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cressidagrey · 1 month

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Looked to the Sky - Chapter 1

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Azriel is kind an idiot, Rhys is for once a good older brother, and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was currently regretting his life choices that had brought him to this moment.

“Wow,” Cassian drawled as he stared at the wall in Azriel‘s room in the House of Wind that was covered in…research.

Intelligence. Information. Whatever one wanted to call it.

And Azriel was ready to rip his hair out.

“I did it all wrong,” he growled, slamming the dusty old tome the shadows had procured for him closed…only for them to take it out of his hands and open it up to check for themselves.

“What did you do wrong?” Cassian asked as he stepped nearer to the wall, staring at all the things Azriel had pinned up there.

It was a complete and utter mess

“This said that I should have given Eira a gift when I made my first courting overture.“

What kind of mate was he, when he couldn’t even follow the bloody rules of human men for her?

He had been supposed to procure a gift before even asking her to let him court her. He should have started with that gift. Actually no, they would have been supposed to dance together at a ball, then he should have made that decision to court her, then he should have gotten the first gift and then…

“Well, you could argue that since your shadows bought her things, you did it?“ Cassian suggested and Azriel growled.

“That’s not the same,“ he snapped. “I am supposed to give her a gift that shows my deep affection and appreciation of who she is as a person…What in the world am I supposed to give her?“

Cassian chuckled at Azriel’s frustration, stepping closer to the wall and peering at the various items pinned up.

“You’re overthinking this, you know?“ he said, a smirk on his face. “Just give her something that’s meaningful to you and her, something that shows her how important she is to you.“

Azriel growled. This was not helpful. "Also how is a pearl necklace a show of deep affection and appreciation?" he asked Cassian. Cassian just stared at him. "That was one of the first suggestions the book had," he said with a sigh. The book about human courtship rituals. Well, one of them at least. It was better to get his information from more than one source after all.

Cassian crossed his arms over his chest, his smirk only widening. "Well, apparently humans think that something shiny and expensive is the way to go," he teased. "You’re not exactly giving her a ring yet, so you could consider it a placeholder."

Azriel's eyes darkened. "I don’t want a placeholder," he growled. "I want something real. Something that shows her how much she means to me, not just how much I can spend on her."

"Could it be that you are taking this a little bit too seriously?" Cassian said carefully.

Azriel bristled at Cassian’s comment. “Of course not,” he said sharply. “This is Eira. My mate. This isn’t like some casual fling I’ve had for a little fun. This is different, and I won't just let it go without putting the effort in that she deserves.”

Cassian held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I know, I know,” he said, a slight hint of amusement in his voice. “Believe me, I’ve never seen you so worked up over a female before. It’s just…you’re acting as if the fate of the entire world rests on this courtship gift.”

Well, it did. The fate of his entire world. The fate of his children. He needed to get this right.

“You’re being dramatic,” Cassian said, shaking his head. “It’s not like the gift is going to ruin everything. You’re acting like if you don’t get this right, the whole idea of you and Eira being mates will just poof into thin air.”

He growled in annoyance.

“Are you trying to court my sister or kill her?” Nesta's voice came from the doorway, her arms crossed as she stared at his wall.

Azriel whipped around to see Nesta standing in the doorway. His irritation deepened at her unexpected intrusion.

"Court her, obviously," he grumbled.

Nesta sighed. "“This is obsessive, Az. Also creepy," she told him drily. "You are approaching this like Eira is the King of Hybern and not your mate."

Azriel let out an exasperated growl. He wasn't obsessed; he was just being thorough. He had never cared about anyone as much as he did Eira, and he didn't want to mess this up.

"I’m simply doing my due diligence," he replied, trying to sound as firm and confident as possible. "I won’t fail her. I won't.”

Nesta rolled her eyes at Azriel’s comment. “Then stop acting like she’s some adversary to be conquered and start treating her like your mate already,” she said. “This is about your love for her, not your obsession to control every little detail.”

Cassian snorted, chuckling. “Only you, Az,” he chortled.

Azriel shot Cassian a dark look, clearly not amused by the comment. “This is not a laughing matter, Cassian,” he said through clenched teeth. “This is serious. I need to get this right, and I can’t afford to mess it up.”

"How about you start with what you know about her? What are her hobbies?" Nesta suggested.

"I am not buying her needles or a shovel or a rolling pin. Or a toy for Nyx," AAzriel responded immediately. He had already gone through all her hobbies: Sewing, gardening for fruits and vegetables and cooking and baking.

Cassian let out a snort, clearly amused by Azriel’s response. “Why not? Those could all be very useful gifts,” he teased. “Especially the rolling pin, I bet she could beat someone over the head with it. You know, for that assassin instinct of hers.”

"Or I could borrow it and hit you with it," Nesta muttered under her breath.

Cassian chuckled at Nesta’s comment. “I’d like to see you try, Nes-“ he began to reply, but was cut off as Azriel growled at them both.

“Enough. I don’t need you two bickering.” He massaged his temples, trying to hold back the headache that was starting to form

"Well, doesn't Eira sing?" Cassian suggested.

Azriel paused slightly and he thought for a moment, recalling a memory of hearing Eira singing softly to herself.

"Yes," he said quietly. "She does. But that doesn't help me at all unless you have an idea in that thick skull of yours."

"She used to play the harp," Nesta said quietly. “Well, not the dead trove harp. A real, human harp,” she clarified.

Azriel's interest was piqued. "She plays harp?" he asked, turning his attention to Nesta. "In all the time we’ve been together, I’ve never heard her mention that."

"We all learned some kind of instruments. It was vital for a well-rounded education. She was the only one who enjoyed it," Nesta explained.

Azriel thought for a moment. That actually sounded ideal. His shadows immediately perked up at the idea, starting to whisper amongst themselves.

"A harp…" he mused. "A harp could be perfect. If I can manage to find one that's good enough."

Cassian chuckled. "You'll probably spend the next year researching harps, won’t you?" he teased.

"I don't have time for that," Azriel responded.

Cassian rolled his eyes. "Sure, you don’t," he said dryly. "That’s why you’ve been holed up in this room for the past three days researching things humans consider romantic. I bet your research for this is more extensive than your missions."

“She's more important than a mission," Azriel said evenly. "Also, Hybern was less terrifying."

"Go buy her a harp, Az. Alternatively, if you want her to start crying, buy her a kitten," Nesta said with a shrug. "Though maybe not...Though that will only live a decade and then she’ll be heartbroken."

"Why should it die that quickly?" he asked Nesta, furrowing his brows.

Nesta gave him a deadpan look. "Have you never met a cat before, Azriel?" she said. "That’s how long kittens live. A decade, at most. And that's not even considering the time it takes a cat to grow from a kitten to an adult. You’ll be lucky if Eira gets fifteen years."

"Magical cats live...a very long time," Cassian disagreed.

Nesta stared at Cassian. “How long do magical cats live?” she demanded.

"Well, theoretically forever," Cassian said with a shrug. “Unless they are killed by a predator of course.”

Azriel sighed. He could see where this was going. This was one of those decisions where there was no clear-cut right path.

Cassian, sensing his hesitation, chuckled. “Come on, Az. Where’s that ‘mysterious broody spy’ everyone loves?”

"Kitten or Harp?" he muttered.

"Just buy her one and keep the other for her birthday," Nesta suggested.

Azriel shot Nesta a glare. “Stop thinking so far ahead when I can barely decide on the first one,” he muttered, making her laugh.

Cassian just smirked. “That’s rich, considering how much work you’ve put into this entire thing.”

*******

Eira had always liked being outside.

When they had still been in that godforsaken cottage, Eira had taken her mending outside...had doted on that little patch of horrible earth that had only ever managed to grow a couple of potatoes, carrots, radishes and green beans...so many green beans...

But she had loved it. Even the small, withered things she had been able to grow there, it had been her tiny corner outside. She had prised her hands with dirt, tended to those potatoes and carrots, and had felt alive. Now she was terrified to even look outside the window.

Now, Eira would have loved to simply lock herself in her closet, because there was no window there...to go hide there, because maybe there she would be safe…

It was irrational, she knew that. She couldn’t help it. Every time she looked out of a window, she saw them again. Saw these horrible dark uniforms…saw the faces of the men she had killed. She saw them again and her chest burned in response, her stomach turning, bile rising in her throat.

She couldn’t help it.

"It's healing very well," Madja told her, weathered fingertips trailing over the closed gash just underneath her breast. Eira stared at the ceiling, wishing herself far, far away. It had healed well. In just a few days, it had closed, just a thin red line reminding her of what had happened.

A thin red line and the feeling of lightning crackling underneath her skin.

Eira winced as Madja touched her tender skin, the scar still sore to the touch. Even with her accelerated healing, it would take some time before she would fully recover.

"Are you still experiencing any pain?" the elderly healer asked kindly, her eyes studying Eira closely. Eira took a deep breath, trying to find her voice. The pain was the least of her worries. She had felt worse. So much worse.

"No, not much," she replied quietly, her eyes fluttering shut. "Just a little...some twinges, here and there."

Madja nodded, her expression a bit sceptical. She had probably seen hundreds, maybe thousands of patients in her life, and she could likely tell when they weren't being entirely truthful. "Are you sure?" she pressed gently.

Eira’s face twisted into a grimace. She didn't want to be....she didn't want to be weak. She didn't want to...She had seen how Cassian's wings had been shredded, how Azriel had an ash bolt shot in his chest...and neither of them had complained. And she...she had a single knife stuck inside her and it felt like…

“Eira,” Feyre said, her voice taking on an edge.

She knew that Feyre was right, she knew that she should be honest with the healer. But saying it out loud, voicing her fears and anxieties, would just make her...so pathetic.

Still, she took a deep breath and looked at Madja, meeting her gaze. "It...It hurts," she admitted quietly. "More than just...it hurts, whenever I move."

Feyre squeezed Eira's hand tightly. Madja nodded, her eyes studying Eira with a careful, almost calculating gaze, before it softened, a flicker of sympathy passing over her features.

"I suspected as much," the healer said bluntly. "A wound like that can heal on the surface, but sometimes the internal damage is more severe than it appears." Eira‘s breath hitched. The internal damage. The internal damage she had done to herself when she had killed these males…when she had…burned them alive.

"You should rest," Madja said quietly. "You need to give your body time to heal completely, or you'll risk making the damage worse...you can leave the room and sit outside...but you should not do anything strenuous like gardening or training or whatever else you normally get up to. Though the sunshine outside would do you well," Madja pointed out.

Sunshine...outside. Outside. Alone the thought made Eira break out in cold sweat.

Her breathing turned shallow at the thought of being outside. She knew she couldn't stay in this room forever, but...the thought of being outside...Alone...In the open air, with no protective walls around her...It made her heart race. She could feel Feyre's worried gaze on her.

Madja also studied Eira carefully. "No training," she said pointedly, "but you should try to go outside for a little...Sunshine and fresh air will do you good. It's good for healing."

"I...I’ll try," she managed to choke out, her voice barely more than a whisper.

She didn’t want to go outside. She didn’t want to leave her room.

Madja finished, and Feyre went to bring her to the door…leaving Eira alone. She forced herself to sit up, to pull her nightgown back together…and then escaped into the bathing chamber. No windows. No windows meant she was safe. Once the door to the bathing chamber closed firmly behind her, Eira allowed herself to finally break. She sagged against the door, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Alone. No windows. Safe.

She was vaguely aware of tears falling down her face. It seemed like that was all she ever did these days, cry herself into exhaustion. She didn’t even know how often she had woken up that particular night…how often the shadows had come to soothe her back to sleep. The shadows came every time Eira awoke with a start, her heart pounding or tears streaming down her face. They were always there.

They would whisper to her, wrapping around her like a comforting blanket, soothing her back to sleep.

You are alright, they whispered now too. You are safe. She wondered if they didn’t have anything better to do. No more important people to spy on. Why don’t you wash your face? the suggested gently. Water. Face.

Wash her face, repeated Eira mentally, slowly gathering her thoughts.

The shadows were right, of course. She should wash her face. Her eyes looked as tired and red-rimmed as she felt. Perhaps washing her face would...would help her feel somewhat better, even if only a little.

She took a deep breath, as she dried her face on the towel the shadows found for her…and then they fluttered around her like a swarm of excited butterflies, bringing her a new nightgown and dressing gown. She took a moment to examine them.

The nightgown was a much darker colour than her usual ones, a deep, rich blue instead of the usual whites and creams. She looked at the dressing gown, taking note of its heavier fabric. The shadows were right to have chosen it - the nights were getting chilly, after all.

But still… “Did you steal it from Feyre?” She asked weakly, even as they helped her shrug out of the old dressing gown. They let her deal with her nightgown, never touching her naked skin anywhere but her hands and face if they could help it, as they drew the new one over her body…and then stuck silky soft slippers on her feet.

The shadows didn't respond to her question, and for a moment Eira wondered if they even heard her. But she had no time to dwell on it further: they were already working on her hair, untangling her braid with deft, careful movements and brushing it out. They started to braid it again, a new, different braid than the usual ones she wore, pulling it back from her face. The braiding was precise and quick as if they had done this many times before.

“How did you learn that?“ she wondered quietly.

The shadows paused for a moment, almost as if they were contemplating her question. They continued braiding her hair though, a little faster than before.

Practice, they whispered, their voices low and quiet, barely above a whisper.

Eira let out a small huff. Sometimes, she had the distinct impression that the shadows were purposefully not answering her questions, or giving her a non-answer, as they had just done. But she didn’t have the energy to press them for an answer, no matter how much she wanted to hear one.

So instead, she just leaned against the sink quietly, letting the shadows tend to her hair.

You should go outside. The sun is shining. The healer said it would be good for you.

No. She didn’t want to go outside. She didn’t want to…She wanted to stay in this room, in this safe, dark and windowless room…

She didn’t want sunshine. Didn’t want fresh air.

It would do you good, the shadows continued, their voices low and soothing. Go outside. Sit in the sun.

“I can’t.“ she forced out.

The shadows paused in their work, just for a moment.

You can, they insisted firmly, their voices growing almost persuasive. It’s good for you. You will feel better once you go.

She highly doubted that. Her hands turned clammy at only the thought. As soon as the shadows finished braiding her hair, they flitted away, making a beeline for the door. Eira tried to call out, to stop them, to tell them that no, she couldn’t go, but the words died in her throat, the door opening before she could even try.

Rhys was there, standing in the middle of her room.

She had no clue what he even wanted from her. She had spent the last couple of days…resting. Sleeping half the day away, which wasn’t helped by her nightmares at seemingly every damn moment…Nesta and Feyre had kept her company when they had. She hadn’t so much as sneak a peek at Azriel since their…talk two days ago. Though his shadows were a constant companion of hers, doting on her like a cat would do to a sole kitten.

Now…Eira’s heart thudded in her chest at the sight of him. He didn’t look angry, but he didn’t look...friendly either. He just looked at her with watchful, careful eyes as she stared back at him, frozen like a deer before a hunter.

The silence was thick, stretched thin like a rope that was about to snap. Eira bit her lip, unable to tear her gaze away from Rhys’ searching stare. She could feel a sheen of sweat on her skin, her heart thudding so hard she was surprised it hadn’t burst out of her chest yet.

Her knees trembled, and she nearly pitched forward, if the shadows hadn’t caught her. The shadows appeared out of thin air, wrapping themselves around her like a silky, dark blanket as she swayed on her feet. They held her up, stopping her from falling to the ground.

Rhys was suddenly at her side, wrapping his arms around her as well, his hands warm and firm against her cold, clammy skin.

“Shhh, I got you, little one,” he shushed her. Rhys’ voice was soft, gentle, and soothing, his hands firm around her. Eira sagged against him gratefully, her body trembling and her breath coming in short gasps.

“It’s alright. I won’t let you fall,” he murmured, as he scooped her up, easily carrying her like she weighed nothing.

She thought she probably didn’t. Just because he didn’t have arms the size of tree trunks like Cassian did, didn’t mean that Rhys wasn’t an Illyrian warrior trained in his own right.

He had absolutely no problem with just swinging her up like she did to Nyx.

“Bed or do you want to brave the garden?” he asked her carefully. “Madja said some fresh air would be good for you.”

Of course, he already knew.

She swallowed, her heart racing.

Bed was safe, comfortable, and familiar. She wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day there, under the covers and away from the world. To go outside...to face the wide-open sky...that was a terrifying prospect.

“Bed,” she whispered.

Rhys nodded, carrying her over to the bed and gently placing her on it. The shadows fluffed the pillows behind her, letting her lean against them in a comfortable position.

She expected her brother-in-law to disappear again, though she had no clue why he had even come to see her in the first place. Didn’t he have something more important to do? Like, run this court maybe?

But he didn’t disappear again. Instead, he sat down next to her, not touching her, just staying close enough that she could feel his presence. “Madja said the garden would be good for you,” Rhys insisted quietly. He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the wall across the room. “Fresh air, sunshine...she said it would help you recover faster,” he continued, his voice neutral.

Recover. Recover what? Recover that bit of her that had died on that playground when she had killed these men without even thinking about it? She had taken multiple lives. And she was just supposed to be fine with it?!

Eira chewed on her lower lip. She knew what the healer had said, but...the thought of going outside, of being away from the safety of these four walls, was enough to send her heart racing in her chest.

“I...” she started, her voice trembling. “I can’t.”

Rhys turned to look at her then, his expression carefully neutral. “Why not?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm. ”It’s just the garden,” he said evenly.

Eira felt a flicker of irritation rise in her chest at his words.

”it was just the playground,” she shot back shakily. Rhys visibly froze, his eyes widening as he flinched visibly. She could see the pain in his eyes, the hurt and the guilt...but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care.

“Eira...” he started, his voice suddenly hoarse.

“I can’t,” she whispered. She knew it was stupid. She knew. But she couldn’t help it. It must be ridiculous to him, to a 500-year-old warrior that she was afraid of facing the outside but she couldn’t help it. She was utterly terrified.

“You need to heal,” he said quietly, his voice gentle but firm. “You need the sunshine, the fresh air. You can’t just stay locked up in here forever...” She could.

She really could.

If it stopped her from feeling like dying, she would stay right here for the rest of her life.

“What…What is it that scares you?” Rhys asked her gently. Her breath hitched in her throat at his question.

She opened her mouth, trying to find the words to explain how terrified she was, how the very thought of leaving this room filled her with a sense of dread that was nearly paralysing… “I don’t want it to happen again,” she choked out.

Rhys’ face darkened at her words, his eyes filling with anger and pain.

“It won’t,” he said, his voice tight. “I won’t let it. You’re safe, Eira. No one will hurt you in that garden. I swear.”

Eira wanted to believe him, wanted desperately to cling to his words like a lifeline...but she couldn’t. The fear lodged in her chest like a rock, refusing to be dislodged.

“You can’t promise that,” she whispered, her voice small and shaky.

“Yes, I can,” Rhys cut her off. “You’ll go outside and I’ll be right there. And if any rogue darkbringers suddenly show up, I’ll mist them with a single thought,” he promised her fiercely. “It won’t happen again.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart beating furiously in her chest. It sounded so easy when he said it like that, so simple. He would keep her safe, keep her protected...

“Let’s just try it,“ Rhys said softly. “We can go back inside if you can’t stand it, little one.”

Eira chewed on her lower lip, her fingers trembling in her lap.

Just try it. We can go back inside if you can’t stand it.

Those words gave her a small flicker of hope, a lifeline to cling to. Eira took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady her nerves. “Alright,” she agreed weakly.

Rhys smiled at her words, the expression strained but genuine. He stood up from the bed, holding out his hand to her.

“Come on then,” he said gently. “Let’s go sit in the garden.”

Eira swallowed, her entire body tense with anxiety. She looked at his outstretched hand, feeling her heart race at the thought of taking it.

For a moment, she couldn’t move, her entire body frozen and immobile. But then, with trembling fingers, she reached out and slowly took his hand.

Rhys’ hand was warm, strong and firm around hers. He held her hand gently, as if he were afraid she might break, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“That’s it,” he murmured gently. “We can go as slowly as you need.”

She nodded weakly, her knuckles turning white as she gripped his hand tightly. Slowly, hesitantly, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her body trembled as she stood up, her feet feeling unsteady on the floor.

Rhys was there, hovering close to her side, supporting her gently as she took her first shaky steps away from the bed. The shadows flitted around her like dark, flickering butterflies, whispering reassuring words that she could barely hear over the pounding of her heart.

“Eira…how about you let me carry you?”

Her breath hitched at the suggestion, her heart skipping a beat.

Her first instinct was to refuse, to shake her head and insist on walking on her own. But her legs felt like jelly, her steps unsteady and shaky...and she hated the thought of looking weak, of being lifted like some helpless child.

But as much as she hated it, she knew she would crumble if she walked on her own, her legs giving out like a newborn fawn.

So, with a small, defeated nod, she agreed.

“I…alright,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Rhys wasted no time in scooping her up in his arms, lifting her with ease. She tried not to let it bother her, not to think about how pathetic she must look, being cradled like a child.

The shadows fluttered closer, their dark forms brushing against her skin as they whispered gentle words of reassurance.

You’re doing well. one of them whispered in her ear, its voice low and soothing. The High Lord is right here. You’re safe.

"It will be fine," Rhys promised her as he carried her down the stairs, making no appearance that the extra weight of her in his arms bothered him in any way. "Just outside. We'll sit on the terrace, and nothing bad will happen."

Eira clung to his words like a lifeline, her hands trembling as they clutched at his shoulder.

She tried to ignore the way her heart raced, the way her blood thundered in her ears...she tried to focus on Rhys’ voice, on his words assuring her that it would be fine.

The terrace wasn’t far, it seemed. Soon enough, they were there, the doors swinging open silently as they approached.

Outside. Out of the relative safety of the house. Outside.

Eira clenched her teeth, the panic rising in her chest.

The air around them was fresh and crisp, the faint scent of grass and trees filling her nostrils. The sun streamed down, its warmth caressing her skin...and yet, Eira felt cold, her breath coming in small, shallow gasps as her heart thumped against her chest.

The wide-open space, the vastness of the sky, was suddenly so much more overwhelming. It felt like it was pressing down on her like it was closing in...

She heard a deep rumble of thunder, could feel something static-y in the air...felt the taste of metal in her mouth...

"Take a deep breath, Little One," Rhys soothed her. "It's alright. We are there already..." Just a moment later, he put her down onto the soft cushion that covered the lounge area on one side of the terrace...a place where she had often laid down Nyx for his afternoon nap this summer...

The plush cushions were a familiar comfort, their softness reminding her of the times she had spent with her nephew…

She tried to focus on that, on the memories of those times instead of the overwhelming feeling of being outside...but as she looked around, as she took in the sheer vastness of the sky stretching out in every direction, it was almost too much.

Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, and she found herself clinging to Rhys’ arm, her fingers digging into his skin.

"You are alright," he promised her again. She knew it was ridiculous. He must think she was utterly mental that being outside scared her, overwhelmed her into silent fear.

Eira was sure he must think her completely insane: Scared of being outside, of being in the open...it was ridiculous. It was pathetic.

But she couldn’t help it, no matter how much she tried to calm herself down, to shove her fear back down. It had a hold on her, a tight grip that she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried.

"It's alright to be afraid," Rhys said quietly. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Eira tried to believe his words, tried to take comfort in them. But it was hard, so hard. Her fear felt so stupid, so silly, so pointless.

She should be able to handle being outside, shouldn’t be so terrified of it…and yet here she was, clinging to Rhys like a frightened child, her heart thundering in her chest. The High Lord of the Night Court had volunteered to be her protector and she was still utterly and completely...terrified.

The shadows fluttered around her, sensing her fear, her terror...whispering softly in her ear, trying to calm her, to soothe her. But even their attempts couldn’t stop the way her body trembled, the way her heart raced.

Rhys wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer to his side. His touch was gentle but firm, a silent reassurance that he was there, that she wasn’t alone.

"You have every right to be afraid, Eira. That doesn't make you weak, little sister. It only means that you went through something traumatic and you haven't fully dealt with that yet," Rhys said softly. "I still wake up from nightmares. So does your sister. Cassian, Azriel...all of us deal with that as well."

"I am pathetic, " she whimpered.

Rhys’ expression darkened at her words, his jaw clenching.

“No, you’re not,” he said, his voice firm. “You’re the farthest thing from pathetic, Eira. Some fully fledged warriors would have taken one look at these Darkbringers and ran. They wouldn’t have stood their ground.” He huffed, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you ever call yourself that again? Do you understand me?”

"In what world am I brave?" Eira asked weakly, her hands still trembling, fear settled in some kind of panic in the back of her brain, leaving her utterly spent and exhausted.

"You threw yourself between my son and a knife, Eira," Rhys told her drily. "In what world isn't that brave?"

Eira’s breath hitched in her throat as he spoke, and her mind suddenly filled with the memory of that day.

She had done that, hadn’t she? She had thrown herself in front of a knife for Nyx, not caring what happened to herself as long as the baby was safe… For Nyx, she had done that. She hadn't thought twice about it either.

But it had been for a good cause, in a moment of crisis. This…this was just her being weak. This was her reduced to a trembling, blubbering mess, too scared to do anything but cling to Rhys like a child for comfort. How did that make her brave?

"I know it doesn't feel that way right now, but it does get easier," Rhys promised her softly.

She wanted to believe him, she really did. But right now, it was hard. The fear felt so overwhelming, so all-consuming, that it was hard to imagine ever feeling anything else.

Eira took a deep, shaky breath, her body trembling as she tried to control her emotions. But despite her attempts to steady herself, she couldn’t seem to calm down. Her heart raced, her hands clammy, her breath coming in short, anxious gasps.

“It’s alright,” Rhys said softly, his voice reassuring. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”

The shadows fluttered around them, brushing against her hands in a soothing caress.

Slowly, slowly, the fear that had consumed her began to ease, the frantic thumping of her heart returning to a more normal rhythm. She took a deep, shaky breath, feeling her body relax slightly in Rhys’ embrace.

"I am scared all the time," he continued softly.

Eira felt a flicker of surprise at his admission, her eyes widening slightly. She had never, ever considered that Rhys might be afraid. He was so powerful, so confident and in control...it almost seemed impossible to believe.

