#💓one shots💓 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stylesispunk · 4 months ago

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WOW. I LOVED THIS SO MUCH ✨✨✨

call it what it is

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel. fair warning, i am quite rusty.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: hi hello. i have not shared a wip in over 2 months. i was going back and forth on whether or not i wanted to share a fic with so much going on but decided i wanted to get back to doing what i enjoy. that and ofc that new footage was a boost of inspo. i am sending so, so much love to anyone who happens to see this author note, whether you read this fic or just happen to see this note in passing whilst scrolling. i know things have been tough, but i am here with you. <3

Joel wakes with a gentle start. Yawning, he rolls over from his side onto his back, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as warm, golden sunlight filters into the bedroom through the sheer, white linen curtains drawn over the window. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing slow, steady, and even. He’s still getting used to it, it seems. Waking this calmly, with a tranquil peace he had been so certain he would never in his life feel again. He knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence the nightmares had all but stopped tormenting him in his sleep when the two of you stopped doing that awkward little tap dance around one another and began sharing a bed, a home, a life.

No more bolting upright in sheer panic in the middle of the night, heart pounding and drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. No more believing he’s failing in his sleep. No more waking up feeling like he’s lost something.

Even his dreams about Sarah had become so, so much more pleasant. Images of her in that field on that night were replaced by different memories, like watching her teammates dogpile her after she’d scored the winning goal in their soccer tournament, or the big, triumphant grin she’d flashed him over her chocolate milkshake as the pair sat in their usual corner booth at their favorite fifties-themed diner in Austin—much to Joel’s surprise, Sarah had politely declined her teammates’ invitation for pizza once the match ended, choosing to celebrate her victory with him. Just the two of them.

“Y’sure you don’t wanna go with your friends, kiddo?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been certain she was approaching the age where she would start spending less and less time with her old man. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know.”

“Positive,” she had reassured him with a smile, looping her arm through his and leading him off the pitch. “I’d much rather be with you, dad.”

Rather than smelling metallic in his slumber, he smells the grass that stained her white and blue striped jersey. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt, not with crimson.

Stifling another loud yawn, Joel stretches his arm out over towards your side of the bed, his calloused fingers seeking the warmth and softness of your naked body—instead, all they find are empty sheets, cold and long abandoned. He turns his head, and as suspected, you are not laying there beside him. That’s hardly out of the ordinary. Out of the two of you, you were the early riser, up before the neighbors’ rooster even had the chance to sound the alarm. Joel knows how much you treasure your quiet mornings lounging on the porch swing he’d built for you as you watched the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He often made a genuine effort to get up and join you, but lately, his patrol rotations had been all over the place thanks to a shortage of patrolmen. He found himself sleeping in whenever he had the chance, seeing as he never knew when he might have to work a damn double. Or maybe it was just his age catching up with him.

He checks the time and then rolls out of bed, groaning when his sore knees and his aching lower back protest his movement.

After taking a quick shower using whatever hot water the kid had left for him after her own shower—much to his annoyance, it was not very much—Joel brushes his teeth and gets dressed for the day before pulling on his boots and heading downstairs into the kitchen where he finds the culprit responsible for the cold downpour he’d been forced to wash himself under. Ellie’s sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal around her bowl with her spoon as she flips through one of her comic books. Just as he’s about to greet her, he spots the clean, empty coffee pot on the kitchen counter and frowns. You hadn’t even made coffee yet?

Now, that—that is out of the ordinary.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Well, good morning to you too, old man. Oh, I slept great, thanks for asking,” Ellie quips without looking up at him as she flips the page. She mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch, something like, and you get on my ass about my manners?

Rolling his eyes, Joel snorts in response and pads over to the coffee maker on the counter. He spoons in some of the grounds he’d traded for earlier that week into the reusable filter, pours in water from the tap, and turns it on to brew. He grabs two ceramic mugs from the wire dish rack beside the sink and sets them down on the counter. “She out back?” he questions, yanking the refrigerator door open—he tries to remember the little things, like how you enjoyed your coffee with a bit of milk as well as a dash of cinnamon, if you had the rations, or something to trade for the precious spice. He always made sure that you did.

“Nope.” Ellie shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and adds thickly, “She went to get some eggs.”

Joel shoots her a look of disgust over his shoulder. “Jesus, Ellie! How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s bad manners,” he scolds her, shaking his head. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator. As he reaches for the glass bottle of milk, he pauses and his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he sees the wicker basket on the top shelf. “Wait a minute.” He feels her stiffen in her chair. “Why the hell would she go get eggs when we’ve got a full basket of ‘em right here in the fridge?”

She clears her throat. “Oh, uh, my bad. I got confused. Think she said she was gonna go get more honey? Uh, I used the last of it to make my breakfast this morning and she, uh—she wanted some for her toast. You know, ‘cause she really likes putting honey on her toast,” she rambles before piling more oatmeal into her mouth.

Closing the refrigerator door, he turns to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as uneasiness settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “Ellie?”

There’s a momentary pause. “...yeah?”

This time, Joel doesn’t bother to chastise the teenager for talking with her mouth full. “Where is she?”

Ellie nervously swallows her food and holds up both of her hands. “Hey, I already fucking told you, man.”

“Look, I know you like the back of my own hand, kiddo. And I know damn good and well when you’re lying to me.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Now tell me the truth. What do you know that I don’t?”

Groaning, Ellie sits back in her chair. “Ugh. She made me swear not to tell you! She’ll fucking strangle me if I do—”

“Yeah, well, not if I fuckin’ strangle you first myself,” he threatens her. “M’Serious, Ellie. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Alright, alright! Jesus,” she huffs. “She’s with Tommy. He’s been taking her out of town to do target practice in the mornings, just the two of them. She usually gets back to the house before you get up,” she admits.

Joel’s arms fall back to his sides, his shoulders tense. “And how long has this been goin’ on?” he asks, rigidly. There’s a sudden tightness inside his chest, a feeling he hasn’t felt it in a while, but is still all too familiar to him.

After Tommy spread the word around town that more people were needed for patrol duties, you’d expressed an interest in the role, but Joel had been all too quick to shut you down, telling you he didn’t want you stepping foot outside the community’s gates.

“No,” he’d said. “Not happenin’. S’too dangerous.”

“But Joel—”

“I said,” he lowered his voice. “No.”

He hadn’t offered you an explanation as to why he was against it, refused to give you one good, solid reason as to why it was acceptable for him to risk his own life to protect Jackson, but it wasn’t acceptable for you to do the same.

Joel hadn’t known how to tell you the truth. How he needed you far, far more than you needed him, how the mere thought of losing you, the best fucking thing that could have possibly happened to him since the world ended, made him feel like his heart was going to stop.

A few weeks had passed since then, and thankfully, you never brought it up to him again. You had lost interest in patrol duty. Or so he’d thought.

“How long has this been going on?” he repeats after a minute.

“C’mon, man! Haven’t I already snitched enough?”

“Ellie,” Joel bites out her name. “Tell me. How long?”

She sighs in defeat. “Two weeks? Maybe three?” When she notices the muscle in his jaw tick, she grimaces. “You do realize why she didn’t fucking tell you, right?”

“Don’t,” he warns her, sharply.

“I’m just saying,” Ellie mutters, peering down into her bowl.

Without another word, Joel angrily storms past her and straight out the front door, snatching up his rifle on the way. He heads straight for the stables, trying to ignore the anxiety flaring inside of his chest.

Focus.

Now, breathe in. And breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe...

You exhale as you slowly squeeze the trigger.

Y’squeeze it like you love it, you had been told by your reluctant instructor.

The round fires off into the distance and you swiftly grab the bolt handle, bringing it up, back, forward, and then down again. You pull the trigger once more, then repeat and continue firing one shot after the other for a total of five rounds.

The rifle’s recoil nearly sends you flying backwards, but a strong hand on your back keeps you nice and steady. That same hand then moves to your shoulder and gives you three firm taps.

“Alright, alright! Christ,” Tommy laughs. He withdraws his arm from around you and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ calm down, Annie Oakley.”

Picking up his binoculars, he rises to his feet and looks through the lens at the makeshift targets that he’d set up for you, three empty soup cans lined up in a row on top of a wooden fence about twenty-five yards away—your longest shooting distance to date.

“Well?” You don’t even bother masking your impatience as you lower the rifle, carefully propping the weapon up against the tree stump you’re perched behind. Rubbing your sore shoulder, you hope the kickback won’t leave a bruise. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to Joel. “How did I do?”

His response comes in the form of a long, low whistle.

There is no telling if that had been good whistle, or if it had been a bad one. You groan. Now was not the time for him to dick around. “Please tell me I got at least one of them?”

“You got ‘em all, actually.” Tommy replies, lowering the binoculars and peering down at you. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Good job, kid.”

Kid? Not exactly a nickname one wants to be called by the brother of the much, much older man that they are romantically involved with. It’d taken Tommy months to accept your relationship with Joel, especially when you moved your things out of your unit and into his over the summer. Part of you wonders if him referring to you as a kid is simply his own subtle way of telling you—no, of reminding you, that he’s still not comfortable with it.

And perhaps he never would be.

After all, you had still been a teenager when you first arrived to Jackson a few years ago, stumbling upon the town just a few months shy of the twentieth birthday you weren’t sure you would survive long enough to see.

You were indeed a kid when you’d met Tommy Miller.

Were.

Scowling up at him, you snap, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not nineteen anymore, Tommy.”

Having read your mind, he gives you a small smile and acknowledges, “Yeah, you’re right. You definitely ain’t a kid anymore.” He offers you his hand and hoists you up to your feet. Before dropping your hand, he gives it an apologetic squeeze.

You relax a little and smile back at him. “Did I really get all three?”

Tommy nods. “You sure did. You’re a damn good shot. I gotta be honest with you—I didn’t expect you to be this fuckin’ good,” he admits sheepishly.

Chuckling, you scoff, “Thanks. I think.”

“It’s a compliment, sugar.” He winks and flashes you a lopsided grin. “In fact, I’d say my work here is done.”

“Great! So when are you putting me on the roster?”

His grin instantly vanishes. “Uh, listen. About that....”

He trails off, and your heart sinks a little.

Tommy wouldn’t back out of this now—would he?

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare go back on your word, Miller,” you say, lightly poking him in the chest. “We had a deal. You said if I did well enough, you’d think about it.”

He nods in agreement. “Exactly. Said I’d think about it. And I think that puttin’ you on the roster for patrol ain’t a good idea.”

Your mouth falls open. If he never had any intention of holding up his end of the bargain, then what had been the point of teaching you how to shoot?

You didn’t understand.

“You just said it yourself, I’m a great shot! I’m a good on horseback, too. I’m stealthy. I’m diligent. What more do you fucking need from me, Tommy?”

Tommy’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “Joel would fuckin’ murder me with his bare hands if I even thought about puttin’ you on patrol duty. Hell, he’d murder me just knowin’ we’re out here and I’m teachin’ you how to shoot. It’s a damn fuckin’ miracle he still hasn’t caught onto this, y’know.”

Shocked, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “This is about Joel? Are you serious?”

“‘Course it is.” He pauses. “Listen, now I know the three of us had our—differences—when he first told me ‘bout you two. Still takin’ me a bit of gettin’ used to, but I can see he’s real serious about you. I know my brother, and I know he won’t risk losin’ what’s most important to him. Ain’t no way in hell. He doesn’t want you out here and you know that as well as I do.” Tommy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging as he shuffles his weight from one cowboy boot to the other. “Unless he’s alright with it, I ain’t gonna put you on the roster.”

For a moment, you’re at a complete loss for words.

Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he makes a suggestion. “You can try talkin’ to him ‘bout it again if it means that much to you. Ask him—”

“Ask?” You want to laugh. You almost do. “I’m an adult, Tommy. I don’t need his permission to do this. Or to do anything for that matter. Joel doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Tommy smiles wryly. “Well then, if that’s the case, why are we sneakin’ around and doin’ this behind his back?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

Because the ramifications could be disastrous.

Joel had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear, and yet here you were, deliberately disobeying him.

“Stumped you real good, didn’t I?”

Before you can even start to think about how you can possibly respond to that, you hear the sound of hooves in the dirt behind you, followed by whinny of a horse.

Tommy’s face pales as he glances over your shoulder.

“Shit.”

There’s no need for you to ask. His grimace says it all.

Somehow, you will yourself to turn around just as Joel’s steed comes to a halt beside the mare you and Tommy had ridden out on together. He jumps out of the saddle, grunting at the forceful impact on his knees when his feet hit the ground. His rifle hangs from a worn, brown leather strap slung across his back.

He approaches the two of you looking absolutely livid, and your throat goes dry.

“The hell is goin’ on here?” He breezes right past you, roughly shoving his brother with both hands. “Why the fuck would you bring her out here, Tommy? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Joel, c’mon. Take it easy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy!”

“Joel!” You reach for his arm. “Wait, it’s not his fault!”

Joel shoves him again, then takes him by the collar of his shirt and pins him against the ponderosa pine tree behind him. “You’ve been bringin’ her outside the gates behind my fuckin’ back for weeks, asshole?”

The panic begins to set in—he’s taking his anger out on the wrong person, and deep down, he knows this too.

“Joel! Stop! Let him go!” Grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, you try pulling him off of the younger man. “Stop it! It’s not his fault! I asked Tommy to bring me out here!”

He whirls around, his nostrils flared, jaw clenched.

You’ve seen this side of him a handful of times before.

But his anger has never been directed at you.

“What?”

Immediately, you let go of him and take a step back. “I asked Tommy to bring me out here and teach me how to shoot so that I can start working patrol,” you explain, hoping, praying, he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. “This was all my idea, okay? If you’re going to be mad at someone, then be mad at me. Not at him.”

“So you did this after I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you out here?” Joel seethes. His neck becomes flushed, his tan skin now a deep shade of red.

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “I had to find out from Ellie? You tried to get her to fuckin’ lie to me? After all the work it took for me and her to—” Stopping mid sentence, he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Joel. Please.” Behind the anger in his dark brown eyes, you detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

Tommy awkwardly clears his throat. “Well I’m, uh—I’m gonna head back to town,” he says, touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll let the two of you work things out in private.” As he passes Joel, he lightly claps him on the shoulder. “Girl’s a sharp shooter, big brother. I’d reckon she’s almost better than you.”

His effort to lighten the mood fails. Miserably.

Offering you a subtle nod of encouragement, Tommy hops into the saddle of his mare and takes off towards the commune.

Silence falls over the both of you. It feels suffocating.

Unfamiliar.

Finally, you speak. “Joel, please just hear me out—”

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Or were you just not thinkin’ at all?”

“I was thinking I want to pull my weight in Jackson.”

“You already have a fuckin’ job,” Joel reminds you.

“Making sandwiches and serving whiskey at The Tipsy Bison?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am capable of more than that, Joel. So much more. Don’t you believe I’m capable of doing more?”

“I don’t want you out here,” he grits through his teeth. “Capable or not, I don’t want you outside Jackson’s walls. I don’t want you on patrol and that’s fuckin’ final. You understand me?” Now it’s him who falters, and you wonder if you’re imagining things, or if that’s really a tear you see sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.

“That’s not your decision to make, Joel. It’s mine.”

“M’responsible for you. It’s my job to look after you—to protect you.”

Something about the way he is looking at you, it feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at that precise moment when you begin to realize that he’s not angry. He’s afraid.

“Joel, I know that all you want to do is protect me,” you sigh, letting your arms fall down to your sides. “I know you do. But you’re doing me no favors by trying to keep me sheltered. By treating me like I’m defenseless. Don’t forget, I’m a survivor too.”

“You already know how fuckin’ dangerous it is out here. Clickers, raiders—”

“I can handle it,” you insist, stubbornly.

“You’d be puttin’ yourself right in harm’s way!”

You shoot back, “You mean, the way you and so many other people put yourselves in harm’s way every single day for the sake of keeping Jackson safe?”

A frustrated growl rumbles through his chest. “Christ, why are you bein’ so fuckin’ foolish? You’re just askin’ to get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself!” You realize your hands are shaking and curl them into tight fists at your sides in an effort to hide it. “Just accept it, Joel! Accept that I can take care of myself, alright?”

That is all it takes to tip Joel over the edge he’s been teetering on. “Then what do you fuckin’ need me for?” he shouts, his voice thundering over the quiet plains of Wyoming. “If you can take care of yourself, what’s the point in us bein’ together? Why are you with me?”

“Because I love you!”

As soon as the confession comes tumbling out of your mouth, you take a step back, your wide eyes meeting his own. Until now, neither of you have ever called this what it is, been bold enough to say it’s love.

Loving after so much grief, so much loss, is daunting. It’s something you thought you would never be capable of doing again, not in this lifetime. Not in this world. It’s happened, though.

You love Joel Miller.

And he loves you.

He’s never told you he does, but he’s shown you.

From the way remembers how you take your coffee in the mornings, to the way he laces his fingers with your own, holding your hand when he’s buried inside of you, whispering sweet nothings into your collarbone every single night.

“You—you what?” Joel’s whisper is hardly audible.

You inch your way closer to him, your voice soft. “I love you,” you declare once more. “I’m not with you because of what you can do for me. I’m not with you because you can take care of me.” Closer. “I’m with you because I love you—because I’m in love with you, Joel.” Closer, until your chest brushes against his, and he can smell the subtle scent of your homemade, rosewater soap. “The only thing I need, and have ever needed from you, is your love in return.”

His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he lifts his hands and gently takes your face, cradling it in between his large palms, gently. His eyes search yours, immediately finding the sincerity behind your words. Leaning down, he brushes the tip of nose against your own as one of his hands travels down, his long fingers curling around the nape of your neck. His thumb lightly strokes the column of your throat.

“I love you,” Joel says hoarsely. Three words he hadn’t said to anyone in over two decades—it feels foreign to him, they ring strange in his own ears. He tries it again, clearer this time, and with a little more confidence. After all, he’s only saying what he has known from the very start. “I love you.” His other hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer to him. “M’gonna love you for the rest of my life, baby.”

He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly, at first, but he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, silently asking for more.

Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the ponderosa, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved.

You whimper into him, your hands sliding up his broad chest and past his shoulders until they’re tangled in his soft, graying curls. He breathes you in, like you are the oxygen he needs to stay alive.

It isn’t until you both hear the sound of rustling behind a nearby shrub that you’re forced to pull apart. “Don’t move,” Joel instructs in a hushed voice. He keeps you pinned against the tree, his hand abandoning your hip. He glances around, slowly reaching behind his back for his rifle. His tense shoulders relax when the both of you see a pair of rabbits dart out from one dried bush and straight into another. Exhaling an amused huff, Joel shifts his attention back to you and rests his forehead against yours.

Smiling, you reach up and softly graze his beard with your fingertips. “Guess it’s about time we called this what it is, huh?”

“Guess you’re right, darlin’.” He lifts his chin, brushing a kiss onto your forehead. “M’sorry for raisin’ my voice to you. For talkin’ to you the way I did. S’just, the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you out here scares shit out of me.” Taking a step back, he pulls the strap of his rifle from around his shoulder. He chews the inside of his cheek and silently stares at the gun in his hands. After a minute, he meets your curious gaze. “Do you really wanna do this, sweet girl?”

You nod. “Yeah. I really do.”

Joel sighs. “Can I put a condition it?”

“Depends on what that condition is.”

“I’m your patrol partner. Every shift. Every rotation.”

You roll your eyes. “Joel.”

“At least for the first few weeks,” he bargains. “Last thing I need is for you to be paired up with some fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”

Knowing that would be the only way he’d have some peace of mind, you decide to agree. “Fine. We’re patrol partners.”

“Alright then.” Joel nods and hands you the rifle. He flashes you a small grin. “Show me what you got, baby.”

divider credit to @/saradika 💛

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

#fic: call it what it is #fic rec 💓#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot

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celesteleoves · 10 months ago

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hello! could you please do an izuku fluff one shot where he loves to sleep with reader in her dorm? i use she/her pronouns but gender neutral would be fine aswell if you’d prefer💓

“I LOOK BETTER IN THE DARK.”

IZUKU MIDORIYA x fem!reader.

summary: what the request said!

warnings: reader and izuku have known each other since middle school, izuku being traumatized 😔, set before the second war!fluff otherwise i believe! kinda angsty for a minute.

a/n: guys… i miss him. he’s so sweet pls don’t hurt him anymore horikoshi. also ily anon ty for requesting this omg. pls send more 🤍

—

it wasn’t uncommon for your boyfriend to randomly show up at your dorm. normally, he would arrive approximately ten minutes after texting you that he was going to try to take a nap.

but, you knew your boyfriend and you knew he would arrive with his hair tussled and eyes wide and disappointed – from not being able to sleep on his own. you were used to izuku knocking on your dorm room at random hours, you’ve even grown accustomed to this routine.

currently, you’re sat by your door. playing with your matching all might keychain that izuku got you for your birthday when you were young.

knock, smack! knock.

you smiled at the noise, you made that knocking pattern up after one time while trying to knock on your door barely awake, izuku fell asleep and smacked his head off of your door then clumsily tried to knock to cover up the embarrassment he felt in that moment.

you stood up, rushing to your door. a soft smile already on your face.

“hi. i-” izuku tried to defend himself, yet again, he forgets that you are used to this.

“you couldn’t sleep, i know.” you softly nodded and motioned for him to come in.

he smiled crookedly as he rubbed the back of his head, trudging toward your bed and flopping on it.

it was late, around 9 pm, the moonlight replacing the suns glare.

you stood by the door for a minute, admiring your boyfriend.

he laid with one of his hands behind his head lazily, the other hand playing with your all might keychain. he looked so cute. his lips were turned upwards at the sight of the keychain.

the moonlight made his freckles pop, his dark-green hair looking more abnormally fluffier than usual.

you moved towards your boyfriend, plopping down beside him and lifting the covers over you two.

for some reason, your boyfriend just looked so ethereal during calm moments like this. just you two. no fighting for your lives or breaking bones. just peacefulness.

“i think i look better in the dark.” izuku mumbled quietly as he noticed your staring, he turned to look at you. his expression was shy and you felt your heart swoon.

you quietly chucked, “you always look good, izu.” you softly whispered as he became flustered. the boy curled up against you as he moved to rest his head on your chest.

tuffs of hair tickled your chin, causing you to giggle slightly as you played with his shirt. he wore a shirt that you gifted him at the start of the year, to celebrate him getting into U.A. with you.

“what happened to napping in your own room today?” you teased, not noticing your boyfriend moving his hand so it was closer to yours.

“i had a nightmare.”

your teasing smile dropped, you should’ve known. izuku’s been having terrors constantly after the first war. it was miracle when you and your classmates had even convinced him to come back to U.A. and rest.

“sorry, they just don’t happen when i’m with you.” he said quietly after noticing your silence, his words slightly muffled into your chest as you kissed his head.

“i’m glad they don’t.” you looked down, noticing his hand beside yours, he has been awkwardly fiddling with the sheets this whole time. he was scared to hold your hand. he didn’t want to hurt you.

you softly sighed, interlocking your fingers with his. you knew he felt safe when people held his hands. izuku began drifting into a slumber, the feeling of you holding his hand comforting him.

