” he groaned, as his thrusts became sloppy, the head of his cock brushing your cervix. His whole body tightened before his orgasm calmed the muscles, ropes of warm cum spilling inside you. “I love you so much,” he panted tiredly, his body collapsing on top of you.

The two of you stayed there for a moment, allowing your breathing to become normal. The blond was waiting to hear it back but it never came. Your chest was still heaving and you laid slack on the bed. The man quickly sat up and pressed a hand to your cheek.

“Hot,” you struggled to say, eyes not being able to focus on his glistening face.

Jake searched you, hands touching different parts of your exposed limbs and your neck. You were burning. The dress, he thought. “We gotta get you out of this, baby,” he said sweetly, sitting you up and reaching behind you to pull down the zipper.

He stood you up to help get you undressed, shoes and dress being tossed aside. The rush of cold air made your breath hitch, your arms wrapping around your body to cover yourself from view. Jake turned and briskly made his way to the doorway where your silk robe still remained untouched from the night before. He grabbed his boxers and crossed the floor back to you.

“Thank you,” you murmured as he helped you into it before dressing himself. As soon as he tied the tie into a small bow, you fell into his arms. He scooped you up and carried you into the even colder living room.

“Are you ok?” he asked, kissing your temple.

“Still a little warm,” you said, your head nuzzling in the crook of his neck.

Smoothly, he opened the back door, and you were met with the chill from the still pouring rain. Jake sat down on the little floral print couch and pulled you close to his side, sliding back your hair. The sound of the rain was comforting, your eyes fluttering closed as you were finally able to relish in the afterglow, hearing his heartbeat and feeling him trace patterns on the silk. “I love you too,” you responded at last.

He smiled.

The sweat dissipated over time, sitting in comfortable silence while you watched the lighting illuminate the clouds. Jake finally shifted, soft eyes flickering to you. You looked up with a soft hum to strike up a conversation. “I told Phoenix I loved you that night at the bar,” he started, words stuck in his throat.

“Jake–” your head snapped up to look at him. He wasn't looking when you saw him, his eyes were dead set on the clouds in front of you. “What changed your mind about telling me?”

In that moment, you exchanged a glance and suddenly he was Hangman again. Serious, eyebrows lowered and his lips in a tight line before he spoke. “Take these words to the grave, Widow,” he told you, only using your call sign when he was serious.

You drew an ‘x’ over your heart and smirked. His face softened. There he was: your Jake.

“This mission—it doesn’t look good” he managed, of course, he didn’t want you to say that the Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was scared. “And if we go up there and don’t make it back, I at least want to die knowing that you possibly loved me too.”

You climbed into his lap, and before he could touch your hips, you grabbed his thumbs. Pulling his hands closer, you pressed a loving kiss to the center of his palms. Your eyes were soft yet filled with so much passion and purpose to remind him that he was loved—loved by you. “I love you, Jake Seresin,” you mumbled warmly against his skin. “I love you on the ground, and I love you in the air. You piss me off and make me want to rip my hair out, but I can’t love a single person more than you.”

“I’m in love with the most beautiful person to grace the earth.” Jake maneuvered so that he held your fingers in his hands. He kissed your knuckles one by one, murmuring in between each bone.

“I love you in silk.” He kissed one.

“I love you in your flight suit.” another.

“I love you in velvet.” one more remained.

“Make it back and I’ll love you in white.”

A tear fell, cascading down your warm cheek, heart fluttering at the words of a future with him. He wiped it away and kissed the skin there. “We’ll make it back—I love you, Jake.”

He pulled you in closer to his chest. You played with the strands of hair on the back of his neck while he buried his face in the side of your neck. “I love you more.”

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