“But...why?” she asked, her voice small and wavering. “What could possibly scare you?”

Rhys chuckled softly at her question, a humourless sound that seemed almost bitter. “Plenty of things, little one,” he replied, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “More things than you could imagine.”

Eira frowned, her confusion growing. She had always assumed that Rhys was above fear, that he was somehow above the worries and anxieties that plagued the rest of them. To hear him admit otherwise...it was jarring, to say the least.

“What...What are you afraid of?” she asked softly, her voice so quiet she could barely hear it over the sound of her heart beating in her ears.

Rhys was silent for a moment, his expression growing more serious.

“Losing my mate,” he said quietly. “Losing my son. I'm afraid that if I don't keep them safe if I make a single mistake, it could all be taken from me.” He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he spoke. "I'm afraid that one day I'll wake up and it will all have been nothing but a dream. That it was never real.”

She had never considered that he might be scared...that he might feel the same way that she did, the same fear and uncertainty that gripped her heart with a vice-like grip.

"It's real," she promised her brother quietly. "It's real, Rhys."

Rhys smiled faintly, his expression softening slightly as he looked down at her.

"I know it is,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t make the fear go away."

Eira felt a pang of sympathy in her chest at his words.

She knew all too well what it was like to feel the weight of fear, the way it could consume you and control you and leave you feeling helpless. And yet, to hear Rhys, the High Lord of the Night Court, a man so powerful that he could crumble mountains with a snap of his fingers...

It was almost surreal.

“How do you deal with it?” she asked quietly, her voice quivering slightly. “The...the fear. How do you make it go away?”

Rhys was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

"I don’t make it go away,” he said finally. “I don’t think that’s possible. The fear is always there, lurking in the back of my mind, waiting for me to let my guard down." He paused, his gaze fixed on some point over her head. “I just…I try to keep it at bay, remind myself that it’s just a feeling, that it doesn’t have to control me. I focus on the people I love, on the things that matter."

Eira felt her heartache at his words. She knew that feeling, that constant fear that lurked in the back of your mind, waiting for a moment to strike. And yet, to hear Rhys say that he felt the same...it almost made her feel better, to know that she wasn’t alone in her fear.

"Look at the flowers growing...Look at your vegetable patch," Rhys said softly. "Feel the fabric underneath you...Look at Nyx being happy and smiling..." She looked up to see Feyre walk outside, Nyx on her hip who happily squealed as soon as he saw Eira.

Eira's heart lurched at the sight of the baby, her chest constricting with emotion.

Nyx wriggled on Feyre's hip, reaching out his tiny arms towards her, babbling happily as he recognized her. Eira couldn't help but smile, her heart melting at the sight of the baby's little face. Feyre smiled, walking closer to Eira and Rhys, with Nyx bouncing on her hip.

The baby was babbling happily, his eyes fixed on Eira as he reached out for her. "Look how happy he is to see his Aunt Ra Ra" Feyre said gently, a fond smile adorning her lovely face.

"Ra Ra!" Nyx cheered at that moment, and Feyre sat him on Eira's lap, sitting next to her.

Eira felt her heart melt as Nyx settled himself on her lap, his little body bouncing with energy.

The baby looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, his little fingers reaching out to grab at her hair. He babbled happily, his voice high-pitched and cheerful.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close to her chest as he continued to babble and coo.

Safe, untouched.

She was safe. Maybe one day she would believe that again.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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yeyinde · 1 year

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lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met.

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really.

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with.

Stupid.

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine.

Because maybe you are, too.

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent.

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him.

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you.

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him.

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married.

And where does that leave you?

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber.

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both.

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar.

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet.

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight.

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush.

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways.

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape.

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore.

Moving on. Moving forward.

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent.

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this.

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him.

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness.

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location.

You send him your pin.

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way.

You met Kyle Garrick at university.

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre.

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met.

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap.

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care.

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed.

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth.

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?"

And that was that.

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them.

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him.

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him.

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain.

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart.

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square.

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots.

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring.

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner.

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots.

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes.

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest.

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it."

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you."

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult.

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid."

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it."

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought.

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot.

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips.

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain.

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks.

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all.

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you.

Except—

It isn’t.

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes.

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know?

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips.

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort?

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him.

He’d know, he said.

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic.

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around.

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement.

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken.

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison.

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat.

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet.

He seems to understand.

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here."

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance.

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him.

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it.

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do.

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe."

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—"

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat.

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame.

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold?

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state.

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish.

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back.

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy).

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making.

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign.

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now.

Because you do.

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts.

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too.

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin.

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences.

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same.

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam.

And oh.

Oh.

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing.

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it.

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it.

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always.

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him.

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun.

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free.

Confessing goes like this:

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears.

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands.

"...and that's basically it."

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you.

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all.

You want it. Want him.

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam.

But he isn't.

He's here with you. Still. Still.

"I just—," you say, or try to.

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth.

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated.

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation.

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence.

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin.

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain.

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take.

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air.

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you.

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind.

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox.

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke.

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable.

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames.

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown.

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home.

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all.

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it.

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this.

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration.

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two.

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food.

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along.

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling.

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know?

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod gaz x reader #cod mw2 fanfic #ehhhhhh #these are my sloppiest tags #i didn't feel like making a gif so i threw this together real quick #will fix in the am #when my eyes aren't on fire

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wardenparker · 9 months

Text

New Year's Surprise

Jack Daniels x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 18.7k Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, internalized fatphobia, self esteem issues, pining, meddlesome friends, unwanted attention from a male coworker, light spanking, praise, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, Jack likes being scratched up, reader is described as having fingernails long enough to scratch (no specific length given), the love is requited they're just idiots. Summary: Ginger has a plan to get you and Jack to admit you have feelings for each other. She did not anticipate just how well it would work... Notes: Happy almost New Year everyone! Enjoy a little more winter seasonal smut and fluff from us to you 🥂🍾✨

"You're sure it's not too much, Ging?" Turning in front of the full-length mirror in Ginger's apartment, you inspect the glittering black cocktail dress that your friend helped you pick out at the mall during all those after-Christmas sales she promised you that you would find something at. She was right, like she always is, but now that the dress is on you, you're wondering if you haven't made a mistake. If it's not too revealing, or too short, or too tight.

Whoever in HR came up with this insane Cowboys and Flappers theme for the company New Year's Eve party deserved to have their head examined. You're not the femme fatale agent that gets sent out to seduce men and collect their secrets. Few men out there in the world are ever really seduced by the chubby girl in any given scenario, but it did tend to make you invisible. Invisible women can slip in and out of buildings in literally any kind of uniform and get through security without ever being harassed, and that works to your advantage on almost every case. Unfortunately, it also means that for the five years you've been a Statesman agent, you've also been fairly invisible to the man you've developed feelings for.

It’s perfect.” No matter how many times Ginger Ale tells you that you are sexy just the way you are, that insecurity gets the best of you. “I’m telling you, you will have every eye in the place.”

“I doubt it.” You sigh in the mirror and smooth your hands over the sequined dress one more time. “But that’s okay. I don’t want every set of eyes…”

“I know what set of eyes you want on you.” Your taste in men is your own, and Ginger won’t fault you for it, but she wonders why Jack. “It might do the man good to know that he’s got competition.” You don’t believe her when she says that it’s more telling that Jack doesn’t hit on you, but it’s the truth.

“He doesn’t, though.” Shrugging, you turn away from the mirror and decide to just go on with the night. Wishing won’t make it real and Jack Daniels barely looks at you. Even though you’ve partnered on cases, spend time together in and out of the office, and are arguably friends in every true sense? You’ve always wanted more with him. The only person who knows is Ginger, though, and you prefer to keep it that way since Jack will never return your affection. “And that’s…it is what it is. Even if you’re the only person I dance with tonight, it’ll still be fun.”

“Wearing that dress?” Ginger snorts as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ll have the faith for both of us, how about that?” She knows that Jack won’t be able to resist you tonight, not when she’s lined up a few of the junior agents to dance with you already. It’s time that Jack settles down and finds some happiness, and what better time than the New Year?

******

While you easily could have had the party at Statesman considering the size of the grounds, Champ wouldn’t hear of it. He’s hosting the damn thing himself come hell or high water, in his favourite suit with his wife dressed to the 9’s in her flapper dress, and more caterers than you’ve ever seen in your life all making his early twentieth century coal baron’s mansion look as resplendent as the day it was built. The place is palatial, with a ballroom so big that the band he’s hired looks tiny in one corner despite being six-men strong. It’s music and liquor and appetizers passing by on trays when you and Ginger walk through the door, and you gasp at how nice it all looks.

“I know he does it every year,” you sigh to your best friend. “But the theme is always different and I swear somehow the house always looks better on new year’s.”

“Champ does know how to throw one hell of a party.” She agrees, snagging two glasses of champagne from a waiter as she walks by. Her own sleek flapper dress is a vivid purple, making her beautiful skin glow and for tonight, she’s wearing contacts. Her short hair is perfectly styled, a cap like illusion, highlighted with the crystal headband she’s picked. “To a New Year we will never forget.” She hands you one glass and adds, “or regret.”

“You’re certainly optimistic.” You flash her and grin and tap the rim of your glass against hers. “Finally going to talk to Alicia or is this just positive vibes?” It’s been two years since Ginger started crushing on the woman who supervises Statesman campus tours and visitor experience, but she hasn’t made a move yet. Being frozen in place with someone you care about is something the two of you have in common.

“Positive vibes.” She huffs, rolling her eyes and trying to change the subject. “Look! There’s Tequila!” She waves the younger agent over to where you are standing. “You made it! Didn’t think you were ever gonna get back from Brazil, or if you wanted to.” She adds with a grin.

“Those are two very different questions.” Tequila agrees with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. Did he have to come back? Sure. But did he want to leave the comfort and luxury of that beautiful woman’s bed? Not at all. “But I would not have missed dancing with you ladies for the world,” he adds with a wink. He’s very much in on Ginger’s plan, after all, and is looking forward to the fireworks it will bring.

You fluster slightly at his words, but Ginger knows that you don’t have your cap set on Tequila. You just don’t handle compliments well. “You’ll have to get in line.” Ginger warns him with a smirk. “As good as Rye looks tonight, every man in here is going to want a dance. After I dance with her first.”

“Well I reckon I’ll have to be second, then.” Tequila puts in a playful pout. “But only because I would never deny Miss Ginger Ale gettin to be first.” He smiles again and tips his hat, having opted to wear his best Stetson with an elegant Kingsman suit. “You don’t have to,” you insist, knowing Tequila always has more choices of dance and bedroom partners than he could ever feasibly make his way through. “I’m sure you have other people you want to dance with tonight.”

“No one important.” Tequila smirks as he drags his eyes up and down your outfit and whistles slowly. “And no one nearly as pretty.” He promises.

“Liar.” Though you roll your eyes at him, you don’t protest anymore than that. He’s your friend, after all. And if he wants to waste his time dancing with you, you’ll just enjoy it. Tequila’s a fantastic dancer, after all.

“Never lie to you, honey.” Tequila croons, taking your hand and lifting it to his lips. “Lie about what?” The voice comes from your left and all eyes swing that way.

“Jack!” Normally you know he’s coming. The smell of earthy, expensive cologne and the tap-click-shuffle of his boots on polished floors. The soft humming he gets up to when he’s pleased with himself, not quite melodic but endearing because it means he’s happy. But you sensed none of that just now, too caught up in the band playing and the fragrant flowers and the tickle of bubbly in your nose and throat. “Nothing. We were just talking about dancing…” He looks like a dream, and it makes you sick to your stomach and elated all at once. Another night of watching him fawn over every woman but you is what you’ve resigned yourself to putting up with, but it’s just rude of him to look so damn handsome in that black velvet double breasted suit and sleek black Stetson while he does it.

“Dancing, hum?” His eyes narrow slightly at the grip Tequila has on your hand and he wants to reach out and slap it away, but he just shoots everyone an easy grin. “Ready to cut a rug tonight, eh?”

"I guess so." The shyness that threatens to shoot straight through you is knocked off kilter by Ginger, who hoots in response. "She's got her dance card all filled up already, Whiskey. Should've gotten here earlier," she tells him with a smirk.

His mustache ticks, it’s the only change to his facial expression. “I’m sure Rye can squeeze me in.” His dark amber eyes slide over to you and swipe up and down your body. “Can’t you, sugar?”

"Of course." You'd throw over the whole goddamn list for him. Besides, you have no idea what Ginger could possibly mean by saying your 'card' is full. One dance with her and one with Tequila isn't a full anything. "Of course I can."

“Good. Then how about I refresh you ladies’ drinks?” Jack asks, slapping Tequila on the back a little rougher than necessary. “Come help me with that.”

"Sure." Tequila grunts, throwing you a confused expression like he can't figure out why the hell Jack needs help getting champagne when waiters with trays are everywhere, but he shoots Ginger a secret smirk before following Jack into the next room where the open bar is set up.

“Tonight will be perfect.” Ginger predicts with a smug grin as she watches the two men walk towards the open bar. .

“What the hell are you doin’, flirtin’ with Rye?” Jack’s easy grin falls away and his brows knit together as soon as his back is turned to you. “You know that girl ain’t your type.”

"I can't be nice to my friend?" Tequila asks, pretending to be positively aghast that Jack would suggest he's up to anything else. One hand ever goes to his chest with a dramatic gasp.

Jack’s eyes cut towards the other agent, a frown on his face. “It’s one goddamn thing to be nice, it’s another to flirt.”

"When did I flirt?" The younger agent counters, knowing full well that's what he was doing but not about to admit it because he wants to make Jack stew.

“You were flirtin’ the second you can outta your momma, but you gotta learn there’s certain girls you don’t do that shit with.” Jack growls, stopping in front of the bar and holding up two fingers. “Double 62 Triple Barreled.” He orders, wanting one of the rare whiskeys that Champ had broken out tonight. “And two champagnes.”

"Now, why is that, Jack?" Tequila hums, looking down at his friend. Jack isn't too much shorter than him, but just enough to annoy the older agent on occasion. "Why is Rye one of those girls?"

“Because…” that’s where his argument ends, because there’s not really a reason beyond his own feelings. “It’s…unprofessional.” He decides. “She’s an agent for Christ’s sake.”

Tequila snorts at this string of logic, accepting his drink from the pretty bartender with a wink and sliding a large bill into the tip glass on the bar top before looking back at Jack. "That's a load of horse shit and you know it, Daniels. You fucking know it."

He does know it, but he snatches his own drink up and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He hates that his stomach twists and he wonders if you had been flirting back. Looking over his shoulder at where you are standing, he clenches his jaw at the tassels that are swaying every time you move. “Don’t get her damn hopes up.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “We both know you ain’t gonna fuck her.”

"Nor does she want me to." This is gonna be a hell of a lot easier than he and Ginger thought, if Jack is always so fuckin wound up over you and he only just arrived for the night. "I ain't the one she has her eye on and everybody with eyes knows it."

Jack ignores that, huffing to himself as he tries to hid the fucking jealousy that curls in his gut at whoever you do have your eye on. Lucky son of a bitch. “No fuckin’ talkin’ to you, hardheaded S.O.B.” The champagne glasses are in front of him and he downs the rest of the drink to slap the crystal glass down and snatch up the flutes. Turning around without another word and stalking across the room towards you and Ginger.

It's only one room he has to cross, but by the time he gets there, Agent Brandy has sidled up beside you and Ginger and has his fingers ever so subtly on your elbow while bends his head and puts all his focus directly on you.

Halfway across the room, Jack jerks to a halt and growls, shaking his head as he resumes the walk and forces a moderately friendly smile on his face. “Didn’t think you’d be back from Korea, Don.” He interrupts as he arrives back at your group.

"Two days ago." Brandy flashes a smile in Jack's general direction but keeps his focus on you. "Glad I made it back in time, too. Champ throws a hell of a party."

His eye twitches but Jack nods. “Yeah he does. Shoulda brought that little gal you were seein’. Brandy. Brenda right? Or was it Bambi?” He shrugs. “Maybe all of them at once, knowin’ you.”

"Now don't be unkind, Jack." Brandy's eyes cut over to the older agent and Brandy offers what could be considered a modestly dramatic pout. "Or Rye might think the worst of me and throw me over for that dance I just got promised."

Jack seethes beneath the smile on his face. “Would hate for that to happen.” He lies, handing Ginger one of the glasses and then offers the other to you.

The glass is offered with a smile and you thank Jack, savoring even the tiniest moment of contact between brushing fingers as he hands it over. It's probably bordering on pathetic, how long you've carried this torch for Jack, and it seems like Ginger is really trying to encourage you tonight to come out of your shell tonight but you just don't know. As nice as everyone is being, it doesn't feel right. The only thing that feels right is when you're around Jack. It's just a damn shame that he doesn't feel the same.

It’s almost painful how the simple, innocent touch affects him. Now visceral his reaction is. Only the training that Statesman has given him keeps him from showing anything. “Well,” he hates to tear himself away, but he can’t be around you for too long. “I better go talk to Champ about some cases he wants worked tomorrow.” He offers.

"It's a party," you remind him, smile flickering as he steps back. Obviously the small touch that you'll be savoring for the rest of the night has had the opposite effect on him. But there's no need to show that. Not when it's fully expected that he doesn't want to be around you when there are plenty of other people to talk to and women to dance with. "Don't work too hard, okay?"

“Never do,” he nods at everyone and turns around and skedaddles over to Champ like his pants are on fire.

"Come on," Ginger loops her arm through yours and lends Brandy a smirk that you don't notice — you're too busy trying not to look after Jack. "Let's go dance, honey. The night is young and we are looking far too good not to show off."

Champ eyes Jack as he stops by his side. “Figured you’d have a gal in your arms by now.” He huffs as he reaches out to shake Jack’s hand. “Losing your touch?” Jack snorts. “When have I ever lost my touch?” He asks, pointedly refusing to look back over towards you. “Just surveying my prospects.”

"And how is Agent Rye this evening?" Champ doesn't even have to look to know that that's where Jack has just come from. He blew into the room so quickly that it's the only explanation for the fire in his heels.

“Don’t you start with me.” Jack groans, shaking Champ’s hand and huffing. “Far as I know, she’s dandy.”

"Why should I not start?" Champ knows damn well why not, but he enjoys riling up his friend. "Somebody beat me to the punch?"

“Every-goddamn-body here tonight is actin’ like they’ve never seen the woman in a dress.” He snorts, complaining about it even though he has already memorized the way the damned sequined dress clings to your curves and enhances them in ways that should be criminal. “It’s damned ridiculous and borderline workplace harassment.”

Smirking, Champ pours two glasses of his preferred Statesman 1972 Select, savoring the smoked cherry notes from that particular year. He hands one cut crystal glass over to Jack with his tongue set firmly in his cheek. "You know you'd be a hell of a lot less mad if you just asked the lady to dance your damn self."

The glare Jack cuts Champ is withering and he turns his head as he takes a sip, refusing to rebuff the remark. It seems like everyone is taking the piss with him tonight as Eggsy would say. (edited)

"She's allowed to have fun, ya know." Champ goes on, humming the thought as though the glare Jack just shot him wouldn't have struck a lesser man dead in his tracks. "Damn shame she hasn't set her cap on anyone. Big family dreams, that gal has. Always has. It'll be a damn shame when she finally decides to hang up her pistols and have a family, but I won't let her get farther than the training ring. Too good of an agent to just let her retire."

“Is there a point to your ramblings?” Jack grumbles. “Or are you just spouting shit tonight?”

"Do what I want in my own house." The older man chuckles heartily and claps Jack on one shoulder. "Got a couple of jobs to start the new year with. Come see me tomorrow and we'll figure out which one's yours."

He’s being dismissed and since Champ is also giving him hell, Jack quickly nods and walks off. Trying to walk around the ostentatious ballroom without looking at you. “Hello handsome.” A perfectly manicured hand drapes itself over his shoulder and the scent of gardenias and sandalwood fills his nostrils. “Tiffany.”

Like a bloodhound on a trail, you spot it from across the ballroom without even trying to. Twirling around with Ginger, your eyes catch sight of the gorgeous, skinny, leggy blonde who has let herself drape over Jack's side and you sigh. Deflate is probably the right word, but you remind yourself it was never going to happen anyway and just hold on to Ginger as the song comes to an end.

“What’s a tall, dark, handsome drink of water like you doin’ all by your lonesome?” She purrs, making him hide the wince he had at the put on accent of hers. She’s as southern as tofu and yet she tries to make it sound like she’s grown up around here. Still, she’s a distraction and the best part about it is that there’s no emotional strings. “Looks like I should be buyin’ you a drink, darlin’.”

"I wish you would," she puts on a too-high giggle and bats eyelashes heavy with mascara and augmented with false hairs. Laying it on thick, she pushes in even closer and lets her body fit against his with nothing left to the imagination.

Jack doesn’t feel anything but he paints a cocky smirk on his face as he turns to her. “Then let me go get something for you, what do you want, darlin’?”

“Champagne, of course,” she simpers, never once considering the fact that she’s at a party for a whiskey distillery. Hell, she hadn’t even dressed for the theme.

Tiffany hangs out at the bar Statesman regularly hangs out at. A groupie because she knows everyone there makes good money. He’d bet his bottom dollar she conned Scotch into bringing her.

“Some party.” Is her attempt at conversation, putting more effort into showing off her cleavage than completing sentences. “You distillery boys sure know how to treat your gals.”

“Of course we do.” Jack’s smile is wicked, but it’s a part of the persona he adopts when he is working a target, it’s not real. “Any gal of mine deserves to be treated right.”

“Is that an invitation?” She knows who Jack is. Knows the civilian job title he’s been at Statesman Distillery. Even if she knew what it was all a front for, she likely wouldn’t care. She might just try harder if she knew the real wealth being flung around between a lot of these people.

“Now sweetheart, I’m good for a night or two.” Jack drawls. “But I’ve got a lot of leavin’ left to do.” He hums, quoting the country song.

The pout on Tiffany’s face is both dramatic and pronounced, but seeing that he’s immovable in that point — and knowing his reputation — she makes a small sound of frustrated disgust before flouncing away. Apparently annoyed at having wasted her time on a line cowboy.

The huff that Jack lets out is one of pure relief. Happy that he won’t have to deal with her again for at least half the night. She might make her way back around depending on successful she is. It’s shameful to say, but most of the agents here have dallied with her, including Jack. However, he had only taken her home to satisfy a physical need. He slowly makes his way back to the bar to order another drink, not champagne.

His line of sight is unfortunate as he saunters back toward the open bar. Looking back out to the dance floor, he can see Tequila twirling you around and the two of you laughing as the younger man holds you close and mock-sings along with the band.

Jack’s frown is deep, furrowing his brow as he cuts his eyes away in a jealous huff.

It goes round and round like that for most of the night. One dance partner after the next sweeps you across the dance floor but never the partner you want. One beautiful woman after another sidles up to Jack and bats their eyelashes but none are the woman he actually wants at his side. It’s a three-ring-circus. A whirlwind. But you never seem to get close enough to each other to see that neither of you is actually having any fun.

It’s easy to have an arm around a woman, easy to smile and flirt. His eyes continuously find you on the dance floor. Ginger had been right apparently, you had a damn dance card that was slap full. He hisses under his breath, wondering how many of those men knew you bit your thumb when you were working out a problem or that your eyes changed to a lighter shade when you were feeling slightly bashful.

There isn’t a single night of your life where you’ve gotten this much attention from this many different men — or this many different people period — and while it’s fun in a whirlwind sort of way, you do find yourself clock-watching. Wondering why your fellow agents all seem to be paying you so many compliments tonight and why you sort of feel like Cinderella at the ball without a hint of the real Prince Charming, the closer it gets to midnight the more you’re thinking of just going home. The last thing you want is to glance across the ballroom at midnight and see Jack tangled up in a midnight kiss with some petite redhead or statuesque model with perfect curls. You’ll be happier skipping out early and being in your pjs with a book at midnight than you will be witnessing that.

It’s fucking infuriating to have so many people come between him and you. Every dang time he untangles himself to break in on your dance with some partner, Ginger, Tequila or Champ waylay him. He’s never had such a hard time getting to chat with you and it’s making him slowly unravel his temper. “Ah Jack, there you are.” He sighs and paints on a smile when Champ claps his back and shoves a drink in his hand. “Forgot to mention somethin’….” His eyes slide away from you laughing as you are spun around, bitter to be stonewalled again.

“Well if it ain’t the gol’dern Belle of the Ball.” The voice you hear behind you is the one person you were hoping to avoid tonight, and as you’ve just finished dancing with one of the guys from the technology department who you didn’t even think knew your name, there’s no escaping. Agent Vodka is one of those older men who doesn’t realize that James Bond is just a character and that no one drags that persona into their everyday life. He routinely ‘flirts’ with you like he’s bestowing you a huge goddamn favor for even looking in your direction, and you were genuinely hoping to avoid him tonight.

Vodka is handsome in a classical sense, some would say a silver fox, if he had a better attitude. As it stands, there’s a confused tilt to his Stetson adorned head and he rakes his eyes up and down your body in a very calculated gaze. “You musta cleaned up for hours. Getting ready for a good night.”

“Sure. I guess so.” You nod, tone polite but dismissive. Vodka has a tendency to interpret friendly as begging for hands to be put on you, and the last thing you want to do is encourage him. “Happy new year, Vodka.”

“Seems like Whiskey and I have been the only ones not with you tonight.” He intones, smirking slightly. “Guess you was savin’ the best for last, huh? Since Jack’s hangin’ all over the ladies, I’ll step in and claim this dance.” He doesn’t ask for permission, just stepping up to you and grabbing your waist.

“That’s really okay.” Reeling backward, Vodka is strong but your self-defense training is a hell of a lot better, and you twist in his grip to make sure he can’t get a solid hold on you no matter how hard he tries. “Appreciate the offer,” you huff, trying to push him away. “But I was just heading home.”

“Oh don’t be that way.” Vodka huffs and manages to pull you close. “Believe me, dancin’ ‘s just a prelude to what we can do later.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t want to dance with you.” You push back against him again, leveraging your elbow against his side to loosen his grip with a sharp shot to his liver. This has gone too far and is hovering on ruining the night — which has been fairly fun despite its lack of your favorite cowboy and coworker.