“i love you.”

you looked down at him, expecting him to reply only to see his eyes shut, mouth opened slightly as he slept. you felt your own eyes close as you basked in the feeling of holding your lover.

izuku midoriya is one of the strongest people on earth right now but when he’s with you, he’s just your izuku. just a kid who deserves a break from society and a well rested sleep.

a/n: my baby. THIS WAS A LITTLE OFF TRACK and very short, i’m sorry anon i got a little carried away 😔😔 i hope you enjoyed this! 🫶

SEND REQUESTS! 🤍

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roselites · 2 months ago

Text

one more afternoon / jake "hangman" seresin x reader

summary: your brother's best friend pays a visit to his texas hometown, and in spite of your resolution to get over your (slightly embarrassing) childhood unrequited crush, you can't help but admit that you're still down bad for jake seresin.

content warnings: f!reader, alcohol use, oblivious reader can't take a hint

word count: 14k (you told me not to apologize for long fics, so here it is, i present it without apology!)

author’s note: hello, all! i wanted to have this out by thanksgiving, but i got hit with a stomach flu and then with a regular flu, so it took me this long to finish it. i hope the wait was worth it 🫶 the title is taken from a song by maggie rogers. as promised, the next one will be a short (i mean it this time!) and spicy holiday-themed one for all the tyler owens lovers 💓 thank you so much for voting in the poll that got this baby written.

“Did you hear the big news?” Your dad bustled into the shop with his arms full of greenery, grunting as he set the bundles wrapped in newspaper into a bucket. At the counter, your mom paused her accounting and fixed your dad an eager stare. She loved news. “Jake’s coming home for the wedding!” he announced. He brushed his hands off while yours fumbled over the order forms. A few slipped out of sequence and fluttered down to the floor. You bent to pick them up, hearing your mom’s sigh of delight.

“Oh, that's wonderful news! Dinah will be so pleased, and Amanda, too. She was worried Jake wouldn't manage to get leave. You know how much she adores him.”

“Well, she's not the only one. Mike’s ready to throw a whole goshdarn parade in his honor.” The forms retrieved, you busied yourself with putting them back in order. Your dad laughed. “I haven’t seen the kid that excited since the day Gilly was born.”

“Ow!” You stuck your finger in your mouth, the taste of blood making you wince.

“Sweetie, are you okay?” your mom asked.

“Yeah, yeah, just… paper cut.”

She came to your end of the counter. Taking your finger in her hands, she moved it this way and that, squinting at it through her glasses before she dropped a kiss on your head. “Mm, I think you’ll live.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis.”

“Don’t sass me!” she joked. “I’ll call Mike. Maybe we can all throw Jake a nice big barbecue, spend some time together like the old days.”

“He’ll probably be busy with wedding stuff,” you pointed out, mumbling around your finger.

She shot you a look that said spoilsport. “I know Jake, he’ll make the time. Besides, he’ll be walking with you at the wedding, won’t he?” Mom must have taken the shock of surprise for disappointment, because she smacked a hand against her forehead and said, “Oh, sorry! Me and my big mouth!”

It took you a moment to realize she wasn't talking about Jake.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, making a half-hearted attempt to sort through the forms again. Your parents looked at you skeptically. “I’m fine! Josh and I are practically ancient history.”

Dad, bless him, took your word for it, or at least pretended to. He picked up the bucket of sage bundles and took it into the back, but your mom hovered, stroking your shoulder, cloyingly sympathetic. It was clear she wanted to say something but was afraid of how you’d react. Knowing her, she’d give you that hangdog expression all day until you gave her permission to spill the beans, so you gave a deep sigh and turned to her with a look that said, “Alright, let’s have it.”

“I heard he’s bringing Mia to the wedding,” she blurted out. “Amanda was livid. She said she would disinvite him if you wanted—”

“Mom, I hope you told her that wouldn't be necessary.”

“Of course I did! But she said it was a standing offer.”

Oh, bother… Amanda was a sweetheart, if not a little overeager. As much as you appreciated everyone’s tact, it was also part of the reason why you still felt some awkwardness when you thought about Josh. Any time your friends or family brought up your ex, they looked at you like they were expecting you to fall to pieces, especially after word started going around that he had moved on to someone else. No matter how many times you insisted that they could refer to him normally and not as “him” or “you-know-who,” they thought you were being a brave martyr about it, pretending to take it better than you were for the sake of maturity.

“It’s not like that,” you explained for the thousandth time. “Josh and I are fine. And Mia…” Okay, so part of you did want to bash her over the head with a waffle iron. Still… “Nothing untoward happened. We were already broken up when they got together.”

“Well yeah, but after only a month,” your mom scoffed. “That’s hardly enough time to get over a six-year relationship.”

You shrugged. “Maybe some things are meant to be, and some… aren’t.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She hugged you from behind. You grimaced as she squeezed you tight and made cooing sounds. “You don’t have to be so civil about it. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I know, Mom, thanks.” You patted her hand.

“Anytime.” You thought that would be the end of embarrassing conversations you didn't want to have, until she clapped her hands and said, “Look on the bright side - it’ll be good to see Jake again! For him to meet the baby - and won’t the wedding pictures be just darling? He’s so handsome! I know you’ll look just fabulous together…”

It was as much cliché as it was ancient history. Jake Seresin - tall, tan, broad-shouldered, with a thousand-watt grin and a starring place on the high school football team - had been your crush since the moment you realized boys were more than just smelly, disgusting nuisances. Hell, you'd liked him even before the letterman jacket, around the time of his first growth spurt, when he’d come back from a summer visiting his aunt and uncle in California. From the porch steps, you'd seen him running into the yard to throw ball with your older brother, Mike, and your stomach had flopped and then flipped, and then flopped again. Looking back, Jake - a mere mortal - had an awkward phase just like everyone else, but you didn't see it at the time. To you, he was the dreamiest guy since you wore out your family’s Titanic VHS trying to feed your preteen fantasies of being Rose romanced by DiCaprio (before the ship went down).

Anyway, Jake’s awkward phase didn't last long. By the time he was a sophomore, he was playing on the junior varsity team along with Mike. Your sports-mad, overly enthusiastic dad gave them his blessing to turn the barn into their own personal gym, and while you complained about the unfairness of the world and the preferential treatment given to male athletes, you did find excuses to “run errands” and “pass through” so you could see Jake, shirtless, glistening with sweat. It didn't take long for Mike to notice. As a preteen, you weren’t exactly known for your finesse. While, in your opinion, you were doing nothing more than offering the boys a little lemonade - like Mom asked you to do - Mike would go back to the house for dinner and declare for all and sundry that he’d “appreciate it if you didn't salivate all over Jake like a peeping tom.”

“I do not!”

“Yeah, you do!”

“Mom, I swear it's not true! He’s making it up. You’re making it up, you buttface! You just don't want me hanging around—”

“Why would I want you hanging around? We’re training! You’re a kid, you're a safety risk!”

“Mooooom!” you wailed.

“Honestly, Mike, don't call your sister a safety risk. You're hardly grown yourself.”

“She called me a buttface!”

“That’s true. Sweetie, don't call your brother a buttface at the table, it's not polite.”

“Fine. I’ll call him a buttface later, like he deserves.”

No further comment was made about your crush on Jake on that occasion, but over the years it became your brother’s weapon of choice when he wanted to knock you down a peg, and “I’ll tell Jake you have a big fat crush on him” was a surefire way to get you to do whatever he wanted.

Once, you went down for a glass of water after you were supposed to be in bed and came upon Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen.

“—it’s a harmless little crush,” you heard her say. “We all had them at that age.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don't. She’s your daughter and you're finally working out that she's not going to be a little girl forever.” There was a pause. “You don't have to worry, Stan, I’ve given her The Talk.”

Ew, gross, ew! You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Yes, you remembered The Talk and you didn't want to have it ever again!

Your face heated as you knelt on the stairs. Hearing about The Talk in relation to you and Jake made you think about the stuff you’d seen at your friend Tessa’s house on the TV one night during a sleepover. You had stared at the screen, titillated and kind of horrified at what the actors were doing, the way their bodies moved and the sounds they made. Once the scene was over, you turned to each other and burst into nervous giggles, knowing your parents would blow a gasket if they knew what you’d seen. Not that you understood it. You knew how babies were made, but you didn’t understand what sex was supposed to be.

And your dad was worried about you having it? With Jake?

“He’s a good kid,” your mom gentled. “He knows she's too young for him - I’m not even sure he's aware that she likes him. Even if he is, he treats her like Mike’s kid sister. She’ll grow out of it.”

“If you say so, hon. But God as my witness—”

“She’s gonna have a boyfriend at some point.”

“When she’s eighteen,” your dad declared, “and not a moment sooner!”

You padded back to your room. It wasn’t news, but hearing that Jake thought of you as a kid dealt a heavy blow to your self-esteem. From then on, you resolved to play your cards closer to the chest - you might not be able to help the way he made you feel like your insides had turned to melted goo, but no one else had to talk about it behind your back like you had some sort of disease.

Unfortunately, playing it cool was one of the hardest things you had to do during high school. As it turned out, Jake and Mike were actually pretty good at the whole football thing. Around the time they made varsity, you zeroed in on the fact that girls found their athletic prowess to be sexually irresistible; they were crazy about them - and crazy about Jake in particular.

You watched as he winked and blew kisses at a train of girlfriends while he was out on the field. He leaned against their lockers, turning the charm up to eleven and brushing strands away from their cheeks, saying things like, “Pick you up at six?”

When he got his first truck - a beat-up old Chevy that he bought off Don Amberley by working shifts at the hardware store - you’d peer around your curtains at the sound of his horn. Sometimes Mike would take a while to leave the house, and Jake would turn his head to kiss the pretty girls in his front seat as a way to pass the time. The shy ones laughed, warding him off with a light push against his chest, while the bold ones closed their nails around his shirt and pulled him even closer, all but straddling his lap. You watched with bated breath as he put his hands on them, green with envy, wondering what it would be like to have his attention, not as his best friend’s little sister but as an actual girl.

Your suffering lasted a whole calendar year, after which Jake went off to college, then joined the Navy, and while time made you realize that you needed to move on with your life and stop making up scenarios about a white picket fence and two-point-five children, you never forgot about Jake, who in your mind - and despite your best efforts - remained the measure to which you compared every other guy.

It wasn't just his ridiculously handsome good looks, though having the body of a Greek god and a smile that made your toes curl didn't hurt. He had helped you when you’d scraped your knee roller-blading, letting you lean on his shoulder and fetching the bandages from the downstairs powder room; he joined your mom in the kitchen to do the washing-up when he stayed over for dinner, saying, “ma’am, I insist,” which earned him funny looks from Mike, but it never swayed him into doing things differently. You liked that he’d earned his first truck, got good grades, was a loyal friend. To you, Jake Seresin was the full package and then some - what more could anyone want? And while you had long accepted that he would make another woman very happy someday, the way in which your family teased you about your “little childhood crush” never failed to put your stomach all in knots. There was nothing little about it. In fact, it had now lasted well into adulthood and you had a feeling it would never fully go away.

Dad was right. Michael insisted on being part of the airport welcome wagon, cringey sign and all. He even stuck Gilly in an adorable pilot’s costume. Your sister-in-law sent you looks the entire way and, like a saint, restrained herself by only once making a comment about “your brother’s true wife.”

You sat in the backseat, trying to will yourself into being less nervous. Maybe it was your guilty conscience; for some reason, you kept thinking about all the times you’d imagined him in bed, or in the place of one of your boyfriends when you were doing couple-things. Be cool, be cool, you kept telling yourself.

By the time you parked at the airport, you thought your poker face was pretty flawless. After helping Julie wrestle the baby things into the stroller, you made your way through the chaotic mass of people coming and going through the Barbara Jordan terminal. The weather was good. Jake had texted your brother to say that he’d landed safely and was waiting to deplane, and Mike, vibrating with excitement, was trying to stake out a place in the Arrivals hall that would show his dorky Welcome Home, Hangman! sign in optimal light. Honestly, it was kind of embarrassing to be seen with him. You kept apologizing to the people he elbowed out of the way, as if to say, “Move aside, I was here first, bud!” But it did strengthen your resolve to be chill because at least one of you had to be.

Finally, you spotted a familiar face in the line of passengers spilling into the hall. Like something out of a romcom, Jake Seresin spotted Mike standing in the crowd, dropped his duffle bag, and came bounding into his arms. They talked over each other between laughter and bro-y exchanges, while Julie snorted through her nose and even Gilly sputtered and snuffled. You could take the boy out of Texas, it seemed… but back home he was still sixteen around friends.

Jake turned to you and smiled. “Hey, Cabbage.”

“Please, don’t,” you said, feeling awkward about the old nickname.

“Come here, bring it in.” He held out his arms, grinning, and there was no conceivable reason why you’d say no, so you steadied your nerves and stepped into them. He wrapped his arms around you. He smelled just as good as you remembered him - better, even, because a memory could never be as good as the real thing.

“You’re so stiff!” Jake pointed out, squeezing you tighter.

“No, I’m not.”

“What am I, your creepy uncle?” He looked down at you, then over your shoulder and spotted the baby in Julie’s arms.

His smile lit up his whole face and you felt your heart twist against your ribcage. You let out a breath when he let you go, trying not to fixate on the way his hand brushed against your shoulder as he did so, a slide that seemed to linger.

Fondness - that was all it was, you told yourself. He’d known you all your life and he was fond of you.

He turned his attention now to your little niece.With something like awe, he said, “Michael, you old bastard…” Then, “Sorry, little lady - you must be Gilly! Hi! Hi there, it’s your Uncle Jake! Your not-at-all-creepy Uncle Jake…”

“Nice one,” you threw back.

He grinned wider, saying, “Julie, how are you?”

“About as well as can be expected with a teething baby.”

“Well, you look great.”

“Liar,” Julie replied, but his comment made her stand a little straighter.

He let Gilly grip his finger in an attempt at a handshake. Being a sucker for attention, she wiggled her body in her mother’s grasp and held her arms out to the smiley stranger, wanting to be carried. Jake was thrilled. He bounced her in his arms the entire way to the car, asking about the wedding, his parents, how Amanda was doing, which of their friends he could expect to see on Saturday afternoon. Mike stuck to him like glue, carrying Jake’s bag for him and answering his questions. You were certain he’d send Julie to the back so Jake could ride shotgun, but instead, he loaded Gilly into her baby seat and Jake touched you on the elbow, saying, “I can take the middle seat.”

“You don't want the window?” you asked, your arm tingling. He had slipped on a pair of sunglasses once he left the terminal and he looked like a movie star, all golden skin, slicked-back hair, and a hint of stubble on his jaw. You had no idea how you were supposed to survive a 90-minute car ride when just the sight of him made you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“I want to sit next to my goddaughter. You get her all the time,” he pointed out and ducked into the car.

Helpless, you climbed in after him and pulled the door closed. In the back of the SUV, there was no way for your bodies not to touch. By necessity, your arms and thighs pressed together, his body solid and warm. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself by squirming away even though your heart was beating double-time and you were at a loss as to what to do with your hands.

Thankfully, the car started moving, and by the time you made it onto the highway you had almost gotten used to the feeling of his muscled forearms and the smell of his cologne. You were focusing on the passing landscape as he made small talk with Mike and Julie, so it caught you unawares when he turned to you and said, “So - it seems we’re paired up for the wedding. I’m sorry about you and Whatshisface, by the way.”

Here we go… “I know that you name his name, Jake.”

“Do I? Persona non grata. I must have erased him from my memory chip.” He was grinning like the cat who caught the canary, and there was something about the twinkle in his eye that made you glare daggers at your brother, who was looking suspiciously blank-faced sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Oh my God, Mike, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing! I just said you two broke up and that he’s with Mia now.”

“That cow,” Julie put in.

“Okay, time out!” you called, doing the motion with your hands. “As much as I appreciate this show of familial solidarity, it’s really not necessary. Josh and I are cool.”

“Well, we’re not!” Mike said.

“Then be cool, Mike! And you!” You wagged your finger in front of Jake. He stared at it like it was the most amusing thing in the world. “You just got here. Do you really want to spend the rest of the week picking fights that have nothing to do with you?”

Evidently, the answer was yes, but he raised his hands in a facetious show of surrender. “Hey, I never liked the guy.”

“Dude, neither did I!” Mike crowed.

“What? You never said anything!”

“I’ve always said that - haven’t I, babe?”

“Mike, you say a lot of things,” Julie drawled.

“…including the fact that I never liked the guy! Him and his beady little eyes—”

“He gets hay fever!” you defended. “That’s not his fault!”

“—and the fact that he stayed in the apartment—”

“I wanted to move out! Julie, a little help here?”

“Hey, I don't like the guy either.”

“What?” You were flabbergasted. You thought that everyone liking Josh was the whole reason why they felt communally betrayed by the breakup. Now they were acting like the spearheads of an anti-Josh conspiracy? “Are you seriously telling me this six years after the fact? You went to games with him!”

“Wait, you went to games with Josh Spritzer?” Jake balked, his voice going up an octave while Mike went red in the face.

“I was in a dark place, man. Julie was pregnant and you weren't around… It was a case of the pre-baby blues!”

“I feel like you just admitted to cheating on me. Josh Spritzer?”

“Hey!” you warned.

“I mean, I guess it’s all a matter of taste, sweetheart…”

“Seresin, what the hell!”

“…although God knows I never knew what you saw in him—”

“Oh, didn't you?”

“Hey, I love you all sooo much,” Julie piped up from the passenger seat, “Jake, I’m happy you’re here, but will you all shut up so Gilly can sleep?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Though Jake sobered up, the provoking glint remained in his eyes. Once more you were aware of his closeness and the heat of his skin.

“Unbelievable…” you said underneath your breath, crossing your arms, your reward being another one of Jake’s dazzling smiles.

When you arrived, the reunion was as rowdy as you expected. About two dozen Seresins and their closest friends and family had convened at Jake’s childhood home. Amanda cried when she saw her favorite cousin coming towards her, and she excitedly introduced him to her husband-to-be, a bookish engineer named Christian who came from a small family and seemed as flattered as he was overwhelmed by all the attention.

Dinner was served outdoors, buffet style. The backyard was strung up with twinkling lights and music played from a pair of speakers stationed at the back porch. The air was festive and full of hope; it was easy to get caught up in the pre-wedding bliss when you were well-fed, your glass never empty, the company some of your most loved people in the world.

Josh - thank God - was not in attendance. He was supposed to walk down the aisle with you. Your save-the-date and wedding invitation had arrived labeled with his name along with yours, the assumption being that of course your long-term, live-in boyfriend would be your date. After you’d broken up, Amanda had to reshuffle her arrangements to keep you as one of her bridesmaids, the only upside being that Jake’s uncertain attendance made him your perfect partner.

Well, perfect for Amanda, if not for you.

At some point in the night, after speeches had been made and dessert served, Jake took the seat next to you to chat with his great-aunt Sandy and her boyfriend, Clyde. The apple pie came courtesy of Mrs. Seresin, who had the best recipe in the county and probably the entire state of Texas, in your limited and yet eager opinion. You demolished it with aplomb and once you finished, Jake pushed his plate towards you, the crust untouched. “Have at it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“I know it’s your favorite part.”

The fact that he remembered made you feel sixteen again, watching him come home from university, crushed at knowing that he had a whole life you didn't know about, people he knew who were probably far more interesting, sophisticated and self-assured. He joined the Navy, and then moved out west while you stayed behind in your hometown, stationary while he took to the skies.

He had always been nice to you, for all that he enjoyed teasing you and even making fun of you on occasion. But that didn't mean you would ever be anything more to him than his best friend’s sister, someone he indulged in the same way as Amanda.

You excused yourself from the table, picking up plates as a pretense to head inside and get a few moments to yourself. This was exactly the reason why you hadn't wanted Jake to come home. Selfishly, in your heart of hearts, you had prized your own comfort above Amanda’s happiness, which made you feel like a Grade-A jerk, but you weren't ready to confront the way he made you feel after all this time. How could you explain to yourself, let alone anyone else, that you were holding out for a fantasy you’d had since you were young?

Suddenly, the presence of everyone you’d known and loved all your life felt oppressive rather than a source of delight. You poured yourself a glass of wine from one of the open bottles on the counter and went out to the Seresins’ front porch. From there, the sounds of the party seemed far away and you let out a sigh of relief. You sat on the ledge with your back to one of the vertical beams, watching the night breeze move the branches on the trees and the clouds which obscured the waning moon. Gradually, your mind slowed its pace and you were able to enjoy the song of the night critters mingled with the distant music of someone - probably Clyde - strumming his guitar.

Your repose was broken by the screen door opening and then clattering shut behind you, making you turn your head to see Jake coming outside, just a touch sheepish but for the most part his usual Jake-self, out of his jacket and carrying a bottle of beer.

He lowered himself beside you, and after a moment’s silence, said, “So, how’ve you been? Aside from Whatshisface.”

You shot him a warning look. If he was bringing up Josh, it was only to tease you like he’d done in the car and you weren’t in the mood right now to be the butt of a joke - not when you felt so vulnerable about what he was to you. (Dammit… and of course this has to be a wedding.)

“What,” he said, gently cajoling, “I can’t ask?”

“About my personal life? You never used to care.”

“In high school, I don’t think I was supposed to care. And afterwards—”

“Afterwards, Hangman got a little too full of himself,” you quipped.

“Hey… that's… actually pretty accurate, I’m not gonna lie.” He took a swig of beer, laughing as he said it. The porch light threw his features into sharp relief and you gave yourself permission to look at him - really look at him - for the first time since he returned.

Setting aside that he was gorgeous as ever, he seemed less carefree than you remembered, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He appeared, well, like a grown-up, for lack of a better word. You wondered whether you were being unfair in making assumptions when you had both changed so much in the last decade, as people tended to do. He wasn’t just the dream guy in your head; he was so many things in his own right, and he was here with you, wanting to talk - and maybe trying to get to know you on an even field.

If only that wasn't another reason to love him.

“You seem different,” you said, hoping your voice wasn’t giving you away.

He looked at you for a few breaths, the corner of his mouth tipped up but the rest of his face serious. Then he shrugged in mock humility with a “What can I say, greatness suits me.”

“Idiot…” You shook your head and let out a snort, though on the inside you felt full of champagne - fizzy and bright because he was with you.

“How's the shop going?” he asked after a beat.

“Pretty well. We’re doing the flowers for Amanda’s wedding.”

“And you're bridesmaiding?”

“It’s hardly flying F-18s.”

“I think Amanda would disagree.”

“Well, it is her wedding,” you pointed out, “she’s—”

“Out of her mind,” Jake enounced.

“She’s excited,” you corrected even as a montage ran through your head of all the times Amanda had texted the wedding party’s WhatsApp group to say that “a catastrophe” had occurred or that today was the worst day of her life because “the linen photos do NOT reflect the true shade. I wanted SAGE green - doesn’t this look laurel to you?”

“She’s my cousin,” Jake went on. “In fact, she’s my favorite cousin - which is how I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she’s the biggest bridezilla this side of the Mississippi. To being wedding buddies,” he said and held his beer out towards you, “’cause God knows we’re gonna need it.”

“Wedding buddies,” you said, and clinked your glass. You waited until he had a mouthful of beer to say, “So, how’s your love life these days?”

“O-ho!” He nearly choked. “We are not doing that.”

“That hardly seems fair!”

“Age before beauty, Cabbage: I still get to make a few of the rules.” Watching your face work into a grimace, he laughed. “You really do hate when I call you that, don't you? Look at you! It's like a full-body cringe!”

“Stop it!” you complained.

The unfortunate nickname started back when you were a kid and had a penchant for a particular Cabbage Patch doll, which, in hindsight, seemed like an emotional support object, thank you very much. You carried it around until you were forcibly parted during Kindergarten - hence, Cabbage Patch, which in time shortened itself to “Cabbage.” It was cute when your mom said it, but Jake?

“You don't seem to mind when Mike calls you that,” he replied.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’ve seen Mike in all sorts of undignified situations. It evens the playing field.”

“I’d say we've known each other almost as long.”

“It is not the same.”

“How come?”

“It’s just… not.”

“I’m getting nothing else out of you by way of an explanation, aren't I? Fine…” he dramatically sighed. “I guess I’ll stop calling you Cabbage.”

“You don't have to…”

“Nope, it's done, it's retired!”

“Thank you,” you said, a little embarrassed.

From the backyard came a round of applause as Clyde finished his song. Jake smiled at you, then leaned close with a devilish glint in his eye. “Are you sure you're okay with the whole Josh thing? We can always make it our mission to make him insanely jealous.”

You scoffed. “Please, he would never buy that. You and me? He’d see right through it.”

“I want you to know that your lack of faith in my abilities is deeply, deeply hurtful. I’m just saying! You haven't seen me in action!”

“Oh, I’ve seen you in action, alright…”

“There she is!” he cackled.

You hoped the laughter meant he’d missed the note of jealousy in your voice. “Besides, I don't care about making him jealous,” you said with a shrug. “He and Mia are good together.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah… Okay, look,” you sighed, “the only reason I’m telling you this is because you're not them, so I’d better not hear a word from Mike about anything I’m about to tell you. Deal?”

He nodded, and mimed zipping his lips closed for dramatic effect.

“There’s just… no sob story about it,” you began. “By the time it was over, it was almost a relief. And honestly? If it hadn't been for our families, we would've broken up ages ago.”

“What was wrong with him?”

By the look on his face, it was like he expected you to say he had a funny snore or that he chewed too loudly or had an extra head. If only the truth were that tangible. He wasn't mean to you, didn't cheat. But he wasn't Jake. He didn't make you excited to wake up in the morningz

“By the end, we were more like roommates than boyfriend and girlfriend,” you explained. “I mean, when it happened, did I want to claw Mia’s face off, knowing she’d been angling for an opening for years? Of course I did. But that was more about my pride than anything. I wasn't heartbroken. I’m not,” you insisted. “But telling them that would feel like ruining Christmas. They're having fun slinging mud on my behalf.”

“And maybe just a tiny part of you enjoys it?” Jake asked.

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

He laughed. “Do you really think I’m above a bit of harmless spite? Hell, I practically wrote the playbook. But what you said - about your pride being hurt? That goes for him too, you know. He doesn't have to buy the whole thing, he just has to see you moving on. Trust me, it’ll hurt.”

“Maybe I don't care enough to hurt him.”

Jake studied you, his eyes shining in the warm glow. “You really have grown up,” he said at last. “I, on the other hand—”

“Oh, come on. Jake, you’re all talk, always have been.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The summer before your junior year,” you pointed out, “you spent nearly all of it replacing Will Delonge’s wooden fence and you told no one about it. The only reason I know is because Mom found out—”

“Your mom finds out about everything,” Jake lamented.

That she did. “You helped Arn McCallister with his math grade,” you added. “You asked Gina to dance at the Winter Ball when her friends made that bet—”

“Some friends,” he interjected. “I swear, Fiona Brussaurd still scares the shit out of me. What, were you keeping tabs on me all through high school?”

“Everyone was keeping tabs on you all through high school,” you confessed. “You were Jake Seresin, Hometown Hero. You still are. You could probably get away with murder.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. If you weren't mistaken, there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks, but it might have been the beer he finished, or a play of the light. “Actually, I can’t. Semper Fortis, remember? You can't fly planes in prison. Besides, I am way too pretty for that uniform.”

“And you always do that,” you replied. “Try to throw people off the scent of you being an actually decent guy. But I know the truth,” you pointed out. “You have a tell.”

“Really, what's that?”

Over the course of the conversation Jake had angled towards you without your notice; now, your knees were touching and his upturned mouth was close enough to kiss. Your heart was racing in your chest, and yet his gaze was like a challenge - don’t back down, he seemed to say, and that was all Jake. He was exhilarating, just by being himself.

You dared to draw even closer, as if whispering a secret. “Mothers love you.”

“Maybe I’m just really good at pretending.”

“Take the hit, Seresin. No one is that good.”

Smiling, he nudged your knee and leaned back on his hands, sitting with you until the first early-nighters began to leave.

Amanda Seresin was two years older than Jake. Her dad, Jake’s uncle, passed away when Amanda was fourteen, and ever since, Jake and his parents had taken her and Dinah under their wings. Jake was the closest thing she had to a brother, and though he was younger, you knew Jake was incredibly protective of her and his aunt, so you were determined not to ruin his wedding experience by being a lovestruck weirdo.

After your time together on the porch, that might prove difficult for you. But this was about Amanda. She assigned you to be his date, and you were going to be a professional about it.

Literally. You were handling the flowers, after all.

“These are a little tall, aren’t they?” your mom asked, fretting over the tulips at the center of one of the guest tables. “I asked for measurements, but now that they’re here…”

You glanced at your watch. “We have time to fix them.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, mom, all of them. Let’s take them into the kitchen, then we can rush up and change before the cocktails start.” You knew she wouldn’t have a speck of peace if she didn’t get them trimmed. She would fret and fuss, and probably commit floral kidnapping crimes when it all got too much. She liked everything to be perfect, especially for the people she loved, so you ignored the time crunch and your watch yelling at you that it was 4:35, twenty-five minutes before guests were due to arrive for drinks and canapés, and, signaling for your dad to help gather up the centerpieces, you rushed into the venue’s kitchen and started trimming down with the nearest pair of garden shears.

Your mom breathed a sigh of relief when the task was done and a few of the earliest guests offered to help carry the vases back to the tables, giving you enough time to head upstairs and put on the blue dress you’d brought in a garment bag.

So you were fussing about your looks… That didn’t mean you were not chill, it just meant you wanted to look nice… for Amanda. For the photos. It had nothing to do with Jake Seresin at all.

By the time you made it down - finally, and a little late since you spent more on it than usual perfecting your makeup - there were about sixty people on the lawn, nibbling on pulled pork sliders and mac-and-cheese bites, mini tacos and bacon-wrapped dates. You spotted your dad grabbing one of everything and your mom pulling on his sleeve, probably to hiss, “Pace yourself, hon.” She had a glass of champagne in one hand, more as a prop, since half of her attention was spent surveying her work as if anticipating one of the centerpieces to go up in flames.

Knowing her, she might have packed a tiny fire extinguisher in that glittery, silver clutch.

You stifled a laugh, grabbing a plate and a few of the canapés from a passing waiter. The rehearsal dinner was a much bigger affair than the barbecue Jake’s parents had thrown for close friends and family the night before. You knew Josh would be in attendance (probably with Mia) and so would a lot of your high school crowd. Letting out a sigh, you threw your shoulders back and tried to look relaxed, exchanging greetings as you mingled with the growing number of guests. It was a beautiful night. God must love Amanda, as He should, because the weather was balmy in a pleasant way, warm enough that the ladies could throw off their wraps and show off their dresses, the men leave their jackets draped over chairs.

The venue was a little bed and breakfast with a sprawling back patio and hedges that grew around the property, gracefully unkempt, with magnolia trees in bloom. You said hello to your old History teacher, a small, soft-spoken woman with a gray bob and tortoiseshell glasses dangling on a chain. In turn, she had taken personal interest in Amanda, Jake, and then you - she was the whole reason Amanda went into teaching, and you heard Jake mention once that he wouldn’t have joined the Navy if not for her. Sometimes, you felt a little self-conscious about not having more to show for your education, but Ms. Beauchene never made you feel like your life choices were a disappointment. She popped into the flower shop on occasion, pleased with her paper-wrapped bouquets, and no matter what, without fail, you’d ring her up and she’d say with full honesty, “These are going to make my week,” before she walked out humming.

You were glad Amanda included her in the rehearsal, especially when you spotted Josh walking in with his arm around Mia’s waist. Excusing yourself, you made for the bar and ordered one of the signature cocktails, Amanda’s favorite blackberry bourbon smash, and downed half of it before turning back and making small talk as if your life depended on it. Strangely enough, it wasn’t the sight of Josh that had you feeling like the inside of your brain was crawling with ants. It was Mia. You hated the thought of her seeing any kind of weakness in you - that she might take in your appearance and think that your hairdo was messy or that your eyes looked a little dark, and assume from it that she’d left you a human wreck after her little victory.

Without a doubt, Mia had attended the Fiona Brussaurd School of Mean Girls, and the last thing you wanted to do was appear like the lesser creature. So when your family began to fuss under the pretense of “casually” making conversation, you swatted them away, feeling grateful when dinner was announced and everyone could retreat to their neutral corners.

You chose to sit at a table with a few old school friends, one of whom was also in the wedding party, and to avoid the meaningful looks Julie had been sending you all evening, you sat with your back to the rest of the guests, enjoying the hour of relative peace and reminiscing, the view of an ornamental fountain set with warm lights, and your plate of pan-seared sea bass and cheesy potatoes. Gradually, the music shifted from sit-down easy listening to dancing tunes, and the people at your table began seeking out partners or joining those already on the lawn who were spinning and jiving in every available space.

Soon, you were alone at the table. You leaned back in your chair, enjoying the breeze against your face. If you closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of music and laughter, you could almost forget all the drama with your ex…

You felt a tap on your shoulder. Looking up, you saw Jake and his movie-star grin. The butterflies started banging around your stomach again. Forget the tulips, you were the one with your nerves all in a tangle tonight.

“Hey, stranger - ’nother drink?” he asked, offering you another of the bourbon cocktails. He had a rocks glass in his other hand, and without waiting for an invitation he took the chair next to you, throwing his arm across the back of yours.

You replied, “Yes, please,” trying not to melt into his touch. Nuzzling against him like a cat would not be chill, you reminded yourself, even if he did look incredible with his open dress shirt collar and the little peek of his chest made you feel like a Victorian with the vapors.

He lounged in that casual way of his, attractive without trying. “These things really go on forever, don't they?”

“And it’s just the rehearsal dinner.”

“What happened to getting married on a Tuesday while everyone’s at work?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you just quote Runaway Bride?”

His face went still. “What, no.”

“Yes, you did!” you exclaimed, setting down your drink and straightening in your seat. Jake looked mildly panicked and was doing his best to look innocent, which you found absolutely hilarious. “Oh my God, are you a closet romcom man?”

“It must've been subconscious.”

“Subconscious, my ass,” you shot back.

“She looks happy.” Jake tipped his head towards Amanda despite the fact that she was behind you both, out of sight, and clearly being used as a way to change the subject. “You know the guy?”

“You met him yesterday,” you said. And I know what you're doing implicit was in your tone.

Jake shrugged, an expert at deflection. “Yeah, but it's hard to tell what a guy’s made of from a single meeting.”

Deciding that the accusation of Romcomitis would go unanswered on this particular occasion, you tested the limits of his cool under pressure, pretending to deliberate before you played along with the conversational shift.

“D’you want to hear the absolute worst thing I can think to say about him?”

Jake went battle-ready, poised to hate the guy. You watched his shoulders and the set of his jaw change, and it made you want to touch the side of his face and kiss the frown away, laughing as you did.

Just messing with you, you would say.

It would be so easy. Maybe the fantasy was clouding your judgment - along with your third cocktail of the night - but you could feel in your body that being with Jake would be as natural as breathing.

You looked over your shoulder, watching Christian lean into Amanda to whisper something into her ear.

He had his hand on her arm and looked a little spooked, probably because one of the Seresins’ honorary aunts, Jackie, who was known for her tell-it-like-it-is comments, no matter how indiscreet, was walking away. Poor guy. Amanda giggled at whatever he said and stroked his hand, whispering back words of reassurance. Their demeanor together was easy, full of shorthand. And Amanda did look happy - so happy that it made you a little jealous, pleased as you were that she had found her person.

Jake followed your gaze, watching them alongside you.

“He's a little dull,” you explained. “But in a good way. He mellows her out.”

“Amanda? That sounds like an impossible task. But I can see it…” He cocked his head. “I think.”

You turned your eyes back to your own table. Jake was fiddling with his glass, watching the amber liquid swirling around the oversized iced cube. He looked pensive, a furrow appearing between his brows that, in another life, you would have stroked away.

He shook his head and raised the glass to his lips. “You don't realize how much you've missed…”

Before you could think about it, you had your hand on his arm. “Hey, no one's keeping score.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Then don't,” you insisted. “You do what you've gotta do - we all know that. Your parents know it, Amanda knows it. She’s just happy you're here.”

You could tell that, as much as he appreciated your words, they weren't enough to sweep away all the moments he hadn't been around to see. It didn't matter that Jake loved flying planes, that he was proud to be one of the best naval aviators in the service, and wouldn't change his career for the world. He was still in a position where he had to ask you what Amanda’s future husband was like. He had missed his goddaughter’s christening, had to rush out of Mike and Julie’s wedding five years ago… He’d made an oath, and for as long as he wore the uniform, his first commitment was to something other than his family. Other than himself.

He spoke his next words quietly, almost to himself, just for you.

“You know, the thing about flying is that when you're up there, nothing else matters. It can’t. All of your focus, all of your faculties, your energy… they're in the air. Meanwhile, all of this real life… the thing we’re meant to be safeguarding for everyone else, it doesn't stop, and when you land right back in the middle of it—”

He stopped.

“Yeah?” You were hanging on for the rest of it, eager for these little pieces of Jake that you stored up even after he was gone.

“I mean, it feels like yesterday since I left for college, signed up. Now Amanda’s getting married, Mike’s having kids, you are having just the worst luck of the year…”

“Hey!” you laughed.

“I’m kidding, kidding!”

“You’re sounding like an old man, Jake. You're thirty-two - pull yourself together. Jeez! Who knew Top Gun would make you so existential? Is that why you're self-medicating with classic romantic comedies?”

“If you ever tell Mike, I swear to God—” He pointed his finger at you, and you pinched it in two of yours, earning a chuckle and a childish attempt at a thumb-war game that was interrupted when the bride herself came up behind you and threw her arms around you both with a “Hey, you two!”

“Mands!” Jake exclaimed, craning his neck to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Having fun?”

“Absolutely. So, so much—”

“You big fibber,” Amanda threw back. “Why are you here? Go dance!”

“Can’t. I’m keeping my date company, and a gentleman never abandons his date. It’s in the rules.”

“Good thing I know you're not a gentleman. You're in my wedding party!” she said. “It’s up to you two to set a good example for the other guests.”

“Yes, ma’am. Shall we?” He offered you his hand, throwing Amanda a look that said, See? I’m following orders.

She smiled back, giving you room to rise from your chairs and circle round. With her arms crossed, she watched as you found an open space, making sure you’d followed through before seeking out her next victims.

As bad luck would have it, the song switched from something uptempo to an Ashley Monroe ballad, romantic strings and all. “Has anybody ever told you/ that when you walk into a dark room/ the light of a thousand moons surround you?/ Yeah, there's just something about you./ Has anybody ever told you?”

It was stupid, but the words felt so real with Jake’s hands on you that you were worried he’d be able to read your mind or see on your face that you meant every sentence. You tried looking anywhere else, at the other couples, the catering staff picking up empty glasses, at your mom fluffing a perfectly decent bouquet, anywhere but at Jake.

“Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” you asked, eyes darting nervously at being caught red-handed.

“Tense up like I’ve got the plague,” Jake said. “You’re making this weird.”

“I’m making what weird?”

“We’re dancing!” He pressed one hand against your hip, the other into your lower back. “Just dance!”

“By which I’m sure you mean, ‘just follow my lead’?”

You didn't mean to sound so prickly, you were just panicking and trying to throw Jake off the scent. This does not constitute playing it cool, you scolded yourself. But instead of taking it badly, Jake laughed as he stared down at you.

“If you like. Or I can follow yours if it makes you feel any better. Here, you can put your hand on my waist - but leave room for Jesus.”

“Dork.”

“There we go,” he cajoled, swaying with you in time to the beat. “Letting you insult me seems to really get your engines going. We should analyze that.”

“Don’t you ever stop talking?”

“I don’t know, do I?” He cackled out loud at the dark look you sent his way, stroking your back in a way that meant absolutely nothing, but which you felt all the way down to your toes. “You make it too easy,” he added.

Jake’s sense of humor made it hard to stay self-conscious. Eventually, you eased into the dance and you were almost sorry when the song switched to something a little more upbeat that didn't require him to stand so close to you. Still, he twirled you in a circle and brought you back into the solid curve of his body, showing off.

Then, out of nowhere, his face worked into a scowl as he spotted something a few yards to your right. You turned your head to see what it was, so lost in the moment that it took a few seconds for you to register that Josh was dancing with Mia, quite well, actually, to the Texas Tornados.

“Look at that schmuck.”

“Jake…” you warned.

“What? It’s just an observation, I’m not saying it for your benefit.”

“She looks incredible,” you sighed. On anyone else, the dress she had on would make them look like a costume disco ball, but on Mia it looked modern and chic, showing off her body and matching well with a slicked back bun and dangly earrings.

Jake’s shoulder rose and fell beneath your hand. “If you say so. She’s not really my type.”

Are you serious? “Jake, just about every woman is your type.”

“I’m sorry, are you slut-shaming me right now? In this political climate? I could have you canceled for that.”

“Ha-ha,” you said in response. “I mean, look at her, she is objectively a 10 - don’t say you wouldn’t. Hell, I would if I were inclined that way… Don’t!” You pinned Jake with a warning stare, cutting off the joke that was on the tip of his tongue and dying to come out.

“Well, I wouldn’t now,” he said instead.

“Gee, thanks.”

“For the sake of our friendship.”

The word made you tense up again - not on purpose, it was an automatic reaction you wanted to take back as soon as you went stiff all over again. And it didn't escape Jake’s notice.

“What?” he questioned, cupping your shoulders and shaking you a little as a gag. “Oh my God, have you ever thought about taking up yoga? Meditation?”

“Flying lessons?” you shot back.

“Hey, don’t knock it. Compared to you, I am a very chilled-out person.” You rolled your eyes, not wanting to admit that he was right. No matter what was going on inside Jake, he knew how to keep a calm exterior. You’d always admired that about him. With the exception of your dad, your family wasn't known for its cool under pressure. Even Mike could be a bit of a basket case. That’s why he and Julie worked so well together.

You sighed again, wondering if you’d ever find your own version of Christian or Julie, someone who fit with all of your wonky parts and made you feel, regardless of circumstance, that everything would turn out okay.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” You looked at Jake, startled by the remark and the heat rushing into your face. He was dead serious. The levity you saw in his eyes had nothing to do with his tone, which was kind but not pitying. And you knew Jake would never say something like that if he didn’t mean it. “Not that it’s a competition,” he tacked on, “I’m just saying… don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure he’s eating his heart out right now.”

“And how would you know a thing like that?”

“Because he hasn’t stopped looking at us for the last sixty seconds.”

Your gaze drifted off to the side before Jake took your chin in his hand, his touch gentle and yet firm.

“Don’t look!” he chided. “Jesus… That’s recon 101 - I’ve got your six, you keep dancing and pretend we’re not talking about him, you amateur!”

“Sorry! You’re so bossy!” you grumbled, fighting off another blush.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

The word zinged through your body along with the killer Jake Seresin dimpled grin, and to make matters worse, he twirled you again, laughing when he brought you to rest your back against his chest. Josh froze when he saw you, spotting Jake’s hands on your waist. But you couldn’t care less - you were breathless, with Jake’s mouth close enough to kiss, reminding you of his knee nudge on the porch and his arm beneath your hand.

For a moment, you could almost believe that he was flirting with you for real. If you turned your head, would he accept the press of your mouth against his? Would he push you away or pull you in closer, regardless of your families watching and Josh staring, almost open-mouthed, like he couldn’t believe Jake fucking Seresin would give you the time of day?

Before you could make a choice, the song ended and Jake released you from his grip, keeping a hand on your back as he herded you away from the dance floor and to the bar, where he ordered a beer and asked if you wanted something. If you answered, you weren’t aware. You felt not in control, your stomach all in knots and the memory of Jake’s touch seared into your skin. A part of you still wanted desperately to kiss him and the other wanted to rush into the B&B and burst into tears from sheer confusion. Meanwhile, Jake seemed perfectly fine, chatting with the bartender on duty and leaning against the counter as he dropped a few bills into the tip jar.

“What are you doing?” you asked when you felt him touching you on the shoulder.

“Pretending you have lint on your dress.”

“Hey! On the dance floor was one thing, but I am not aiming to make this entire weekend about making my ex jealous. Any high school dude-vendetta you have against Josh should be addressed on your own time, you psycho. Besides, he’s never going to actually buy it.”

“Alright.” Jake threw up his hands, lowering the charm down a few watts. Your drinks were set down on a pair of square cocktail napkins and you took up yours, a fizzy gin thing with lemon that made you wonder whether you shouldn’t have stuck with bourbon to avoid going around with a hangover on Amanda’s wedding day.

Jake went on. “But I’m really not liking all this negative self-talk, you know. Mia might be a 10, but at most he’s, like, a 6…”

“Oh, be quiet!”

“You’re an 8.”

“What?” The alcohol either rushed up to your head or evaporated completely. How the hell did Jake manage to say things that left you completely dumbfounded and without a single intelligent thought in your head? And he did it with a smile! This one was purposefully subdued as he waved around with the beer in his hand as if making a profound point.

“You’re way out of his league. Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed?”

“Okay, well…”

“You’re blushing!” he remarked. “That’s adorable.”

“You’re not funny, Seresin.”

“Hey, I joke about a lot of things, but I don’t go around handing 8s to just anyone.”

“Oh, look, they’re bringing out coffee.” The needle was tipping firmly towards the need to escape, though it wasn’t that serious - you knew it wasn’t; Jake had a tendency to be a flirt and he usually didn’t mean anything by it. Sometimes, it could even be amusing to play along, to get swept up in his wit and the light of his attention. But you didn’t want to play. And you didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his company because you weren’t. You loved every precious second you got to spend with him, knowing he’d be off to California soon and that the next time you might see him could be months or even a year from now.

Getting your hopes up would be a mistake, and you were dangerously close to doing it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He touched your elbow gently. You wished he couldn’t read you so well. Or that he could read you better, and see what you had been trying to say to him for years but were too scared to utter.

You did your best to smile. “Nothing’s wrong. You don’t have to hover all night. Go, take a load off, have fun.”

“I am having fun,” he said, frowning. “Aren’t you?”

“I was. I am,” you corrected, frustrated with yourself for not taking it better. For not being cool and together and the sort of girl who took charge and damned the outcome. She would’ve kissed Jake when she had the chance. She would have shown up to California. Hell, she would’ve made her move ages ago instead of pining, pathetically, and letting twenty years go by.

That’s what Mia had done. And that’s why she had her dream guy - your former guy - while you were exactly in the same position, too tongue-tied to take a shot.

“Just… can you give me some space?” you blurted out, your frustration bleeding through.

The hurt in Jake’s expression was there and gone in a lightning flash, but you’d seen it and you felt terrible about it. Before you could say anything to make it better, he’d replaced it with a devil-may-care smile.

“Got it,” he said, his voice a little tight around the edges. “Well… I’ll make myself scarce. Holler if you need me.”

With that, he took his beer and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to weave your way through oblivious partygoers to find the nearest ladies’ room, where you locked yourself in a stall and tried not to ruin your makeup with the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

Hindsight was a bitch. The next morning you were sure you’d overreacted, made a fool of yourself and created a potentially awkward situation now that the wedding day was upon you and you had to take his arm, in - you glanced at the digital clock on your nightstand - five-and-a-half hours, and walk with him down the aisle wearing a smile for the sake of the photographers.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands and calling yourself every name in the book.

Jake had promised to be your wedding buddy and then sweetly kept his word, and what did you do in response? Completely freak out, you scatterbrained nincompoop.