“Jack-“ Ginger doesn’t bother apologizing as she taps his shoulder and points out to the dance floor. “Why don’t you go save Rye?” She huffs.

At this point it’s obvious that it’s a struggle. People are giving you extra space on the dance floor as they realize what’s happening but for whatever godforsaken reason, no one has stepped in yet. Probably because they’re too shocked that Vodka has finally crossed the line into being physically inappropriate instead of just saying uncomfortable things.

“Sugar, I’m sorry I’m late for our dance.” Jack slaps his hand down on Vodka’s shoulder and digs his fingers into the fleshy muscle. Getting satisfaction from the immediate change in the man’s stance. “Don’t mind if I interrupt, do ya?” His tone is friendly, but there’s a warning woven in the words. Dark eyes turn towards you as you quickly step back from the other man’s grasp.

“Wouldn’t have thought you’d keep a dame waitin’.” Vodka mumbles, all sheepishness and apology now that he realizes he’s infringed on another man’s territory.

Jack doesn’t rip into the man like he wants to, everyone else is starting to relax and resume the party. “You probably need to lay off the liquor.” He tells the other agent, not really caring for the man either.

“You forget who we work for, Daniels?” Vodka huffs, giving Jack the stink eye. “Not like you go easy, either.”

“Last time I checked, I took no for an answer, Robbins.” Jack turns his back after letting Vodka go and sweeps you into his arms, effectively dismissing him.

The room damn near erupts into applause, chattering all around you erupting out of uncomfortable silence, but you don’t hear it. You don’t even see Tonic and Champ escorting Vodka out of the ballroom with the utmost immediacy so the dressing-down can be vocal and private. All you see is Jack, and all you hear is Jack. Even as quiet as he is, the huff he gives as he scoops you up and twirls you away speaks volumes. “Jack, you—you didn’t have to—” Of course, if he hadn’t, you’re not sure you could’ve gotten away so cleanly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t think a thing of it, sugar.” Although he has a few harsh words rolling around for everyone who didn’t step in. It’s like they were waiting for something. Alcohol’s done made their brains addled. “Although my own apologies for manhandling you to get you outta that sticky situation.” Even though he’s apologizing, he starts to lead you in a dance.

“I really don’t mind.” And that is the understatement of the goddamn year, as you instinctively melt against Jack the second he starts to move.

“Still…..” There’s finally a bit of happiness to the evening and he smirks down at you. “Now you can say your dance card has been filled.”

“Could’ve left Vodka off it completely,” you grumble lightly, but you still end up smiling. When Jack looks at you in almost any way you just light up from the inside. It’s instinctual.

“Don’t know what got into him.” Jack huffs, even though he’s saved you from encounters like that before.

“His namesake, most likely.” He had smelled like it, at least. A fact which added no charm whatsoever to your encounter. “Really, Jack. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Jack nods. “Sugar, you know that I know you are a capable agent. You coulda mopped the floor with him, but I’ll always give you whatever help you need.”

“I prefer not to bring hand-to-hand combat to Champ’s front door if I can help it.” If you let yourself really chew on the fancy, you could imagine Jack as rescuing you like a knight in armor. Like you were his to protect. “Not sure how much he’d appreciate that, regardless of how capable I am.”

“I think you’d find Champ more forgivin’ than you think.” He snorts, reminding himself of his own major fuck up just a few years prior. Champ had forgiven him and allowed him to regain the trust and confidence that he had destroyed through his own bling grief and rage.

“Maybe.” Jack certainly knows your boss better than you do even after several years with the agency, so you’ll differ from him. “But I’m glad to not have to find out. And…” The rest of the thought gets swallowed, and you cut your eyes away from him in embarrassment. There are some things better left unsaid and normally you’re so good at keeping your mouth shut.

“And?” Jack frowns slightly, not liking that you are holding back with him. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“It’s nothing,” you promise him, shaking your head and acting like it isn’t the biggest, most honest confession in the world from you that sets your cheeks on fire and makes you even more bashful around him. “I’m just…glad I got to dance with you. That’s all.”

“You didn’t think you were going to dance out the old year without ole Jack now, did ya?” He sounds pouty that you would even think that.

"Honestly?" Shrugging slightly even with one of his hands splayed across your back and the other holding yours tenderly against his chest, you wonder how ever you ever manage to keep a damn thing to yourself with him around when your mind just sort of seems to melt in his presence. "I was going to split and ring in the new year in my bed with the book I've been reading."

Jack frowns and shakes his head, not agreeing with your plans in the slightest. “Now that seems like a waste.” He draws. “Mighty fine night to spend readin’ a book. You should be doin’ other things.”

"Not a lot of other options to pick from," you mumble, trying to force your mind away from immediately conjuring the mental images and repeated daydreams of doing just about everything under the sun with — and to — him.

Jack wants to protest that, but the song starts to close out and you almost stop in your tracks. Obviously believing that he will end the dance now that Vodka is gone and the set is done. Instead of dropping your hands, he pulls you tighter against him. “Is that why you wore a dress like that, sugar? ‘Cause you didn’t have any options?”

"Ginger picked it out." Wrongly assuming it to be an indictment of the choice, you frown reflexively and wonder why he's still holding on to you. The trouble is over and the song is done. Shouldn't he be finding someone better to spend his time with? "I know it's...it's not right. Flapper dresses are designed for women who look the opposite of me. But she insisted on sticking to the theme."

“Opposite of you?” He makes a face of utter confusion. “What are you talkin’ ‘bout? Dress looks good, fits you.” Maybe you have a shit ton of pins in the dress? His sweet wife would always have to pin her dresses to get them to fit right. Nearly every night they went out, he was helping her pin it just so.

Skinny is what you meant, but instead of saying so you just chew your lip and shake your head. Voicing that out loud would really just cement the ruination of the night and you don't want to do that. "Never mind," you insist instead. "I'm glad you like it." Even if he's just saying it to be nice, which you're sure he is, it's still nice to hear.

There’s something bugging him about the way you continuously quit talking and get around what you mean. The next song starts to play and Jack moves to that slightly faster tempo. “No one’s breakin’ in yet, sugar. So I’m keepin’ you unless you need a break?”

"No." Not from him. You would never, ever ask for a break from him. "No, I'm good." In fact, you've been so distracted by the rescue that you haven't noticed midnight creeping ever-closer. "I don't want a break."

Jack smiles, not the cocky smirk he adopts or the charming playboy facade that he uses on women like Tiffany. This is a genuine smile, one that makes his dimple show with a flash of white teeth and the crow’s feet around his eyes appear. “Then let’s dance, sugar.”

Champ chuckles when he sidles up beside Ginger with a fresh glass of champagne for each of them and his wife on his other arm, all ready to lead the midnight countdown after this song is over. "Took all damn night," he laughs to his co-conspirator. "And ya had to pull out the big gun with Vodka. But look at 'em."

“Man huffed and puffed at being used.” Ginger rolls her eyes and curls her lip. “But I promised him the Antarctic assignment. It will seem like punishment to everyone else and apparently he’s romancing one of the scientists down there.” Personally, she doesn’t see why anyone would be romanced by Vodka, but to each their own.

"It's for a damn good cause." Champ stifles a guffaw and even his wife looks amused at the way everything went down. "Everybody deserves to be happy, don't they? Even Vodka." It earns another snort from the older man and he aims a smirk at Ginger. "So what's the plan from here, Ging?"

“If Jack will get off his ass, there should be a kiss at midnight.” Ginger grins. “And maybe, just maybe, the dumbass will realize that it’s okay to want her. She wants him too.”

"Of course she does." Everybody knows that. Everybody with eyes and sense in their head, anyway. "He's just been stuck in the whole of his own grief for far too damn long. It's about time he broke free. Which is exactly why I went along with this plan of yours."

“I’m glad you did. Jack’s felt so guilty about actually developing feelings for Rye that he’s convinced himself that it’s wrong to flirt with her.” She takes a sip of her champagne. “When he breaks, it’ll be entertaining.”

"Entertaining for all of us." Grinning, Champ holds his glass out to his partner in crime in salute. "I sure as hell hope it happens right here for all of us to see."

Unaware that he’s being plotted against, Jack continues to hold you in his arms, taking you around the dance floor and trying to keep from asking too many questions that would potentially ruin his easy relationship with you. “Have you had fun? Other than Vodka? Your feet have to be killin’ you, all the dances you’ve been movin’ to.”

“It’s alright, I’ll have a hot bath and soak them. Aside from the one little interruption, everything’s been so nice.” This is the best part, without a doubt. Attention from other people is a novelty, the compliments and laughter a kind change of pace. But any time spent with Jack will always out do any other experience.

“A nice hot soak and a drink is always good to unwind.” Jack hums. “If other activities aren’t available.” The comment is warm, almost suggestive as he twists you around and then pulls you close again, feeling your softness against him and enjoying it.

It’s the worst kind of gut punch, hearing a comment like that from Jack, and your eyes are downcast when you curl back into his arms. It’s too unkind to be deliberate, but at the same time it’s such a careless comment that you just want to scream. He would never be intentionally cruel to you but the flirtatious tone of the comment is too much. “Maybe I should’ve gone with Vodka, then.”

Jack stiffens, frowning immediately and his blood pressure rises in anger. “What the fuck?” He hisses, the moment making him grip you tighter, almost the point of hurting you. “Why- you?” He’s at a loss for words right now.

“Well it’s the only offer I’ve gotten in…a year? Maybe more?” You shrug dismissively but his grip on you doesn’t allow for it, making your tone turn even more bitter in the process. He doesn’t get to get mad about who offers when he has no interest in himself. “Definitely more than a year, now that I think about it.”

“That wasn’t a goddamn offer.” He snorts. “It was a cowboy playin’ grab ass when his partner wasn’t willing.” He reminds you, dark eyes flashing angrily. “Otherwise known as assault.”

“And yet it’s still the only time any man has looked at me twice in more than a calendar year,” you hit back, practically hissing under your breath as embarrassed tears sting at your eyes. “Nobody’s exactly lining up to spend time with the fat girl except tonight which is Ginger’s doing. I know it is.” (edited)

The two of you are hissing back and forth, so preoccupied with your emotions that neither one of you are aware of the fact that the countdown for midnight has begun. The crowd around you starts to chant down from ten but Jack's too busy growling at you in anger. "Why are you so fuckin' quick to insult every goddamn person who decided to dance with you?"

“Because I know I’m right.” The two of you have never once torn into each other like this and while it breaks you’re heart, you’re so angry that lashing out is happening by instinct. It hurts so much more to be doubted by him and you can’t even express why. It’s devastating. “Do you even know what assignments they give me, Jack?” You hiss back, not hearing the shouts around you. “The ones where they need someone to be invisible! If they need someone plain and ignorable, they come straight to me. Do you know how much that fucking hurts? Because I’m good at it and that’s even worse than them just assuming. I’m excellent at not being noticed. At not being desired. It’s my fucking superpower. So no, I don’t think for a second that any of these dances were genuine moments of interest or offers for literally anything else. Because why would they be?”

His heart breaks and he's simultaneously enraged that you view yourself that way. "Five! Four! Thr—" He reaches up and grabs the back of your neck to yank you forward so your nose is less than an inch from his own. "You want a goddamn offer?" He snarls, losing all sense of reason when it comes to you and ready to prove how wrong you are. "Here's your fuckin' offer." Without another word, he drags you forward to plaster his lips against yours in an angry kiss.

It should feel terrible. It should make you so angry you slap him. It should make you feel a hell of a lot of nasty things, but instead what you feel is the undeniable melting of your own self against him, finally getting the only thing you’ve wanted since the day this infuriating cowboy sauntered into your life. Jack is firm under your hands, burning hot and intoxicatingly inviting in the way he does not pull away. You must have gotten so mad you blacked out, because this is impossible.

When you don’t push him away, when you don’t slap him, Jack growls. Using the soft sigh that you give to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth with another groan as the cheers and sing of Auld Lang Syne happens all around the two of you.

Either you’ve burst a blood vessel from being so angry and ashamed or this is the best dream you’ve ever had. Jack wraps both of his arms tight around you and you cling to him, fists dig into the arm of his suit jacket and the hair on the nape of his neck as you silently beg this hallucination never to end. You can live and die in this moment and tell yourself that it was more than a dream. You can imagine this is exactly how fiercely Jack kisses when he really wants to. When he wants someone.

The kiss has turned from an angry mashing of his lips against yours to a passionate mingling of your breath and tongues. You whimper and his entire body tighten with need. Overriding the portion of his brain that is screaming that this is a bad idea, that he is bad for you and continuing to kiss you as everyone else has moved into dancing now.

Neither one of you has realized that his hat has been knocked off, or that he’s drawn you so close your back has bowed, or even that you’ve entirely given up on needing to breathe in order to never have to stop kissing him. Years of repressed desire and soul-crushingly unrequited love are just being poured into every second you spend drowning in this impossible fantasy.

“Well damn.” Champ chuckles from his position on the dance floor with his lovely wife. “Didn’t expect that long of a show. Boy don’t stop soon, he’s gonna devour her right there in the middle of the floor.”

“That’s what happens when you repress your feelings for six goddamn years,” Ginger snorts in amusement. “Should I go interrupt them?”

“No.” Champ decides with a shake of his silvery head. “Leave ‘em. Don’t want the boy to get spooked before he makes up his mind what’s gonna happen next.”

“And he will.” Ginger agrees with that completely. Jack spooks faster than a newborn foal.

“He would, where she’s concerned. Boy has his heart in it and he’s been fightin’ it.” Champ agrees as his wife chuckles. “He will figure it out.” She promises. “Rye won’t let him walk away from this with a smile and a handshake.”

“I think she’d rather die than let him go, at this rate.” The smile on Ginger’s face is soft. Glad that her friend is finally getting everything she — you — have ever wanted. It really is only oxygen that makes the two of you pull apart, panting for breath with fingers curled into each other’s flesh and clothes like you’re hanging on for dear life.

Jack’s eyes are dark and searching as he looks at you. Looking for the answer to a question and when he finds what he’s looking for, he grabs your hand and starts to drag you off the dance floor.

“Jack?” The realization that that really just happened ignites a small panic in your chest and a riot in your mind, and the fact that Jack hasn’t let go of you or run off in disgust is only confusing you more.

He doesn’t speak, he can’t speak right now. The people on the floor just seem to part, moving out of his way as he guides you off the floor. He does squeeze your hand though.

“Jack?” The longer he goes without saying anything the higher the panic rises, but you cling to his hand all the way to the front door of Champ’s house where the front room has been transformed into a coat closet.

Jack doesn’t answer and spins you around to press you up against the wall, kissing you again. “Get your fuckin’ coat.” He demands roughly.

It’s a much briefer kiss but it leaves you breathless all the same, and the determination in his eyes makes you shiver and rush to obey. If this is what you’re going to get with him — just a few demanding kisses before he decides it was a mistake and turns you away? Then you’ll take it.

His hat is missing, Jack realizes when he goes to readjust it and frowns. Patting his head and looking around to see if it fell off around here, but it’s nowhere in sight. It’s a small price to pay, but he runs his hand through his hair as you rush back to his side. “We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t seem angry, but for the life of you there is no version of tonight that goes any further. Not in your mind. A conversation about how you shouldn’t have kissed him — or at least kissed him back, since you have a dim memory of his hand pulling you to him right before your mind went blank — or at least about how it was a mistake is bound to follow.

The second your hand is in his again, Jack is dragging you through the doors and down the stairs of the house to his Bronco. He’s parked close, thank god and he can barely get the door open before he’s grabbing your waist and practically throwing you up into the seat.

It shouldn't be a thrill to be lifted up and tossed around as though you weigh next to nothing, but there is something in Jack's singular determination and focus that tells you not to question or fight it. If he wants to manhandle you a little before whatever uncomfortable confrontation is bound to happen? Well, it's not as though you haven't literally fantasized about that scenario. At least now you have a frame of reference.

He’s holding onto his control, barely. Racing around the front of the vehicle and jumping in beside you. He can’t even talk to you as he starts the engine. Thankful that his place isn’t too far away as he throws the Bronco into gear and slings gravel as he spins out.

The most surprising part might be that he reaches for your hand as he drives. His fingers curl through yours and hold onto you on top of the gear shift, not letting you do your usual thing of shifting away or curling in on yourself in uncertainty.

There’s only two miles left to go. He grunts as he slows down to make the turn and your hand moves the shifter with him, making sure that he doesn’t squeeze it too hard as he goes through the gears.

He's driving to his own house. You've done this route yourself more times than you can count for a thousand different reasons. The apartment that you rent with your ample Statesman salary is well on the other side of Louisville and Ginger lives closer to you than to Jack, so it's not like you have any doubt where he's headed. When he pulls the Bronco down his long and winding driveway toward the large farmhouse he's called home for a decade already, your hand tightens slightly in his, nervous and wondering what will come next.

When he cuts the engine, there’s a half a second before he opens the door. Almost speaking but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s climbing out to walk around the truck to open the door.

"I wish you would say something." Even if he's helping you out of the car and holding onto your hand, you can't figure out what's going on in his head. Not having any clue is making you a little panicky the longer it goes on.

Jack stops, two steps away from the path to the front door. “Do you want to come inside?” There’s a fear that you don’t want this. That you are not on the same page as he is.

He's not angry. Or upset anymore, that you can tell. But the determination in his gaze is still there for something that you can't quite put your finger on. "Yes," you decide, nodding as you step toward both him and the house. "I do." Whatever happens, you're hopeful it won't be bad.

You said yes. Your words spur him on again and he’s off like a shot, dragging you behind him. The biometric lock is a godsend. There’s no fumbling for a key at the door as he hustles you inside and slams it behind you both, pressing you against it as he attempts to devour your mouth once more.

This was not the reaction you expected. Not in any way. Not even when he had kissed you twice at Champ’s house before hauling you over to his place with the fires of hell scorching his toes. Anybody else might have read the signals, but not you. Not with the surprised squeal you let out or the soft moan that follows it — both completely outside of your control.

You’re alone now and this time, Jack doesn’t keep his hands on your waist. Both hands grab firm handfuls of your delightful round ass and squeezes as he presses into you. His painfully hard cock grinding into the soft pouches of your hips.

Because of the complete blanket of disbelief you're living under, it takes you longer than you're proud of or will ever admit to realize what is pressing against your hip. It's the first throbbing twitch from under his perfectly tailored suit that has your eyes flying open and both of your hands pressing firmly on his shoulders, breaking the kiss as you gasp in surprise.

“What- I thought-“ Jack’s frown is one of utter confusion as he drops his hands and steps back from you. Hating the feeling of rejection and suddenly wondering if he’s made a fucking fool of himself by getting twisted in knots by a woman who doesn’t actually want him. “‘m sorry.”

"Why?" The incredulous question is out of your mouth before you can stop it, and the confusion marring both of your faces makes you suck in a deep breath. "I—I just—I'm surprised," you admit, as damned foolish as that makes you sound. Fucking shocked is what you are, but you don't want to be labor the point and ruin whatever is happening.

He feels foolish and embarrassed, like he’s been caught with his hand in a candy jar. Reaching up and running his hand through his hair, he blows out a breath. “You said you wanted to come in.” He reasons. “I- what did you think would happen?”

"I—I don't know," you admit, feeling even more ridiculous than he does. Your back is still against his front door, crying out loud. "I ruled out you still being mad at me after you kissed me again but I didn't think..." Gesturing at him lamely, you blow out a breath and rub at the back of your neck. "I'm not saying I want to stop, I was just surprised." If this is the only chance you're going to get with him? You're going to take it and run with it as long as it lasts.

He frowns again, wondering how you could want him and yet be surprised when he wants to take you to bed. “So what do you want, sugar? Because I’m feeling like a penny at the bottom of a pan, rattled.”

The expression cracks the tension, at least for you, and an unexpectedly bright and beaming smile graces your lips as you reach for him boldly and find to your own delight and continued surprise that he doesn't draw away. "What I want is...a long shot." It's more than that, but you're downplaying your own fears to a rather extreme degree right now. Trying to be brave. "But...what are the odds you were thinkin' about taking me upstairs?"

“House odds.” Jack rasps out, knowing that the odds are always in the house’s favor when playing at a casino. “Pondered the idea of strippin’ you down right here and making you squeal against the door, but then tossin’ you over my shoulder and haulin’ you to my large, luxurious bed also has its merits.”

You genuinely have to shut your eyes to steady yourself, exhaling long and deep and praying you aren't actually moaning out loud like you are in your head. As it stands, both images he paints have your knees weak and your body shivering. "Eith—um—either one," you manage to stammer out, eyelashes parting so hesitantly that they flutter like wings. "Either one is good."

“Sexy as you look, sugar….” Now that he knows that you are on the same page as him, a little bit of the cocky swagger is back. “Thinkin’ it’d be a goddamn shame not to spread you out.” Despite your stature, Jack tucks his shoulder and scoops you up over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, bolting for the stairs.

"Holy hell, Jack!" A nervous shout and a squeak escape you when he picks you up, and you cling to his jacket as he carries you through the house you've visited innumerable times before.

Chuckling, Jack slaps your ass with his free hand as he ambles up the stairs easily. “Don’t be nervous, sugar, I won’t drop you.”

This time you definitely do moan out loud, too taken by surprise to stop the sound or swallow it before it can come out of your mouth and you know Jack heard.

He grins to himself, slapping your ass again and is rewarded with another moan. “Mmmmhm.” He chuckles. “Rye likes a little bit of light spanking. Noted.”

"Pretty sure I'll like anything you do," you admit ruefully, though you're quickly feeling the constraints of embarrassment fall away as he reaches his bedroom door. This is real. This is really happening.

"I'll keep that in mind when I hogtie you to the bed and lick whipped cream off your body." He teases, kicking open the slightly ajar door and striding into the room to toss you down on the bed like a character in a romance novel. Right now, he doesn't know if he's supposed to be the hero or the villain, feeling a bit like both as his rough handling of you as him immediately reaching for your ankles to pull off your shoes in his eagerness to see you naked in his bed.

“See?” You huff at him, heavy breathing coming from nothing but an undeniable surplus of desire. “That actually sounds sexy coming from you.” Everything does, but his quick fingers are divesting you of your shoes and that reminds you how your Spanx is part of this undressing process — which is the single least sexy thing in the world.

Jack rips off his tuxedo jacket and tosses it down on the floor. Climbing up onto the bed and over you to press against you fully, pinning you down to the bed with a groan. Quickly capturing your lips again in a frenzied kiss.

It makes no damn sense to you, but you’re not going to question it anymore. If Jack could have literally anyone in the world but for tonight he chooses you, then you’re just going to make sure he doesn’t regret it. That decision on your part sort of pulls you out of your nervous shock, and all at once your hands are pulling open his tie and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt with enthusiasm.

“There we go.” Jack groans when you stop acting shocked and start acting. Your hands on his body makes him shake and he can’t help but rock his hips forward. “Sugar.”

He could probably call you whatever he wanted and you would just go with it, but hearing him call you Sugar — that sickly sweet name he favors so much yet seems to bestow on you so rarely? It feels like you might melt so deeply into his plush mattress that you will never get up again.

Moving from your lips takes sheer willpower but he wants to explore more of you. One hand bracing on the bed and the other sliding up to squeeze your breast as he kisses down your chin and to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat. “Driving me crazy, baby girl.” He coos, voice rough and lusty. “So goddamn pretty.”

No one who has ever met Jack would be surprised to learn how mouthy the cowboy is in bed. He’s mouthy in every other aspect of his life so frankly it would be pretty strange if this was the exception. Still, to hear those words said to you is beyond your wildest dreams. It’s surreal in the most sensational of ways. Even when you had dreamed of being with Jack, you had never dreamed of him praising you.

He groans when your fingernails bite into the skin on his chest as you hastily push the shirt opened. “Tigress, huh?” He growls, squeezing your tit again, a little harder this time and his hard cock pulses against your inner thigh. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’m just as goddamn eager as you. But ‘ole Jack likes a bit of wildness.” He bites down on your shoulder as he chuckles. “We’ll have ourselves one hell of a rodeo tonight.”

If you even knew where half this boldness came from, you might be a little embarrassed. But given the fact that you never thought this would happen, it mostly just feels like you're telling yourself not to waste the chance. Lightning never strikes the same place twice and this is your lightning strike, so you're going to lean into the whole thing if that's what he really wants. Your nails strike a path down his chest but get caught in his undershirt, a fact which makes you huff in frustration and search blindly for the hem to tear off that layer of clothing as well.

Jack groans and finally decides to give you what you want. Pulling back long enough to finish pulling his arms out of the shirt sleeves, he tears the undershirt off and throws it off the side of the bed to reveal his chest. Unable to resist pulling your dress down to pop your breast out and diving back down to wrap his mouth around a nipple.

"Oh fuck." It's a move you weren't expecting, but your back arches off the mattress instinctively to push your chest up and invite him to take and take and take — just as much as he wants to. If you were coherent enough to suggest it you would try to start wiggling out of your dress but as it is the only thing you can focus on is the heat of him surrounding you and the way every place he kisses you seems to catch on fire immediately at the press of his lips.

He suckles, bites and then licks the hard nub in his mouth like he’s gorging himself on you. Because he is. Hands searching for the zipper to your gorgeous dress. It’s beautiful, but it needs to be beautiful on his floor.

"If you want it off, you have to let me sit up," you manage to huff out, barely able to do more than pant at the way he's clearly trying to devour your tits first.

Groaning in protest, his lips are twisting in a pout as he pulls away. Panting breathlessly as he itches to launch himself at you again. “Hurry up, sugar.”

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the zipper, pulling it down and carefully undoing the clasp at the top before letting the heavily sequined cocktail dress slip off of your arms so you can maneuver it over your head. Half-naked in Jack's bed with panties so soaked you could probably wring them out is not how you expected to end this night, but here you are.

“Fuck.” Jack frowns at the tight shapewear he’s met with. “My present’s a little too wrapped for my liking, baby girl.” He hisses, curling his fingers under the layer to start stripping it off of you. “Want you naked.”