As penance, you threw yourself into the arrangement of the reception flowers, channeling your mother while you directed the staff this way and that, trying not to think about Jake and the mortifying apology that awaited you. It was the right thing to do - not only to clear the air but because he hadn't deserved being chewed out in a momentary panic, and you knew you wouldn't feel right with yourself if you didn't take the blame and say your mea culpa.

But boy were you dreading it.

“You should head out now, Cabbage,” your mom advised around eleven o'clock. “Dad and I can handle the rest and you should be with Amanda, spend some time with the girls before the big event.”

“Are you sure you don't need help with the aisle arrangements?” A cowardly attempt, but you did it anyway.

“We’ve got it,” Mom repeated, turning you around and all but shepherding you into the parking lot. She waved you off with a “have fun,” and you couldn't help your brain’s internal response of “fat chance.”

All the way to the B&B you kept rehearsing what you might say to Jake when you saw him, but by the time you pulled up and found a free parking space, you were sweating, physically and metaphorically, and thinking that, maybe, if you listened to TED Talks rather than Dateline, you might have an enlightened response to your current dilemma.

You fetched your bagged bridesmaid's dress from the trunk of the car, along with your makeup bag and hair tools. You’d have to use the shower before you started getting ready, but you were looking forward to get-ready champagne and a throwback playlist. Anything to feel more like your normal self and less like a silly teenager who couldn’t talk to boys.

You went up three flights of stairs to reach the bridal suite. From both sides, you could hear music spilling out into the hall, an ABBA classic clashing with Brett Young. Automatically, you placed your hand on the doorknob leading towards bouncy 80s pop only for it to turn and spring open, revealing Jake with an undone bow tie hanging around his neck.

It could be that your mouth sprung open, not expecting to see him that abruptly and without giving yourself your planned thirty-second pep talk.

Your mind went blank. All you could do was stare at him like an idiot as he pointed across the hall and said, “Bridal suite’s that way.”

“Yeah, it was…”

“The Super Trouper? Groom’s choice.”

“Are you sure it wasn't yours?” The joke spilled out of your mouth, landing awkwardly to your own ears. But Jake smiled anyway, glancing down as he let the door close behind him.

He rubbed the side of his freshly shaved cheek. “I’m headed down to the front desk, by the way. I swear I’m not stalking you.”

You deserved that. So instead of cringing down into the floor - which was what you really wanted to do - you took the hit and said, “I didn’t think you were.”

“About last night…”

“I’m sorry for flying off the handle. I’m just… a little stressed,” you cut him off. It was an understatement, and not totally honest, but it was the best you could do without getting into the embarrassing particulars.

From the groomsmen’s side, Britney Spears followed ABBA, singing, “Oops, I did it again,” which seemed perversely apropos and just another reminder that you were a puppet of fate. Presently, you had to be paying for God knows what sin - probably calling Mike a buttface all those years before.

“Hey, I get it. I wasn’t trying to be clingy,” Jake went on.

“You’re not! You’re a good friend… Thank you.”

It pained you to say it, but you figured now was as good a time as any to face facts: you only had a few more days together, and you didn't want to spend them all wasting what you had, wishing it would turn into something else. Friendship with Jake was good enough. He was kind and loyal and honest; hell, anyone would be lucky to have him in their corner.

Maybe what you needed was a little gratitude. It was a wedding day, after all. Your friends and family would all be gathering in a few hours to celebrate Christian and Amanda and they had chosen you to be a special part of their most important day. How cool was that?

“Can we just not talk about Mia and Josh today?” you asked, hefting the garment back up your shoulder. “I want to focus on Amanda and make sure she has a nice time at her wedding - get drunk but not sloppily so, take a few pictures, dance a bit, not feel like everyone’s waiting for the Jerry Springer shoe to drop?”

“We can do that,” Jake replied.

“Okay. Thanks.”

“See you on the other side?”

“You bet.”

He went down the hall, turning right and bounding the carpeted stairs. You watched him go with a sigh, deciding that it was hard to be a grown-up and lovelorn at the same time. The two things were so incompatible - liking someone, loving them even, felt utterly undignified.

Nonetheless, you could breathe a lot easier after clearing the air. With the apology out of the way, you threw yourself into full bridesmaid mode, squeezing into the cramped bathroom with five other women in customized robes who were curling, straightening, powdering, talking, fighting for counter space, gasping at gossip, and being an overall flurry of chaos while the bride reigned over all, putting in comments through the haze of hair- and setting spray.

The air in the room was joyous, with a smattering of nervous energy mostly provided by Amanda.

Once dressed in your different styles of champagne satin, the bridesmaids focused on making sure Amanda was ready for her starring role. You took turns doing up the buttons on the back of her wedding gown, and when Dinah popped in to give her a pair of diamond earrings she wore to her own wedding, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. “Do not let my mascara run!” Amanda urged, prompting Carrie, the maid of honor, to jokingly rush forward with a folded-up Kleenex and dab at her eyes.

The groomsmen left for the wedding venue first, piling into a shuttle after yelling well-wishes through the door. Fifteen minutes later you followed suit, with Ali O’Rourke pouring canned cocktails into plastic cups and filming the journey at the same time as her phone blasted Taylor Swift (“But none of the breakup songs!”). In twenty minutes you were at the botanical garden, arranging the first look through a comical series of shouts and mimes partially obscured by a tall bush and caught on camera by the couple’s videographer. Once Christian had gotten the memo to stand there, at the edge of an ornamental pond but with his back to the azaleas, you pushed Amanda in his direction and waved her on, giving whistles and catcalls when he dipped her into a kiss that was very un-Christian-like and all the more romantic for that reason.

Once the wedding party photos were done, it was time to head inside and wait for the guests to arrive. You found that, like Amanda, you were feeling a little jittery now that patience was all that was required. From the double doors to the altar, it was a fairly long walk and you were worried that your heels would sink into the grass or that you would fall flat on your face. Luckily, you weren’t the only one with that fear. Amanda’s coworker, Lucy, who had never been a bridesmaid before, had a minor freakout, and talking her down helped you allay your own fears, as did the liquid courage courtesy of Ali’s dress having pockets.

(Amanda: “I don’t remember reading that on the website.”

Ali: “That’s because you didn’t. I had it tailored.”)

At last, the wedding coordinator called for everyone to take their places and Jake came towards you, looking smart in his tux. At the rehearsal dinner you’d heard Mike asking, “So, where’s the dress uniform?”, to which Jake replied, “And upstage you?” Well, uniform or not, you were sure he could upstage anyone. To you, he was the handsomest person in the room, and you were in danger of saying so until Jake beat you to the punch.

“Look at you, you clean up well!” he remarked.

“And you look terrible.”

“Now I know that’s a bald-faced lie.”

You laughed. Humble as always. You were glad to see that all the awkwardness between you had gone, in no small part because of the excitement over the ceremony. A sudden hush came over everyone as Harriet signaled for the doors to be opened. Jake held out his arm. “Shall we?” he said, echoing his words when he asked you to dance.

This time you were ready for it. No matter what, in this particular moment, you and Jake were allies - wedding buddies, he said - and instead of overthinking things or making a mountain out of a molehill, you were resolved to enjoy it.

You took his arm and faced forward. The first strains of music began. Showtime, Harriet mouthed, while at the altar Christian turned to meet his bride.

The ceremony was over in the blink of an eye, followed by a drinks reception and a sit-down dinner punctuated by toasts that ranged from the humorous to the downright sentimental. Now that Amanda had clipped up her train, she seemed more relaxed than she had been in the morning, and it made you feel like you could let down your hair, so to speak, and enjoy the party underneath the light-strewn tent.

The guests were eager to dance. Without letup they moved through classic wedding standards and modern dance hits to country reels and the obligatory playing of “Mr. Brightside,” a moment which Sandy and Clyde stole with their enthusiastic head-bops. You couldn't remember the last time you danced, or laughed, half as much, and even the appearance of Josh and Mia couldn’t steal your good mood. As long as they kept to their side of the tent, you could pretend they weren't there and if Mom or Julie sidled up with a comment in defense of your honor, it was easy to point a finger to your ear as if to say, “What? I can’t hear you, the music’s too loud!”

Jake kept close for the most of the night, leaning in close and making funny comments about the hidden goings-on - who was putting the moves on who, who was sneaking mini cupcakes into their purse, who got carted off to the indoor area after over-imbibing and nearly causing a minor dancefloor traffic incident.

Maybe it was all his Navy training, but for a guy’s guy Jake had an uncanny eye for gossip, and you said so, winning a laugh and another request for your oath of secrecy.

“I hate to tap out before Great-Aunt Sandy,” he said halfway through the Jailhouse Rock, “but do you want to take a breather? I feel like I’m getting a stitch in my side.”

“You? Sheesh, Hangman, you're really letting yourself go,” you chaffed. “What'll the higher-ups think when you get back to San Diego?”

“Well, if they really want to replace me, I’ll send them Aunt Sandy’s way.” He led you outside, where you promptly balanced one foot at a time trying to unclasp your heeled sandals while Jake watched, snorting before he took pity on you and let you lean on his arm.

His very muscled arm…

Inwardly, you sighed like one of the Bimbettes from Beauty and the Beast, but hey, you’d behaved yourself all day; you were allowed to have the occasional impure thought.

With a little sound of triumph, you managed to remove your shoes and held them by the straps, walking on the grass in your bare feet. You had a pair of flats in your purse, but that was somewhere inside and, anyway, the ground felt good against your tired arches. You’d been dancing for over two hours and needed the break.

“How do you even stand in those death traps?” Jake eyed your shoes as if they were hand grenades, which amused you to no end seeing as they’d cost you a small fortune precisely because they claimed to be comfortable.

“They’re not so bad,” you replied. “Besides, I wouldn’t need them if you weren’t so tall.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You shrugged, keeping your face deliberately blank. “It’s a free country.”

“Wow…” Jake huffed through a laugh, “you are incapable of just being nice to me.”

“What, I am nice!”

“In a backhanded-compliment sort of way, sure.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Jake, you’re the biggest 10 at the wedding’?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but we’re getting warmer,” he said with a toothy grin, entering a path bordered by low hedges leading to the pond where the first look had taken place.

The lights from the wedding reception lit the way, along with the small solar-powered fixtures planted in the ground, but for the most part the darkness was a respite from the sights and sounds of the packed tent. In a way, it made it easier to talk to Jake, ignoring your history, feeling like a girl who’d been asked on a walk by someone who wanted to spend more time with her.

You laughed, leaning into the role of interested flatterer. You were walking backwards, even daring to place your hand on the front of Jake’s shirt, trusting him to lead the way and keep you from tripping into a bush. “You’re an incredible dancer,” you put in, going full Bimbette. You might have batted your eyelashes, and your voice took on the dreamy girlishness of Marilyn Monroe, which only gave Jake the giggles as he tried to maintain his yes, I am all the things composure. “You look as good in a tux as you do in your Navy uniform.”

“Both true.”

“You’re funny and smart, and soooo interesting.”

“Don’t I know it.”

You gasped, stopping in your tracks to place your hands on his cheeks. Jake was smiling from ear to ear, struggling to keep his lips pressed together. “You’ve got a face like an Old Hollywood dreamboat.”

He nodded solemnly, the slight clearing of his throat the only indicator that he was on the verge of breaking character. “You’re not the first person to say that, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm, does that surprise you? Do you disagree?”

“Of course not, this is the Jake Seresin Appreciation Hour.” You draped your arms around his neck. Maybe it was the cocktails or the distant wedding music making you bold, but Jake didn't pull away and you were only pretending - at least, that was your justification when you felt the weight of his hands on your hips.

“Go on, then.”

“Your eyes are green.”

“Now you’re just stating facts.”

“Fine, but you’re being a very picky subject!”

“I’ll have you know,” he scoffed, “Jake Seresin Hour was not my idea. You don’t get to institute it and then complain when I point out your lazy reporting.”

Lazy reporting? You were ready to duke it out over that and he knew it, his eyes alight with the challenge, head cocked to see what you’d come up with next. Your back hit the trunk of a live oak and you felt the adrenaline in your veins mixing with the alcohol and a sheer attraction that wouldn't be kept at bay. You wondered briefly whether this was what flying was like - a full-bodied, present physicality, all instinct, every move stretched taut and your nerves like live wires.

Jake glanced at your mouth and it left you breathless. Little wonder, then, that the next words out of your mouth were half confession, half part of the game.

“There’s not a single person at this party who isn’t head-over-heels in love with you.”

“Not a single one?” Jake argued. “Not even the groom?”

“Not even the groom.”

“Well, obviously, we’re not including my relatives in that.”

“But everyone else…” you trailed off.

“Everyone else. Including you?”

“Especially me.”

It’s just a game, it’s just a game. The thought kept clashing in your head with the urge to say “kiss me” and he was standing so close, with his body half pressed against yours, solid and warm, realer than any lust-fueled fantasy you could’ve come up with in the dead of night, the party forgotten with him as your only view, and you kept thinking, Maybe he wants me to. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe I should do it - what would be the harm?

The answer to this final point was obvious, and yet he was hard to resist. His fingers brushed against your waist, the touch feather-light enough that it might have been in your imagination except for his forehead pressed down to yours, his heart beating steadily beneath your nervous hand.

Without debating it further you pulled him into a kiss, shutting your eyes against any possible consequences as you memorized the taste of his mouth, the weight of his hands sliding down your back, the heat of his breath. You pulled away, mortified by your lapse in judgment and the obvious proof of feelings which you now couldn't take back.

There was no undoing this, but still you tried.

“Oh, I’m sorry… I’m… I’m drunk… I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine.”

“No, I’m… I’m gonna go.” You slid past him, holding your breath, willing him not to follow after you or try to stop you from fleeing. Your body felt like it was short-circuiting, blazing with need and then doused in icy-cold regret and horror at your own actions.

So he had flirted with you. That didn't mean he wanted to kiss you; it certainly didn't signal any romantic interest that merited you throwing yourself at him and telling him, of all things, that you loved him!

You went back to the party, picking your purse up from behind your chair and forcing a smile when people stopped you to chat, making excuses and saying you had to go to the bathroom. Inside, you moved past the lobby and straight out to the drive, where the hired shuttle service was taking guests in no state to drive to and from a few local hotels.

The driver asked if you were ready to leave and you said yes, feeling mildly guilty for staging an Irish goodbye, but there was no way you could go on pretending for the rest of the night, let alone face Jake. You prayed that everyone would be too busy having fun to notice your absence, and if not you would apologize profusely tomorrow at brunch, claiming a headache or exhaustion or anything else that might obscure your bad decision-making and propensity to lose your shit around Jake.

You were let onto the bus, the sole passenger as the driver turned on the engine and radioed his boss to say he was en route to the B&B. Just as you were relaxing into your seat, Jake came bounding up the steps, giving the driver a cursory nod just before the doors closed behind him and the vehicle began to move.

“Can we talk?” he asked, sliding next to you and dropping his jacket in his lap.

“There are, like, fifty open seats.”

“But you’re sitting in this one,” he said with the ghost of a grin. You would've rolled your eyes if you weren’t busy wishing you could teleport to literally anywhere else.

You faced forward to the other cars on the road, watching their taillights shine as you moved into nighttime traffic. “Can you do me a favor? I know you’ve done a lot of them over the past couple of days, but can you just forget that ever happened?”

“No.”

Aghast, you turned your head to see Jake looking maddeningly smug, not to mention relaxed, while he was invading your personal space and driving you to the brink of mental collapse.

“Why not?” you demanded.

“Why not? Because I don’t want to.”

“And is what I want—”

“Completely irrelevant,” he finished for you. “Besides, you kissed me, remember?”

“I don’t. I’ve wiped it from my memory chip.”

With a smile, Jake leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips that was almost chaste, except for the brush of his tongue against your lip and his fingers cupping your chin in a hold that was teasing and gentle, and undeniably thought-out.

“How about that one?” he asked, pulling away just enough to view your reaction.

“How about what?”

He grinned. “Cabbage.”

“Ew! Why would you call me that right now?” you exclaimed, scooching back into the window.

“Because you’re adorable. Beautiful.”

“Like a leafy green?”

“Yeah, like a whole salad.”

You laughed. “That makes no sense.”

“It really doesn’t.” But it did. Like so many other inside jokes, you knew exactly what he meant to say. It made you feel all warm inside, especially because there was no trace of subterfuge in his handsome face, and you knew he’d never be cruel enough to lead you on. He followed you, he thought you were beautiful, and he was here trying to convince you not to take the kiss back.

To be bold. To follow through.

“If you want to keep being friends…” he began.

“You and Mike are just friends, Jake. I’m the kid sister with a massively pathetic crush on you.”

“Maybe I have a crush on you too,” he said, looking you straight in the eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little… A lot, actually.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

In front of Pleasant View the driver pulled on the brakes, and Jake laced his fingers through yours as he dismounted and put a twenty in the tip jar, stopping in front of the entrance to face you with a question hanging, unspoken, in the air. If you let this opportunity pass you by, he would let you do it without a word, taking the gentleman’s way out and stopping his pursuit under the assumption that you had no interest in being with him, or in seeing where this new thing between you might go. But if you said yes…

The possibilities flashed through your mind, as frightening as they were wonderful. Everything might change. Everything would, there was no doubt about that. But change wasn’t always a bad thing, and if you had someone holding your hand along the way?

Wasn’t that what love was all about?

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Jake pointed out.

“Is that an issue?”

“Why, is it an issue for you?”

You shook your head, trying to contain the nervous joy in your chest. “Maybe you should take me flying sometime, teach me the ways of classic Hangman chill.”

“Just name the time and place,” he promised. “I’m ready when you are.”

Instead of second guessing, you took him at his word.

You reached up and kissed him fully on the mouth, sighing when he pressed you flush against his chest and carressed the nape of your neck. There was no predicting the future; that part would always be like navigating blind. But Jake was worth the risk. If nothing else, he was the sort of man who made you want to try, who took chances, and made you laugh through the terror of uncertainty.

In that moment, being lifted off the ground, physically swept off your feet by the man you’d loved since you’d first contemplated what love could be, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. And the best part? From the look on Jake’s face, you knew the exact thought running through his head:

Babe, the luck is all mine.

Man, you loved weddings.

#rosie.fic #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #tgm fic #tgm x reader #top gun maverick x reader #glen powell x reader

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maximiliangf · 8 months ago

Text

୨୧ ﹒𝐅𝟏 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒, 𝐌𝐕𝟏, 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔, 𝐋𝐍𝟒

⟢﹐pairings: lewis hamilton x fem!driver!reader, max verstappen x fem!driver!reader, charles leclerc x fem!driver!reader, lando norris x fem!driver!reader.

⟢﹐warnings: pet names, jealousy, swearing.

⟢﹐author's note: i actually love this very much? i'll prob include more drivers later but lmk if you enjoy reading this! i'm working on a lando one-shot next and im kinda loving how its turning out too<3 but enjoy and please request texting ideas with any drivers🫶🏼💓

⟢﹐Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen

⟢﹐Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris

#maximiliangf works #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 x reader #f1 texts #f1 imagine #text au

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nemesyaaa · 8 months ago

Note

no why this is so cute 😭😭😭 bestfriend trope own my heart fr. like i can't get enough or be tired about it. again, you have such an awesome writing, i'm falling in love with your one-shot. this reader is so cute, her friendship with rafe too precious 🥺 i'm melted

« He scoffs at your words. "What am I doing?" He repeats. You nod. He jabs an accusing finger in your direction. "What the fuck are you doing?" » haha jealous!rafe, will always be on my top 3

« "Yeah? You wanna know what else I'm good at?"» i say it again but i love rafe too much, and bestfriend!rafe, now bf!rafe, this is perfect

« He laughs at your expression. "You think I'm letting you go after this? It's either us or nothing."», happy ending, it's a win ☺️☺️‼️ tysm for this, it feels so good to read this, and support your hard and great work !!

omg hi!! hope ur doing well i love ur writing btw, (play fake is one of my fav fics ive EVER read!!)

could u do a fic where rafe and reader are like best friends, and they’ve always both kinda liked each other but they dont really act upon it, until rafe gets a buzzcut and reader starts acting like real shy and clumsy around him bcs she’s shocked abt how he could get even MORE attractive, and then he gets linda confused so he asks her why she’s acting so different and then she tells him? make it as smutty and fluffy as u want! 🫶🫶

first off, ily 🥹 and omg, YES!! i've been thinking about this ever since i got your req in my inbox, so here's my very earnest attempt at doing it justice 🩷

masterlist

pairing rafe cameron x bsf!female reader

content (5.3k words) 18+, fluff, smut, soft!rafe to reader only, protected p in v, f receiving oral, lots of banter!, nicknames used: baby and wildflower. — reader type kook, spontaneous, loves adventure, hates silence, loves noises, doesn't exactly like her reality, and friends with topper and kelce, but is only close to rafe!

dedication to @mintforadollar for helping me with the nickname and for @erwinsvow for her lovely fic, which i drew inspiration from and i've been obsessing over for the past two weeks <3

lıllılı Wildflower by 5 Seconds of Summer

"I want to run away."

It takes a moment for Rafe to register your confession and his response is a drowsy laugh. "Buy a guy dinner first."

You let out a groan, slumping against your wrinkled sheets and abundant pillows spread across your bed. "I'm being serious, Rafe. I'm tired of this house. It's too empty and quiet. I can't stand it. At night, I think I can hear my skin buzzing."

Rafe is accustomed to your sporadic calls regarding whatever issues you had with the world. Last week, it was about the insufficient amount of family portraits that frame the halls of your mansion.

"Maybe you just need to change your sheets."

"Stop!" You chastise. Rafe chokes up with another beat of laughter, low and rich with the deep timbre of his voice. The sound temporarily draws you away from your rant, igniting a small ember in your stomach. You brush away those tingly thoughts. "You're not listening to me."

"I think I'm listening to you perfectly fine, wildflower." He reassures, the solemnity of his tone takes you off the edge. Rafe shuffles on the other line, moving to a sitting position against his headboard. "What do you want? Do you want me to come pick you up?"

You cower from his offer, tucking one of your pillows under your chin. "You don't have to..."

"Don't get all shy with me now. You can't act this way when you're waking me up in the dead of night to report about your getaway plans."

"I feel bad."

Rafe sighs, getting off his bed. He knows the outcome of this conversation and rather prepares himself for the short drive. "I'm heading over."

"I could walk."

"It's freezing outside."

"Your house is down the block. I can survive."

"I'm already out the door. Just stay put." Rafe announces and before he's about to disconnect the call, he adds. "I'm serious."

He arrives in record time. Honking his truck with no regards for the nearby neighbors and you pad downstairs with a bag, descending down the driveway to the passenger side of his truck. A little shiver travels down your spine at the cool North Carolina weather.

"God, what did I tell you?" He scolds, noticing your lack of outwear, and reaches for the blanket in the backseats he keeps just for you. He throws it at your face, suffocating your air with a fluffy white fleece. You roll your eyes, covering your shoulders with it as Rafe reverses. "Where do you want to go?"

"Thought I'm supposed to buy you a meal first."

He doesn't bother entertaining your retort with a glance and flicks the side of your head with his fingers. You giggle. "We're not running away."

"Who said you're included in this adventure? I remember it being a one-person job."

Rafe scoffs. "You can't run away. You'd miss me too much."

"No, you'd miss me too much." You tease back, watching his lips pull to an upward curve at your words. It makes your heart flutters, knowing you always manage to get this side of Rafe. To the rest of Outer Banks, Rafe is seen as a precarious, self-absorbed playboy, but to you, he's your best friend.

And a little more.

The truck parks on the roadside of Tannyhill, the silhouettes of the estate surrounded by shadowy oak trees and a deep reflection of the moon on their waterfront view. Rafe doesn't make a move to leave, nor turn off the engine, before he turns to you.

"You okay?" He asks gravely, all humor stripped off his handsome features. You feel the air of your lungs stolen, at the amount of attention he's paying you, and the atmospheric change turns you to a bashful version of yourself.

"Fine." You answer, looking to your lap. "You know..."

Despite your house being a near-identical model to Rafe's, you hate yours. It's nothing about the architecture but rather the emptiness of the hallways. The cold floors sweep with minimalist decors. The echoes in the chambers where you can hear every little whirl in the air conditioner and creaks in the pipes. You'd rather be at Tannyhill.

Rafe doesn't say anything for the next few moments, observing you, before conceding a sigh. "Tell you what. I'll take you out on the Druthers tomorrow. We'll go bright and early, sail out for a couple of hours, watch the sunrise and it'll be something."

You lift your head, eyes lit up. "Is this our escape?"

"We gotta come back, though."

You frown but the offer remains enticing. It's better than nothing.

"Okay, deal." You nod, holding out your pinkie finger. Rafe scoffs at your gesture, but nonetheless, returns it. "Don't look so glum. You get to hang out with me."

"You do realize we have about three hours of sleep?"

You glance at the clock on his dashboard. He's right. But, you don't want to hold it off till another day. "I can go by myself. Just give me the keys for tomorrow."

He rolls his eyes, as if he would even consider that suggestion, and shakes his head. "I'm coming with you."

"Aren't you afraid you won't get your beauty sleep?"

"Shut up and get in the house."

You laugh and hop out of his truck. When you enter through his bedroom, you throw your bag to a random corner and stroll over to his closet in search for one of Rafe's tees to sleep in.

When you settle on something, you strip out of your clothes—in the middle of his bedroom, just as Rafe enters—and exchange it for his shirt. He had little regard for your act, having grown accustomed to you changing in front of him and vice versa.

All Rafe does is pull off his own shirt, because he likes to sleep naked, and turns back to you. Unlike him, you're never going to get used to seeing him naked—the defined muscles of his chest, the toned planes of his abs, all those hours spent at the gym are clearly not wasted.

You flush, realizing you're ogling him longer than appropriate, and lift your gaze to find a smirk curving his lips. "Oh, shut it," you push his shoulders, causing him to laugh. He takes the opportunity to capture your hand, pulling the both of you onto his mattress, and you yelp.

Rafe changes your position so you're facing him, an arm sprawls over your waist, and there's about a couple of inches of space between the two of you. Here, in the low streams of the moonlight glistening through the veiled curtains and the faint aroma of his cologne on his pillows, you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

You say nothing. He says nothing, You stare into his cerulean eyes, knowing all this little emotions you're feeling all over—the light pricks on your skin where he touches you, the lapse in your breathing from how attentive he is, and the sharp incline of your heart rate pulsing through your veins—is because of him.

His voice is low when he says, "you know you're my best friend, right?"

You couldn't find it in you to answer. You just nod.

Rafe swallows hard, not having the ability to string together the next sentence. Instead, all he does is nod along, leaning forward to place a light kiss on your forehead, before falling asleep.

The next morning, just an hour before the sunrise, Rafe and you head to the ports to board the Druthers. Despite the lack of adequate sleep, you were giddily and strumming with high energy. He holds out his hand to guide you up the stairs, afraid your enthusiasm would cause you to miss a step.

When the Druthers is far enough from shore, it pulls to a halt, gently bobbing on the ocean waves of the tame morning. You settle on the deck and Rafe slides into the spot next to you. Here, you have the perfect view of the sun slowly rising from the horizon, painting the sky in a palette of red, orange and yellow.

You're grinning. You're feeling much better, especially after your melodramatic episode. Your head rests on Rafe's chest, observing the skyline until the sun reaches its acme, while he watches you. Something about you, happy, content, and with him brings a warmth no one can replicate.

"We have to go swimming." You announce suddenly, twisting your head to look at him with excitement bubbling on your features, doe eyes pleading with a want.

His expression is flat, trying to contain his emotions. "It's seven in the morning."

"So? When has that stopped me before?"

"It's freezing cold."

"That's your excuse for everything." You scoff, before tilting your head in a challenge. "Are you scared of a little water, Rafe Cameron?"

There's a twinkle in your eyes, something about the way you talk to him, he would never allow from anyone else. It's just you. He had to look away, pretending to shake his head from the idea but knowing, at the end, he lost.

With a long dip into the ocean, you swim around the Druthers with light splashes thrown in his face, causing Rafe to chase after you for your little stunt. When the pair of you returned to the boat, dripping wet on the floor deck, laughter exchanging at the break of dawn.

"You cheated!" You accuse, grinning.

"I did not. You're just slow."

When you change out of your bikini and Rafe changes out of his swim trunks, you return to the cockpit where Rafe dons a new attire: khaki pants, a polo shirt, and his backward baseball cap. The air shifts, a more solemn expression on his face.

"You had enough now, wildflower?" He tips his head to your direction, as you approach him. "Ready to return back to the real world?"

You groan. "What's so special about that place?"

"Nothing that matters to you," he declares, "but I have a couple of errands I have to run today. I have to get back, but I won't leave until you're feeling better."

"Hm." You consider your satisfaction. Standing before Rafe, you watch as his lips curl in amusement at the way you're mauling through the finer details. The itinerary of your day and whether it was enough. When your eyes lock with his, you offer him a sweet smile, albeit a little reluctant.

"What?"

You don't answer him, reaching for his hat and taking it off his head, before plopping it over your own as a keepsake souvenir. "Now, I am."

—

After spending your afternoon with Topper and Kelce at the Country Club, distracting them from their tee time with your commentary about their swings, Rafe finally arrives to join you.

But it's different.

When Rafe said he had a couple of errands to run, you didn't ask for their specifics. He just said he'll join you later and you were content with that assumption.

You should've prepared yourself.

Rafe got a new haircut; a buzz that took away his dirty blond locks and a clean fade on the sides. For some reason, it makes your heart accelerate. Your breath shortens. Rafe has always been attractive before but now, you couldn't even look at him.

When he tries to approach you in greeting, you dip out of the way and return to Topper and Kelce. However, in the middle of your path, you nearly tripped over some hazardously-abandoned golf club one of the boys threw out, but Rafe caught you. A hand on your elbow, his brows drawn together in concern.

"You good?" He asks. You can't help but let your eyes stray up to his hairline, finding it voided of the curtain bangs it previously occupies and the strands you like to mess with. Your gaze instantly drops to the ground.

"I'm–I'm fine." You stutter, heat rising to your cheeks from the embarrassing fact that you couldn't even make a clean getaway. Rafe helps you find your balance and you slip out of his grasp as you excuse yourself back to the other Kooks.

That's how the rest of the evening went. Through another round of golf and a dinner at the restaurant inside the Country Club, you try to ignore Rafe to the best of your abilities. It was a difficult task but a necessary one. Your emotions were fuzzy and harder to control. You couldn't even look at your best friend without flushing or revealing everything on your face.

You thought you could wait it out till you get home.

"Come on, wildflower." Rafe grabs your wrist, just as you're about to join Topper in his car, and you turn to face his contempt expression. Annoyance written over his features. "I'm driving you home."

"No, it's fine. Top said he can give me a ride—"

"We live nearby each other. There's no point for Top to do all that. Right?" Rafe cuts a hard look to the blond in the driver seat, to whom easily backs off with two hands raised in surrender. Coward. Rafe turns back to you. "Let's go."

You end up in the passenger seat of his truck. On the long drive back to Figure Eight, you were uncharacteristically quiet. Often, you would fidget with the stereo, messing with Rafe's presets on country and rap stations, to which he always has to swat your hands away. Today, you sat obediently in your seat, hands tucked between your thighs, looking anywhere but Rafe.

"You're not going to listen to music?" He asks, trying to cut the silence. You shake your head.

"I'm not feeling it."

You try to count the seconds. You try to distract yourself by looking out the window and listening to the chirps of crickets coming out, but all you can focus on is the sound of yours and Rafe's breathing. The acute awareness of something in the air. The amount of space between the two of you. The way something deep in you changed about him.

It isn't his fault. Whatsoever. It's all yours. All those times spent at Tannyhill, stealing his shirts to wear to sleep, cuddling up in his bed after sneaking out of your estate, running around with Rafe doing god-knows-what. You developed something for him. A crush. An inkling.

You always told yourself you could control it. It's natural for best friends to like each other at one point. It'll fade away eventually.

But, unfortunately for you, that isn't the case. it got worse. It grew more desperate. With each inching territory into something else means a larger consequence it can have on your friendship.

You can't lose him.

"Hey." Rafe calls out, his voice softens considerably from the aggression he used with Topper a while back. You don't turn to face him, despite that being his sole objective, and you respond back with a light hum. "Am I driving you home or Tannyhill?"

To you, those are the same things. Home is where Tannyhill is, where Rafe is. But, you knew what he was referring to.

"Tannyhill." You answer in a chipped tone. "I forgot my bag."

"Of course, you did." He teases, trying to break the tension with some lightheartedness. It doesn't work. You don't answer, too lost in resisting the urge to look at him.

Rafe sighs when you refuse to acknowledge him and turns back to the road. That's when you spare a glance from the corner of your peripheral; just a small peek.

And there he is: Rafe with the fresh shave that is such a strange yet welcomed sight. It brings out a clearer definition of his handsome features, the planes of his sharp profile, the cut of his jawline and the wrinkles around his eyes you always adore. It's too much for you.

You can't let him know that.

He's your best friend.

When he reaches Tannyhill, you leap out of the moving vehicle and race up the porch. You take the hidden key from under the mat and turn the lock, slipping into the familiar foyer and up the large stairwell.

Racing against an internal clock, once you enter the bedroom, you search for your bag, but you can't seem to pinpoint its location. When you manage to miraculously find it underneath the covers, you throw it over your shoulders and sprint to the exit.

Only for Rafe to block it.

"Why are you in such a rush?" He asks, his brows furrowed together as he examines you. You quickly drop your gaze to the ground, pretending to be interested in the patterns on the marble.

"I just..." You stammer for an excuse. "I just got to get home."

"Why? You hate your house."

"I don't hate it." You lie. The conversation tips into an awkward tension—the exact thing you were trying to avoid. You think you need to spend a day, or two, or a whole week, to collect yourself and force yourself back to normal. Back to when you can look at him without revealing everything on your face.

"God, what is it? You don't like it?" Rafe laughs with an ounce of nervousness and the sound takes you back. You look up, finding him running a hand over his buzzcut. "It's my hair, isn't it?"

He didn't know why he decided to buzz it off. He just did. He didn't care if his father didn't approve or if Wheezie would make fun of him for the sudden change in appearance. That didn't matter to him.

But your opinions did.

"What?" Your lips part. Were you that obvious? "I never said that."

"You didn't need to. This entire evening, you've barely looked at me."

He's right.

"I was busy."

"Playing golf with Top? You hate that shit." He retorts, dropping his hand to his side, clenching them into whiten knuckles. "And when we were at the restaurant. You were sitting with Kelce. Why the fuck were you sitting with him instead of me?"

You swallow hard. Your throat is tightening with all the words you can't reveal.

"Maybe I just want to change it up. I am friends with them too—"

"But you're my friend first."

You scoff. "Possessive much?"

"Very." He answers nonchalantly. Your heart skips a beat. He can't say that; it's not fair. "And knowing you for so long, I know what you're telling me is complete and total bullshit."

His hand slides under your jaw, lifting your gaze to meet his, and you can't help but feel your walls crumbling. You're afraid. You're so afraid.

"Come on, wildflower." He murmurs softly, swiping his thumb across your cheek. "Tell me the truth."

You have always been able to do that. In ways. When Rafe asks something of you, you're always able to tell him straight. It's one of the qualities he likes about you. Now is the first time you're going against your nature. Because it's too close, too real, that it can change everything.

Your throat grows dry and you lick your bottom lip, causing Rafe to glance down.

"I..." You begin, trying to string together a coherent sentence that won't damage everything. He raises a brow, waiting. "Sometimes it's hard for me to look at you."

You close your eyes after the confession. Your heart is in his hands.

All the air in the room stills, as if the air conditioner turns off and you're all left with a tense, palpable silence. You can't bear it. At least, at your house, you can blast your speakers on full-volume to create some level of noise and block it out. Here, all you can hear is the thumping of your heart in your ears.

"Say something." You urge.

"Sometimes it's hard for me to look at you too."

Your heart drops. You think he doesn't understand. He thinks you can't stand him physically, especially after his haircut, and this is a similar sentiment shared by him about you.

He doesn't feel the same way.

"Oh."

You open your eyes, trying hard not to cry. You can feel them swelling with hot tears but you blink fast, trying to not let Rafe see.

He immediately recognizes the look, drawing back his hand. That’s not what he meant. "Don't cry."

You're not doing a good job at hiding anything today. "No, it's okay," you say with a crack voice, "you don't have to—"

"No, fuck," he swears, "what I mean is that, sometimes, when you look at me, I just—" He couldn't explain himself, not in time, not in the way he wants, that he covers your eyes, flooding your vision with darkness and heightening every other sense.

Rafe releases a deep exhale, collecting himself. "Those eyes..." He mumbles, the resonance of his voice so close, it's as if he's right beside you. You feel his breathing fanning against the curve of your neck, raising goosebumps. "They drive me fucking insane."

Then, he kisses your neck.

The act jolts you by surprise.

"Everything about you drives me insane." He confesses against your heated skin, the vibration of his words sending straight tingles through your body. "I can't go a day without thinking about you. About wanting you."

Not just as a best friend, but as a whole. Everything about you he needs. In his life; forever. Sometimes, he can't believe you exist.

You're overwhelmed with all these new emotions. Your heart is swelling. "Rafe..."

"You're my best friend, right?" He muses, delivering kisses up the column of your throat to the underside of your jaw, and making his way closer to your lips. "But you're also the only one for me."

Before he gets to your mouth, you grab his wrist, the one holding you blindfolded. He stops in place—afraid this is your time to reject him.

"Rafe." You breathe out. "Can I see you?"

He slowly removes his hand, allowing your vision to flood back with his presence. This time, the sight of Rafe doesn't push you into overdrive. There's a new sense of clarity and calm, an elated comfort you don't share with anyone else.

You take your time drinking him in. From his face, to his lips, to the fresh haircut you're feeling entirely too grateful for. You do it all without fear.

"What?" He demands, his insecurities skyrocketing through the roof. "Don't like it?"

"I love you."

His heart lunges in his chest. He couldn't believe the words coming from your lips. When it completely registers that this is not some sweet, wet dream he's going to wake up from, his hands reach forward to cup either side of your face and he finally kisses you.

His force pushes you back against his bed and you land on the mattress with a soft thump. You laugh into his mouth and Rafe grins against your lips.

"Eager, much?"

"I wanted to hear you say that for so long." He admits, his hand travels down your waist to grab your hips and pull you closer. Rafe deepens the kiss, swallowing the little sounds you're making, until you have to pull away to catch your breath.

You can't believe this is happening.

"I didn't know you were such a good kisser."

"Yeah? You wanna know what else I'm good at?"

Your eyes drop to his pants, seeing the subtle outline of his erection straining against his zipper, and he chuckles lowly. "You want it tonight?"

You nod timidly. Your eyes dropping to your lap again, but this time, Rafe doesn't allow you to do such things.

He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to his. "Don't do that, baby. You know how I feel about you getting shy from asking what you want. Use your words."

The new nickname is making you lightheaded. You can't believe this is real. "I want you, Rafe."

Sweetest goddamn words he ever heard.

He tips his head to your clothes. "Take it off."

"You first."

He laughs at your competitiveness, always trying to challenge him, but he doesn't resist. He pushes himself off the mattress, pulling off his shirt and removing his pants. All that is left is his boxer-briefs, which reveals the outline of his bulge. "Your turn."

You take off your shirt and your shorts and decide, last minute, to go the extra mile and unclasp your bra too. It falls over your shoulders and you throw it out onto the floor.

Rafe takes his time, staring at your tits. He has seen you naked before, the consequence of your intimate relationship that pushes the boundaries into blurred lines and the inevitable collision of morning showers in his ensuite and drunken exchanges after parties.

But this time, it's different. This time, it's a sight that's intentional—just for him.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this?"

You gawk at him, the words send a thrill down your spine. "Do you know how long I waited for this?" You gesture back to him, at his naked frame, and he smirks.

"You got an eyeful last night."

"Oh, shut up," you use your leg to kick him, but Rafe catches your ankle in the process. Your eyes widen as he uses the opportunity to spread your legs apart, sinking between your thighs. His gaze finds your soaked panties.

His thumb traces across your panties, drawing out your wetness against the fabric and collecting your arousal. You whimper, aching into his touch.

"Rafe, please." You beg. His eyes lifts to find yours in a self-satisfied grin. He loves knowing you're this desperate for him, only him, that his fingers hook under the band of your panties.

"Lift your hips for me." He commands and you obey. He pulls off your panties and hauls you to the ledge of his bed. With that, his fingers caress your wet slit, drawing out a low moan from you. "Fuck."

He has imagined that sound a thousand times over, but it's incomparable to the real thing. To know you're feeling this way because of him. He feels himself growing harder, straining against the thin fabric and begging to be inside of you.

But he wants to pleasure you first.

Rafe lowers himself and covers your clit with his mouth. He proceeds to suck, his fingers grazing your entrance before plunging a thick digit inside.

You tip your head against the mattress, reveling in the feel of his tongue against your swollen nub, the way he thrusts into you with a steady pace and the additive finger. Your legs drape over his shoulders, closing him in.

"Fuck, baby, you taste so sweet," Rafe mumbles against you, the vibration of his words stirring something inside of you. "I can't believe I haven't been tasting you every single fucking night."

You draw out with a breathy moan, feeling yourself clench at his words. "We have all the time now."

"I bet I can make you come on my face fast, though."

You don't get a chance to entertain the response before Rafe sucks harder, pumping inside of you with a determined speed that causes you to arch off the mattress and claw at his sheets.

"Shit," you whimper, squeezing your thighs together at the intense pleasure, forcing Rafe to use his free hand to push your legs apart. You feel your climax rapidly approaching. "Oh, god, oh, god."

You come on his face, as promised, and you slump back against the bed, catching your breath. Rafe removes his hand from your cunt, the emptiness causes a little whine.

"What?" He looks at you.

"Nothing," you mumble, "I just want you inside me."

He laughs. "God, you're needy," he teases, causing heat to rise to your cheeks. "Don't worry, baby, you'll get it soon."

He goes to his nightstand and pulls out a condom. Just as he's about to tear it open, he glances down at you, extending the small square. "Want to do it?"

You nod, pushing yourself upright and taking it from his hands. You rip it open, as Rafe removes his boxers, and his cock springs free, red and swollen with a bit of precum. You smile, glancing up at him with your doe eyes. "Is that because of me?"

"Shut up."

You giggle, rolling the latex over his length, taking your time to admire his size. He's big and perfect, the tip of his cock dripping with his precum that you almost wish you could take him inside your mouth instead. However, despite the recent orgasm, your body wants him inside.

"Lay back." He commands thickly. "Spread your legs."

You do as he says, throbbing from the control he has in the room. Rafe sinks his knees into his mattress, approaching you as he pushes your thighs apart and lines his tip against your entrance, causing your breath to shorten.

"Come on, wildflower, breathe with me."

You nod shakily, closing your eyes for a moment to inhale a calming breath before he plunges deep inside you, filling you to the hilt. A gasp escapes you, his girth stretching you out, but it soon fades into a pleasure unlike any others.

"God, you feel good," he mumbles, lowering himself to your mouth and capturing your lips into a hot kiss. Your hand drapes over his shoulders as he begins to thrust inside of you. "Too fucking good."

You feel perfect. All of this is too perfect. The way you press against him, your fingernails scraping his back, the way your pussy grips him with the ideal amount of pressure, and the way your lips sync with his as if you were made for him.

The air fills with your whimpers and mewls, increasing in volume with each thrusts that enters and leaves you, while Rafe is heaving in breathy grunts and moans. He pushes your legs back, forcing the new position to grant him deeper access into your sweet cunt.

He's hitting new spots you didn't know were possible. It's making your eyes roll to the back of your head, your cries coming out with desperate pleas, that he had to cover your mouth with his to swallow all the noises.

When you feel yourself reaching a familiar high, the buzz tingling between your legs, you grip his shoulders tight. Rafe feels your walls fluttering around him, and he quickened his pace, sweat breaking across his forehead.

Your breath is heavy, your heart is racing, and as you ascend into your peak, you moan out Rafe's name with such euphoric satisfaction, he comes with you, emptying into the condom.

When he finishes, he falls into the space next to you. His breathing is rough, trying to catch his own breath, that you can't help but turn your gaze to his, examining him under this new light.

Rafe catches you staring, the way your eyes lift to his hairline, and he reassures with a soft brush against your jaw. "It'll grow back, I promise."

"it's not that." You declare, dropping your gaze down to his face. You still can't believe the embarrassment you still feel by how attractive he is. "I like it."

"You do?"

"Why else would I hide from you?"

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head with a ghost of a smile on his lips. His hand drops to your waist, pulling you closer to him until you're skin-to-skin, your breasts pressing against his chest.

"You couldn't tell me the whole time?" He mumbles, kissing your nose. You giggle.

"If I did, we wouldn't be here having sex."

He takes a moment to consider your words, before finding some merit in them. "Fair." He declares, just as his eyes find yours again. This time, he can look at you, knowing you're his. "I guess next time I get a new haircut, I can propose, huh?"

Your heart drops. Your smile fades from surprise. "What?"

He laughs at your expression. "You think I'm letting you go after this? It's either us or nothing."

Maybe reality isn’t too bad.

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gutsby · 1 year ago

Text

Best Served Cold

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Warning: NSFW. Attempted SA. Unprotected p-in-v. I don’t condone cheating (unless it’s on abusers lol). Semi-public sex and getting caught doing it in a tent 🫣 Based on this kickass idea from @dilfsandmartinis (I'm so sorry it took this long for me to post the story) !! 💓

Your man returned to your tent that night like he did most others: slick with sweat and too tired for sex. At least not again, not with you. He would undoubtedly claim to have been checking the perimeter, standing guard like a good leader should, but any blind man in that quarry camp could’ve seen he was just boning Lori.

A lot.

You were really more offended that he thought you stupid enough to abide by his lies than the fact he was fucking someone else. That part wasn’t new—his dick never knew how to stay in one hole longer than a month or two—but in an apocalypse? With his newly-deceased best friend’s widow? That was low, even for Shane.

Which was why you felt no compunction yourself as you slipped quietly from your tent toward the water’s edge that night, pink vibrator clutched tightly in hand.

Useful little thing that it was, a six-setting suction device that worked wonders on your clit, even underwater. You figured since Shane couldn’t be bothered with you or your sexual pleasure so long as the former Mrs. Grimes was occupying his time, you’d make use of this sex toy instead and start really leaning into the “self care” you’d been craving for so long.

The water was warm all the way up to your chest, and the air around you tepid. You moved around, treaded in place, and finally reached comfortable bearings a couple yards from shore. You relished the solitude and silence.

The moment you felt the toy come to life in your hand, you couldn’t help but smile. Exhaling as you brought the tip close to your center.

“Shit.” Even the gentlest setting too harsh on your clit, you nipped your lower lip and bit back a whimper.