"It was the only way that dress was gonna look halfway decent," you mumble, shifting under him and definitely avoiding looking him in the face while he peels the Spanx off of you. It's a little bit too intimate even for the man you've wanted to be intimate with for years — to the point of making you feel completely naked even when you still have your bra and panties on.

He scoffs, nearly ready to whip his knife out and start slicing the material. “Bullshit.” He huffs, happy there’s just the bra and he uses two fingers to flick the four hooks open. “You don’t need nothin’.” Instead of explaining, he’s diving back into your tits while one hand dips into your panties.

“Fuck, Jack!” Instead of a tight reaction of shock, this time he’s rewarded with a moan and your legs falling open for him as the fingers of one hand dig through his thick hair to scratch along the base of his scalp. If he wants you to be bold, you’ll be bold. You’ll be whatever Jack wants as long as you just get to be in his bed for one night.

Jack moans against your tits, incredibly turned on by the pure moxy he’s always loved in you. Despite your utterly untrue view on yourself, you are sassy, sweet and sexy. That’s why he’s unable to resist now that he’s tasted you. Once he’s teased one breast enough, he switches to the other. “Gonna eat you up, sugar. Devour you whole.”

"All yours." It's sort of unintentional, the vow-like nature of the thing, but you're just being honest. You've really been Jack's since the day you met him. Even if it's taken so many damn years to get the two of you into this situation together, it's still the truth. "Whatever you want, handsome."

He groans, fingers sliding through the sweet slick that is covering your folds. “Want you.” He mumbles as he starts to slide his finger deeper, pressing against your entrance.

It's not even in your mind to ask why when he's splitting you open on two thick fingers like that, and you swear if that's how this night is starting you might actually ascend directly to some higher plain if you get to actual sex. "Ha—fuck— you have me."

“Mmmmmm.” He licks your nipple “Not yet.” He pouts, pulling his fingers back out of you to plunge them in again. “But I will, sugar. Cum for me and then I’ll have you like I’ve been dreamin’.”

The curse you groan out is nearly incoherent, more of an agreement than anything else but you'll be damned if you let this moment be anything less than memorable for both of you. Jack hovers over you and you wind your arms around him to encourage him to continue sucking on your tits while his fingers piston in and out of your pussy with determination. You know it won't take too much longer before your legs start to shake, and as if Jack knows it just as intuitively, he curls his fingers inside you and you gasp out a moan of his name.

His teeth nip at your sensitive flesh as he hisses. Feeling how tight your pussy squeezes his fingers and imagines his cock inside you. Tight and fucking scorching hot, just like he had imagined with his hand wrapped around his cock in the shower. “That’s it, pretty girl.” He coos before he sucks on your nipple again. Moaning when you arch up, writhing under him and making the prettiest, most desperate sounds he’s heard in a long time.

No one who has ever been in this bed has ever left it with any remaining doubts about Jack’s skills as a lover, and while you knew that before? Now you understand it oh-so-very deeply. His fingers pump into you mercilessly, curling at just the right angle to make you cry out in pleasure in every pass, and yet somehow he’s managed to keep the angle of that curl perfect while still holding them apart — stretching your eager pussy open and making sure you’re ready to take every inch of him. All of those intricacies combine with the dedication attention he is lavishing on your tits, and when the tense coil of restraint in your belly snaps it explodes into a thousand white-hot stars behind your eyes as you cum for him.

You’re gorgeous when you fall apart, just like he knew you would be. Keeping his fingers moving, he watches, enthralled with you as you cry out his name in a pitch that has his cock throbbing. The hot gush of your pleasure makes his fingers squelch inside you and he groans out your name while he starts to slow down the rhythm of his hand, letting you float down from your orgasm, drawing it out for you.

“Holy hell…” When your eyes open again you’re completely boneless beneath him, giggling softly at the light-as-air feeling in your body that never ever feels lighter than anything.

Dragging his wet fingers out of your cunt is his own personal kind of hell, but the urge to taste you is too great. Watching you with dark eyes as he slips his two fingers into his mouth with a lusty groan.

“Take your pants off.” The way you groan it is nearly an order but you definitely meant it to be begging, though at this point you don’t care. Especially when he arches an eyebrow at you and smirks. “Take your fucking pants off, Jack.”

Chuckling, he shuffles off the bed to oblige you. “Never let it be said I don’t follow orders, sugar.” He winks as he kicks off the tuxedo pants and hooks his fingers into his boxer briefs. “These too?”

“The fact that you even wear underwear is a shock,” you tease, motioning for him to continue stripping and trying — but probably not succeeding — to not stare.

He smirks. “Had to contain the beast for once.” He winks as he drags the tight material down. “Don’t wear ‘em normally.”

The Beast is probably as good a name as any, and you have to swallow a groan when he frees his throbbing cock — already damp with precum. It’s a wonder he can contain it, and you’re caught in between wanting to bend forward and taste him or just lying back for him to have his way with you. Curiosity and a curtain of lust win out on the short struggle, and you lean forward to take the purple head of his cock in your mouth just after he climbs back onto the bed.

“Fuck!” Jack moans out loudly and pushes your head away gently after a moment. “Baby, baby…” he pants. “You keep that up and this rodeo will be over before it starts.”

“Sorry…” Embarrassment burns your cheeks, and you shift back to get under his blankets. “I just had to know…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Jack huffs. Kneeling on the bed and pulling the covers away as you hide your body away from his eyes. “Just don’t want to embarrass myself by blowing my load because of your pretty mouth before I can hear you scream my name.”

“I already have,” you remind him, a softness in your tone belied by the heat in both of your eyes. “Guess I might have to be a little louder this time.”

“Only if it’s right in my ear.” Jack wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it as he reaches for your thigh. “Buried deep inside that little cunt and feeling like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

It goes without saying that you’re both clean. All Statesman agents are required to have clean bills of health in order to be on the roster for missions and you’re both active agents. “I—have an IUD.” Is what you tell him instead, shivering a little at the reality of what is about to happen.

Eyes lighting up in delight, Jack’s lips curl up. “Oh sugar, it’s not my birthday yet, why are you showerin’ me with presents?” He coos, sliding his hand up and down your ample thigh. “Pretty as a damn picture.”

The real answer is that you’re desperate to feel him, but you just smirk instead, not wanting to get your heart more involved than it already is. “Because I don’t have a condom and I’ll be damned if we stop now because of it.”

“If you want me to get one…” Jack motions back to his pants. “I have one in my wallet.”

“I don’t want the barrier,” you admit, biting your lip at the extremely vulnerable nature of that confession. “If it’s okay with you.”

His smirk turns into a wicked grin. “You read my mind, sugar. I want to feel all of you.”

You could make a joke about how much of you there is to feel, but just this once you stifle the urge. Opting instead to reach out and gently cup Jack's cheeks in both of your hands before pressing a soft, earnest kiss to his lips. "Then what are you waiting for, Cowboy?”

As you lean back, Jack follows you. Climbing up your body and groaning as he settles between your thighs. “You want to cum again, pretty girl?”

"Not without you this time." The reality of Jack is better than anything you thought so far. Since this miracle is surely once in a lifetime, you want it to be as amazing as possible.

Jack groans your name, pressing his lips to yours in another hot, wet kiss. Passionate and consuming as he pushes an arm underneath you. “I’m right here with you.”

As impossible as it seems, he really is. He is right there with you, taking you in his arms and making you feel delicate and desirable for the first real time in your entire adult life.

He doesn’t rush, although he wants to. Every kiss is slow and thorough. Reaching down between you to take hold of himself to notch at your entrance. “Hold on, sugar. See if we can ride for longer than eight seconds.”

“I’m not gonna buck you, Jack.” You can promise him that, because you know damn well you’re going to hold onto this moment for dear life and not question the gift that it is. This one little shining moment is just for the two of you and you’re never going to forget a single second of it.

His eyes are watching, burning into yours as he starts to slowly rock his hips forward. Breaking you open with the first inch of his cock and swooping in to kiss you again when you gasp.

The world slows down, motions stretching into time and blending together in ways that you can’t quite wrap your head around so all you know in this moment is Jack. Every time he thrusts forward again your moans get that much deeper, until on the final experimental rock of his hips, he is seated fully inside you and you feel so spellbound and grateful for the moment that you’re all but sure you could cry. Instead you pour yourself into kissing him, rocking your own hips slightly to take him more comfortably and adjust to the weighty feeling of having him inside you.

“Fuck, baby girl.” Jack inhales sharply, stealing your breath as he tries to rein himself in, throbbing violently inside you. If it weren’t for the fact that he had promised you a rodeo, he would be cumming, overwhelmed by how hot and tight you are. You’re perfect, just like he always imagined. “You be a good girl and take my cock, m’kay?”

Good girl is another one of those sticking points for you just like getting your ass slapped, and if Jack had no idea before, he certainly does now, from the way your cunt just spasmed around his length and you moaned like you were coming all over again.

“Ohhhhhh.” Jack’s eyes nearly cross and he gives a particularly sharp thrust when you clamp down around him. “You like that.” He pants out. “You’re my good girl?”

“S’not fair,” you huff, throwing him a playful pout that gets cut by another shaky moan. “You’re finding all the buttons I like pushed way too easily.”

“You haven’t - fuck - figured out my buttons yet, sugar?” Jack ducks his head down and slides the arm not underneath you down your hip and thigh to pull it up higher. Sinking deeper into you with a moan of your name.

“Liking to have your cock sucked doesn’t—fuck!— count,” you tell him, back arching as he hits a new angle inside you.

He chuckles and licks at your pulse before he nips at your skin with his teeth. Fingers digging into your pillowy flesh and groans when you clench around him again.

Finding a rhythm is as easy as breathing. Being with him is so much more natural and intuitive than you dreamt it would be. Your natural tendency to be a little rougher is equaled by his enthusiasm for making the bedroom a loud and raucous experience. There’s no hiding from each other or demurring, not once you get going. It’s like something inside you has finally been unlocked after a lifetime of waiting — waiting for Jack to come along with the key that would open you up.

If it surprises Jack that you are wild in bed, it’s probably the best goddamn surprise he’s ever gotten. His back burns from the raking of your nails when he hits deep. He fucking loves it. Your wildness makes him go absolutely feral over you.

It’s the opposite of who you are in everyday life. A version of you just for him. A version of you that leaves your worries outside the circle of your bodies and embraces sex as something carefree. Which, if you’re honest, isn’t really how you’ve felt about sex with anyone besides Jack. (edited)

His lips and teeth map every inch that he can reach as he pumps in and out of you frantically. Trying to keep the pace hard and fast because every time your cunt clenches, his hips stutter from how fucking tight you are. “Fuck, my good girl.” He growls. “So fucking tight.”

“So fucking big,” you give back, starting to pant heavier and more unevenly. There’s a whine forming in the back of your throat that you can’t hold back and you bite down on the juncture of Jack’s shoulder as your legs threaten to shake all over again. You’re so close to cumming but you don’t want this to end.

Jack changes the tempo, slowing down and grinding his pelvis against your clit. “You gonna cum for me, baby girl?” He rasps out. “Cum on Jack’s big ‘ole cock and soak me?”

"So—oh, fuck—close, baby." The way you feel right now, you might actually fall apart at the seams when you cum again, but it will be worth it. It will be worth just knowing first hand how gorgeous Jack looks when he follows you over the edge. "Don't stop. Don't fucking stop, Jack."

“Never.” Jack growls, smashing his teeth together and hissing at the way you claw and writhe under him. It’s like taming a feral cat in a pillowcase and he loves it. Your thighs are crushing his hips and all he can do is imagine them around his head. “Cum for me.”

A half dozen thrusts later, your cunt is clenching down on his cock and pulsing with a fierce orgasm that has your thighs tensing at his waist and your back bowing off the bed. Everything seems to be happening at the top of however it possibly could, and that includes the way you cry his name into the night before collapsing back into his sheets with your arms and legs still around him, willing him to follow you to bliss.

Jack moans your name, pants it again against your lips. His brow knitted in concentration as he tries to last. His body tightening and tensing as his pleasure builds to that almost painful precipice. His heart pounding, but not because of the physical exertion, but because of the almost loving look on your eyes. “Love you.” He moans, right as his lips crash against yours and he breathes it into your mouth again. “Love you.”

You freeze under him, but Jack is too caught in his bliss to tell. Like a bucket of water has been splashed over the bubble of this night and popped that shell keeping you separate from the world. Did he just...? There's no way. There's just absolutely no way at all. You must have imagined it. Wished for it so desperately that you hallucinated the words. Because otherwise you're not quite sure what you'll do — because Jack has never lied to you. But he's also never given you any reason to think your feelings might be requited.

Caught up in his orgasm, Jack rides wave after wave of complete bliss as he empties himself into you, metaphorically and physically. Giving you every bit of himself as he finally acknowledges the truth of why he has always kept you at arms length. His love for you terrifying him, but right now, he’s flying. Collapsing into your arms and panting out your name as he catches his breath.

There's nothing you can do with this shock except bury it, holding him and gently stroking his hair while he catches his breath with his head on your chest. You imagined it, you remind yourself silently, blinking back tears at how much you wish it was true.

The whiskey, the emotions and the exertion have Jack cuddly and sleepy as he comes down from his orgasm. “Fuck, baby girl.” He hums, kissing your neck as he slowly pulls out of you and shifts to your side to roll you over with him. “Wore me out.” He chuckles. “But gave a hell of a ride.”

He tucks you into his arms to be his little spoon, not letting you get away for even a second. Any other time? This would have been thrilling. "Get some sleep, baby." Returning the pet name seems innocent enough, and you reach back to run your fingers through his hair gently. "You earned it."

His eyes are closed when he shoots you a sleepy grin. “Talk when we wake up, sugar.” He promises, fingers stroking your skin softly.

That promise might be why you sleep so fitfully in the night to follow. Why you're so wound up that when your Statesman issued phone chirps from your purse on his floor around 6:30 in the morning, your eyes open immediately. Jack has turned over in the night, sleeping on his back now with one arm still around you but not so tightly that you can't extract yourself to answer the message. That phone is used only for missions and confidential communication, meaning you absolutely cannot ignore it. Incoming Message: Agent Rye report immediately for mission briefing. CODE BLACK. Code Black. You curse under your breath, careful not to wake Jack, and rub one hand down your face in dismay. That level of secrecy in a mission assignment means you can't even wake him up to say goodbye. You're supposed to speak to no one, just proceed immediately to the nearest Statesman branch for your mission briefing. With a sigh and another, more colorful curse, you shake your head and glance back at the bed where Jack is sleeping soundly. There's nothing to do but get dressed and Walk of Shame your ass into the office. You just wish you could wake him up to say goodbye.

It’s been years since Jack has slept so well. Deep and dreamless, none of the nightmares that often plague his rest. The soft scent of you surrounding him and soothing him like nothing he’s had in a long time. When his eyes open, he’s feeling like he’s had the best sleep of his life. Frowning when he doesn’t feel you next to him. Calling out your name softly in case you were in the bathroom. “Rye? Sugar?”

There's no trace of you anywhere. He may as well have come home alone last night, except for the scent of you in the air and the scratches on his back. It's almost an insult when he sees a fallen sequin on the rug where your dress had been tossed.

“Fuck.” Jack’s slipped out of plenty of beds, ducked out and kept walking. The walk of shame was never shameful when there was a little bit of pep to his step, but right now, he’s pissed. Pissed you didn’t have the fucking balls to wake him before you slipped off like a thief in the night. Snatching up his pants, he digs into the pocket for his phone, dialing your number and ready to have it out with you.

"Hi! Sorry I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I'll call you back as soon as I'm able!" Your voicemail message is insultingly chipper when it picks up right away, almost taunting him. Like you aren't willing to talk, when nothing could be farther from the truth.

“Fuck!” Jack shouts, throwing the phone and scowling angrily. Pissed that you aren’t here, that you apparently don’t want to talk to him. “Fine, you regret it? Fuck you too.” He growls and stomps into the bathroom to shower. If you wanted nothing to do with him after he had let down his walls last night, he wants nothing to do with you either.

******

"What's got you all chewed up and spat out today?" Tequila raises an eyebrow at Jack when he comes huffing into the office, a little late and a lot pissed off. He had expected Jack to be in a stellar mood.

“Not a goddamn thing.” Even though his feathers are ruffled, Jack practically refuses to even think about you. To the point where he had thrown the sheets and the costly Tom Ford tuxedo away. “Whadda we got?” Desperate to concentrate on a mission, he jumps straight into business.

"Wingman prep." Tequila tells him, tapping the folder on his own desktop. "Somebody got tapped this morning and Champ wants us to comb some old mission files to prep for an extraction. Plan B sorta shit." And since all of the mission-ready agents on the Statesman payroll are top notch with years of experience under their belts, anyone potentially needing an extraction from a mission is a big fucking deal.

“Who got tapped?” Jack asks, grabbing a file and flipping it open with a frown on his face. “Scotch?”

"I thought you'd know already." Tequila's eyes snap back up to Jack in concern. "It was Rye."

Jack freezes and slowly lifts his eyes from the file to find Tequila frowning at him, confused by how he doesn’t know. “Why would I know that?” Jack asks after a moment. It explains why your phone was off, but you had still slipped out without saying a fucking word.

"Because...you went home with her last night?" Everybody knows that you and Jack left the party. Absolutely everyone. There was a whole extra celebration after you left. "Figured you woulda known by her getting up this morning and all."

There’s a split second where Jack wants to snap that you had left him to wake up alone, but he doesn’t. What comes out of his mouth instead, is to deny the whole thing. “Took her home.” Jack shrugs, lying easily as if he couldn’t care less. “She wanted to soak in a bath and read some book.”

The frown on Tequila's face deepens measurably, pure confusion marring his usually chipper face. "Bullshit," he huffs, leaning back in his desk chair. "I saw you kiss her. No way."

“Believe what you want.” Jack snaps flatly. “Where are we in planning the back up plans?” The hurt is soothed slightly by you being called away, but it doesn’t make it nonexistent. You hadn’t even left a goddamn message for him. He could have seen not waking him if you had left some sign that you didn’t regret the night even happened.

"Early stages." Knowing better than to poke the dragon when he's mad about something, Tequila defers to work like Jack clearly wants. "Tell me what you think, but I think me on the ground and you in the Silver Pony is the best bet." Whatever happened between you and Jack, the man is clearly hurt, and Tequila makes a note to go and talk to Ginger when he gets his next chance. If you had said anything to anyone, it would be to her.

“Whatever.” Jack practically rolls his eyes and shrugs. Usually he loves the opportunity to fly and show off in the Silver Pony, but he’s so worked up over you that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “Guess that’s the plan. If needed.”

“If needed.” All Tequila does is nod, but damn he really needs to talk to Ginger.

******

Jack holes up in his office, barely answering the phone and not leaving it all day, not even for lunch. Catching up on paperwork that is normally never done as he works through not being at home. Not remembering how you tasted and sounded last night. He’s even refused to pull up your camera footage, not wanting to see what you are doing. He’s miserable and is determined to stay that way.

“Thought I’d find you in here.” Champ’s gruff voice cuts through the silence long after everyone else has gone home for the night. He knew exactly where Jack would be. Especially after Tequila said the senior agent was out of sorts. “Come up to my office, Jack. We’re gonna have a drink.” It’s not a suggestion or a request. This is a direct order from this commander, and Champ turns around and heads back down the hall knowing Jack will follow.

Jack sighs and sets his pen down, ripping the reading glasses off his face and tossing them down on the folder. He had stayed cooped up in his office so he didn’t take his bad mood out on anyone so he doesn’t see why he needs to be called out onto the carpet. Still, he pushes back from his desk and follows the older man to the conference room Champ preferred over his official office. The bar cart in here was better stocked.

“Pick your poison.” Champ tells him, motioning for Jack to sit down at the conference table as he strolls over to the cart to grab a bottle and two glasses.

“Whatever your havin’.” Jack wonders what this is about, but he doesn’t ask. Just waits patiently for his boss to get to the reason in his own sweet time.

Champ grunts slightly, grabbing a bottle of ‘74 Reserve, and brings it to the table. He pours two fingers in each glass and slides one over to set in front of Jack before sitting down beside him and taking a sip from his own glass. “You’ve been hidin’ today,” he assesses after a moment of silence. “But I hear you damn near took Tequila’s head off this morning when you got in.”

“Can’t have a bad day?” Jack asks, picking up the whiskey and staring at it before taking a sip. “Woke up wrong, that’s all. I’ll apologize to the crybaby later.”

“He’s not a damn crybaby,” Champ huffs, covering his own amusement with a scowl. “I walked by your damn office, fool. And when he did come talk to me about it, it was because he was worried about you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jack scowls and shakes his head. “I had a bad morning. I’m fine. Not gonna go off and try to kill all the drug users again.”

“Not saying you would.” Holding up his hands in a show of innocence, Champ leans back all the way and stares down his nose at Jack for a second longer before he shakes his head and shrugs. “But between you and me just these walls? Just thought you might wanna know that Rye got sent off Code Black, is all.” He isn’t supposed to say. Black is black. It’s too priority and top security. But you’d been so torn up this morning and Jack’s been so out of sorts in his own way that Champ has rightfully assumed that something fairly big must’ve happened after you left the party.

His jaw nearly drops. Champ never gives information away like that. He frowns, looking back down at his glass again and feeling relieved. If you had gotten a Code Black, you couldn’t wake him up. It would have been against protocol. He swallows and finally nods. “Good to know.”

“Just don’t want you stewing over it.” The older man says, watching carefully as he sips from his glass again. “You wanna be upset with anyone, it’s me. Not her.”

“Right.” Jack drains the rest of the whiskey and the crystal hits the table slightly harder than normal. “Anything else?”

“Nah. That’s it.” There’s nothing more that Champ can really say, and now Jack needs to process. That’s just how these things work. “See ya in the morning, Daniels.”

Jack stands. “‘Night, Champ.” He walks out of the room and back down the hall towards his office, looking down at his feet as he goes.

******

It’s two weeks before Tequila and Jack are given a stand-down order and told their rescue mission won’t be necessary. Mission success, they’re told with authority, even though it took longer than expected. They don’t get more than that, though, and Jack is walking past Ginger’s lab on his way out of the office late that night when he hears your voice again for the first time in weeks. It’s tired, and quiet, but unmistakable. “Can we just get this over with, Ging?” You ask your friend quietly, knowing that decontamination and a full physical are extremely necessary considering where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. But you want to get the hell out of here and finally go talk to Jack.

He would never admit it, but he’s been living at Statesman. Barely going home to change and often refreshing the outfits that he keeps in his office for unexpected late nights. On call the entire time in case you needed him. Now you are here and Jack feels like running away. So much self doubt had built up over two weeks, he’s driven himself crazy over every little thing. Obsessing over the details of New Years.

“Once you have a clean bill of health, you go storm the ranch or whatever it is you’re going to do.” Ginger teases, full of warmth. “But I would try his office first.”

Jack frowns slightly and wonders what the hell Ginger is talking about, storming the ranch. He almost pushes the door open, but he doesn’t. Just wants to see what you will say if you know that he’s not listening.

“It’s been two weeks, Ging.” The pops and hums and beeps of her equipment punctuate your voice from inside the lab. “Every single second I haven’t been thinking about this mission I’ve been reliving that night. And I could kill Champ for sending me away Code fucking Black before I could even tell Jack how I feel about him.”

“I know it was bad timing.” He hears Ginger sigh. “But hopefully it gave you some time to think about what you’re going to say?”

Jack’s stomach twists and he feels nauseous. Wondering if you’ve decided that it was a mistake. He swallows harshly and whirls around, not wanting to hear how you plan on letting him down or friend zoning him.

“I’m going to tell him the truth,” he misses hearing you say. “That I’ve been in love with him for six years, and that I’m done being a coward about it.” This mission so easily could have killed you every single day that it became something of an eye opener. Getting back to Jack had become the most dominant and driving force in your mind at times.

Walking down to his office has Jack twisted in knots. He’s never been a coward before but he damn sure feels like running. Playing back that night in his head over and over had made him realize what he had said. More importantly, what you hadn’t said back. Walking over to his bar cart, he pours himself a heavy double and bolts it down. He’ll get wasted after you crush his hopes but that was needed so he doesn’t beg like a pathetic wretch. He needs to keep his pride somehow.

It’s twenty more minutes before he hears footsteps in the hall and hears your tentative voice calling his name. “Jack?” There’s nerves in it, anxiety hovering around you despite your triumphant mission. But you appear in his doorway looking worried and chewing your lip. “Hey…you’re still here.”

“Work’s never done.” Jack huffs, plastering on a friendly but not too friendly expression. “Haven’t seen you around in a few weeks. Mission go alright?” It’s painful to see you in that doorway, looking tired and beautiful. Reminding him of how you looked before he had fallen asleep and lost you.

“I’m home and in one piece.” It’s what you always say, but at least it’s true. He doesn’t exactly look happy to see you, though, and that makes you falter a little. Not enough to shake your resolve, but your optimism that he’ll respond with joy cracks right away. “Do you…can we talk a little?”

“Sure.” He takes off his reading glasses and stands. Moving over to the alcohol again. “Want a drink?” He asks, not looking over his shoulder at you. He sees the worry on your face and knows you are concerned about your working relationship. What he will do will be accept your wants, wish you well and promise that he will not let what happened affect your professional relationship. Then he will demand a transfer to the New York office, permanently. You nod and he pours out two drinks. “What’s on your mind, Rye?”

“Well…you are.” It seems like such an obvious answer that it almost feels silly saying it, but he won’t even look you in the eye so staring at the beginning seems like a good idea.

“Oh?” Turning around is hard, but he manages to look curious instead of sick to his stomach. “Now why would I be on your mind, sugar?” The endearment slips out and he nearly bites his tongue as he carries them over to the small sofa area.

The message is loud and clear: it really didn’t mean anything to him. Regardless, though, you have to power through. If he really didn’t mean what he said and has no interest in being with you, you’ll request a permanent transfer. Chicago, Dallas, Los Angeles — anywhere but here or New York. Swallowing a sigh, you accept the glass from him but just hold it in your hands while you gather your thoughts. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk before I had to leave,” you start, trying not to let the warmth and proximity of him get under your skin so easily. But you can’t really help it. “I did the best I could for a message to let you know what had happened, but it wasn’t much. And I’m sorry for that, too.”

His facade cracks, the scowl as quick to vanish as it appears and he scoffs. “Message received, Rye. A lone sequin on the floor. Practically like it was a dream, except for that.” He tosses back the whiskey. “Can you just get to the part where you tell me it was a mistake, you don’t want to ruin our friendship or work relationship? Or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve settled on to tell me you regret it?” His eyes are dark and pained when they finally land on you, barely resisting the urge to flee.

“On the floor?” Your brow furrowed instantly, a frown painting itself on your lips, and you set the glass in your hands aside to shift closer to him on the little couch. “Jack, I left a sequin on your nightstand.” The choice was even more horrible than you had worried it would be, apparently, because he looks so hurt he could actually cry. A fact which makes you instantly want to cry as well. “A black sequin was the best I could do for a signal. It—it must have…blown off. Stupid fucking flapper dress with all that fringe. It must have gone flying when I left the room.” There was no other breeze, no window open or fan blowing. Only you could have sabotaged yourself like that.

He doesn’t believe you and shakes his head. “Why would you leave a black-“ he trails off when it hits him. Black sequin - Code Black. Trying to tell him that you had wanted to leave a message but couldn’t. Champ had broken protocol by telling him about the Code Black and apparently you had tried to signal the same thing. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You shake your head in resignation, blowing out a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want to leave. Especially not after…” Another shaky breath leaves the rest of you shaking in turn, and you shove your hands under your legs on the couch. This is the most terrifying thing you’ve ever asked a person in your entire life. “Did you…mean it? What you said?”

Jack bites his lip, wanting to ask you what you’re talking about but he can’t do that. You look distraught that he had thought you had just disappeared. “Yeah.” Jack admits quietly. “Look, I know that it’s not something you were expectin’ ta hear, and you don’t feel the same.” He rolls on with the emotions that he needs to get out. “I won’t be mad, or take it out on you. But that night….fuck.” He blows out a breath. “I got to touch you. Just like I fuckin’ dreamed of. And I couldn’t just let you think it was a heat of the moment thing for me.”

“Why do you think I don’t feel the same?” With your heart beating wildly and your shakiness only increasing, there’s a sort of explosive quality in your mind and body that you can’t quite figure out how to control. Like all you want to do is launch yourself at him for a kiss but you know you need to talk first. To get it all out in the open. To be honest with each other. “I—I honestly had no idea you thought of me as anything but a friend. I was…well…shocked is a bit of an understatement.”

Jack snorts. “I know my reputation. Hell, I crafted it. But I couldn’t flirt with you. It’s too- shit- you had me from the first time we met. I was fucking hooked and it wouldn’t have been right. You were a junior agent and -“ he shakes his head. “I was running from the kind of commitment you were made for.”

“Your reputation was built by a man who had loved his wife so deeply that he couldn’t bear the thought of loving and losing again,” you remind him quietly. You sure you hadn’t known that right away, but when you had learned about his wife and son, you understood implicitly. “But it…it never stopped me from falling in love with you. Even when I thought I’d never be more to you than an acquaintance. I considered myself damn lucky to eventually become your friend. I just thought…I thought the fact that you never, ever flirted with me…meant that it was unrequited. So I made myself okay with it. Until two weeks ago.”

“I respect you, Rye.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I didn’t want to make it seem like you were everyone else, because you weren’t.” It’s backwards and twisted, but no one ever said that he had defeated all his demons. “When I broke- I gave you everything.”

“More than you know.” A soft huff of a laugh escapes you and you shake your head again, willing your nerves to calm down even a little. “Just…please understand, Jack. That I’ve been in love with you since the second I met you. And the only reason I didn’t say it back the night we slept together is because I was so shocked to hear it from you in the first place. I thought I’d hallucinated what I wanted to hear, and then before I knew it we were asleep…and then I woke up to a Code Black.”

“I was upset.” Jack admits quietly. “Really upset.” He flushes slightly. “May have been thinkin’ some not-so-polite things until Tequila told me it was you who was slated for the mission.” He won’t tell you that Champ had broken the rules. “Convinced myself that you had run off to go save the world so you wouldn’t have to tell me that you’d had too much alcohol and that’s why you let me take you home.”

“Not at all.” Taking a chance, you reach for his hand and practically sigh in relief when he slots his fingers through yours. “I pretty much thought I’d died and gone to heaven, if I’m honest. I just kept thinking…if this only happens once, I never want to forget a single thing.” You squeeze his hand gently, wishing you could have said all this two weeks ago. “I’m sorry my message didn’t work. That’s…you have every right to think nasty things about me. I’m so sorry.”

“No I don’t.” Jack protests. “Not if you meant to be here. Not if you wanted to be here the next morning. Then it’s just a bad misunderstanding and I’m sorry.”

“Then I guess we’re both sorry.” He’ll never know that you cried all the way to the office that morning at having to leave him, you decide right now. It would only make him feel even more guilty and he doesn’t deserve that. “But I’m not sorry about what happened between us.”

“You aren’t?” He tightens his grip on your hand, relaxing slowly as you talk and he understands that this was one giant cluster fuck. He’s used to those, he can handle those. “That’s good, sugar. Because New Years was probably the best night of my life.”

“God, I hope you mean that.” Your shakiness is for more than one reason, although you needed to have this conversation first. Whatever the two of you decide will happen next is a decision made by both of you, not just you alone. “Because…Ginger couldn’t clear me…after my physical. I can’t go back on the list.”

Jack frowns, brows pulling together. “Why can’t Ginger clear you? What’s wrong?” There’s a number of things that can be fixed by Statesman tech and he’s worried that it’s something bad.

Your stomach churns with worry, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. The unmistakable advances of Statesman tech can do things that most doctors absolutely cannot, thanks to Ginger Ale, and you’re not sure whether to thank her or curse her. “It’s not that something’s wrong, technically,” you admit, giving another worried squeeze to his hand. “But we probably ought to have used that condom…”

Jack’s eyes widen and they drop to your stomach, discerning the meaning of your comment. You aren’t a liar and Jack would believe you if you said you didn’t sleep with someone else, but he’s confused. “Sugar- how?” He chokes out. “I got snipped when I joined Statesman.”

“When was the last time you had your sperm count checked?” You had made Ginger do the test three times, but the result was always the same. Your birth control failed and Jack’s second kid is already growing, if very slowly. “The chances of a vasectomy failing are less than one percent, but it can still happen.”

Jack frowns and then rolls his eyes and groans. “The chamber.” He remembers. “When I got shot and then- uh, put back together.” He shakes his head. “Ging said I might need to get it checked but I dadgum forgot.” He bites his lip and tries not to freak out over the fact that you are pregnant after your one and only time together. “What do you want, sugar?” He asks.

“Not more than you’re willing to give freely.” The answer is that you want all of him. Every single bit. Love and a life and a family. But you know that even if Jack does love you, he’s never loved anyone the way he loved his wife. And losing Maria nearly destroyed him, so he may not be willing to take that chance again. “But I…unless you really object…I’m keeping the baby. Even if you don’t want a commitment or anything. I just…you’re right about me. I want a family and if this is my only chance I don’t want to give that up. Especially not if I get even the littlest piece of you with it.”

“You think I would-“ he shakes his head. “No, I would never force you, one way or the other.” He frowns. “I was asking if you wanted to have a baby. And if you think I’m gonna sit back and let you raise it by yourself, you must have hit your dadgum head.”

“I want this baby.” It had only taken about ten seconds after learning it existed to determine that, even if you’re still grappling with the reality of it. “And I want you.” You inch closer to him on the couch. “However you want to be together. That part is up to you.”

“It’s been a long damn time since I’ve thought about being a daddy, sugar.” There’s a slight smirk on his face but he doesn’t make the obvious crude joke. “But I’m pretty traditional when you break it down. I’m not gonna want to be apart from you and our baby.”

He might not have made the joke but you still laugh, having made the sugar daddy connection in your mind easily enough. “I know it’s a lot, Jack. And we didn’t plan it. But…” All you can do is shrug your shoulders slightly, looking up at him with such obvious hope and even more obvious water behind your eyes. “But, I love you.”

“I meant it, baby girl.” He promises you, reaching out to caress your cheek and then cup it. “I love you. I love you so much, sugar.” Licking his lips, his eyes drop down to yours. “Can I kiss you?”

"I wish you would." practically beaming at him, you lean in and let the moment wash over you. Jack's lips against yours. His hands on your skin. His baby - your baby - is already starting to grow.

Jack pulls you close, pressing his lips against yours and groaning softly. “Sugar, you’re gonna have my baby.” He whispers against your lips in awe. “Just the one time, one time between your thighs and you are carrying my baby.”

“One time is all it takes.” You can’t help the broad way you smile, giggling softly against his lips as you steal another kiss.

“I don’t regret it.” He promises. “I don’t regret you.” He smiles as he kisses you again. “We really did shake things up for New Years, didn’t we?”

“Just a little bit.” Another laugh escapes you, and you lean into his side only to be rewarded with Jack’s arms encircling you and holding you close. “I don’t regret any of it. Except maybe not making my message a whole lot clearer.”

“We’ll get better at communicatin’.” Jack promises with a smile. “We’re partners now.”

“Do you want to go get dinner, maybe?” The end of a mission can be crazy even when it’s successful, and you just want to try to relax tonight. Especially with everything changing in your personal life too, apparently. “My treat?”

Jack scoffs and shakes his head. “You ain’t paying, sugar.” He huffs. “Not while you’re with me. If you want dinner, we can go out, or I can take you home and throw some steaks on the grill.”

“I kind of want to celebrate,” you admit, feeling silly about it even though it’s the truth. “If that’s okay?”

“Then we’ll go out and celebrate.” Jack promises before he frowns at something you had said. “Why would you have thought I would never be interested in you?”

“Because…” It feels sillier than the celebration thing now that you know the truth. Silly and even a little pointless, but he asked so you’ll tell him. “Because you flirted with every woman in the world besides me. Which Ginger said is how she knew you were interested in me. But I didn’t believe her.”

“You know you’re wrong, don’t cha?” Jack asks you. “When you said that you get sent on assignments to be invisible? You’re sent on the assignments you are given because you get the job done. Champ knows that if he gives you a task, it will be done.”

“Whatever the reason is, he’ll have to do without me for about a year.” It isn’t worth having a debate over your lack of self esteem with him right now, and you especially don’t want to ruin the mood by crying anything other than happy tears, so you just redirect the conversation altogether. “This baby is my top priority.”

“Our top priority.” He corrects you. He’s nervous, terrified really, but there’s no one he’d rather have a happy accident with than you. “Our New Year’s baby.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack Daniels x plus size reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Kingsman Golden Circle #new years eve #new years fic #idiots in love #pining #the love is requited they're just dumb

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arcan3-reliquary · 5 months

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VERITAS RATIO HEADCANONS (because we need more content of him that's him-centric)

And because you guys asked. Most of these headcanons are purely based on my readings of him or have 0 basis in canon, so if you don’t like them, feel free to scroll past them!!

fighting the war on autism on the side of autism. As a neurodivergent he's very nd coded to me, especially with the fact that he's a very caring person but terrible with emotions and words. He's losing the idgaf war so badly like there's no way a neurotypical person has a temper that short over the most (seemingly) inane shit

Kind of pasty. not just like porcelain skin, like clay-sickly-victorian-boy type palor. He tries to go outside more often, but by the nature of his job he's rather sedentary and inside alooot. He's perfectly healthy, he just looks like that. Same complexion as Freminet in my head, with fewer freckles and a tooth gap he likes to deny he has.

Wears the alabaster headpiece not just to deal with idiots, but to self regulate out in public. It blocks out smells, and dampens sound and light enough for him to tolerate some of the veeery overstimulating environments he visits.

For a man that values creativity explicitly, not enough people seem to believe he’d have an interest in the arts. So I think he's into sculpting. A chisel and hammer are very comforting weights in his hand, and while he doesn't particularly care for pottery or wet clay, he gets why it's so well liked. He uses himself as reference mostly because he's most familiar with his own body and asking others can be awkward or seen as weird.

The dude has extremely obscure taste in sci-fi novels. Like he will yap on and on about why he can't stand most sci-fi and recommend the most odd shit out there if asked.

Not really a hc, but he has very brittle self-esteem. It simply comes with the territory of being labeled “gifted” or “a child genius.” For years, a lot of his perceived worth came from the quality of his work or academic validation, and now his big reason for staying in academics isn't the knowledge itself, but rather the joy of teaching and sharing the things he knows.

Somehow both touch starved and touch averse. Contact must be initiated by him on his terms, or a shutdown will happen. But when someone he trusts does this, it's the funniest thing because he thinks he's being so subtle about his enjoyment of it. (Aven played w his hair once and Veritas passed tf out like that and Aven couldn't move for an hour.)

Chronic over-explainer. Either he misreads someone's tone and thinks they need the detail, or past conflict was caused by him thinking he didn't explain enough (it was usually just people being purposefully obtuse or daft.)

Unsurprisingly terrible to deal with when sick. Non-verbal, sits under a mountain of weighted blankets, and only communicates via the notes app on his phone or having Aventurine help him.

Ratio is terribly farsighted - just genetics. Lasic surgery fixed most of it, but he still needs reading glasses and contacts.

Intimacy issues alert. Vulnerability is scary and being put on a pedestal your whole life tends to make letting down pretenses a lil nauseating. Mortifying ordeal of being known and all that.

Girl Anachronism by the Dresden Dolls makes me think of him. I can't explain it. I think it's a combo of him being hella self aware of his issues but also just kinda treating them like something of a character flaw or moral failing rather than something he can ask for help with. Just a thought

AND THATS ITS IVE YAPPED ENOUGH ABOUT RATIO. The Aveenturine and Golden Ratio posts will come soon but for now have these. He makes me insane.

#dr ratio #headcanon #hsr headcanons #aventio

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redhead1180 · 5 months

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I see you

Pairing - JJ x fem!reader

Summary - After Y/N, JJ's best friend, has an embarrassing encounter with another guy, JJ finally decides to step up and claim what he wants.

Warnings MDNI - Cursing, embarrassing situation in front of people, oral (m & f receiving), degradation (r degrades self), self-esteem issues, unprotected sex (p in v, wrap before you tap it), creampie, praising

Words - 4.0k

A/N - I don't usually write fluffy smut, but here we are, and I hope you like it. I usually don't describe readers, I want reader to put themselves in the story, but this one is a bit personal. It's kinda autobiographical in it is similar to how my boyfriend and I got together. I NEED to thank @jjxkiaraxpopexcleoxjohnbxsarah for the beautiful moodboard she made for my story. I love u girl 😘! Did not get beta read, wanted to get this out since I have had it almost done for a month.

I couldn't stop the tears that fell down my face, as I drove to my home away from home, the Chateau. I probably shouldn't be driving, but had to get away from the embarrassment at school. God I was such an idiot for thinking that Brandon might like me. For the past month, he had been sweet, a little flirty, getting to know me, but all he really wanted was to get in with Kie. He wanted her, not me. Kie didn't like him already and when she found this out was probably gonna punch him, which did make me smile. Kie was my best friend and always had my back.

I finally pull up to John B's house and take a deep breath. This place always seemed to calm me or maybe it was my friends. My family of misfits I started collecting at the ripe age of 5. It started with JJ, I met him on the playground and thought he looked like a lost puppy with his big blue eyes, unruly blonde (almost white) hair, dirt on his face, and torn clothes. I remember asking if he wanted a friend and he said sure and we became inseparable. Then in 3rd grade I collected John B, another lost puppy, then Pope, Kie, and last Sarah. Well honestly John B collected her, but she was family now.

Wiping the tears off my cheeks, I get out of the car and head in the house. I wasn’t sure if anyone was home, so I grabbed a beer and went out to the back porch. And there laying on the couch, on his stomach, fast asleep was the original lost puppy, JJ himself. His dad was out of jail and he hadn't been to school the last few days, which was never a good thing. Again, a calm washed over me, stilling my mind, and momentarily squashing the rage.

Walking over to the couch, I run my fingers through JJ's hair and whisper a "scoot" in his ear. He grunts but raises his head enough for me to slip under him and sit, before putting it back down in your lap. You guys sit there a bit in silence, me sipping the beer looking out at the marsh while JJ slept. Eventually he begins to stir and rolls over to look up at you.

"What's got you drinking in the middle of the day, princess?" he asks his voice all husky and sleepy.

"Bad day" I grumble, taking another long swig.

He grabs the end of some of my hair, swinging it around. "Ok, tell Papa J your troubles, let's see if I can fix them." he teases.

"I don't think you can fix this one J, not anything to fix really" I mumble as I look down at him tears forming in my eyes again.

"Woah, hey, hey, what's with the waterworks" he asks, concern in his voice, as he sits up and pulls me in a hug.

I shrug "Just another miserable day in my love life, if you can call it that" I sniffle.

JJ stiffens a little, although I don't pay it much mind. He pulls back to look at me and asks "Um, what happened"

"Well," I sigh "Turns out Brandon didn't want to go out with me, he just wanted to use me to get to Kie" I turn to take another swig of beer. "He decides today in study hall, he would ask about if I could give him Kie's digits. When I asked why, he said so he could ask her out. I must have looked confused, cause he laughs and says, Oh you didn't think I was into you did you?" I down another sip of beer "I said Well yeah, he laughs, literally laughs in my face JJ. I was so humiliated I just got up and walked out. He hollers back at me, so is that a no?" I down the rest of the beer.

I finally look at JJ and he is red in the face and has a murderous look in his eyes, "I'mma kill him" he growls.

"I might let you" I tearfully chuckle "I mean what is wrong with me? I know I'm not as pretty as Kie and Sarah. My hair is this ugly red and I'm covered in freckles, I hate it. But fuck. I know I'm not as brash as Kie or bubbly as Sarah, but I like to have fun. I know I seem bookish, but that is cause I really want out of this town. I just don't see why guys can't see me." I throw my head back on the couch out of breath.

*I see you" JJ almost whispers.

I snap my head up and look at him. "What?" I ask quietly.

JJ stands up and goes to the porch screen and stares out for a minute, I'm about to ask him again, when he looks down, does a little nod. I hear him mumble "fuck it" and turns back to me.

"I suck at this shit, but here goes. I see you" he says "No you're not as pretty Kie or Sarah, you're prettier. They don't hold a candle to you, nobody does on this godforsaken island" He starts to pace a little, wringing his hands, as if figuring out what to say "Your hair isn't an ugly red, it's the colors of the sunset. The reds, golds, and oranges that people take tons of pictures of cause it is so fucking beautiful, that's what I see everyday when I look at you. Your freckles? They make your skin glow in the summer, like your some kind of fucking goddess." He chuckles, "In the winter they fade to more a pink and make you look like you’re blushing all the time."

"JJ-"

"No, shut up" he demands "I just sat there and listened to you fucking degrade yourself, so you're gonna sit there and fucking listen to me now." He takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Ok"

"Ok" he nods " As far not being brash or bubbly like Kie and Sarah, no you're not. You're feisty, temperamental, loyal, and can throw a punch better than most guys. I mean at 10 years old you threw a damn beer bottle at my dad and told him to fucking leave me alone. You have more guts than all of us put together. And yes, you are a blast to hang out with, I mean you can drink most guys under the table." He starts pacing again "Fuck I don't if we would all be friends if it wasn't for you. And I would wager your smarter than Pope, but won't say anything cause it's his thing. And do not ever fault yourself for wanting off this island"

I look at him with my mouth open, tears forming, but not cause I'm sad, but because I never knew anyone saw me like that.

"Do you know how hard it is to see you date other guys and help put the pieces back together for you, when I know, I KNOW, that I would never treat you like that." He says pleadingly "I have waited so long to be that next guy, and yeah it's my fault for not speaking up, but I am now." He comes and kneels in front of me and cups my face. "I want to show you how special you are and tell every guy to eat shit cause she's mine." He laughs.

I can only stare at him for the moment, my mind reeling from his confession. JJ is not one for sharing, even to me his best friend for 13 years. My emotions were all over the place. I felt tears well up on my lashline as realization slammed into me. I always loved JJ, he was my ride or die, but it hit me that I had been in love with him for awhile. I just didn't know it.

I must have taken too long, cause I saw JJ's face fall, he sniffed and looked down. He started to remove his hands from my face. I came back to reality and grabbed his hands. His head snapped back up and I smiled at him.

"JJ" I choked out over the lump on my throat "I didn't know, but I-" I took a deep breath "I want you to be that guy. I want to be yours."

JJ's eyes grew wide and he chuckled "Yea?"

I leaned forward and slammed my lips on his, I could tell he was shocked at first but it didn't last long. He wrapped one hand around the back of my neck and the other wrapped around my waist pulling me on his lap. I moaned as he slid his tongue over my bottom lip, asking me to open up. When I did, he slipped his in and our tongues danced for dominance. He slid his hand up through my hair, cupping my head and deepening the kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck, melting into it, his other hand grabbing the fat of ass and squeezing.

Air was becoming a need as my lungs begin to burn. I was feeling slightly dizzy, not sure if was the kiss or needing air. I pull back enough to gasp, JJ chasing my mouth and kissing me again. My panties were soaked and a needy throbbing had settled into my core. I rolled my hips over JJ's dick; he leaned his head back and groaned loudly.

"Y/N if you want to stop, tell me now. I won't be able to if we keep this up" JJ murmured against my lips.

"I don't want to stop" I rasp out looking him in the eyes. "I want you to claim me, I want to be yours."

"Fuck" he growled "Wrap your legs around me" he demands.

I do as asked and he stands up with me in his arms. I can feel his ab muscles flexing and his thigh muscles harden, making me swoon a little. He smirks at me as he carries me to the spare, which is basically his room. He lays me on the bed and lays on me with his arms holding him up so he doesn't smash me.

"God I never imagined this would actually happen" he says as gently pushes my hair out of my face. "I have dreamed about it, hell, I've jerked off to your pictures more than I want to admit." He chuckles, his cheeks turning pink. "I never thought you would want me and I didn't want to screw up our friendship"

"It's real J, it's happening"

I reach to kiss him and he meets me, claiming my mouth in toe curling kiss. His hands play with the hem of my shirt and he looks at me for permission.

"Yea" I whisper.

"Arms up baby" he instructs as he tugs my shirt off and throws it behind him.

He kisses along my jawline down my neck. When he gets to a spot on my neck right above my shoulder, pleasure shoots through me and I buck my hips up at him. I feel more than see him smirk and hear a whispered "There you are".

He bites and kisses the spot, leaving his mark, as I feel a fire start in my stomach and I am whining and squirming under him.

"More J" I whine out, "I need more."

He continues his assault down my chest, kissing the areas of my breast he can reach around my bra. I feel his hand slide under me and he unhooks my bra with one flick. I giggle.

"Pretty slick move there"

He grins, "I've might've had some practice" he teases as he rips it of me and it flies through the air. He looks and stares at my breasts for a minute mouth slightly open.

"God your beautiful" he groans as he latches his mouth onto one nipple and his hand kneads and pinches the other one.

I arch my back up to him, moaning from the heat building between my thighs. "J" I whine.

He trails kisses down my stomach to the waistband of my shorts. He looks up at me again, his fingers on the button.

"You still good baby" he asks, his pupils blown.

"Mhmm" I hum out, getting antsy wanting his mouth on me.

JJ unbuttons my shorts and pulls them off. He trails kisses up along my inner thighs until he gets to my soaked panties.

"God your so fucking wet, babygirl. This all for me?" He teasingly asks.

*Mhmm baby, only for you" I rasp out.

JJ kisses my covered cunt before hooking his fingers in the waistband of my panties and pulling them off. His hands caress my legs as they move back up to my hips. He leaves kisses along my legs until his mouth is back in front of my soaked pussy. He gently blows on it causing me to buck my hips and gasp.

"JJ" I gasp out, grabbing a fistful of sheets on each side of me. "Please" I beg.

He wraps his arms under and back over my thighs, pulling me closer to him.

"Please what, baby?" JJ coos at me. He is so close to my cunt; I can feel his hot breath against my lower lips. The mixture of his hot breath and the coolness from my wetness, gives me goosebumps and makes me shudder. The nickname causes me to clench around nothing and I hear JJ chuckle. With a feather light touch, he slowly rubs his finger over my lower lips.

"Please J I need you to eat me" I beg, rolling my hips to try get closer to his mouth.

He licks a strip from my hole to my clit and I loudly moan out. He moves my legs over his shoulders as he licks my ever-swelling nub. I realize he is licking two Js, certifiably claiming my pussy. I giggle and feel him smile when he realizes I figured out what he was doing.

His tongue moves down to my hole and I groan as he pushes his tongue in me. I grab his hair pulling it, the heat in my stomach growing with each thrust.

"Look at me baby" JJ commands.

I look down at him, staring into his eyes, almost completely black now. I watch him as he fucks me with his tongue. My core begins to tingle and I feel my orgasm close. I grind in his mouth, searching for my release. He moves back up to my clit, sucking and licking. He gently thrust one finger in me, I throw my head back and let out a breathy cry. He adds another finger, pumping both fingers in and out. I groan out, one hand pulling his hair and the other grabs the headboard.

"J I'm gonna cum* I gasp out breathlessly.

"C'mon baby, cum on my face" JJ moans, "God your so fucking sweet"

He curls his fingers hitting that sweet spot and bites my clit. I cry out as the band snaps in my stomach, causing me to clench around his fingers and juices to flow on to his face. He groans and I can hear him slurping up all my release like he had not drank in days. He rides me through it, finally getting up and laying down on me. His mouth and chin covered in my slick and he is grinning like a Cheshire cat. He snuggles in between my thighs.

"That was so fucking hot" JJ grins as he leans down to kiss me, letting me taste myself in his mouth. The kiss quickly heats up and I can feel how hard he is thru his shorts.

"You have too many clothes on." I pout, tugging his shirt. He reaches behind him grabbing the shirt and pulling over his head. I start unbuttoning his shorts and pushing them down his legs.

"A little eager ain't we princess" he chuckles as he gets up and takes his shorts and boxers off. His rock hard cock slapping his stomach and standing salute.