You swirled it lightly on your inner thigh, tried painstakingly as ever to acclimate yourself to the buzz of the rubber, but damn were you sensitive. Almost too tender to be touched, too ripe with excitement and aching for the feel of something on you, or in you, or just barely skimming the surface of your skin underwater.

A low moan escaped your lips the second the head drifted back to your clit. Your toes curled into rough, rocky terrain underfoot, and your breaths started to quicken. You made a gentle motion with your hips—a sweet, semi-circular thing you’d been doing over Shane’s lower half as long as you could remember—begging for more friction, needing more of that mechanical hum.

You pressed the button for a higher setting. The peaks of your pleasure soared to new heights.

You were helpless to the trembling of your knees and felt immensely grateful for the water’s aid in keeping you straight. You pressed the rounded tip of the toy even tighter to your core and didn’t heed a thing around you as you sighed several expletives under your breath. A jolt of bliss washed over your body.

Your eyes had just started to close in the first throes of that wild sensation, when a new sound startled you.

“Ya done pissin’ or what?”

You shot a look toward the shore and saw a slightly less-than cheery individual standing at the edge of it, the toes of his boots grazing the incoming waves.

You froze in place. You hardly knew what to say.

“Ain’t safe fer you out here ‘n you know it. Come on.” Daryl beckoned you with one hand and started to turn.

At what point was it appropriate to tell him you were naked?

You thought he could surmise from the fact you were neck-deep in the water and refusing to move that maybe something more was keeping you in. Daryl seemed clueless, however.

“I ain’t got all night, kid,” he snorted, “’f you don’t hurry, Shane an’ the rest of ‘em’ll be out and— ah.”

Ah.

At the last, he stepped on a pile of clothes folded neatly on the shoreline nearby, undergarments and all.

So this wasn’t a midnight swim or a late night piss at all, but a full-blown skinny dip. He should have known you weren’t the bikini type.

Awkwardly, almost begrudgingly, Daryl gathered what clothes of yours he could and chucked them closer to the lake. Then he turned on his heels and stalked up the beach without another word—fuming, it seemed to you. Once averted, though, Daryl’s face betrayed a look of horror. Like a parent who’d just stumbled upon a box of condoms in their daughter’s sock drawer after swearing she was still a virgin.

In the few short weeks since you’d been thrown together in this mess, Daryl had practically taken to you like family. He hated Shane ‘Shit-for-Brains’ Walsh most days, it was true, but the fact that you were you, and times were tough, and nothing seemed to occupy Daryl’s mind quite like the thought of keeping you safe, that he had to keep you close at all times. He just hadn’t imagined your proximity would turn this intimate so suddenly.

“Keep up,” he spoke more sharply than usual. Didn’t even wait for you to dry and dress completely before snagging your hand in his.

You glanced at your taut, hardened nipples poking up through the damp material of your tank top and suddenly wished you’d brought a towel. Or a bra. Your shorts, too, clung to your ass like a second skin and made you feel extra bare before Daryl’s eyes—even if he hadn’t spared a look at you once as you’d traipsed behind him through the woods.

When you tripped, he held you up; when you nearly ate shit over several rocky spots, he carried you over them. His eyes never strayed toward your body, though.

Once you’d made it to the clearing where your group had made camp, Daryl lowered you to the ground and still couldn’t find it within himself to look your way. You shuffled uncomfortably on your feet, now standing inches away from the tent you shared with Shane.

“Thanks for...that,” you said, flatly.

Daryl managed a curt nod.

Before you turned in, you decided to venture a look at Daryl’s chest, and you felt an influx of embarrassment. The taupe-colored cutoff he wore as a shirt was soaked with water. Instinctively, you brushed your fingers over the stain—as if touching it might dry the fabric, or else mask your humiliation at being the cause. You tried not to evince a hint of surprise at how sturdy he felt.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Daryl.”

You hadn’t thought any man was capable of looking more afflicted than Daryl did before, but somehow, incredibly, he appeared even more ill at ease when you touched him. You immediately retracted your hand.

“’S’okay,” he managed. He would’ve given anything not to be where he was, or who he was, at that moment.

Just when another apology leapt to your tongue—feeling even worse that you might’ve crossed a physical boundary you shouldn’t have—a twig snapped close-by.

You and Daryl jumped in your skin. You turned toward the source of the sound.

Shane was tugging his pants into place, pulling the zip up in haphazard fashion as he marched out of the woods.

He’d either been blowing Lori’s back out (again) or off to take a piss in the bushes. By the looks of his dazed and drowsy expression, you guessed it was the latter.

“Got a nice rack, doesn’t she?” Shane observed, careless as ever.

He walked past the two of you and unzipped the tent.

“I was jus—” Daryl started.

“Don’t care,” Shane cut in, “Goodnight.”

You were amazed at the level of nonchalance your fiancé exhibited. On finding you soaked to the bone and touching another man in the middle of the night, the old Shane probably would’ve laid Daryl flat on his ass.

But overprotective, possessive Shane was no more.

Before disappearing into the tent, Shane reached for your elbow. You barely got another glimpse at Daryl as you were ushered inside.

The tent was re-zipped in an instant, and you assumed Daryl would be quick to leave the scene, too.

You turned and saw Shane fumbling to unscrew the lid of his canteen. Taking several big gulps before re-fastening the top, tossing the jug to the side, and letting out a sigh.

“You get a look at the hard-on he had?” Shane chuckled.

You almost choked on your spit.

“What?”

“Pitched a tent in his pants bigger’n this,” he returned, gesturing to the polyester enclosure overhead. Then he got back to his feet, walked over to you, and kept going, in spite of your perplexed expression, “He must really wanna fuck you.”

You blinked up at him, unsure if you were more baffled by Shane’s serene demeanor or the fact that you hadn’t noticed Daryl’s boner. You decided to overlook the erection for the time being.

“And you don’t...care if he did?” Instantly chiding yourself for the twinge of indignation in your tone.

“Nuh-uh,” Shane said. His hands came to rest comfortably on your hips, and he seemed to be hearing your words without really comprehending what you meant. As usual.

If he picked up on the irritation in your voice, he didn’t show it. He just rolled the denim of your shorts between his fingers and pulled you closer.

“This,” he hummed, fingers sinking between your legs, “is not for him.”

And Shane was community dick. Made sense.

You didn’t attempt to conceal your annoyance this time as you rolled your eyes and pushed his hands away.

“Well maybe if Daryl asked nicely…” you trailed off, starting toward the bed.

Shane stopped you before you could. He took a firmer hold of your sides and showed the first real hint of jealousy in his eyes. You were almost glad to see it.

“No,” Shane said, shaking his head. Then, snaking his touch back down your legs—with the fabric of your shorts fisted in his hands this time—he continued amidst your quiet protests.

You were gripping his wrists, trying to keep them from moving any further. But Shane was insistent.

“He wouldn’t get to ask nicely, because I’d blow his fucking brains out before he ever got the—”

“Shane.” You were actively shoving his hands off now. You didn’t mind this envious side coming back to the surface, but you would not, under any circumstance, be Shane’s sloppy seconds the same hour he’d fucked Lori.

“No. You— you smell like—” you cut yourself off before the woman’s name could leave your lips.

“Like what?” Shane snapped. Suddenly intrigued to hear what you had to say.

You tried to wriggle out of his grip, but when you couldn’t, and when he pressed you again, you sputtered some nonsense about his drinking—how he reeked of booze, not Rick’s wife.

“Thought you liked it when I fucked you drunk,” Shane grinned, voice dripping with condescension, “Said it gave me stamina.”

You’d said no such thing. You groaned lightly as Shane managed to pull your panties and shorts, together, to your ankles. When he started to take them off at your feet, he hardly seemed to notice your nails dig in his shoulders, silently begging him to stop.

“Think I should invite Daryl back over? Let him watch me fuck you stupid?” Shane’s mouth was hovering close to your center, hot breaths fanning over your lower half.

In any other situation, you would’ve craved him here: on his knees, ready to suck and lick and dick you down like he always used to do. But things were different now, you had to remind yourself. Apart from the walking dead invading your world, there was no Rick in the picture, no semblance of platonic feelings between his widow and your fiancé—you felt physically sick at the thought of Shane touching you now. You tried to stand the instant he threw you on the bed.

“Shane, I don’t wanna—”

“Fuck? Yeah, I figured,” Shane shrugged as he tried to peel your shirt off your body.

“Then quit,” you hissed. You were starting to fear the fabric might tear if you held on any tighter.

When it seemed evident you weren’t going to give in on the top, Shane let go and turned to his pants instead. Pinning you down with one hand, he unbuckled his belt as you whimpered and pleaded that he stop. The sounds only made the mound in his pants more pronounced.

The two of you had dabbled in CNC before, but this was not that. No safeword, no fallback, no trace of consent between you, and to be frank, you were starting to get scared. The second Shane freed his cock from his boxers, you felt a surge of panic rise to your chest.

“Fuck— STOP!” Without thinking, you jerked your knee.

You hadn’t meant to hit his balls so hard. But you did. And he folded in half, seizing with pain, while you took that as your chance to slide off the bed, slip on your panties—and hightail it the fuck out of there.

Shane’s cries pierced the night air like a blade through rotted flesh. You stumbled, half-blind in the dark, and blazed a reckless path through the tents all around you. Weaving in and out of neighboring spaces, searching desperately for any lone, dim glow of a lantern to tell you someone was awake to hear your pleas if needed. But sadly, no tent was alight but yours, and the entrance to that was presently being torn open once more as Shane staggered out there himself.

“Y/N!” he bellowed.

In your haste, you’d tripped over Glenn’s knapsack. You scraped your knee, scrambled back to your feet, and tried with everything in you not to make a sound as you retreated further from Shane’s voice.

You probably looked feral, weaving in and out of tents with your knee leaking blood and your pupils grown wide with fear. You scampered fast across the rocky campgrounds and made a beeline for the woods.

Until Shane’s footsteps fell heavy mere feet away.

Quickly changing course, you dove for the nearest tent and ripped it open. When you slipped inside, zipped it up, and went crab-walking backward like a panic-stricken animal, you hardly saw much of anything else.

Had your pulse not been pounding in your ears and your gaze not glued to the front of the tent, you likely would’ve gotten a pretty good laugh at the sight behind you.

At the very least, a chuckle or a smile or a slightly sheepish blush would’ve been supplied in a second, seeing someone wide-eyed and holding his cock in a death grip just inches from your rear.

You’d unwittingly scrambled into the tent of a man who’d just been beating his dick off furiously to the thought of you—and there you were, sitting pretty in pure, unadulterated fear for the sight of your fiancé any second now. When you turned your head, your hand flew to your mouth.

“Dar— oh!”

Like before, your heads snapped in the direction of a new sound, quick to sense that it was Shane, and this time, you went crawling over to the archer without a second thought. Hardly noticing his pants were down, you leapt into his lap.

“Y/N—” Shane hissed as he tripped over something outside. You heard a clatter and a bang, the sound of a few curse words sputtered in vain, and a groan. Daryl’s arms snaked around your sides and pulled you closer.

“What’ve ya gone and done this time?” he whispered.

“Told him no,” you murmured back.

You pretended not to feel the singe of Daryl’s gaze boring straight through the side of your head. Then a little lower, to your near-bare lower half and shaking legs. It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened.

“Y/N,” Daryl started, far louder than you could bear. You shushed him swiftly, ignoring the flare of anger in his eyes that told you he was currently conjuring up fifty different ways to kill Shane and just aching to act on it.

“Don’t. Please,” you said.

“Did he—”

“No. I...kneed him in the balls before he got the chance.”

“Oh.”

Shane was pacing outside, like he knew you were somewhere close. He called your name every now and then, drew near enough to send you rigid with fear. Then Daryl would hold you tight, stroke your hair, or else just graze his lips on your shoulder to let you know he was there, and eventually, the fright would subside. You nestled yourself into that touch and felt something far kinder than fear for the first time in a long time.

You felt aroused.

Ever more inspired by the sound of Shane stewing, fuming outside within earshot and the nudge of Daryl’s member against your barely-clothed core. Well…you were tempted, to say the least. You just weren’t sure if Daryl would be on board for being your lightning-quick rebound fuck of the night.

You sighed as his hips moved gently against your own.

“You think maybe—” you started.

“Yeah?”

“—you might…tell me what you were doing before I barged in here?”

Even in the dark, you could sense a blush creeping up his neck. You loved to see a man like Daryl flustered.

“Oh, uh, that?” he said in half a chuckle. Glancing down at his groin and going back and forth between two thoughts in his mind, most likely. Tell you the truth or come up with a half-assed lie on the spot.

“Just…jerking off to you.”

He never had been any good at a bluff.

Your face visibly brightened in the dim glow of the tent. You tried not to let your elation get too far ahead of you, though, lest your voice raise above a whisper and draw Shane’s attention.

“Yeah? What about?”

Daryl never thought it possible for a woman’s enthusiasm in a question to turn him on, but yours did. He looked to your lips and swallowed, suddenly at a loss for how to answer.

“I…well…”

“You’re fucking dead to me, Y/N. If you don’t—”

Your fiancé’s voice was as close, and as terrifying, as it had ever been. You eased Daryl onto his back.

“Were you thinking of this?” you teased.

You made that soft semi-circular motion with your hips and watched a brand new face contort with pleasure. The footsteps outside hardly registered in your mind any longer, as your attention was singly focused on Daryl.

He fought a groan in his throat as you grazed your slick heat over his length.

You coated him with your arousal quicker than even you had expected. You knew you were turned on, but never had it been like that, where you were damn near dripping sweet nectar all over a man’s cock. You let a little whine leave your lips.

You couldn’t help it; your cunt rocked back and forth over Daryl’s fat, throbbing cock and made obscene sounds as you did. The archer’s hands found your hips and gently guided you up and down as his own moans struggled to break loose.

You could’ve stayed like that forever, you figured—if you hadn’t been so fucking wet that the head of his cock slipped inside of your heat the second you and Daryl bucked your hips together. An inch was quick to stretch to seven before you could think or blink or do anything else but groan in pleasure, and suddenly, he was bottoming out inside you.

“Fuck!” Daryl hissed.

“Daryl!”

“Daryl?”

Fucking Shane, of all voices you didn’t want to hear in that moment. Fortunately, he’d heard Daryl’s voice alone and not the sound of your moan, calling his name at the same time, for entirely different reasons, it seemed.

Daryl gritted his teeth as you bounced on his cock,

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking for Y/N. You seen her, brother?”

Seen you, felt you, fucked you, yeah—he had.

Daryl closed his eyes and tried not to blow his load on the spot as you squeezed around him.

“No— no, I haven’t. Not since earlier,” he grunted.

“You sure?” Shane pressed, dissatisfied, “I heard her running around this way.”

You braced your knees against the ground and rode the man beneath you even harder, taking every ounce of resentment you felt toward Shane out on Daryl’s cock. Fuck if revenge sex didn’t feel nice when the object of your ire was standing right outside the tent.

You almost wanted to moan, wanted to whimper, but were quick to think better of it the longer you spent moving up and down his length. Seeing shades of lust in his eyes like never before, you just couldn’t bear the thought of having to pry yourself off any time soon.

Daryl sank his fingers into your thighs and sighed, leaving ten perfect crescents in their wake.

“Don’t you fuckin’ stop,” he murmured.

“Could ya— could you come outside and help me look?”

‘Come the fuck on’ seemed to be the silent, shared sentiment between you and Daryl as your bodies writhed fast against each other and your highs came close into view. You braced your hands against his chest and begged him not to answer with your eyes, but you also knew Daryl couldn’t not say something to him, either.

“I…I’m sure she’s fine.” Daryl tried, weakly.

He flipped you over so you were flat on your back, hands careful not to make much noise or cause you discomfort as he did. Cock never leaving your wet, greedy hole, he found it easier than ever to resume the pace you’d made above him—now pounding you quietly into his sleeping pad.

You gripped his back and, simultaneously, bit down on his shoulder to keep from letting out a shriek when he grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you. Tried not to whine when he hit it again. And again. And again.

Shane was growing impatient. Hovered close to the front of the tent so you could see the outline of his shadow.

“You got something better to do, Dixon?” he snapped.

Yeah, fuck your fiancée, Daryl thought with a smirk. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him even deeper.

That light, airy feeling preceding ecstasy was close at hand. You wanted to give in—let the levee break and just relish the sweet sensation quick to follow—but you knew you couldn’t. Knew yourself too well to be a screamer not to hold on a little longer, until Shane had left.

But the way Daryl’s cock was pumping in and out of you at present made it hard, to say the least.

“Just…tired, ‘s’all,” Daryl groaned close to your ear.

“Tired from what?!” Shane jeered, “Wrist been hurtin’ from how hard you’ve been jerkin’ it to Y/N, huh?”

You almost burst out laughing. Daryl quickly cupped your mouth. Fucked you harder to shut you up.

And shut up you did; but not for long, you feared. The faster he pounded you, the more that coil in your stomach came to swell, and soon enough you might—

“Eat shit, Walsh.”

“Just help me out. Please.”

Daryl shook his head and fucked you harder, much to your chagrin. You didn’t want him to stop, but you needed him to, in truth, or that swollen thing inside of you just might get the better of you and burst. You pressed your hands to his chest and tried to whimper something softly, but Daryl just hushed you with his hand to your mouth and kept on at that breakneck pace. Your eyes rolled back, your legs started to shake, and if Daryl hadn’t had to tear his attention away to say something to Shane, he might have seen how close you were to blowing your cover…before it was too late.

With one more stroke inside your wet, sensitive hole, you felt a cord inside you snap and a flurry of wild, unbridled bliss take over, stronger than you’d felt in ages.

A shriek desperate to escape your throat, your teeth raked down Daryl’s flesh with the force of it, and, instinctively, the man yanked his hand away and yelped.

You hated to do it, but the feeling was just too good. Your lips parted to release one of the most lewd and obscene sex screams of your life—with Daryl’s name following over and over as you came.

Daryl’s eyes grew to half the size of his face, it seemed. Stilling inside you, feeling your sweet, hot juices flow down him in waves, he sat there and couldn’t quite decide if he was more turned on or terrified.

When Shane tore through the fabric of the tent and charged inside, he figured it out pretty quickly, though.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #smut #shane walsh #shane walsh smut

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meleeyz · 3 months ago

Note

ekko enemies to lovers? literally metal flowers was SO! GOOD! where reader is a pilte and she goes down with cait and vi in s1?

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗬 𝗣𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗘꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I'm sorry in advance if something reads strangely or is poorly written.

୨୧ Hello darling! Maybe this isn't exactly your idea (?), but I thought it would be fun to have a tension-filled conversation when the reader is supposed to be... you know, kidnapped. Tell me what you think! I'm also glad you liked the metal flowers one-shot 💞💞

୨୧ THANK YOU VERY VERY VERY MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT, THIS IS THE FIRST REQUEST I HAVE AND THAT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY, YOUR NICE COMMENTS ARE ALSO GREAT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH AGAIN 💓

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

It all happened too fast: Vi shouting warnings, the blue-haired lunatic and her sick laughter had been the least of your problems.

And now you were here, restrained in a damp, dimly lit room, the sack over your head smelling of grease and mildew. Caitlyn’s muffled voice called for you, distant and strained.

You tugged at the ropes binding your wrists to the chair, teeth gritted. The door creaked open, and hurried footsteps approached. The sack was pulled off. A Vastaya man loomed over you, his bat-like ears curling inwards as he studied you for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he left, closing the door behind him with a resonating clang.

Blinking against the sudden light, you glanced around, your gaze landing on someone seated across the room. He wore an owl mask, his posture lazy yet somehow threatening.

Your stomach churned. You’d seen him earlier—watching from the shadows as Silco’s men attacked. He hadn’t intervened then, just observed with unnerving intensity.

“Got something to say, or are you just going to keep staring?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

The masked figure tilted his head, amusement evident in the way he leaned back.

“Staring at people like that? Kind of counts as harassment, you know,” you continued, forcing a smirk despite the pounding of your heart. “But hey, let me go, and we can settle this properly. I promise I’ll be… kind.”

The voice that responded came distorted through a modulator, low and mechanical. “You should learn to take care of that mouth. If it weren’t for the other two, you’d already be dead.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and despite yourself, you let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, I see how it is. Big bad owl man is bothered by my mouth? Then why didn’t you just kill me outright?”

His laugh echoed back at you, though his tone remained clipped. He stood, his figure tall and imposing as he stepped closer.

“Believe me,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “It was tempting.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze—or what you assumed were his eyes—through the owl mask. “Oh, I’m trembling,” you deadpanned. “What a scary owl.”

His movements stilled for a moment, the tilt of his head indicating surprise. You pressed on, determined to keep the upper hand in this strange game.

“Let me guess,” you said, smirking again. “Sitting around in a mask all day makes you feel tough, huh? What’s next—dramatic monologues about justice?”

He chuckled, stepping even closer until he was towering over you. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, craning your neck to meet him. “You think this is guts? I just call it basic survival.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between you, tension crackling like static. Then, slowly, he reached up, his gloved fingers curling around the edge of his mask.

Your breath hitched, the weight of the moment sinking in as he pulled it away.

The first thing you noticed were his eyes—sharp, golden-brown, and filled with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His features were striking, all sharp angles and raw intensity but softened.

You blinked, momentarily speechless, which was enough to make him laugh again. This time, it was unmodulated—rich and almost boyish, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his grin wide. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your mouth opened, then closed as you struggled for a response. The sheer absurdity of it hit you like a freight train. For all your mother’s warnings about suitors back in Piltover, none of them could hold a candle to him.

And, of course, he knew it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said smugly, stepping back.

You clenched your fists, suddenly grateful for the handcuffs keeping you from doing something you’d probably regret.

“Don’t look so smug,” you said finally, recovering enough to glare at him. “You still kidnapped me, remember?”

“Kidnapped?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Rescued is more like it. You’re lucky I was watching.”

“Lucky?” you shot back. “You’ve got a twisted sense of gratitude.”

“Stick around. You might just learn something.”

You scowled, your cheeks warming despite yourself. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you sat there under the sharp gaze of the boy—no, young man—in the room. But his attention was no longer casual. His gaze was razor-edged, appraising.

“Enough games,” he said finally, his voice steady, though it carried an undertone of curiosity. “What do you know about the hextech gemstone?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you were caught off guard. Hextech? You wracked your brain, recalling snippets of overheard conversations.

“It’s… like an energy booster,” you said hesitantly, your brows furrowed. “Anyone can use it to build pretty much anything. Something about it being ‘limitless potential’ or whatever.”

Ekko tilted his head, clearly not expecting you to be so forthcoming.

“You just told me, just like that?”

“Why not?” you replied with a shrug. “You didn’t kill me, which is already better than everyone else we’ve run into today. If you’re not trying to gut me on sight, you can’t be that bad.”

His laugh came low, warm, and rough, as if you’d surprised him again.

“You’re either really brave or really stupid.”

“Bit of both,” you admitted, flashing a quick smile “So, what’s next? We keep playing twenty questions?”

He chuckled dryly, though his next words were serious.

“Alright, let’s talk about your friends. What’s their deal? And what’s your relationship with the Enforcer?”

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in your chest. But the harder you tried, the more it broke free, until you were shaking with quiet.

“Enforcer?” you finally choked out, wiping the corner of your eye with your shoulder. “Caitlyn’s more like… I don’t know, a girl playing dress-up as an Enforcer. Her mother would die if she let Cait face real danger.” You tilted your head toward him, smirking. “Like this.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish.

“Oh, and don’t leave the lovebirds alone too long,” you added, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “It seems like Cait’s taken a liking to the pink-haired one.”

That earned another huff of laughter from him. His gaze lingered on you, sharp yet tinged with reluctant amusement, as though trying to figure out whether you were always this reckless or just putting on a show.