My eyes go a little wide. JJ wasn't extremely girthy, although it was big, but he was long the end curving slightly. He has the prettiest pink tip that was getting darker by the minute.

"Like what ya see baby?" He smirked.

"Fuck me" I gasped out in a whisper.

"Oh, I plan to princess” JJ smirks as he crawls up the bed. “I plan to fuck you until my name is the only one you scream” he kisses up my leg “until I have ruined you to anyone else” he kisses my clit “until I have kissed every inch of you” he kisses my breast, nibbling the nipple “until I’ve shown you how much I love you” he kisses me passionately, making me moan and thrust my hips up into him, and causing my toes curl. For fucks sakes, this boy knew how to kiss.

“JJ, please” I moan, “I need you inside me.”

“Shit babygirl” JJ groaned, “you can’t say that shit. I will blow my load, and I’m not ready to yet”

While he’s distracted, I flip us over and began kissing down his neck and onto his chest. I continue to leave open mouth kisses down his chest, over his stomach, nibbling along his happy trail.

“Fuck, Y/N/N” JJ moaned, “I thought you wanted me inside you”

“Got distracted” I mumble as I kitten lick the precum off his perfectly pink tip. JJ groans and his hands fly to my head, grabbing my hair. He pulls me up off him and back to his lips by my hair.

“As much as I want to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours,” he rasps against my lips, “the first time I cum with you will be inside you. Now you have a choice, ride me or lay down and spread’em” he growled.

I literally shudder from the amount of juices that gush out of me. He smirks at me, knowing he has me ready to explode, the little shit.

“Ride you,” I whisper as he pulls me up on his lap and I position myself to hover over him. I reach down and hold him, lining him up, I push the tip causing him to hiss. I look straight at him as I push myself down slowly, feeling every inch of his cock stretching me. Both of us are trying not to close our eyes in pleasure, not wanting to miss this moment. Finally, I feel his hairs against my clit, and I close my eyes and dig my nails into his chest. I moan from the feeling of being so full and I hear him groan “fuck baby”. I clench around him, causing him to moan and squeeze my hips. I pull up until just the tip is in me and slam back down, he throws his head back and hisses “fucking hell”. I slowly began to speed up my bouncing, another release quickly building up in my core. Placing my hands on JJ’s chest, I change the angle of my bouncing and feel JJ grab my hips and squeeze.

“Oh fuck, babygirl” he moaned, head thrown back into the pillow. I closed my eyes and felt him kiss my cervix. While I wasn’t looking, he wrapped his arms around my back and flipped us. I let out a yelp of surprise.

“What the hell, J” I fussed looking up at him. He gently slapped my thigh, causing me to clench around him and moan.

“Yea, we’ll explore that later” he smirked, “I wasn’t gonna last there, this pussy feels like heaven.” He breathed against my mouth, as he started to thrust into me. I moaned into his mouth as he claimed my lips, causing a fresh wave of juices to cover him. I wrapped my arms around his back, digging my nails in and, I know, leaving marks. He groaned sliding one hand to my hip and the other to grabbing my hair.

“Fuck Y/N, why didn’t we do this sooner?” JJ rasped out.

“I don’t know” I groaned.

“Har- harder, ple- please, baby” I stuttered out, the pet name making JJ groan. He put both hands behind my thighs and pushed them into my chest. I cried out from the new sensation, JJ slamming into me harder. I could feel the band in my stomach tighten as he thrust harder and deeper. I couldn’t form words, my brain mush, letting little “uh- uhs” every time he hit my G-spot. I scratched hard down JJ’s back, making him hiss, as my walls fluttered around his cock.

“You close babygirl?” he whispered in my ear.

I just nodded, words failing me. He reached around and used his thumb to rub my clit with little circles.

“Let go, mama” JJ moaned.

That was all it took and the band snapped. I cried out, arching my back, as my vision went blurry around the edges and all I saw was white. My legs shook from the intensity and my ears rang, drowning out JJ.

“That’s my good -fuck- girl -oh fuck” I barely heard JJ right before he slammed into me holding it. I could feel hot ropes of cum shoot into me as I heard JJ moan “fuckfuckfuck” in my ear.

JJ slowly began pushing in and out, riding our highs out, whispering in my ear “Fuck, you’re mine, you’re mine, baby” over and over.

“Yes” I gasped over and over until it was no more than a whisper.

JJ stopped and collapsed on me, still inside me, our sweaty, sticky bodies suctioning together. Both of us panting, trying to catch our breath. I ran my fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead.

“I kinda can’t believe we just did that” I giggle into his hair. He raised his head up, smiling, looking at me.

“Yea, me either. It was pretty amazing” he says leaning in for a kiss.

I smile into the kiss and giggle “Yeah it was.”

We hear the doors of the Twinkie, open and close, and soon hear Kie yelling my name. JJ pulled a blanket over us, but didn’t get off.

“In here” he yells and gives me a shit eating grin. I gave a him a confused look.

Kie walks in and jumps and screams, slamming the door closed. Then opens it again to get a better look, then slams it again.

“REALLY JJ” Kie yells, but you can hear the laughter in her voice. “I heard what Brandon did and was concerned for Y/N, but seems like you cheered her up.”

“Yup got it covered” JJ hollered back.

“By the way, I punched him for you” Kie hollered back. “Thanks” I yelled laughing.

“What the hell is going on?” you hear John B ask, simultaneously hearing Kie “No, don’t open!”

Next thing you see is John B with the door open, you burying your head and groaning into JJ’s chest, Pope behind him, eyes all bugged out. Sarah trying to peek between Kie and John B’s arms.

“Oh, hoh” John B grinned, while Sarah squealed and giggled.

“Guys, can we have a little privacy” JJ smirked looking at you.

“Yup, just glad it all worked out” John B smiles while closing the door.

I looked up at JJ, smiling “Yeah it sure did” as JJ leaned in for a kiss.

Tagging some moots: @haven247 @princessmaybank @rafescurtainbangz @rafesthroatbaby @pankowkisses @pankowperfection @babygorewhore @drewstarkeyslut @drudyslut @kraekat29 @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @starfxkr

#jj maybank #outer banks #jj maybank smut #obx #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader smut #jj x reader #jj maybank x you

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adamstnheights · 2 years

Text

I just want you to like me - Jake “Hangman” Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: You’re a bartender at the Hard Deck while completing grad school, which is how you met Jake Seresin. You and Jake began a “friends with benefits” type deal, using Jake’s aviation obligations and your education as reasoning why things couldn’t get too serious. Over the months, you have started to harbor deeper feelings towards him, afraid to speak up about it and potentially ruin everything you have with him. But when Jake returns from a two-month mission, your feelings for him reach a turning point in a moment of self-consciousness.

A/N: I’ve been slowly working on this fic for months ever since I got into Top Gun and TGM! I kept adding things and trying to edit and I finally felt ready to post! <3

Content: Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Self-Esteem Issues, Past of Bad Relationships, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Confessions, Jake doesn’t know how to deal with feelings, Consent, Smut, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Riding, Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fear of Dying, Fear of Rejection, Reassurance, Bestie Phoenix and Bestie Penny, Wearing Jake’s Helmet, Military Inaccuracies

18+ content, MINORS DNI!!!!

Word Count: 14.6k

“Oh, shit, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you cover your face with your hands and duck behind the bar. Penny looks down at you as you cower next to a stack of haphazard boxes, laughing. She looks out over the crowd of people, her eyes catching the group of aviators who just arrived at the Hard Deck.

“Oh, come on, get your ass back up here!” Penny laughs, yanking at your shirt sleeve. “Are you seriously hiding from Hangman?” She sings his call sign in a teasing, singsong-y tone which makes you blush.

“I’m not hiding, I’m just… strategically placing myself so that he doesn’t see me!” You whisper urgently.

“You’re ridiculous! I’m not paying you to hide down there and repress your deep feelings for a Navy pilot,” she says and you sigh, leaning against your thighs to stand back up. You try to act naturally, like you were just picking something up off of the ground.

“I don’t have deep feelings for him,” you mutter in denial as Penny shakes her head, smirking.

You met Hangman six months ago when he first arrived at the Top Gun base for training. He’d caught your eye the very first time he stepped foot into the bar with the rest of the pilots, but you had tried to keep your distance. When you began grad school two years ago, you’d graciously taken a job at the Hard Deck and Penny quickly took you under her wing. After all this time working at the bar, you knew that these pilots came and went and certain types—Hangman’s type—were probably not the kind of pilot you would want to get involved with. But of course, Hangman must have sensed your trying not to get involved and did everything in his power to get involved.

Every time the Top Gun pilots would pile into the Hard Deck for a night of drinking, Hangman was instantly leaning against the bar and calling for you. Normally, you get annoyed to no end at patrons calling at you, as if you were merely their servant to get them drinks. But the way he called your name was sweet, and sometimes he even added a darlin’ afterwards, only making you blush more. He never just called you over to demand drinks; he would wait until you walked over to him and he would lean forward—eyes twinkling, cocky smile—and say your name again so you could say back: Hangman. And from there, a night of across-the-bar looks and some cocky, not-so-subtle flirting would ensue.

It didn’t take long for Penny to notice your flirting and the rest of Hangman’s squadmates did the same. Over time, you became close friends with some of the other pilots, especially Phoenix. She instantly picked up on the way that you looked at Hangman, and soon, it felt as if everyone in the bar were urging the two of you to get together. Despite the cheering from Hangman’s friends when one night you finally allowed him to take you out after your shift ended, he made sure to take your hand when you were out of everyone else’s earshot: I don’t mean to force you to do this. Things with the crew kinda got out of hand and I’m sorry if you felt pressured by me asking you in front of everyone else— But you had cut him off by cupping his jaw, leaning up, and kissing him sweetly on the cheek. For once, you had made Hangman go silent in awe.

The two of you had fun. It was pretty much a friends with benefits deal; you knew before it even started that Hangman wasn’t the type to settle down or even commit, for that matter. But it was still more than any other fuck buddy situation you’ve ever been in. You’d spend hours in bed together, talking, laughing, and watching movies. Some nights your phone would ring and it would be Hangman telling you Let’s do something. And then the two of you would be driving down to the beach at sunset and walking along the shoreline and laughing and running back to your place and falling into bed.

You never could tell where exactly the two of you stood. Friends with benefits? More? The month before the two of you got together, you’d always see Hangman whisk some other woman away at the end of the night. His whole being was the definition of man-whore, and he couldn’t help but flirt around at the bar, especially when he was drunk and singing with the rest of his friends. Since you started spending a lot of time with him, you couldn’t recall any time he would go out of his way to flirt with anyone else or take anyone else home. But even so, you never really knew what to think.

And then he was called away. Well, not just him, of course. Some kind of a mission was in motion and Lieutenant Jake Seresin was called to be on the team. They would be gone for two months and you doubted that he would be able to stay in contact very much. Before he left, he didn’t bring up anything about what the “plan” was for the two of you and his silence about it only made you more scared to bring it up yourself. You’d gotten him all to yourself the night before he left and you didn’t want to ruin it by bringing up the worst question of all time: What are we?

He sent you the occasional text while he was away. You knew he was busy; obviously he had much more important things to focus on than you. But still, you couldn’t push down the pang in your heart when you laid in bed alone at night, wondering if there was any chance Jake was thinking about you. Two months felt like an eternity and you didn’t know if he would even want to talk to you when he returned.

So when Penny heard through the grapevine that the boys should be home in a few days, you completely shut down in self defense. You pushed down any rising hope you had that Hangman would walk through the doors and run towards you with his arms open wide. The plan would be to act as normal and casual as possible and not make it known that you were totally, utterly falling for Jake Seresin.

However, knowing that he’s right here in the room with you now, your hands begin to sweat and all of the confidence you had to not let Hangman distract you goes out the window immediately. You look at Penny and sigh as the booming voices of the newly returned pilots become louder. It was silly of you to have assumed the pilots would not be piling into the bar the second they got back to base. Rooster and Phoenix make a beeline to the piano and soon enough, the bar is filled with singing. You watch Hangman join in out of the corner of your eye, trying to busy yourself by rearranging the glasses behind the bar. Rooster plays a song and you watch as Hangman belts out the words, throwing his head back and slinging his arm around Coyote as everyone sings.

When the song is over, Hangman scans the room over but stops completely when he sees you. It feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him, seeing you after two months of being away. His heart swells as he makes his way over to you, clearing his throat and running his hand through his hair quickly.

You can tell Jake is moving towards you and you tense up, thoughts all jumbled, and now you have no idea what you’re supposed to say to him anymore. He leans against the bar, as always, and you look up at him slowly, casually, but the moment you meet his eyes you feel as though your heart is exploding. You curse Hangman and his stupid, stupid effect on you. Maybe you don’t notice, but Jake’s breath catches in his throat when he looks at you, but he pulls himself together quickly and leans even closer, his signature smirk spreading across his face. He says your name, like always.

“Hangman.” You reply, focusing way too hard on your voice not cracking.

Jake looks at you, his expression softening as the sight of you makes his heart soar. He suddenly feels a rare surge of insecurity; usually you’ll beam at him and play into his shameless flirting but instead you look shy, pulled back. Was something wrong? Before he met you, he could easily charm a woman into bed by the end of the night and if she happened to reject him, he was never bothered by it. He would shake it off and try again the next night. But with you, he could actually lose you. This terrifies him. He doesn’t want to fuck this up, and the slight change in your demeanor since the last time he saw you is beginning to freak him out. He tries to tread lightly.

“I missed seeing your pretty face, sweetheart,” he drops his voice low and looks deep into your eyes.

Your heart leaps but you try to play it cool. You raise your eyebrow and smirk, “Oh, did you now?” You can easily keep up with a night of flirting. It’s when the conversation lulls and you catch yourself staring and imagining your whole future with Jake that it becomes scary. The way Jake is leaned forward on the bar, he has to tip his head slightly upwards to look at you. He looks pretty gazing up at you through his eyelashes. He not-so-subtly lets his eyes dart down to your lips and you curse yourself as your cheeks grow red.

“Do you close tonight?” He asks.

“I do.” You want to throw yourself into Jake’s arms but you need to hold him at a distance. For now, at least. You’re not used to having him back in your life again. For the past 6 weeks with only the occasional good morning or good night text, your heart slowly broke as you had to adapt to the absence of him. You know it isn’t his fault, but you can’t help but feel guarded from simply opening your arms right back up again.

“Can I… Could I see you? After you close?” He looks down for a brief second, licking his lips nervously. You bite your bottom lip. Jake has always been sweet and respectful about asking. He would make demands jokingly and flirtingly, but you knew that he would not want to make you do anything you didn’t want to do. You can see that Jake really wants to see you, but he’s still asking. If you say no, you know he will respect it.

“Y-Yeah. If you hang back after, I’ll finish up closing and we can…” you trail off, not sure what you want to say exactly. You want to kiss him again, to feel the rush of tingles that his touch sends through your body, but you’re scared. “...We can take a walk on the beach.”

Jake breaks into a relieved smile, reaching his hand out to rest on top of yours. His touch is warm and you know how easily you can get drunk from it. “I’d like that,” Jake says. There’s a sparkle in his eye that you aren’t immune to so before you can stop yourself, you’re slowly reaching forward and pushing back a strand of hair that fell over his face. You take your time and your fingers linger in his hair. Quickly though, you pull yourself away and begin to make Jake’s regular drink, giving yourself a chance to catch your breath.

When you hand Jake his drink, he thanks you and goes to say something else, probably something cocky to ease the tension. But to your relief, Payback and Coyote call for him to go over and take shots with them. Jake gets up and goes to leave, but not before flashing you a sickeningly charming smile. You laugh and shake your head as he runs to the other side of the bar, his drink sloshing around in his hand.

The rest of the night treks on as usual. You and Penny watch as the pilots gradually become louder and wilder, celebrating that they all returned safely. Penny knows that every time you look over at the group, your eyes are only on Jake. As midnight approaches, most of the other patrons have left and the wildness that had encompassed the bar a mere hour ago has settled down. Most of the pilots, including Hangman, are playing probably their third rotation of pool. You try to ignore the way you grow hot watching Jake lean forward against the table, pool stick in hand, a look of utmost focus on his face.

“So what exactly is your deal?” Penny leans her elbows on the bar in front of you, blocking your line of sight to Jake and jolting you out of a fantasy.

“I— what?” You laugh out of embarrassment even though you already know Penny knows exactly what is up with you. “With me?”

“Yeah. You and Hangman. You’ve been staring at him all night, why not go over and say something? Anything? You haven’t seen him in two months!”

“Well— I’m working right now! For you! And I’m closing tonight. But for your information, I told him I would see him after I’m done closing, so don’t worry your pretty little head,” you smile, genuinely touched that Penny is this invested in your and Hangman’s story.

“Look, I know I was wary about him at the very beginning, but I can tell… He really likes you. I just know it,” Penny tells you, “I don’t know if he knows what the fuck he’s doing, but I’ve never seen him act as head over heels as he does with you.”

“I’m just scared,” you admit, “I don’t want to assume anything and get hurt, you know? What we have now, it’s nice and I’m content. I just don’t know what exactly he’s thinking about me. I don’t want to bring it up and… have it ruin everything.”

“Okay, so he hasn’t come right out and said it yet, but I think you’d be a damn fool to not notice the way he looks at you,” she smiles.

Of course you notice the way he looks at you, the way he bounds over to you when he notices you’re in the room, the way he so naturally puts his arm around you and holds you close. Still, your brain can’t help but convince you that he’s only giving you all of his attention out of convenience. After past relationships of always giving more than what you received, you can’t bring yourself to be vulnerable first. You don’t want to be hurt again. You know it’s your own insecurities, but you can’t allow yourself to give someone your all just to be let down and rejected; it’s humiliating.

Anxiety continues to rise in your chest. “I dunno…” you manage to say, “I guess we’ll see what happens later tonight.”

Penny shoots you a daring smile, despite you not meaning it in a suggestive way. She pats you on the back, “That’s what I’m talking about!” She continues cleaning behind the bar, getting ready to leave for the night. You’d be left to manage the bar for the last hour and a half before closing.

You live only a few blocks away from the bar in a cute, craftsman style house, so even at work, you’re never too far away from home. Everything in town is pretty close to each other. Most of the military-provided housing is only 5-10 more minutes away from you—a pleasant convenience you found out when you first started seeing Jake. If the two of you were spending time together late into the night at your place, he could easily gather up all of his stuff and get back to his place in a matter of minutes.

Spending the night at the other’s place, however, was actually a very rare occurrence; you always chalked it up to having classes the next day and Jake always chalked it up to having to be on base early the next morning. It never really bothered you, it just seemed like an unspoken boundary that the two of you established for whatever this is. There are only sometimes where you’re watching him get dressed in your room at midnight and you wish you had the guts to ask him Will you stay tonight?

Now, you’re wondering if you’re ready to have him come back to your place again. He’s in his usual tan uniform that flatters him to no end, but it’s when he’s all tangled up in your blankets with one of his crewneck sweaters that he keeps at your place on and his hair slightly messed up and falling over his eyes—that’s when you really feel yourself falling, hard.

Penny leaves and slowly the pilots begin to leave as well. Phoenix comes over and gives you a hug goodbye, promising that the two of you will catch up over lunch soon. She clicks her tongue and nods her head over to where Hangman is, talking with Rooster. You roll your eyes and she rolls her eyes back at you as if to say You’re so in love. You start to clean up, sweeping the floor behind the bar and gathering up the trash. You see Hangman and Rooster leave, making the bar empty except for yourself. You know Hangman will come back soon and your heart races thinking about him returning just for you. You wipe down all of the tables, restack all of the cups, and once everything inside is done, you lock up and go to take the trash bags out by the back.

The deck wraps around three-fourths of the bar and you exit to the side where the dumpsters are. The air is cool and comfortable. When you’re done with the trash, you linger a few moments leaning up against the deck railing, looking out along the beach. Your mind is going a mile a minute, excited about getting some alone time with Jake but also extremely nervous.

You feel like you can’t control yourself when you’re around him. Deep down, you know you’ll want to jump him the moment you see him, but after being away from him for so long your stomach twists at the thought of being that vulnerable again. Jake has never made you feel dirty or used, but memories of past partners and flings are stuck so deeply in your mind that you can’t help but feel insecure in sexual situations. The amount of times people have left you after getting you into bed, the fake caring about anything other than sex, the lack of respect under the guise of well we’re not even serious… it still haunts you. You don’t think this is the same, but how can you really know? There’s always a possibility of rejection, of them getting bored of you, not wanting to stay anymore. You’re not scared of getting naked and having sex with someone, you’re scared of the after—the room full of silence as you lay there and you’re cold and the kindness is gone and you feel used.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you answer it. “Hey, you.” You can’t help but smile, spinning around and looking for Jake.

“Didn’t want to startle you,” he says on the other line. You can see through the windows of the bar that he’s on the other side of the deck area. When your eyes meet, you can see that he’s grinning ear to ear.

“Get over here, cowboy,” you smile, making a come here motion with your finger that makes Jake go crazy.

“Is that an order?” He asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, it is, Lieutenant.” You hang up and start to walk around the deck, a little skip in your step as you hear Jake running and then he rounds the corner and sees you and he calls your name. He runs, his arms reach out to you and you jump into them, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifts you up. You squeal as your feet are lifted off of the ground and you bury your head into his shoulder until he puts you back down. He looks at you with his sparkly green eyes and a grin.

You hold your hand out to him. “Shall we?”

He takes your hand and you walk down the steps of the deck and onto the beach. Neither of you say much, but you feel as Jake gives your hand small squeezes as you walk, and you rub your thumb over the back of his. Jake keeps glancing over at you and you catch him glancing and you both turn your heads away, smiling.

“Why so shy, darlin’?” Jake asks, swinging your arms as you walk. “Am I too handsome to look at for more than a few seconds?”

“Oh please, I’m embarrassed for you that you’d even suggest that,” you nudge Jake with your shoulder.

“You’re head over heels for me, you just don’t want to give me the satisfaction,” Jake teases, but his face falls slightly when you don’t nudge or pinch him back. You just keep looking forward and walking. You are head over heels for him, but you just don’t know how to go about saying it. If you say it, then you’re putting yourself in the position to be left, and that’s too scary.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, Jake is having the same inner conflict. While on the mission, Phoenix had made a handful of pointed comments to him about how he needs to get off his ass and do something about his feelings for you. Jake had been too stunned to even ask how she knew about his feelings for you. If he had asked, she would’ve laughed in his face—it was so obvious. She had told him, You have her, Hangman. Don’t mess this up. Of course he doesn’t want to fuck things up with you—that terrifies him. He gets overwhelmed every time he sees you or even thinks about you. He’s never felt this way about anyone before. What on earth are you supposed to do with all of these feelings?

Both of you take your shoes off and dig your feet into the damp sand, facing out towards the dark, crashing waves. Then, you’re sitting down next to each other, looking up at the sky of stars. Your one hand is resting on your knees while the other is flat on the sand behind you, propping yourself up. You can feel Jake’s hand resting right next to yours and your fingers twitch as you lift one and touch it to his. Lifting your hand slowly, you rest it fully on top of his and he smiles at you. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re leaning your whole body into him and he wraps his arm around you as you rest your head on his shoulder. You close your eyes and listen to the sound of the waves.

You’re snapped out of your dream because you swear you hear Jake sniffle. Not wanting to alarm him, you slowly reposition your head on his shoulder and ask softly, “Are you okay?”

“I…” Jake falters. People in Jake’s life hardly check in with him or ask him what’s wrong. He doesn’t know how to respond. He especially doesn’t know how to respond to you. When you’re in front of him, he feels as though his breath is swept away and he’s left with a loss for words. “I don’t know. Can’t really… explain it.” He squints and tries to focus on the waves so he doesn’t start crying. He’s normally so sure of what to say, but not when he’s still so shaken up from the mission and doesn’t know how to tell you how he really feels.

“That’s okay, you’re okay,” you say, wrapping your arm around his waist and leaning into him more, “I’m here for you. You can tell me anything, even if you think you’re not making sense.”

“I’ve been pretty overwhelmed. The mission was really rough. I definitely got… a couple of reality checks. I did some stupid things under pressure. It wasn’t what I had expected at all.” He turns to look at you and his eyes are wide and he’s never been this vulnerable with you before. He swallows hard.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, “That must have been really hard.”

Jake nods. “Yeah…” he turns to look at you, a slight smile on his face, “I bet you think I’d never admit this, but it was tough. And I honestly…” was afraid of dying, “...nevermind.” He pushes his fears that almost reached the surface back down.

You can sense the sincerity, the vulnerability, in his voice. You sit up and face him, your noses close to touching. You gingerly touch and hold his cheek and lean in, your noses brushing, and you kiss him. It’s soft and comforting and Jake wraps his arm around your back to support you as you lean further into him. He smiles into the kiss and cups your jaw and he leans back slowly into the damp sand as you fall on top of him. His lips break apart from yours and you’re staring down at him, a pink blush across his cheeks, and he smiles up at you with his perfect, toothy grin.

Maybe you can’t tell, but he’s out of breath from the effect you have on him. You’re gentle with him. No one’s ever gentle with Hangman. That’s why he acts so cocky; he’s used to constantly being challenged and having to defend himself with a sharp edge—at the expense of coming across as a brazen douchebag who’s too hard to get along with. But you care about him and you don’t see him how everyone else sees him. You’re sweet and gentle and kind and plant kisses all along his cheeks and neck when the two of you are laying in bed. Your kisses can be hard and rough when you want them to be but usually they’re soft and sweet and Jake likes that. You’re the only one who’s ever put up with him for this long or listens to his stories and sometimes he feels guilty because of it. He feels that you deserve better. He thinks that trying to use his words to tell you how he feels about you will only ruin everything, because he’s learned over time that more often than not, when he opens his mouth, that’s when things go downhill. One day, maybe you will realize that Jake is not enough for you. He doesn’t know how he would deal with that.

It’s hard to catch Hangman in a state of deep thought, but it’s easy to tell when it’s happening. You watch as Jake looks up at the stars, his eyes darting around the sky and his eyebrows slightly furrowed. You wonder what he’s thinking about. You have no idea what went down on that mission, but you can tell it took a toll on him. You’re not sure if this is a good idea or not, but you pry. You run your fingers through his hair, and he lets you of course, and you say, “Jake, you can talk to me. About what happened on the mission.”

He shakes his head too quickly, like he didn’t even give himself a chance to consider that he can actually open up and talk to someone if he just let himself. “Nah,” he tries to say nonchalantly, “I mean, it doesn’t really matter.”

You frown. Maybe everyone else could allow Jake to brush away his problems, but you can’t. You move off of Jake and kneel in the sand next to him. Slightly confused, Jake props himself up in the sand on his arms, and you cup both sides of Jake’s face, gently but with purpose.

“Jake. It does matter. You matter to me. I care about you and I can tell that something’s off and I want to be… someone you can talk to,” you say firmly.

Jake feels like his head is spinning. He thinks, Are you real? He wants to hold you and spin you around and kiss you and know for certain that he will never have to spend a day without you again. He’s never felt so safe before. He turns his head slightly away from you, not knowing if he’ll be able to look you in the eyes and say this. He takes a deep breath and it feels like he’s about to leap from a cliff.

“I’m afraid of dying,” Jake finally whispers. He expects you to laugh or make some snarky comment—everyone else does it. But you don’t say anything. He can feel your eyes on him, but he doesn’t feel scrutinized or judged, he just feels seen, for the first time in a while. So, slowly, warily, he continues. “I know I always act like nothing bothers me and that I fly too perfectly to ever get killed in action but… I really could die out there. And I almost did and it was terrifying,” his voice cracks and you reach your hand out to take his and when he looks at you, he almost breaks down. “I was scared that that would be it. That I wouldn’t make it back.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” you say, “You’re amazing, Jake, I honestly have no idea how you do what you do every day. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be scared. You have a whole team of pilots who care about you, and I’m here for you, and I… I’m so glad you’re here. I’m lucky to be able to spend time with you.”

Jake blinks back a tear, turning fully towards you. You pause in case he wants to say something more. You want him to be able to tell you anything. His eyes are glistening and he’s smiling at you, pure adoration spread across his face. Maybe another day he’ll find the words to describe all of his deepest fears and insecurities, but for now he just squeezes your hand in appreciation and admires how the moonlight illuminates you. He doesn’t need to say it—you know he’s telling you Thank you. Thank you for being here for me.

“I missed you,” you say, giving him a little nudge.

“And I missed you, darlin’.”

Later, the two of you walk up to where the waves are crashing and get your feet wet. Of course, Jake tries to kick the cold water up into your face and you run away from him laughing. He chases after you, yelling your name. Running out of breath, you stop in your tracks and let him grab your hips and spin you around and kiss you. You stretch your arms up to drape them over his shoulders as he leans down into you. A moan escapes your lips and Jake grins into the kiss, holding onto you tighter.

“Mmm… moan for me more, sweetheart,” Jake purrs half-jokingly, letting you pull away from him because you’re giggling too hard.

“Nice try, Hangman. How about you walk me home?” You start walking in front of him and hold your hand out behind you. He skips to get back in step with you and takes your hand, his lips tingling still with the feeling of yours on them. He smiles, so utterly amused by you, and you walk hand-in-hand down the beach towards your house. He wishes he could figure you out easier; he notices how you avoid saying his real name, despite how his heart flutters when you say Jake, and he wonders if you’re doing it on purpose just to get his eyebrow to quirk.

After walking off of the beach, your house is only two blocks away. You’re starting to feel sleepy, but the way Jake’s thumb is rubbing the back of your hand as you walk is making you want him. When you reach your front door, though, a wave of anxiety washes over you. You turn to face Jake and he’s looking at you with a dazzling smile. You know this is the part where you either invite him inside or ask him to text you when he’s gotten home safe. His hand is still intertwined with yours but he’s standing a few steps back. He doesn’t want to overstep or pressure you—you know he won’t step forward without your permission. You want more than anything to pull him into your place and kiss him hard but you suddenly feel nervous, as if you’d never done this before. You close your eyes for a moment and swallow.

“Well… will I see you soon, Lieutenant?” You ask, mad at yourself for not just going for it. Jake’s expression wavers for only a second. He would spend every second of every day with you if he could, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t also nervous. The more time he spends with you, the more likely he is to eventually fuck things up. He bows dramatically in front of you and places a kiss on the back of your palm.

“You can see me whenever you want to,” he says earnestly, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

You step forward and lean up, kissing him quickly and leaving him breathless. You let go of his hand and turn to open your door, looking over your shoulder, “Text me when you get home, Bagman!”

Jake laughs, shaking his head disapprovingly. You wiggle your fingers at him in a bye-bye motion. He walks backwards down your front pathway so he can keep looking at you. He waits for you to step into your place before turning around to start walking home himself. You close your front door and watch from the window as he turns the corner.

You get ready for bed and as you’re exiting the bathroom, your phone dings on your bedside table. It’s Jake texting you I’m home safe along with a slightly blurry selfie of him in the mirror brushing his teeth. His hair is falling forward into his face and you feel like you’re going to collapse at how attractive he looks. You write back Looking good, cowboy! and you don’t see it but Jake’s face lights up when he sees the heart you added at the end. He will lay in bed thinking about every possible way he could tell you that he adores you, if only he had the guts to do so. And you lay in bed, scrolling through your camera roll, looking at all of the silly, caught-off-guard pictures you’ve taken of Jake where he’s grinning like an idiot and his dimples are showing and Oh, God, you’re really fucking wrecked for him.

———

The next day goes by like any normal Friday. You wake up, grab breakfast, and hop in the car to drive over to campus. Paying attention in class only slightly helps you stop thinking about Jake; he always finds a way to sneak back into your thoughts anyways. During your last class of the day, you have an exam, and you stupidly feel sad that Jake hadn’t texted you that morning to wish you good luck. You obviously hadn’t gotten a chance to update Jake on your academics last night, but before, he would always know what you were up to. If he knew you had an exam to study for or a paper to write, he would be your own personal cheerleader. He’d bring you coffee if you needed to pull an all-nighter, and he’d do a horrible job at trying to incentivize you: “For every sentence you write I’ll give you a kiss!” “Jake, that’s gonna distract me even more! I’ll never be able to finish writing if you keep kissing me!” You try to ignore the fact that you miss him like crazy and how you’ve never felt so scared to like someone so much before. You grip your pen tighter and try to focus on the exam.

Then, he calls that evening. Jake knows you always have off from bartending on Fridays. In fact, when he first found out, he started ditching the rest of the crew at the Hard Deck to spend time with you. He’d show up at your place, a huge grin spread across his face as he eagerly waited for the door to swing open. And there you’d be, just as happy to see him. Neither of you called these Friday night dates “dates” even though that’s what they were.

When you answer the call, you’re just getting back into the house after hitting traffic on the way home. You balance your phone between your shoulder and your cheek as you fumble for your keys, “Seresin?” Something inside of you can’t allow yourself to say Jake. It’s almost too domestic, especially considering most of the people in his life call him by his callsign. Ninety percent of the time it’s Hangman; people rarely call him Seresin, let alone Jake. When you think of his name, your chest tightens at all of the sickly romantic feelings you feel for him, and how you’re too afraid to find out whether he feels the same way about you.

“Seresin?” He emphasizes, half-serious shock in his voice, “Aw, come on, darlin’, what’s going on with you? What happened to Jake? Or, if I’m not mistaken, it’s more like Jaaaake—” he heightens the pitch of his voice, softly mocking the way you tend to moan out his name in bed.

“Oh, shut up, Hangman,” you snort, “To what do I owe this pleasurable phone call? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. Do have a bit of a problem, though. I, uh, ordered way too much takeout and I can’t possibly eat it all by myself,” he says in a tone that tells you he absolutely bought too much takeout on purpose so he could have an excuse to call you, and you can’t help but break into a huge smile. “So… I thought maybe you could come around and we could—”

“Okay. Yes.” You say it before you could even try to stop yourself. Jake is too powerful for your own good. Live in the moment, or whatever, right? What could be so bad about doing what you and Jake have always done? You know he must care about you, enjoy spending time with you. It’s just the little voice in the back of your head that makes you scared, but you try to ignore it. You want to be with him. “I just got home from class. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be there.”

Jake’s house is only a few blocks away, and the sun is beginning to set as you skip down your porch steps onto the sidewalk. As you get closer, you feel your hands get sweaty and you force your brain to decide whether you should let your heart lead tonight. Yes, you want to protect yourself, but you want Jake more than anything. As you turn the corner and walk up to Jake’s door, anxiety begins to rise in your chest and you try desperately to calm it down as you knock.

The door swings open mere seconds after, and an energized-looking Jake is standing there beaming at you. He’s wearing a slightly worn coffee-colored t-shirt and black sweatpants. You try not to choke at the sight of his strong arms, the veins in his hands, the way his fluffy hair is begging to be pulled at. You clear your throat and smile shyly back at him, almost embarrassed. Why are you so damn nervous?

“Well, are you just gonna stand there?” Jake’s right eyebrow quirks upward. “Cat got your tongue? You undressin’ me with your eyes?” You open your mouth to retort but just look mock-angrily at him, disapproval all over your face.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just fuckin’ with you,” he smiles sweetly, holding back a laugh at how you can shoot him such a cold hard stare at a moments notice, “Well, kind of. But if you don’t get your pretty self in here now, I will shut this door.”

“Oh, you—” You giggle and grab his arm to push him back inside when he bends down and picks you up, completely sweeping you off your feet. His arms are wrapped around your thighs and you squeal as your balance gets yanked from under you for a split second, but you know you’re safe and steady in his arms. He’s laughing as he slams the door with his foot and runs inside with you basically flung over his shoulder. “Seresin, I swear!” You cry out between laughs.

He runs around the living room couch with you on his shoulder, kind of like the victory laps he’ll do when he wins a football or volleyball game down on the beach. Rounding the corner of the couch once more, he slips just slightly and holds you tighter as he leans forward so you fall onto the couch cushions, only slightly painfully. He’s tangled up in you, one arm still by your thigh and the other hand is right next to your head, steadying his fall. He looks down at you and you look up at him, breathless. His eyes look to your lips and he takes his time to look back into your eyes. He raises his eyebrows just slightly, and you know he’s asking for permission. You don’t think you have it in you to say anything, so you cup your hand tenderly along his jaw and he’s leaning forward until your noses are touching and you feel his hot breath as he wavers there for a moment. You close your eyes and close the gap, pressing your lips to his.

You had kissed him last night on your porch, but you hadn’t given him much time to react. This time, Jake’s hand slowly drags up your thigh and to your hip where he holds you. His mouth doesn’t leave yours as he re-balances himself in between your legs so he can take his other hand and hold your jaw right behind your ear. His fingertips are gently massaging your scalp as he deepens the kiss. You let out a soft moan and he smiles against you. He breaks away, but his face stays close to yours. You hold your breath, eyes darting around his face.

“I…” Jake begins, letting out a sigh, “...am so hungry. For you, of course, but also for the food I got.” He watches as your expression goes from confused to exasperated, and you playfully hit the side of his arm.

“You’re evil!” You laugh as Jake peppers your neck with kisses and goes to stand up.

“Hmm, I like keeping you on your toes,” he winks at you and clicks his tongue, walking to the other side of the room where the kitchen area is. You smirk, shaking your head disapprovingly and following him. As he described over the phone, he definitely did get way too much takeout, also conveniently from the place you and him always go to and find yourselves craving. Your heart flutters for a moment as you grab two of the containers and take it over to the square kitchen table.

Another nice thing is that you and Jake can have moments of silence that aren’t awkward. When the two of you are at the Hard Deck or on the beach around the rest of the Top Gun pilots, you definitely play up your snarky, flirty comments at each other. The rest of his crew’s attention only eggs Hangman and his ego on, so he’ll follow you around and do whatever it takes to get a reaction out of you. But when it’s just you and Jake, there are more small moments.

You’ll catch him looking at you and his eyes will only light up more, his adorable dimples becoming more visible as he smiles. When you take walks along the beach, your arms will brush against each other and both of you will lean closer and closer until your fingers slowly intertwine and you feel a burst of warmth spread from your fingertips to the rest of your body. Jake will stop by your house in his truck on a whim and you’ll go on drives where you playfully argue over what music gets played, but Jake secretly likes when you play your music because he likes hearing you sing along. He likes his hair being played with, but only when the two of you are alone because Jake Seresin would not be caught dead with his hair getting messed up in front of his colleagues. His fluffy, roughed up hair is only for you.

You sit cross-legged in one of the wooden chairs across the table from Jake and start eating. You look at Jake as he’s in the middle of chewing and he gives you a goofy, closed-mouth smile.

“Thank you,” you say, motioning to the food in front of you with your fork, “I’m happy that you didn’t forget our…” you stop for a moment, and Jake raises his eyebrows in a half silly, half intrigued way, “...our Friday date nights.” Your voice trails off at the end but Jake heard you quite clearly and he lights up inside.

“Of course I wouldn’t forget,” he says simply, “Fridays wouldn’t be the same without you.” You blush and smile, finding it hard to maintain eye contact with him.

You and Jake catch up. You fill him in about your studies and he admires you for your drive and accomplishments, saying that he’d never be able to do what you do. Laughing and shaking your head, you say that you could tell him the exact same thing, asking him about the mission. He can’t go into too much detail, but says that he’s glad everyone returned safely. You maintain eye contact and nod as he explains to you all the ins and outs that you don’t really understand, and yet you find yourself smiling as he bursts into his passionate way of describing things.

Later, you’re helping Jake clean up in the kitchen when he walks up behind you and snakes his arms around your waist. The ticklish feeling makes you giggle and place your hands over his arms that are hugging you. You expect him to say something, but he remains silent. He slowly nuzzles his nose into your shoulder and breathes in deeply. He squeezes you just a little bit tighter.

“...Jake?” You ask. He practically shudders at your use of his real name. “Are you okay?”

“Just missed you,” he mumbles into your shoulder, “...A lot.” He turns his head and presses slow kisses on your neck, making you shiver. Your legs almost buckle from the shock that his lips send to your core. You can’t help but let out a low moan which only makes him grip you tighter. He gives you a small bite on your neck and drags his teeth down to your collarbone, pulling the collar of your sweater to the side.

“Ohh…” you sigh, reaching behind you to grab onto Jake’s arm. He promptly grabs you and spins you around to face him, pushing you gently up against the counter. His hands rest low on your hips and his eyes search yours. It’s your move now. Jake doesn’t want to be overbearing, he doesn’t want to make a wrong move and mess things up, he doesn’t want to do anything to make you hate him. He sucks in a breath and waits for what you will do.

You will push your deep feelings for Jake away and insist that you will be just fine when you pull him by the collar and kiss him back. You drag him over to his bed and lay down and grab at his hair as he kneels down between your legs and makes you feel good. You lean back as his tongue laps at you and his arm extends out to grab your hand and intertwine your fingers together. He pushes his tongue against you harder and squeezes your hand harder, and you squeeze back, shutting your eyes tight. When he looks up at you from between your legs, he has a fire in his eyes, dripping with desire. He licks his lips which are covered in you. His strong hands grip both of your thighs and press them farther apart as he latches his mouth onto your clit. You cry out and dig your nails into his scalp, earning a deep moan from him. His mouth leaves you once more and he glances at you.

“I— Is this okay? Are you okay?” He whispers, out of breath, his thumb lazily circling over your clit as he waits for a response. You moan because it feels so good and his eyebrow quirks upward, amused from watching you squirm under him. “Darlin’?”

You groan and grind your hips up against his thumb. “Can you… can you use your fingers?” You choke out, “Please?”

Jake smirks and you want to smack him for acting so cocky but before you can even try, he’s leaning up over you and holding his middle and ring fingers out towards you. You instinctively open your mouth, just slightly, and he slips his fingers in. You suck on them, not breaking eye contact as he looks down at you intensely. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth slowly and rubs a few wet circles over your clit, which you barely have time to react to before he slides his fingers down into your cunt and you arch your back and cry out, “Oh—fuck!”

“Hmm? You like my fingers?” Jake smiles as he pumps in and out of you, curling his fingers with every thrust.

“Mmhm,” you whimper, biting down on your lip. With all you can muster, you shoot him an angry look and pant out, “Oh Jake, fuck, please please use your mouth at the same time…”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake takes no time settling back in between your legs, lapping and sucking at your clit while his two fingers are curling inside of you. You’re moaning and grabbing at his free hand, he’s moaning into your cunt and the vibrations feel so good. Damn Hangman for knowing what he’s doing and doing it so perfectly.

“Fuck, fuck, keep going, oh my God,” you moan, managing to prop yourself up to watch Jake eat you out.

“Wouldn’t dream of stoppin’,” he mumbles into your skin.

He laps at you hungrily and you throw your head back. He doesn’t let up for a single moment, knowing your body so well. He keeps going and keeps going and he feels you starting to clench around his fingers and he keeps going. You can almost feel his cocky grin as he grinds his mouth into you. You can’t see it but his cock is hard and as badly as he wants to slip a hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and jerk himself off, he won’t because he’d rather be holding your hand as he makes you come undone on his mouth.

“Jake…” you strain, “I’m close.” Your hands are in his hair, pulling at it fiercely and digging your nails in, making him groan.

“Oh, fuck, please come on my mouth,” he moans. He holds you as you buck your hips into him and your legs writhe.

And suddenly, you’re coming and it sends sparks through your body and your hand shoots out to grasp onto Jake’s arm tightly and you choke out, “Jake—!” You whimper as he works you through it, fingers still pumping into you, slower now, and his mouth is soaked and he has the biggest, most content smile on his face. He places wet kisses on your inner thighs as you continue to shake.

As you catch your breath, Jake crawls up the bed to press kisses to your neck and you tug at the bottom of his t-shirt. He smiles and pulls the shirt over his head quickly, his lips back on your neck in an instant. You wrap your arms around him and he lifts his head up, looking at you.

“Do you want me?” He whispers. His hair is out of place, disheveled, some strands stuck with sweat on his forehead. He’s so criminally hot. You’re used to coming up with something snarky to compete with his own lines, but the way he’s looking at you so intently, you can only say, “Yes.”

That’s all he needs to hear and his lips are on yours, passionate. He holds your jaw and his other hand slides up your sweater and the two of you giggle softly as you lean up so he can pull it over your head. Your hands grab at the waistband of Jake’s sweatpants and he grins in between kisses as you palm him through his boxers. He groans and tries to remain his composure over you but his eyes flutter between being open and shut as he grinds his hips into your hand.

“Fuck, that feels so good, sweetheart,” he praises.

You dip your hand into his boxers and he shudders as you grip his cock. He rushes to pull down both his sweatpants and boxers, kicking them off quickly. You’re smiling at his eagerness and he catches your eye and laughs softly, leaning forward to kiss you again. You wrap your legs around him and shiver at the feeling of his hard cock resting against you. Your legs squeeze tighter around him. He spits into his hand and rubs his palm over the head of his cock, then slides it over your clit and down against your entrance.

Jake looks at you. He hesitates for a moment, which you only see as him teasing you like he frequently does, but he’s nervous. Something different about this time. Not that every other time didn’t make him go equally as crazy, fall equally as hard for you. He had been away from you for two months and now that he finally has you again he’s scared that maybe you don’t want him anymore, that you won’t always want to wait around for him. He freezes up and now you notice the way his eyes are wide.

“Jake…” You place a hand on his cheek.

“Sorry, sorry,” he shakes his head, “I—” he lets out a small laugh, “I’m kind of nervous, to be honest.”

“Nervous?” You smile, “You just made me come on your fingers. Hard. What… are you nervous about?”

Jake’s expression softens at your praise. “Whenever I’m around you I’m nervous,” he admits quietly, “You make me short circuit.” You’re surprised at the way he says it, no hint of humor or playfulness at all. You brush your thumb over his cheek comfortingly.

“You have no need to feel nervous,” you whisper. Then you swallow hard, adding, “You always have me.”

His eyes light up and he pushes you back onto the bed and his lips collide with yours. He pulls away and grips his cock, looking down as he pushes slowly into you. You gasp out at the feeling of the head inside and Jake wavers, watching your expression. It hurts a little bit, but you look up at him and nod fervently, urging him to keep going. He pushes in slowly and lets out a low moan. You shudder as you engulf him. He fits in you perfectly.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, rocking his body into you.

You hold him close as he fucks into you. With every moan and whimper that escapes your mouth, Jake’s cock twitches inside of you. He positions himself exactly where he knows he can hit the spot that makes you cry out in pleasure. Jake is panting, his breath hitching every time his cock disappears inside of you. You’re clawing at his back, pulling him close so you can kiss him again, and it’s erratic and hungry. You reach your hand up next to your head to grip onto the blanket but Jake grasps your hand with his instead.

“F-Fuck,” Jake groans.

“Jake—” you gasp as you can feel another orgasm slowly growing. “You—fuck—you feel so good, Jake.”

Jake’s body jerks forward at the sound of you moaning his name. His eyes flutter closed for a moment as he’s overtaken with the pleasure you’re giving him, groaning out a string of fucks and dropping his head into your shoulder. He keeps fucking you, just a bit slower. He feels like he could come at any moment. His thrusts stop and he kisses you. When he pulls away, your noses touch and you look up at him.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly.

“Y-Yeah,” Jake nods, swallowing hard and catching his breath, “Do you… fuck, can we switch positions, maybe?”

You smile, a twinkle in your eye that makes his heart swoon.

“Let me ride you,” you say.

“You can do whatever you want to me, darlin’,” Jake’s eyes are wide in adoration as he pulls out and watches as you get up and lightly push him backwards onto the bed.

You straddle him and he whimpers when you reach behind you to grab his cock. His hands are instantly glued to your hips and he greedily tries to buck his hips up into you.

“Fuck me,” he rasps. “Please.”

Any thoughts of teasing him go out the window and you sink down onto him, leaning your hands on his chest to steady yourself. You bounce on his cock, leaning forward so your foreheads are almost touching. His hands are wrapped around you and your hands are around his shoulders. You’re both sweaty and breathless, kissing each other feverishly in between moans. He holds onto you tighter and fucks up into you at a relentless pace, and you choke out his name in between moans.

“Don’t stop—oh my God,” you plead, bringing your hand down to rub fast circles over your clit.

Jake grunts in response, his whole body glistening in sweat, his brain becoming complete mush as he watches you move on top of him. Everything about you makes his heart flutter and his cock twitch. He can feel himself getting close so he stops bucking into you to let you grind your hips into him while you touch yourself. He watches you intently, lust practically dripping from his expression as you throw your head back, grinding into him at a desperate pace, your hands pressed against his chest. Jake could fall in love with you. Maybe he already is.

“I’m close,” you whine, “OhmygodI’mclose…” You bounce on him again and he bucks his hips to slam up into you at just the right timing.

“M’close too,” Jake murmurs, “Come on my cock, sweetheart, I’ll come with you.” You feel his hand on yours and he’s helping you rub your clit and oh fuck you’re going to come. You tense up your legs and whimper, your body jerking forward and your head buries into Jake’s shoulder as you come hard.

“Jake—!” Your legs are shaking and you’re whimpering fuckfuckfuck as Jake wraps his hands around your back and he ruts into you recklessly, coming inside of you as you’re spasming around him. He moans out your name and throws his head back and keeps thrusting up into you as he comes.

Slowly, your body relaxes and you lean forward and upward off of him, shuddering at the feeling of his cock leaving you. Jake is breathing heavily, his eyes half closed and his hands resting on your waist. You place your hand on the headboard behind Jake to gain balance and you shift over to lay down next to him. He grabs your hips and tries to pull you to fall on top of him, but you slide away next to him on the bed. Now you can feel yourself begin to panic.

You’re acutely aware of how you’re completely naked in Jake’s bed and you feel exposed and you’re not sure how to deal with all the feelings you have for him. As much as you want to believe Jake’s actions towards you are genuine, you can’t help but worry that he only sees you as someone he likes to fuck. You feel your whole body shivering in the bed and you feel uncomfortable and cold. Jake is breathing hard lying on his back, his arm still splayed out towards you, trying to get you to come back and cuddle. You’re antsy to get back home, to be alone and catch your breath. And you definitely don’t want to overstay your welcome, so you quickly roll over in bed and sit up, your back towards him, bending down to pick up your sweater.

“Wait, hey, what’s wrong?” Jake asks, propping himself up on his forearm. You make the mistake of turning around to face him, and you see a look in his eyes that you’ve only caught a handful of times before. It’s genuine, soft. Your heart aches just a little more for him.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you shrug and pull your sweater over your head. He reaches for your hand as you tug your shirt into place.

“Well… if nothing’s wrong, will you stay?” He’s staring at you with his wide, eager eyes. You’re stunned at his question, remaining frozen in place.

“Stay?” You try to ask him sternly, to challenge him, but instead it comes out as a self-conscious whisper. Jake tugs again at your hand, beginning to rub circles on the back with his thumb.

“Yes, stay.” He folds open the covers for you to climb back underneath with him. His eyes don’t leave you and he looks nervous that you might actually just get up and leave. His eyes dart around your face, trying to get a read on what you’re thinking.

“Do you… really want me to stay?” You ask, unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t just want to keep me here to go another round or something?” You curse at yourself for self-sabotaging and accusing him of something you know he would never do to you, but it just slipped out.

Jake lets out a laugh, moreso out of shock than humor. “What—? No, I really want you to stay here with me. I dunno, I was thinking we could maybe watch a movie later and…” His composure falters and he furrows his brows, hurt, “...Do you really think that I just want to use you? After all this time we’ve spent together?”

You frown, “No. I– I don’t know. I just… I’m scared that you just see me as a fuck buddy and one day you’re going to find someone prettier to take home because you could find so much better and then you’ll completely forget about me.” You swallow hard, not expecting to lay everything out on the line. Hot tears sting your eyes as Jake sits up and pulls you closer to him. You’re both sitting cross-legged, facing each other. You keep babbling in an attempt to stop yourself from crying, “I mean, we never really talked about what we were before you left and so I wasn’t sure if you would just want to be done and when you were gone I missed you so much and I realized how much you mean to me but I got scared that you wouldn’t… I– I just want you to like me.”