“Alright, alright. My turn. That’s how this works, right?”

“That’s not how this works at all.”

“Sure it is,” you shot back, leaning forward as much as the restraints allowed. “If you were a conventional kidnapper, I wouldn’t have said a word. You’d have had to torture me for information—and, frankly, I don’t think you’d do it. Too soft.”

Ekko’s brow twitched, though he said nothing.

“Anyway, this isn’t a conventional kidnapping, right?” you added, your grin widening.

For a moment, he studied you, clearly debating whether to humor you. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he gestured vaguely.

“Fine. Ask your question.”

You leaned back, feigning nonchalance.

“What’s your name?”

He hesitated.

“Ekko.”

“Ekko,” you repeated, testing the name on your tongue. It suited him. “Alright, Ekko. Next question.”

He crossed his arms, his brows lifting in mock exasperation.

“I said one question.”

“You really need to loosen up,” you teased. “I want to learn how to ride that hoverboard of yours. That thing looks incredible.”

His lips twitched, but he kept his expression neutral.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” you said. “My wrists are starting to hurt. Being handcuffed is not exactly comfortable, you know.”

Ekko sighed, dragging a hand down his face, though you could see the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Pretty Piltie can’t handle a pair of handcuffs? I’ll free you when the time comes.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

“When the time comes,” he said again. “I’ll free you.”

“Ekko!” you called after him, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You can’t just—hey!”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even glance back. The door creaked open as he stepped out.

Outside, Scar leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a bemused look on his face. He watched as Ekko adjusted the straps of his owl mask, preparing to slide it back into place.

“Something on your mind?” Ekko asked, his tone sharper than intended.

Scar raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the door where you were still yelling.

“Didn’t realize we were starting a dating service for Pilties now.”

Ekko shot him a glare, the owl mask concealing the faint flush creeping up his neck. “What?”

Scar smirked, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

With a sigh, Ekko adjusted the mask, his thoughts lingering on the strange girl tied up in the other room. A rich Piltie liking him? The thought was… well, distracting.

But he pushed it aside. There was work to be done.

“Where’s Vi?” he asked, his voice low.

Scar gestured down the hall. “Waiting.”

Ekko nodded, his mind shifting gears as he prepared for what would undoubtedly be another tense conversation.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

#ekko x reader #arcane x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #vi arcane x reader

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itneverendshere · 4 months ago

Note

baby girl being born and she doesn’t come out crying, rafe thinks his heart stops

i loved this request💓💓 and decided to make it even more precious by adding a tiny bit of this one: "for some reason i see this baby being born in November/october and you think it’s perfect for the holidays and rafes birthday hahahaha (i use drew’s birthday for his)". hope you like it!!🥰

half a heart without you - r.c

pairing: pogue!reader x rafe (bartender!reader universe) warnings: child labor; mentions of death.

rafe sat on the the stiff hospital chair, bouncing his leg anxiously as the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room. the muffled voices of the nurses around him did nothing to soothe his panic. all he could focus on was you—the love of his life.

you lay in the hospital bed, breaths labored, your hand gripping his with a force he knew you’d later joke about. even through the sweat and exhaustion of labor, you were beautiful. your eyes moved towards him, and despite the pain etched into your face, you gave him an exhausted smile.

"it's almost time," the nurse announced, glancing between the monitors and her patient.

rafe squeezed your hand tighter, his heart hammering in his chest.

he should be excited—this was supposed to be the moment where everything changed, where the world became new. he had dreamt about your daughter for months, imagining what she’d look like, what kind of personality she’d have, how his life would revolve around her from the second she entered the world.

he never thought of himself as someone who wanted to be a father—never thought he deserved it, but now he couldn’t imagine anything else. this baby girl was going to be his world.

he adjusted his mask, trying to ignore the panic inside him, he had to put your first no matter what his head was screaming at him. "you doing okay, baby?"

you shot him a look, disbelief and irritation crossing your face. "does it look like 'm okay, rafe?" you snapped between breaths, the hand that wasn’t cutting his circulation gripped the side of the bed with a force that made your knuckles turn white.

the change in humour would've blindsided him if he hadn't dealt with it throughout your pregnancy.

rafe winced, his lips twitching into an apologetic smile. "stupid question. sorry."

the nurse smiled from the other side of the room, used to seeing husbands or boyfriends fumbling in this exact situation.

rafe, however, wasn’t going to stand back and just be in the way. he moved closer to your side.

“you’re doing great.” he whispered encouragingly leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “you’re so strong. stronger than me.”

the doctor glanced over at rafe, his expression calm but serious.

"we’re almost there. one more big push, and she'll be here."

he couldn’t believe this was happening. after months of anticipation, this was it—the moment their daughter would finally come to the world.

"one more push," he echoed to you, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "you got this. ’m right here."

you let out a groan, squeezing his hand hard enough that rafe was sure his bones were grinding together. you took a breath before pushing with all your might, face contorting with the effort. rafe leaned forward, trying to offer what little comfort he could, but he felt useless.

your eyes flew open suddenly, and you glared at him almost desperately.

"you—" you panted, gasping between contractions, "you...fucked this baby out of me!"

his blue eyes went wide, mouth dropping open as he whipped his head around to look at the nurses and doctor, mortified. "she's—she's joking!" he blurted, his voice cracking as he felt his face heat up behind the mask, "swear she's joking!"

except you weren’t.

the nurse beside him smirked, while the doctor didn’t even flinch, calmly preparing for the baby’s arrival.

“completely normal,” the doctor said dryly, his eyes twinkling beneath his mask. “you wouldn’t believe the things we hear in here.”

rafe’s face burned, but when he looked back at you—his girl, red-faced and furious—he knew you were wacking him mentally for his stupid idea.

before he could say anything else in his defense, the doctor’s tone changed as he gave the final instruction, and the nurse moved into position. “this is it,” he said, focused now. “big push.”

he was three seconds away from fainting embarrassingly on this hospital room floor. this was it. he was about to be a dad.

you gave one final, strained push, after hours of labor, a guttural scream tearing from your throat. and then—

your daughter was born, but the room went silent, there was no cry.

rafe's heart stopped.

his breath caught in his throat as he stared at the small form in the doctor’s hands. the tiny, pink-skinned baby wasn’t moving. she wasn’t making any sound.

“she’s not—” rafe choked out, but the panic was already settling in his body as he looked between the doctor, the nurses, and you.

you were watching, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten as fear clouded your expression. his mind was screaming again, this time, a deafening roar of terror, and all he could think was why isn’t she crying?

he could hear nothing, see nothing, except for the small, seemingly lifeless body in front of him. he felt numb, paralyzed.

but then he saw you—his rock—and you looked utterly shattered. the panic in your eyes was immediate, your face void of any color as you stared at the nurses working on your baby.

without thinking, he grabbed your cheeks, his hands framing your face as he forced you to look at him, not the nurses, not the baby.

just him.

“rafe,” you choked out, voice already raspy with sobs. tears filled your eyes, your entire body trembling under his hands.

“i know, baby,” he whispered, as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours, trying to keep you distracted. “keep your eyes on me. it’s gonna be okay. look at me, just look at me.”

you were already crying, tears mixing with the sweat on your face.

you gripped his wrists like he was the only thing keeping you sane, your breath coming in broken gasps. “rafe—” your sob was gut-wrenching as your eyes flicked toward the nurses again.

“hey,” he pulled you in again, his thumbs brushing your cheeks, wiping away the tears. he kissed your temple, holding you close as he kept his voice calm for your sake, even as his own heart felt like it was breaking. “she’s gonna be okay. i promise. she’s strong, just like you. just stay with me, baby, okay?”

you let out another sob, burying your face into his chest as he held you tighter.

he felt you shake in his arms and he wanted to fall apart too—wanted to break down and scream, to beg for their baby to be okay—but he couldn’t. so instead he pressed kiss after kiss to your temple, murmuring reassurances he wasn’t even sure he believed.

“it’s gonna be okay. she’s okay.”

the truth was, rafe wasn’t sure of anything and he didn’t know how long he could keep it together. but then—just as the panic threatened to consume him whole—a fragile cry pierced the air.

rafe’s breath caught in his throat, his whole body freezing with the sound. he closed his eyes for a moment, sighing in relief.

she was okay. she was here. she was okay.

the nurse, smiling now, wrapped your baby girl in a soft blanket and gently placed her on your chest. the sudden change from fear to overwhelming love hit him like a bullet, and all he could do was stare as you, still crying, reaching out to cradle your newborn daughter.

his hands dropped from your face, and he stepped back just slightly, his eyes glued to the sight of his daughter lying on you, tiny and perfect.

“she’s okay,” you mumbled to yourself like you still needed to believe it. your eyes were full of tears, hands still trembling as you gently stroked the baby’s head. “she’s okay.”

rafe felt his knees go weak with relief, his heart swelling as he leaned down, kissing your forehead, then brushing a kiss against the baby’s tiny head.

“she’s perfect,” he breathed out, voice still hoarse as he finally let his tears fall. he pressed his lips to your hair, breathing you in. “autumn,” he said softly, the name slipping out without hesitation. “born right in time for the holidays. just like we wanted.”

you looked up at him, cheeks still glistening with tears, and you smiled. a genuine smile, despite everything. “autumn cameron.”

rafe grinned through his tears, his hand gently resting on your daughter’s back.

“yeah,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “autumn cameron.”

he knew that no matter what happened in life, this—this—was everything.

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nemesyaaa · 9 months ago

Text

love this type of imagines, tysm for writing this ! it's hot as hell 🥵🥵‼️

Never say “no” to your husband | Steve Rogers

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> Dark!Mob!Husband!Steve Rogers x Wife!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> You say “no” when Steve wants you to warm his cock in front of his men.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 557

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> 18+, Minors DNI Smut, dark!Steve, mention of fingering, unprotected p in v, rough sex

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 -> 🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about: Dark!Steve Rogers + covering your mouth @stargazingfangirl18

𝐀/𝐍 -> Thank you for sending that Drabble idea. It was funny.

Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist

“Come on. Don’t be like that, honey.”

Steve groans and grasps your hand, stopping you from leaving the room while he turns you around. Your front crashes almost painfully against the hard wall in front of you. You hiss softly, and Steve pushes himself against you, holding you tight between the wall and his body. You can feel his tensing muscles against your back and the way his fingers dig into your skin.

“Stevie, pl-,” you whimper, but you get interrupted by his forward thrusting hips.

Steve's hand snaps to your face, covering your mouth before you can complain or beg even more. He knows that you would try to convince him to let go of you, but he won’t. He is desperate, and he wants you, your tight pussy. He owns his reward; he is the most popular mob boss, so he deserves to be treated like that. He thrusts his hips another time forward, his growing bulge pressing against your ass, and you whine against his hand.

“Told you to be good. Wanted to bury my dick inside of you earlier, but you made a scene. There were just a few of my men. You're a bad girl. You little slut, now I’m gonna fuck you,” he mumbles into your ear before he kisses down your neck.

Steve’s hand, which isn’t covering your mouth, removes your pants, freeing his cock. He moans loudly when he runs his thumb over the tip of his hard cock, smearing the pre-cum all over his dick, and gives himself a few strokes. Your husband loves to have you like that, begging for him to stop, maybe for his cock - depends on his mood. But now he just wants to fuck the attitude out of you, the way you said “no” to him when he told you to warm his dick. You didn’t want to, since he had a meeting with his men. Steve didn’t like to hear a no when it came to things he asked for. Not to mention that he always gets what he wants, as does his sweet little wife, who has to give him whatever he wants.

Steve’s hand lets go of his dick, sliding around your body until he reaches your pussy, moving them through your already wet folds. Steve chuckles, knowing your body exactly and how to touch you to make you drip like that. He rubs your clit, adding more pressure while he listens to the soft, muffled moans that leave your lips.

“Like that, don’t you? Such a pretty little slut for me.”

Before you can protest in any way, he shoves his dick inside of you. Your walls are stretching painfully, but your arousal makes it easy for him to slide balls deep inside of your tight pussy. Steve can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of you and your pretty little pussy.

“Don’t try to wiggle out of my grip. We both know you love that, love being fucked like that by your husband,” he groans, starting to thurst in a brutal pace inside of you.

His hand covers your mouth, your screams and moans muffled by it, while his dick stretches you like no one else could. And as much as you hate to admit it, he is able to fuck you whenever and wherever you want.

Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @nicoline1998enilocin @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @felicitylemon @cjand10 @casa-boiardi @cevansbaby-dove @flstrawberry @capsbestgirl77 @bookishtheaterlover7 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf

#steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers one shot #dark!steve x reader #💓💓💓

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mariasont · 6 months ago

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hiii! I read your last spencer one shot AND I LOVED IT! IT WAS SO SWEET AND YOU'RE SO TALENTED!! Would you write something about post prison reid and shy reader? I was thinking of her as the media liaison (in my mind she is old-fashioned in music and clothes I'd wear skirts everyday, her emotional intelligence makes her good at her job, despite her shyness). Maybe she's clumsy, especially when she gets nervous and more especially (I don't even know if that's grammatically correct) when she's around Spencer.

Thank you so much for reading this, you're doing an EXCELLENT job, your works are a masterpiece!! 💕💖💝💓💓💖💞💕💖💓

Make a Wish - S.R

a/n: eekkkkkk post-prison spencer reid has me in a CHOKEHOLD! thank you so much for requesting, i'm so sorry for the delay! i hope i did your request justice!! I LOVE LOVE YOU!

masterlist

pairings: post prison!spencer reid x shy!reader

wc: 0.9k

You had been meaning to give the reports fastened in your hands to Spencer for give-or-take two hours now. Each time you gathered the courage to approach him, just one glance, one simple stupid glance from those piercing eyes set your nerves on fire and sent your brain in overdrive.

As the new media liaison from the narcotics unit, you were warned about the BAU's intimidating figures, particularly Rossi and Emily. However, no warning came regarding Spencer Reid. They mentioned his tendencies for long-winded explanations and awkward social interactions but not the aura of intensity he exuded. Whenever he entered a room, you instinctively started looking for an exit, not because of his criminal record, but because you found yourself hopelessly mesmerized by him.

He was perfect in every sense of the word—brilliant, compassionate, selfless, and an exceptional agent. At least, this is what you had observed from afar. A part of you was scared that any real interaction with him would shatter the idyllic image you had crafted in your head, and you weren't confident you were prepared for such disillusionment. However, you needed to give him these damn papers, dreading the alternative, which was getting summoned to Emily's office.

"Hi."

You did it, okay, first step complete. You opened your mouth, determined to get out the next part you had practiced a little over twenty times in your head, but the words seemed to dissipate into a misty fog in your brain.

"Um, these are for you," you said, rocking back onto the balls of your mary janes, placing the report on his desk. "It's the Henderson lie detector test transcript?"

"Is it?"

You realized you had said it like a question.

You paused, the part of your brain stuttering for a second, trying to flip over the thousands of scenarios you had rehearsed in your head for this interaction. None of them had included those words.

Just a little off script and you felt your fight or flight kick in—nails digging into your palms as you avoided eye contact.

"Yes." A little more confident this time, not by much, and it quickly deflated as you second guessed yourself, stepping closer to peer over his shoulder at the document. "At least I think."

"I'm just messing with you, it is." He said, eyes flickering down to the document, then to you. "You okay?"

"M-Me? Okay? Yeah, of course." The words were stumbling out of your mouth at a rate that was hard to keep up with. "Do I not look okay?"

"No, of course you look okay," he responded, brows knitting together as his gaze traveled down your body, no doubt dissecting your every thought. "You just seem... a bit nervous."

You opened your mouth, aiming to articulate a coherent thought, but it fell short and was quickly interrupted by Spencer.

He suddenly leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "Wait, hold still; you have an eyelash."

He was so close, you swore you feel his breath on your cheeks, instantly warming them. Your body was in overdrive, trying to recalibrate as his finger grazed the area under your right eye. You closed your eyes, almost unwillingly, relishing in the unexpected touch.

This was weird. Every nerve in your body was on high alert, and you balled your hand into a fist, attempting to mask the way you were shaking.

The sound of your name snapped you out of your daze. Your eyes followed suit, meeting Spencer's prying eyes. His finger was raised, your eyelash perched on the tip. Your face could have been a furnace, flames of heat spreading from your neck to your nose.

"Do you want to make a wish?"

He looked at you expectantly, eyes darting from your face to his raised pointer finger.

"Okay."

You closed your eyes, forming the wish in your mind before blowing on the lash. You watched it float to the ground, settling gently on the toe of Spencer's shoe.

"What did you wish for?"

"I feel like I'm not supposed to tell you that," you say, pulling at the ends of your hair.

He was undeniably good-looking. It wasn't like you were just realizing it; you had eyes and you were only human. But up close, you could see every detail—the dark circles under his eyes, the rough stubble under his jaw.

"I think you're right."

The sudden intimacy of the moment made your heart skip a beat. You stepped back, nodding at his words and also nothing in particular.

"Anyway, yeah, those are the papers—," you began, turning to walk away. As you did, you bumped your hip into the desk beside you, hissing under your breath in response.

"Christ, are you okay?" His hand was on your hip as the words came out of his mouth.

The touch only seemed to intensify your embarrassment. You stepped out of his grip, dropping your phone as you did which you quickly bent down to pick up.

"Sorry, yeah, I'm fine, just forgot I have a meeting with Emily, so I'm just gonna—," you pointed towards her office, quickly making your escape from Spencer as you tried to catch your breath.

Once you were a distance you deemed safe enough, you allowed yourself a quick glance back at him. He was smirking, and you felt that all familiar heat rising into your chest once again.

You really hoped that wish would kick in soon.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @looking1016 @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @yaykeira @spencerssatchel @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @perpetuallydone @hiireadstuff @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @deadofnight0 @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3

join my taglist here!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x shy!reader #post prison!spencer reid x reader #post prison reid #criminal minds fluff

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jaylalolz · 5 months ago

Note

when will you release “get him back” part 2?? 💓❤️‍🩹

❛ 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 ❜ p2 . . . nicholas chavez

SINGER!reader x EX!nicholas 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

PART ONE

SUMMARY, a jaw-dropping photo surfaced on social media, showing Y/N and Nicholas sharing a passionate kiss.

A/N, here you go💋💋

WARNINGS, none

♥︎ 5.1M 💬 15,467 ➤ 8478

y/nuser “Bad idea right?” is number 1 on the billboard 100!!! thank you guys so so much for streaming & thank you to the person who was my inspiration while writing bc this song wouldn’t be here without you❤️💜

view all comments

one day ago

tatemcrae, everyone say thank you nicholas for the song of the summer !!!

⤿ y/nuser, TATE SHUSHHH

user, yall are teasing us atp

user, i js know y/n is screaming at tate over the phone rn

user, girl WE need answers

user, you can’t just post this and expect us NOT to go crazy

user, ik nick blushing hard asf rn

user, tate is out for blood omg😂

user, NICK JUST REPOSTED

user, oh they’re SO back

user, GIRL don’t play with us, are you and nick getting back tg?

user, y/n and nick part two????

user, i’m not okay after reading the caption

ENEWS ARTICLE

Y/N AND NICHOLAS just broke the internet—and it’s not just because of her latest chart-topping hit.

The two pop sensations, who famously dated before calling it quits over a year ago, are once again the talk of the town. Just days after Y/N dropped her fiery new single, “Bad Idea Right?”, fans are speculating that the song might be more than just a story—it could be real-life drama unfolding before our eyes.

In the song, Y/N sings about how meeting up with an ex is a “bad idea,” but admits she’s going to do it anyway. The cheeky, rebellious track quickly captured fans’ attention with its catchy beat and vulnerable lyrics, but the real drama started when Y/N took to Instagram to thank the person who inspired her to write the song after it debuted at number one on the Billboard Hot 100.

Her cryptic caption read: “Thank you to the person who inspired me to write this song, because it wouldn’t be here without you.” Cue the speculation—fans immediately suspected that the song was about Nicholas, her ex.

But it didn’t stop there.

Just hours after her Instagram post, a jaw-dropping photo surfaced on social media, showing Y/N and Nicholas sharing a passionate kiss. The candid shot, which appears to have been taken during a night out, sent fans into an absolute meltdown, with many wondering if the pair are rekindling their romance after a year apart.

Twitter erupted with reactions, with one fan tweeting: “THEY’RE KISSING. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. Y/N AND NICHOLAS ARE BACK TOGETHER!!” Another user added: “She wrote a song about seeing her ex and now they’re making out?? ICONIC behavior.”

Neither Y/N nor Nicholas has commented on the photo or addressed the growing speculation, but fans are convinced that the kiss confirms what “Bad Idea Right?” hinted at—these two are giving love another shot.

Y/N and Nicholas first dated two years ago and were a fan-favorite couple, often seen together at industry events and collaborating on music. However, they shocked their followers when they announced their split last year, citing busy schedules and the pressures of fame as reasons for the breakup.

With “Bad Idea Right?” rocketing to the top of the charts and this steamy kiss photo making headlines, all eyes are on Y/N and Nicholas to see where this rekindled flame might lead. Is this the reunion their fans have been waiting for, or just a brief moment of nostalgia?

One thing’s for sure—Y/N and Nicholas are definitely back in the spotlight, and fans can’t get enough of the drama.

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez imagine #nicholas chavez fic #nicholas alexander chavez x reader #nicholas alexander chavez imagine #nicholas alexander chavez fic

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bunnybubae · 7 months ago

Text

☔This and more

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: One Shot - Established Relationship - Slice of Life - Fluff - Smutty Smut

Summary: Your weekend at the beach seems to be completely ruined, but luckily, your boyfriend Jeon Jungkook is ready to change everything.

Warnings: A delicious lunch and a drink at home, they call each other bubi and baby, Bf&Gf shenanigans,✨surprises✨, overall a tooth rotting piece of fluff served with a side of hot steamy smut *wink wink*, the end ❤️

Smut Warnings: Lots of steamy kisses, teasing, love bites, actual bites, dirty talking, worshiping, fingering, oral (F receiving), brief blowjob, rough sex, unprotected sex (she takes the pill), cum on breasts, love making 💓, creampie

Wc: 5.6k

A/N: Hiii!🫣I know I should be working on the Red Light series, I promise it's wip and will come to life sooner or later, but I miss my boyfriend who's traveling for work and the weather is shit over here... I had this idea in my docs and I just felt inspired to finally write it. I hope you like it! 🥺 - Joy 🐰

The sun is scorching and the sky is always clear. People wear light clothes and have fun outside. This is summer, right?

Wrong.

Not this weekend at least, since the weather forecast predicted heavy rain until Sunday.

This weekend, in which you had plans with your boyfriend and your friends to spend it at the beach, with tents, lots of food and beach games. Everything ruined, since the first thunder that rumbled.

You wouldn't have been so upset about it if it weren't for the fact that work has been a living hell lately and that you really were looking forward to this outdoor weekend. Even if it was only for a few days, you really wanted to regenerate and disconnect from everything work related.

The sky is so gray, almost black, like your mood right now.

It's Saturday morning and usually, you and Jungkook leave shortly after breakfast to go grocery shopping, when, presumably, there are less people and it is easier to find what you need for the week. As if the bad weather wasn't badding enough, something seems to have hurt your boyfriend, who reluctantly told you that he can't come with you.

You sigh deeply, it couldn't go worse, you think, but maybe it's just your bad mood's fault for these thoughts.

You worry about Jungkook as you look for a spot in the supermarket parking lot. You text him once you find one, asking if he needs medicine or anything else for his stomachache, but he reassures you shortly after, replying that some lactic ferments will do the job.

You continue to stare at his response on the screen thoughtfully, maybe last night's fried chicken was too spicy?

Anyway, the temperature has dropped a lot because of the weather. You put on one of Jungkook's sweatshirts and get ready by putting the hood on before going out to reach the supermarket.

You spend about a couple of hours inside, looking for everything you had on your list.

As you’re about to reach the checkout, with a full cart and the only desire to go home, your phone rings.

It’s a text from Jungkook.

Bubi ❤️: “Bubi could you please buy some fresh mint and lemons while u'r out?”

You check his request a second time, not too sure you understand.

You stop in your tracks, frowning as you type a response.

You: “What do you need them for?”

You watch the chat and his name as it appears and disappears shortly after, waiting for his response, which comes a few moments later.

Bubi❤️: “I read somewhere that making tea with mint and lemon helps calm a stomach ache and I wanna try.”

You're not too convinced but It makes sense, if you think about it.

You reply that you'll get mint and lemons and that you'll go to the pharmacy before you head back home.

It’s almost lunchtime when you park the car in front of the apartment complex where you live.

The rain shows no signs of ceasing, continuing to pound on the windshield of the car.

When you’re about to get out to grab the groceries from the trunk, you see your boyfriend come out of the front door of the building and reach to your car door with a little jog.

He’s holding an open umbrella in his hand and when he opens the car door to let you out, he smiles widely.

“What are you doing out here?!”

“Let’s carry everything to the elevator together,”

And with that, he leaves a tender kiss on your forehead, a little damp from the rain.

You had forgotten your umbrella at home, despite his warnings. Too caught up in the greyness of your mood, evidently.

Once you have emptied your trunk and reached the elevator with the grocery bags in hand, you sigh loudly. A little tired from the weight of the bags and a little guilty for your state of mind.

He's always so helping and sweet and you have been quite intractable since yesterday. You feel the need to apologize to him.

Jungkook looks at you in silence, a slight smile on his lips as he plays with the piercing of his lip with his tongue.

"I'm sorry, bubi..." You break the silence, taking him by surprise.

"Mh? For what?"

You watch him as you explain why you really needed this weekend away to rest and relax a bit.

Jungkook nods, listening to you until your elevator ride stops at your floor.

"I know baby, don't worry."

The elevator's doors slide open.

It seems he wants to say something else, but he picks up the bags instead and starts to walk towards the front door of your apartment.

You follow him with the bags in your hand, feeling a little lighter and determined not to ruin this weekend any further.

Jungkook opens the door, gets rid of his shoes in the blink of an eye, leaving them near the shoe rack before running towards the kitchen. You don't understand what's gotten into him all of a sudden and when you enter, you put the bags down next to you to take off your shoes and tidy up his too.

When Jungkook returns a few moments later, he picks up your discarded bags too and rushes into the kitchen with them.

"What are you doing?"

You know very well that your boyfriend has these energetic outbursts from time to time, like the good golden retriever boyfriend he is.

He doesn't answer, instead you see him come back towards you, slightly out of breath.

“Ook, so,” He begins, catching his breath.

“I know this weekend at the beach meant a lot to you, especially after spending the last 3 months working non-stop,”

His hands find yours and squeeze gently as he guides you through the small hallway of your entryway.

“And I know how much you need this, so,” He pauses, making you stop your tracks right in front of him as well.

“I’m sorry I made you go grocery shopping alone with this weather.”

He moves aside, allowing you to see what he was trying to hide behind his back.

The couch has been moved against the wall, the big carpet is adorned with countless children's toys, the classic ones for digging or making shapes in the sand and you notice an inflatable ball and some beach towels hidden under a beach umbrella.

The living room didn't seem that big, yet everything seems to fit in effortlessly.

You don't know what to say exactly, you observe everything with wide eyes and open mouth as Jungkook continues his speech.

"I know it's not the same thing, but-" You don't even give him time to finish the sentence, that your lips crash against his, your hands holding his face still as you kiss his mouth softly.

Initially surprised, Jungkook gives in in a split second, wrapping his arms around your small figure.

You let him hold you as a few tears threaten to escape your eyes.

You part from his lips just for a moment.

"So you didn't have diarrhea," And with that, you both burst into laughter in each other's arms as a small tear rolls down your face for the gratitude.

You are truly touched by the effort he put into it, by the love that hides such a gesture.

The laughter stops and your eyes lock. Jungkook caresses your cheek, wiping away that small, solitary tear.

"Thank you, babe..." Your tone is sweet and full of love and gratitude for him.

"This and more for you,"

He grabs one of your hands that are still holding his face and brings it to his lips, he kisses your knuckles with such delicacy before he moves away from you.

"Anyway, you don't look like you're dressed for the beach, why don't you go change while I sort out the groceries?"

You look down at yourself and giggle, even though it's not that hot, the idea of indulging in this little indoor beach is thrilling, you nod, telling him he's right, then you turn around, heading to your bedroom.

"No! Wait!"

Jungkook suddenly exclaims, making you stop in your tracks.

"I moved the bag you had packed to the bathroom, so you can change right there!"

"Oh okay, I'll take the chance to take a quick shower, then."

You reach the bathroom, getting ready to shower before you could finally wear your new bikini.

During your shower you can't help but smile at the idea that you're about to spend some time at the beach, without the beach, and the sun, and the sea. It's amusing.

Once cleaned and smelling nice, you put on your lilac bikini and its matching beach dress, fix your hair a bit and go back to the living room.

You don't remember seeing the TV on when you came in, but the sound of the waves envelopes you immediately.

On the TV, a high definition video of the waves lapping the beach repeats over and over and it's yet another detail that makes you smile. Jungkook has really thought of everything.

He's not in the living room, though.

You walk towards the kitchen, smelling something nice as you near the door. When you enter, you find your shirtless sexy boyfriend in front of the stove as he cooks something.

"Damn, that smells good," The kitchen is filled with the smell of fresh fish and lemon, it's so mouth-watering.

"That's what you needed the lemon for!"

You giggle as you approach him from behind, wrapping your arms around his hips and leaving a light kiss on his shoulder as you watch his movements.

"I just watched a tutorial, I hope it turns out good."

He moves in your arms, turning around so he can observe your figure.

He hums delighted by what he sees.

The swimsuit hugs your curves perfectly and the beach dress semi-transparent fabric allows Jungkook to admire and go wild in his mind, with that see-through effect that makes him crazy.

You know exactly what's going through his mind right now. You can read it in his expression.

Despite the many years of relationship with him, the passion and attraction between you has always been strong, never faltering.

Jungkook has always worshiped your body in every possible way.

And his carnal gaze, which gently caresses your curves, is proof of that.

It's unbelievable how one single look from him is enough to make you feel like the most beautiful thing in this world.

“You like it?”

You ask innocently, spinning around so he can look at beautiful ass as well.

He hums in agreement, “It’ll look great on the floor later.”

And it’s not the phrase that makes your legs feel weak, but the tone of his voice. Warm and provocative, just the way you like it.

He steals a kiss that’s way too innocent to justify the burning sensation in your belly, before turning his attention back to the stove.

“You should cook shirtless more often,”

You try to speak, trying to sound unaffected, while your hands nonchalantly caress his pecs from behind, going down to his abs.

He chuckles softly, perfectly knowing what you're up to.

You love every single detail of his body. You swear you know by heart every groove and bump and yet the intensity of your yearning surprises you every time.

You sigh, trapping your lip between your teeth, unable to stop your hands from free roaming on his soft skin.

He is so addicting.

"Y/N.." Your name leaves his lips accompanied by a deep breath.

Your hands have the same effect that his skin has on you.

"What?"

You ask, not missing the contractions of his muscles under your touch when your hands tease his belly, just above the waistband of his swimsuit.

Jungkook turns off the stove and pushes the food away.

Then he turns around, and his face is now a few inches from yours.

In one quick and agile movement, he picks you up, letting your legs circle his bare waist.

A deep breath escapes your mouth as his chest touches yours and a second later you're sitting on the countertop, its coldness briefly soothing your heat.

"You can't do that while I'm cooking,"

He lets out, then he urgently dives forward, peppering the thin skin of your neck with languid kisses..

You almost moan at the touch.

"Why not,"

You ask, hoping your voice doesn't sound too desperate right now.

"Cause I'd have to fuck you hard and quick, right here on this countertop,"

You tilt your head backwards, allowing him to do as he pleases with your neck.

"And,"

He pauses, licking a long, slow stripe, from your collarbone to the skin below your earlobe.

"Even tho I know how much you love to be fucked like that,"

He softly kisses your jawline, then whispers right to your ear and your insides turn into boiling lava.

"I want to take my time with you, I want to taste you and savor every drop of your juice when I make you come."

His hands are nowhere on your body, you're only trapped between his arms that keep his weight slightly lean on you. And yet, your skin feels so hot, like his voice and words are washing the last bit of sanity away, leaving goosebumps all over you.

You gulp, unable to speak as you try to calm your breathing.

You love this man, you think you never stopped crushing over him, you're a total mess right now, by only his words and kisses on the neck.

"Fuck baby.."

You manage to say, even though your voice sounds strained.

"Be patient, yeah?"

And just like that, the magic is over.

He frees you, leaving your body hot and bothered just like that.

You whine a little, a sound that makes him chuckle darkly, probably proud of the effect he still has on you.

You're a tad bit annoyed, you're not gonna lie, but the excitement for what's to come prevails.

After having lunch with some delicious lemony fish, you and Jungkook decide to enjoy some relaxation lying on the beach towels placed on the floor in front of the TV. The mint cocktails you made earlier rest next to you, while some music plays casually from your phone.

You have to admit that the whole vibe is working very well, you don't even miss the sand and the smell of saltiness in the air. Everything feels just right, with the man you love by your side.

The apartment isn't that big, but everything Jungkook has prepared for the theme seems to fit perfectly, without being too bulky.

You take a moment to observe your surroundings, while sipping your drink every now and then.

You notice that there is enough space between the towels and the television, so you decide to grab the Nintendo Switch from its dock, and place it in front of you.

"Wanna play?"

Jungkook, who seems far too relaxed on his towel, is drawn in by your playful tone, he smiles nodding before grabbing a pair of joycons.

"What do you wanna play?"

You think for a moment, as you scroll through the games you have, undecided between Just Dance, volleyball, which might be the most suitable for the beach mood, or WarioWare, which as stupid as it is, never fails to make you laugh.

"We could play some volleyball to begin with, what do you say?"

"I'm down,"

You make some space and strap your joy con, just to be sure you don't crash anything while playing.

The games go smoothly and match after match and sip after sip of your drinks, you grow dizzier.

By the time you start playing Wario Ware, you both are a laughing mess, seeing your boyfriend copy those funny poses is the highlight of the day.

Your cheeks are hurting from the laugh and you don't even know what time it is while the rain keeps pouring outside.

The sound of sporadic thunder is a soft reminder that what is going on outside, doesn't bother you at all.

Especially now, embraced in your boyfriend's arms, skin to skin, as the center of your living room becomes the center of your world.

He kisses you, ever so gently, as his mouth moves with yours in a dance they know oh so well.

You bet his lips shared some secrets with yours as when you part from each other for a moment, you both smile fondly. As if no words are needed.

The way he's looking at you makes you feel so lucky.

You feel so precious when he touches you, so cherished.

His hands are so tender and attentive, he outlines your sides, pushing his body to yours as if it was possible to feel you even closer.

The game is long forgotten as you share another kiss, less innocent than the previous one.

Your hands bravely caress his shoulders and nape before intertwining with some soft locks.

Some music is still playing from your phone, thrown somewhere on the carpet when suddenly, As Long As You Love Me by Justin Bieber starts playing.

A pretty old song, but you remember you saved the acoustic version a long time ago, when you two weren't even a thing.

It couldn't be more apt for this moment in time, you think.

Your smile breaks the kiss and even though you feel your head a little heavy from the alcohol, you start singing.

He watches you fondly, swinging with you in his arms to the rhythm as he begins to sing the song with you.

His voice is heaven, you always told him that and he likes to sing for you. Although the shower or the car are his favorite stages most of the time.

You keep singing your heart out, pouring all your love in the lyrics as your gaze gets lost in his.

You've always been the sensitive type, especially in this kind of situation.

Your boyfriend seems as affected as you, though.

His gaze is glimmering and his embrace is tighter than before.

The song slowly but surely comes toward its end when Jungkook softly leans forward, whispering the last phrase right on your lips.

Your heart feels like it's about to burst in your chest and a moment later you're kissing him, like your life depends on it.

He lets you kiss him, lets you taste his tongue and maybe it's the alcohol, maybe the whole vibe, but you end up sprawled on the beach towels, kissing each other's brains out.

The beach umbrella, placed open on the ground for obvious reasons, offers some sort of shield from the artificial light of the lamp. The light filters through the colored material, leaving a soft hue of colors on your bodies.

You don't know where your beach dress has been thrown, the only thing in your mind right now, is your boyfriend's kisses.

He prints wet kisses all over your body and you feel like you're burning.

You breathe heavily, concentrating on the sensations of his lips on your abdomen.

"So fucking pretty,"

He states, seemingly out of breath. You shiver in pleasure as your heart skips a beat.

His hands reach your bikini bottom and you almost moan shamelessly as he asks,

"Are you already wet for me, baby?"

Then he pushes your bikini aside, not waiting for your answers, wanting to find out himself.

"Fuck, yes"

It's the only phrase that leaves your gaping mouth as he swipes his fingers between your legs.

You can feel the stickiness of your bikini and his breath right in front of your core.

"Want me to make you even wetter?

A soft yes leaves your lips, barely audible.

"Speak up, baby,"

It's a lewd scene, your legs are wide open in front of him and Jungkook is palming himself with his free hand. His swimming trunks are an uncomfortable obstacle but it's something he'll deal with later.

His attention is only focused on you right now.

"Kook-"

You moan as his wet fingers circle your clit.

"I want your tongue," you confess "Make me come on your tongue,"

You breathe out as your hands move over your tits, sliding under the fabric of your bikini top.

"Fuck, I love when you talk to me like that,"

He groans, and a moment later, he is giving in, licking your folds, sucking your clit, just as you like it. He knows it's going to make you a moaning mess before him.

He wasn't lying before, he is taking his sweet time savoring you, fucking you slowly with his tongue, then circling your clit and sucking on it every now and then.

When your body reacts at the waves of pleasure his motions are providing, he laughs darkly, the vibration of it a sweet addition to your pleasure.

Your body trembles, your orgasm building up at every french kiss he gives your pussy and you think you're going insane.

Your moans are louder, turning to sweet little whine when you know you're about to reach your high.

"I'm close, fuck, don't stop,"

As if he needed you to tell him not to stop.

Jungkook is quick to react, pushing with ease his middle and ring finger inside you.

The new stimulation makes you cry out in pleasure and he is so turned on by your sounds, he thinks he might bust in his swimming suit just with that.

"Love this pussy,"

He says, voice deep and steady.

"Can't wait to fuck you just right,"

And just like that, the built up tension in your belly snaps and a strong orgasm washes over you.

His hands, his words, the picture of his pretty cock slamming into your pussy, sends you over the edge.

You let out a moan that sounds like his name and your hands move from your tits to brush his hair.

You're still trembling from your orgasm when you open your eyes, not sure when you closed them and all you see is your boyfriend, hair disheveled, sucking on his wet fingers like a lollipop.

His dark gaze meets your dazed eyes and he smiles, way too innocently considering the lustful motions of his tongue.

"God," you blurt out, trying to regain a stable breathing, "Why are you still wearing that?"

You point at his bottom half, moving a second later to help him freed himself from the useless piece of clothing.

His dick springs free, hungry and leaking some precum.

You hum, licking your lips as if you were a starved woman, ready to devour her meal.

When you grab the base of his thick member and move to lick it, Jungkook surprisingly blocks your hand gently.

You frown, looking up mid motion, puzzled.

"I won't be able to hold back much longer if you suck me,"

His voice is almost apologetic and you tenderly smile, finding his confession hot and endearing at the same time.

"Just a little?"

You put up your best pleading eyes, softly adding, "Please?"

Jungkook's eyes roll back as he bites his lip and a deep breath leaves through his nostrils.

You know he likes when you beg for it.

While you scream in pleasure or with big innocent eyes, he just loves when you ask nicely, like a good girl.

He can't resist you.

He could never resist those pretty eyes of yours.

He shifts in his place, allowing you to get on your knees before grabbing your chin, ever so gently.

"Be a good girl then and open wide."

You smile in content, doing just as he asked, opening your mouth as wide as you can and sticking out your tongue.

When you look up at him, Jungkook slowly puts his fingers inside your mouth, and your faint taste still lingers in them.

You suck and lick on them for a second, then when he pulls them out, he smears your saliva along his sensitive dick.

His breaths are heavy and when he slams it a couple of times on your tongue he groans.

That's when he loses it a little.

He grabs your jaw, helping you tilt your head at the right angle, then pushes the tip inside.

You do your best by swirling your tongue around the salty tip, closing your lips around it just enough for him to feel a little pressure.

By the time you pop your lips open, he pushes a little more in, enough to stuff your mouth.

You instinctively bob your head, trying to get more of him inside and when a moan escapes his throat, you know he will stop you soon.

You take the opportunity to tease him a little, grabbing at his butt and fondling the soft skin of it as he sloppily thrusts.

Jungkook's sounds are animalistic, his thrusts are steady but right before he pulls out completely, he gives one last thrust that almost hits the back of your throat.

You gasp for air as he gently pushes you back down on the beach towel.

He swiftly takes your bikini away, both the bottom and the top, and latches his plumb lips to one of your breasts.

The coldness of his piercing mixed with his hot breath is a nice contrast for your perked up nipples.

You hiss when he bites the sensitive nub, but he quickly eases the pain away by kissing and lapping at the abused skin.

"Kook-"

A broken moan leaves your throat when he bites you again, this time on the delicate meat of your breast. It's softer than before, but you feel hyper responsive right now.

"Can I come here?"

He whispers, leaving a trail of wet kisses all over your chest.

You giggle, feeling a little ticklish when his fingers travel down your sides.

"Why are you asking?" you pull him closer till his cock is leaning between your folds.

The contact sends shivers down to your core and you buck your hips almost automatically.

"You know I love it, Kook"

He just needed to hear you say that aloud, that's clear when pushes up a little, aligning the tip of his member with your entrance.

"You love it, huh? Thought you loved it more inside you tho,"

He pushes in, inch by inch as he finishes his phrase.

You gasp at the sweet stretch, feeling breathless as he bottoms up.

"I love it down my throat too,"

That makes him go feral.

It's all you're able to say before he props up on his elbow, one hand behind your shoulder, the other clasped around your hip to keep you there as he fucks you at a ruthless pace.

You're fucking on the floor, on a beach towel, shielded by a beach umbrella with Wario Ware long forgotten on the tv and some music shuffling from your phone, meanwhile outside it's pouring and thundering since this morning.

It might seem a messy situation, but everything feels at his place.. Nothing is missing here.

Every thrust elicits soft moans from you. He promptly kisses you, and as you make out you wrap your arms around him, trying to pull him closer and closer.

That allows him to jack hammer into you with measured force.

The squelching sounds are filling the room, followed by his throaty moans and yours.

You're about to come once again, the pressure on your stomach well fed by the way his cock is hitting on the right spot inside you.

"Kook," you cry out, "I'm about to-"

"Me too baby," he pecks your lips before he adds, "Let me feel you come all over my cock,"

His hips slap against yours impossibly fast, just as fast as your orgasm approaches.

Your body stiffens and after a few seconds there it is, the sweet release, the white pleasure that washes over you.

You cry out his name repeatedly, till your cry subside to a moan and you feel his thrusts getting sloppier and erratic.

"Fuck, yes, I'm coming too,"

And he pulls out quickly, kneeling between your trembling legs before he pumps his fist around his drenched dick a few times before hot spurts of his cum lands on your body.

He moans shamelessly and you love when he gets all vocal, it turns you on even though you feel totally devastated right now.

He covers your breasts in sticky white and some of it lands on your chin too.

You don't mind, not when he looks so blissed and fucked out.

When he empties his load completely, he watches you, admiring his masterpiece and offering you a hand.

He chuckles breathlessly and pecks your lips as he pulls you up.

"Let's take a shower, shall we?"

You nod, not sure if you're able to speak right.

You make sure to turn off the tv and the music on your phone before you head straight to the bathroom.

Jungkook offers to wash you up first and you let him do it.

It's obviously not the first time you shower together, but it doesn't happen that often either.

You wash up each other, giggling and chatting like he was not balls deep inside you just moments ago.

By the time you finish your shower and dry up, it's dinner time.

You enjoy your evening eating the food you thoroughly prepared beforehand right on the floor, because yes, Jungkook refused to put away the beach towels saying that "Our beach experience is not over yet".

Even though you shake your head in defeat, you chuckle, amused by his determination.

The evening went by in total relaxation, you're curled up on your boyfriend's side as another episode of Demon's Slayer flashes on the tv screen. The air is chilly right now and you feel the fatigue of the day get the better of you.

"Wanna go to bed after this episode?"

He asks, noticing your breathing is getting heavier.

You fell asleep a couple of times for a few minutes, trying to keep track of what you're watching when you woke up, but it's kind of frustrating.

You hum in agreement, stretching your back a little.

When the episode comes to its end, Jungkook stands up from the ground and leaves the living room. You walk up to the window, curious to see the state of the world outside.

Perhaps you hoped to see a clear sky, but unfortunately you were disappointed.

It's still raining, though it's not pouring like this afternoon. Droplets of water are slamming on the glass in a soft lullaby.

It's soothing somehow and you take a moment to take in the different effect the rainy weather has on you right now, compared to this morning.

Strong arms circle your waist and a soft peck on your head draws your attention away from the window.

"There's another surprise for you,"

He whispers right in your ear before you turn around to look into his eyes.

Your arms find their place around his neck and you look at him, intrigued.

"Another one?"

He grins at your curiosity, pulling you towards the bedroom just a moment later.

When you enter the room, you're welcomed by his favorite galaxy lamp while it projects purple and blue hue up on the roof.

Small green dots serve as little stars, scattered all around as they are slow dancing and a camping tent about the size of the bed is placed on top of it.

You're shocked, unable to speak as emotions get stuck in your throat, you inspect the room with teary eyes, touched by all his effort to make this weekend just perfect.

"Do you like it?"

He tentatively asks, watching your reaction by the frame of the door.

When you turn around you quickly reach out to him, hugging him so tight you think you might break his spine.

You softly sob on his chest as he returns the hug, kissing the top of your head affectionately and when you finally look up at him with a wide smile, Jungkook breaks in the softest laugh you have ever heard from him.

"It's perfect," you state, "You are perfect,"

Jungkook's gaze fills with all the love he has for you, a gaze that doesn't need words and after he dried away your salty tears, you kiss him passionately.

Nothing could ever compare to this moment, to this little piece of heaven he created for just the two of you, under a starry sky that belongs to you and him and no one else.

You poured all your love on every inch of his body, tasted his soft skin and marked it as yours.

He did the same to you, making sure your body was worshiped as it deserves.

That night, you made love like nothing existed outside of your camping tent, it was only you and him, becoming one as your soft moans mingled in the room.

It was gentle, like the time was no longer flowing until slowly but surely, you reached your high together, hugging each other as he came inside you.

You felt full of him, in every sense possible as he softly kissed your forehead and you whispered the sweetest I love you in the air.

You cuddled to sleep, refusing to leave your tent to go wash up and when the morning after you woke up between your boyfriend's arms, you knew another beautiful day on a sandless beach awaited.

Another day with the love of your life, in your little perfect world.

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