Jake lets out the breath he was holding in, trying to hold back the elated feeling he has knowing that your feelings are the same as his. “Do you not see how I look at you every time you’re around?” He asks quietly, brushing his thumb across your cheek and looking into your eyes. This time, you don’t look away and you let yourself get lost in his gaze. You see the softness in his smile. “You- I swear to you, you’re the only woman that’s been on my mind ever since we met. I know how I can be, I know the stories the other guys probably told you when we first met, but I promise I just want you.” You don’t say anything so he squeezes your hand with emphasis, “I like you. So much.”

Now the tears actually fall, but only because you’re so overcome with emotion. Jake had never said anything so vulnerable to you before and you hold his arm as he cups your face and kisses you, slow and gentle. When he pulls away, he brushes the tears from your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Jake says, “I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything to you before I left. I… I’m not very good at expressing my feelings. I got scared that I’ll say something wrong if I try, and that I’ll just fuck everything up. I’m not used to this, to feeling so happy with someone. I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you. I guess I was just too scared to tell you, that maybe you would want someone better. But I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t want you.”

“Oh,” you say, looking down at your lap for a moment. When you look back at Jake, his eyes are shiny with tears, as are yours, but you’re both smiling. Jake’s dimples make your heart soar. “I guess we were both being kind of silly. I would never—” your voice cracks a bit, “I would never want someone else. I want you. I was just nervous that I… couldn’t call you mine.”

“I’m yours, I’ve been yours since the first night we met,” Jake smiles. He looks up at the ceiling, pondering for a second, “Well… maybe the second night.” A devilish smile spreads across his face.

“Wait, what?” You exclaim in mock hurt, grabbing his arm, “What do you mean? What did I do the first night?” You’re giggling as he pulls you into his arms.

“No, no, I—” he’s laughing, at how silly what he’s about to say is, and because he’s in total euphoria knowing that everything is good with you, “I… okay, look, I know I was really pestering you that night. I was drunk—”

“You were very drunk, Seresin,” you scold him playfully, resting your chin on his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, it was pretty bad,” he admits, “and you know me, I uh, probably came on pretty strongly…”

“That’s why I was trying my best to ignore you,” you giggle, pressing kisses on his chest. “Jake. You were so horny.”

He turns red, shaking his head and laughing, running his hands up and down your back. “I was so drunk and I think I took your rejection—which, by the way, I completely understand—really personally. Like when Coyote dragged me home I think I was crying because I was so upset. And he was like ‘Dude, you have got to stop acting like a slut in front of a woman you’re trying to impress.’ I was sure I’d have no chance with you again, so I almost just tried to give it all up.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t give it up.”

“The next night, the moment I saw you again, everything else just went out the door. You wouldn’t leave my mind. And when you smiled and laughed at my jokes, and actually enjoyed my dumb flirting, I was head over heels. It’s always been you, my dear.”

You lean up to kiss him. “You’ve always had me. Since the very first night.”

Jake beams.

———

“Hey, darlin’.”

You’re curled up on the couch in Jake’s living room under a huge fuzzy blanket; all of the lights are off except for the light coming from the television, turned down to volume 4. You look up and see Jake smiling at you, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. He walks over to the couch and gets under the blanket, sitting next to where you’re laying. You scoot down and snuggle against him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you whisper. It’s currently 5 am. “I know you had to get up in an hour or so to get on base so I was praying I wouldn’t wake you up before—”

You’re cut off by Jake shifting his body to face you, and he takes your hands in his. “No need to apologize,” he says, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile, “I woke up in a drunken sweat and I chugged a bunch of water and then I was too awake to fall back asleep so I just stayed in here.” Jake laughs softly and squeezes your hands.

It’s been a week since you told Jake about your feelings for him and he told you his. You both laughed at how silly you both had assumed the worst about how the other felt and promptly decided to become exclusive—what both of you have wanted since before Jake even left for the mission. Jake was elated, knowing that he could now walk around and call you his girlfriend, his partner.

Usually at the Hard Deck, you and Jake would purposefully play up the flirting, partially to get reactions out of the other aviators. You had always been too shy to do anything too tender, too gentle, in front of everyone else because you weren’t sure if that’s what the two of you were. But last night, when Jake and the rest of the Dagger Squad arrived at the Hard Deck during your shift, he didn’t hold back. When you walked over to his table to hand everyone their drinks, Jake had snaked his arm around your waist and kissed you sweetly, catching you off guard. When you both pulled away, everyone’s eyes were on you. Rooster had looked over at Coyote, whose eyebrows had shot up. Phoenix sat there with her mouth wide open, and Payback nudged at Bob and Fanboy to stop playing pool.

“Am I… missing something? A new development of sorts… perhaps?” Phoenix drawled teasingly. Bob was giggling, covering his mouth with his hand, and everyone else was staring, blinking, waiting to see what you or Hangman would say.

“What?” Jake had quipped, acting exasperated. “Can’t I kiss my girlfriend in public?”

Everyone’s expression then turned to excitement and they all started exclaiming at the same time, but you were smiling too widely at Jake to even hear any of them. He saw your happiness and winked, kissing you again. His girlfriend. You were on cloud nine.

Since putting a label on things, the two of you also finally started spending the night together. You’d switch up whose place it was at, but there was no longer an awkward feeling of having to gather up your things to “head back home.” Whether you were at your place or Jake’s, you were at home. It only mattered that you were in his company.

Last night, after stumbling back to Jake’s place (he wasn’t as drunk as you, although you remember him stumbling just as badly as you were up the steps to the house), you’d fallen asleep on top of Jake in a tangled, drunken mess. You woke up mere hours later, sweating all of the alcohol off and having a pounding headache. You’d drank some water and ate some leftovers from the fridge and suddenly felt full of energy, thus why you chose to stay on the couch in the main room instead of returning to bed.

“But you’re feeling alright now?” Jake asks you.

You nod and lean on his shoulder, laying your hand on his chest. “Yeah, I feel good now. I just feel really awake. I don’t think I’ll be able to get back to bed at this rate.”

Jake hums as his arm is wrapped around you and his thumb rubs over your shoulder comfortingly. The room is silent for a few moments and you’re focused on how Jake smells like amber and firewood. Then, you feel Jake shift his body to look at you, and you lift your head off of his shoulder to meet his eyes.

“What if we did something?” Jake asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Right now, let’s do somethin’!” He flings the blanket off of him and stands up, grabbing his keychain and watching amusedly as you cock your eyebrow at him. “I have an idea,” he says, holding his hand out to you. “Trust me?”

Of course you do. You take his hand.

You’re in the passenger seat of Jake’s truck and have no idea where you’re going. You roll the window down and let the cool, early morning air hit your face. You catch Jake glance over at you multiple times, every time you hit a stop sign without fail. You look back at him, each time, fighting the urge to lean forward and pull him in for a kiss like a giddy teenager.

Jake keeps driving and then he makes a turn that makes you realize he’s driving onto the base. You turn to look at him, quirking your eyebrow upwards and smiling as if to say What are you planning, Seresin? He pulls into a spot near the hangar and shoots you a devilish grin as you both get out of the truck. You run around the side of the truck to stay by his side, never having been here before, obviously. He’s grinning like an idiot; he was just sleeping a mere thirty minutes ago but now he looks like he has twice the energy as you. He holds out his hand to you and you take it and he’s running, dragging you along, and you do feel like a giddy teenager, sneaking off somewhere you aren’t supposed to be.

He leads you in through the side door and down a hallway to where a large locker room is. You doubt anyone is on base yet—maybe the Admiral or someone else higher up, which does make you nervous, but the hallways are dark and silent. Jake leads you to his locker, H_NGM_N written at the top. He swings the locker door open and you almost fall over when you notice a photo of you, placed sideways so it could stick in the door and not fall out. It’s a picture of you on the beach, from one of many nights you and Jake walked along the sand, and he had pulled out his phone and pointed it at you as the sunset sky was turning pink and orange and he told you to smile! but you got flustered and covered half of your face instead, using your other hand to reach out towards the camera but it was too late, he already snapped the picture. And there it is, in his locker for him to smile at every time he opens the door.

“What…?” you start to ask him what you’re doing here but trail off when he gives you a mischievous look that says Just wait.

You decide to keep your mouth shut and you look at the green flight suit hanging up in the locker, as well as some more casual gym clothes for workout days. He reaches up to the top shelf and picks up his helmet—the one that makes your heart leap when you see Jake wearing it in pictures he sends you. He closes the locker and turns to you, grinning ear to ear and his eyes slightly scrunched up in happiness. He takes a step forward, your bodies pressing against each other, and he tilts your chin upward and kisses you. You almost fall into him, sighing into the kiss and wrapping your arms around his waist as his hands cup your face gently.

“I’m gonna sneak you into the hangar, onto my F-18,” Jake grins in between kisses.

You look at him, stunned, and your heart rate picks up just thinking about it. You weren’t an aviator—you’d never even stepped foot near the base before. Your whole body warms at the thought of Jake wanting to include you in what was pretty much the most important thing in his life. Your stunned expression turns into a huge smile, matching his. He takes your hand and leads you to the hangar. You knew it had to be a huge space in order to fit all the aircrafts, but you don’t realize how expansive the thing was until you step into it. It opens up onto the runway, where the sun is just beginning to rise over the horizon. Many different aircrafts are lined up in the middle, supplies and tools lined up on the sides. Jake watches as your head turns every which way, taking in the whole place, and he smiles at the fascinated expression on your face.

Jake leads you over to the F-18 that has “Lt. Jake Seresin” written on the side (“Hangman” is right underneath). The top is already lifted up, the cockpit ready to be sat in. It’s a single-seater and you see Jake’s smile almost certainly straining his facial muscles as he holds his hands out towards the seat, the same level of excitement as if he were presenting you a birthday gift he’d been planning for months, beyond excited to watch you open it.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask as Jake climbs up onto the side of the plane, holding his hand out to help you step up, over, and into the seat.

“You know how important flying is to me,” says Jake, “And I want you to know how important you are to me, too. So I thought… why not bring both you and flying together?” He sees your eyebrow raise quizzically, almost scared, and he adds, “The F-18 is not leaving the runway with just you in it, obviously. And… no offense, of course.” You both laugh. “Maybe one day I can get you on a two-seater,” Jake ponders, “But until then…”

You get situated in the seat, eyeing all of the buttons and switches in front of you. Jake leans over the side, watching you intently as you take in everything. You always knew you could never do what Jake does, but now you absolutely can confirm it. You try to put together some of the pieces from what Jake’s told you in the past about how flying works; your eyebrows knit together as you lean in, observing what all of the buttons say on the switchboard and Jake smiles at how cute you look, trying to understand.

Jake rests his chin on the top of the opening of the F-18, stretching his arm out to point out different things to you. “Here you have the left instrument panel, left vertical panel, left console.” He points. “Then over here,”he reaches further over you to point, “is the right instrument panel, right vertical panel, right console.” You try to take it all in, enjoying listening to Jake’s voice as he explains. “Okay, on the left: left side warning lights, as such—” he makes funny, dramatic gestures at what he’s describing and you giggle, “—left digital display center, aaaand the integrated fuel engine indicator. Up top here are two handles… because takeoff can be rough and throw you ‘round a bit. And— Wait, I know what you’re missing.” He jumps down from the side of the F-18 for a moment, and when he comes back up, he’s holding his helmet out towards you and grinning like an idiot.

“You want me to—?” You’re almost at a loss for words. It’s almost equivalent to him handing you an expensive family heirloom that had been passed down for generations. You knew damn well that Jake did not let anyone touch his hair (except for you) and you doubted anyone else would be able to put their hands on his helmet lest he become physical. Your heart swells from his warmth and doting on you. Jake nods, smiling, urging you to put it on.

It’s heavier than you would have expected and when you place it on top of your head, the top falls partly over your eyes and you have to push the helmet back in order to see. When you do, you see Jake smiling at you, a pink blush over his cheeks. He puts his hands on either side of the helmet by your ears and steadies it as perfectly as he can on your head, gently tilting the visor over your eyes, “H_NGM_N” displayed over your forehead.

You glance up at him through the clear goggles, “Do I look good?”

“You look good. You look very good.”

“So, Lieutenant, what do I have to do to get this thing to fly?” You lightly tap on a bunch of switches, pretending to know what you’re doing and earning a lopsided grin from Jake.

“Well,” Jake says, “if you put your hand on the control stick here, then you can steer this thing wherever you wanna go.”

You grasp the control stick, unsure of how exactly to have your hand, and turn to look at Jake for his approval. He nods and leans forward a bit, extending his arm and resting his hand over yours. You shiver at the warmth of his hand and the way it engulfs your own hand. His grip is firm but gentle around you, and he guides your hand as you move the stick right and left, pretending to steer the aircraft. Your whole body is tingling at the feeling of Jake helping you “fly” his plane—you feel secure with his hand over yours. He’s making funny noises trying to simulate being in the air and he’s calling out things like Break right! Enemy aircraft at 6 o’clock! and you’re giggling and leaning into his touch as he hangs over the side of the plane.

You break out of the silly pretend and turn to look at him and it takes him a moment to realize. He stops talking mid sentence and catches your gaze and his eyes go all soft because wow, he is just so mesmerized by you. Jake grins, his dimples showing, and reaches out to tilt the visor up into the helmet. Your eyes sparkle. He wants to kiss you and you notice. Slowly, you trace your hand up to the collar of his shirt and dip your fingers around the chain of his dog tags, gently pulling him closer. Not wanting to bump his forehead against the helmet, he tilts his head and slowly, tantalizingly leans in until his soft lips touch yours. You feel everything else around you disappear.

“Hey, Bagman!”

You jump away as Jake whips his head around to see Phoenix and the rest of the Dagger Squad walk onto the hangar. Phoenix is leaning up on her toes, waving at you and Jake. Rooster is nudging Bob and they’re giggling.

“Didn’t know we had a new trainee,” Coyote smiles.

You don’t know it, but Jake had also confided in Coyote about you while they bunked together on the mission. Okay, maybe Jake didn’t confide in him so much as he could tell that whenever Jake would zone out it was because he was thinking about you. So Coyote had asked what was going on with the two of you and Jake bit down on his tongue as he thought about how he could even begin to explain what he felt about you. Coyote scolded him for not not being upfront with his feelings, and Jake had laid awake that night, staring at the ceiling, scaring himself by thinking about what his life would be like without you.

Now, Coyote sends a quick wink to his friend, as if to say Proud of you. Jake grins and nods back to him.

“What’re you guys doing here so early?” Jake asks, “Thought for sure the place would be empty for at least another hour.”

“Well, Bagman, if you’d read the group chat earlier, we decided to come onto base early so we could still play football down on the beach before it rains later,” Phoenix smiles, “But I guess you were a bit preoccupied to check your phone.” She catches your eye and gives you a devilish grin.

“I– I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get in the way here,” you say quickly, lifting yourself from the seat to signal that you would get on your way.

“No, no, wait!” Phoenix runs forward and tilts her phone up at you, snapping a picture of you wearing Jake’s helmet in the seat. She inspects the photo she took. “Adorable.”

Jake turns to face you and he’s glowing. He holds his hand out for you to take and he helps you step out from the F-18. Normally, you wouldn’t know exactly how to conduct yourself with Jake when you were around the other pilots. But standing in front of the rest of them, seeing their excited and happy expressions as Jake puts his arm around your waist, you’re relieved and content to know you can simply lean into him and not feel scared of your feelings anymore. Jake is enthused to show you off to everyone else.

When you hop down onto the ground, you stand next to Jake as the group approaches.

“Captain,” Jake nods towards Maverick, who is standing towards the back of the group. “I promise I will make up for today’s workout. But I will have to catch y’all… later.” Jake reaches behind him to grab your hand in his. Jake squeezes your side and holds his helmet under his other arm, twirling his keys on his finger.

After you pass the group, Jake intertwines his fingers with yours and pulls you into a run, leading you back into the locker room. As soon as the door closes behind you, he’s wrapping his arms around your thighs and lifting you up, spinning you around. He’s looking up at you, absolutely enthralled by your glowing expression.

“I’m sorry,” he’s saying, breathless.

“What are you sorry for?” You ask as he puts you back onto the ground.

“For not telling you how I feel sooner, for not doing all of this sooner,” he motioned his hands around the room, “Taking you here, showing you around, being able to be us around other people…”

You smile widely, cupping his jaw and tugging him closer to you. “You don’t have to be sorry,” you whisper, “I’m just so happy that we’re okay now—better than okay. I’m so…”

“...Grateful to be in a relationship with the best aviator in the Navy?”

You snort and pinch his cheek. “Yes, Jake, that’s exactly what I was trying to say,” you giggle.

Jake laughs, leaning down to kiss your cheeks over and over again. You’re weak in his arms, succumbing to his kisses. You’re more than happy—you feel as though everything in the world has fallen into place perfectly. You wrap your arms around him, not wanting to ever let go.

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick fic #jake seresin fic #hangman x y/n #top gun maverick #tgm #my stuff

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 1 year

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Mr. (Not so) Perfectly Fine

AN: Not sure where this came from, but here we are. Maybe one day I'll write Josh in a non-toxic way lol. Also tagging Kai @lovelyhan because it's the law. I joked about writing a series of fics based on Taylor Swift songs. This fic isn't part of that idea. I just thought this title felt fitting (it's based off of a Taylor Swift song for anyone unaware).

Synopsis: Falling in love with Joshua was easy. It came to you easier than breathing. It's no wonder, then, that when he offers you a fraction of his affection after shattering your heart months ago, that you would grasp for it. Regardless of the consequences.

General tags and warnings: Joshua Hong x Fem! Reader, not super relevant to the plot but, this is a Non-Idol AU, exes to exes with benefits, elements of angst, Josh is emotionally constipated, Soonyoung and Seungkwan featuring as supportive but, tired friends, discussions around Reader having low self-esteem and being self-loathing at times, discussions around an unhealthy relationship and returning to it, alcohol and alcohol consumption, Seokmin featuring as a genuinely good guy who probably deserves better and discussions around jealousy and possessiveness on Josh's end.

Smut tags: mentions of throatfucking, mentions of piv sex with a condom (I know who am I?), mentions of a Daddy kink, it's implied that Josh is pretty self-centered (generally but, sexually more specifically) but, that does get remedied later, nipple play (f. receiving), Reader sucks on Josh's fingers, praise (f. receiving), implications of Reader being a bit of a masochist, Reader sits on Josh's face, overstimulation (f. receiving), pet names, dirty talk, begging, piv sex without a condom, marking (f. receiving), biting (f. receiving) and creampie.

Word count: 8514 (...I don't want to talk about it.)

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

The first time you found yourself at Joshua's doorstep was an innocuous Thursday evening. The sun had begun its descent on the horizon when you began the familiar route to his apartment building. You're not entirely sure what possessed you to knock on his front door, or what had possessed you to drive there to begin with. However, when he swung his door open, dressed in nothing but, a simple black shirt that clung a little too tightly to his broad chest and some grey sweats. Surprise colouring his handsome face, you knew it was too late to back away now.

To your shock, however, Josh had let you in without much question. Stepping aside wordlessly, you took the very obvious invitation. The sight of his living room was familiar in a way that churned the pit of your stomach. You weren't going to fall apart in his living room like the way you had when he broke up with you. You wouldn't allow yourself to. Wasn't it pathetic enough that you'd come grovelling back to him without much of a reason as to why? That you're likely about to have the most uncomfortable conversation that you've had in your entire life?

You're not sure what you'd expected from Joshua. He joined you on his couch, always too white for your liking but, didn't say anything. You weren't sure if he'd been waiting for you to explain why you're at his place after close to four months of next to zero contact.

Idiot. Of course he was.

"I," you start but, the words never seemed to find you. You focused on the pictures that decorated his wall. Choosing to look at anywhere that wasn't him at the risk of losing your already fickle train of thought. Pictures of him in suits with different friends and business partners. His work smile working overtime in all of them as he'd been showered with endless awards and promotions.

His work had always been the love of his life.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," were the first words he'd uttered to you in months. That had caused you to whip your head to face him. Reading Joshua was a skill you had never been able to master.

Master? You doubt you'd even be considered an amateur at it after a year of being with him.

His face betrayed little but, a barely there glimmer of understanding bled through that even you managed to catch. Understanding is an emotion you wouldn't typically associate with the someone like him. However, it flickers across his too handsome face nonetheless.

Perhaps you should've consulted an exorcist because before you know it, you're not sure what caused you to kiss him. You two have barely spoken, and there you were, gripping his shirt like a lifeline and kissing him on his stupid couch as the figures in his photographs act as spectators. You were going to apologise. You were going to erase him for good from your brain and dig a hole for yourself to crawl into.

But, then he'd kissed you back. His kiss, much like him, wasn't all passion and desperation. It was slow. Methodical. His soft lips refamiliarising themselves with your mouth once more gradually. As if he had all of the time in the world. Testing to see if this would be worth it. If you would be worth it.

Whatever he had been looking for during his exploration, he seemingly found because before you knew it, you found yourself amidst the sheets of his bed. Cool, navy blue sheets acting as a balm to your far too hot skin while his large hands mapped the expanse of your body. His heavy cock bruised the back of your throat before you found yourself arched for him with your face in one of his soft pillows and his long fingers in your hair. After months of no sex, specifically no sex with him, it took you a few long moments to adjust to the sting he provided.

From then, it was bliss.

His pillow muffling your whimpers and moans. Cries of 'Joshua' and 'Josh' and 'Daddy' were partially swallowed by the soft material. Your fingernails clawed at his sheets while he found relief in your body. His hips stuttered into you and filling the condom he had hurriedly put on, especially when the last title had hit his ears.

The two of you dressed in silence. The ruffling of your clothing and the sounds of the city all that you had to comfort you. When you stood on unsteady legs to leave, he hadn't walked you out. Not that you expected him to but, that didn't stop the sting from developing behind your eyes and your throat from growing tight.

Bliss was so, so easy to come back to. And come back, you did. You and Joshua still hadn't spoken all that much. Not putting any labels on... whatever tentative understanding the two of you had. You simply show up to his apartment, and he knows what you're here for. If you can't have him the way you want to, you'll have to settle for the way he needs you.

Two weeks.

Two weeks is the longest time you've gone without knocking on Joshua's front door. You can't help the guilt that twists up inside you and shreds your insides. However, you know rationally that you have nothing to feel guilty about. Joshua isn't your boyfriend anymore. He hasn't been for six months now. The two of you simply find solace in each other's bodies. It has just been easier with him than expending your time and energy on trying to meet anyone. Especially with how little energy and time you have as it with work all but, drowning you.

However, as Seungkwan has tried to sear into your brain, this isn't exactly healthy. Letting yourself fall into his bed and come apart underneath him for the past three months is likely in your top five unwisest decisions you've made in adulthood.

But god, it's just so easy.

"You know you deserve better," Seungkwan stresses to you for the likely millionth time. His typically kind face marred with a frown that does not suit him in the slightest. His glass of wine left completely untouched on your coffee table with his arms cross over his chest. Soonyoung nods, taking a sip of his own wine before speaking, "He's a dick. He's pretty much been using you since the two of you started dating."

"That's not true," you protest, your wine sloshing dangerous before you simmer down a little. "Joshua has his....issues but, I don't think it's fair to say all he does is use me. I mean, I'm the one who showed up to his door after us being broken up," you argue, "If anything this is a mutual using of each other."

"Except you're in love with him," Seungkwan deadpans. Soonyoung once again nods in agreement. Traitor.

"I'm not in love-"

You promptly stop talking when both men shoot you looks. Your face warms and you hide in your glass of wine. The liquid pleasantly heating your veins and acting as a phenomenal distraction from the gazes of your friends that are far, far too piercing.

"We're just here because we're worried," Soonyoung says softly and you can't bare to look into his eyes right now. You're too scared to see what you'll find in them. You're not sure what's worse. The pity or the frustration from the two of them.

"If it makes you two feel any better, I haven't gone to him in two weeks," you respond weakly. Despising the knot that builds in your throat and the tears that burn your eyes. You feel no better than when you were in university crying to them about shitty hookups and even shittier exes.

"That's a great start," Seungkwan responds sounding genuinely happy. Genuinely proud of you. His warm, larger hand grabbing yours and rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "Also, I'm sorry. I know you're an adult and I don't want to come across like I'm scolding you but, it's really hard watching you go back to him and break your heart all over again."

Oh, the guilt is back. Different but, present all the same. At this point, it's become an ever present companion for you.

"I'm sorry too. I know it's not fair for me to put the two of you through this either," you whisper in response. You don't think you're capable of speaking any louder right now.

"Hey now!" Soonyoung butts in, grabbing you both by your shoulders and crushing you to his chest. Seungkwan, to everyone's shock, only protests minimally, "What are friends for? Now both of you stop being so gloomy. We're here to get tipsy on cheap wine, inhale all the carbs we can and watch bad movies. Get it together."

The laugh that Soonyoung forces from you is foreign and a little rough around the edges but, it's one of the few you've managed in longer than you care to think about. And if you cling to him more fiercely than usual, he has the grace not to mention it.

It gets a little easier after that. You haven't found yourself knocking at Joshua's door for a good month now. Soonyoung seems ready to throw you a party over it and the same pity isn't as present in Seungkwan's gaze when the three of you find the time to catch up with each other.

Joshua never messages or calls you in the time you don't spend in his bed. You suppose you shouldn't be surprised. You're typically the one reaching out to him and making the journey to his apartment to experience a fraction of him. To bask in whatever he's willing to offer you.

You're not sure whether what you two have can be classed as affectionate. It was better than nothing, at least, you had supposed.

You still can't help the sparks of bitterness that fester in your system when you open up your chat with him. A simple 'Okay' from him being the last message in the conversation when you asked if you could come over. God, you were pathetic. Sad. Desperate.

Perhaps it's pettiness or spite or the resentment or maybe some part of you still wants his attention but, you send him a message before locking your phone for the night and turning away to face your windows. The voice in your head (that sounds suspiciously like Seungkwan) echoes that maybe that wasn't a good idea. Maybe allowing your anger to get the better of you wasn't wise. However, what's done is done. You just hope sleep finds you quicker than it has over the past two years.

You: I'm going on a date on Friday.

Seokmin is a nice guy.

No, calling him nice isn't fair or true to the man's character. Nice is vague. Meaningless. A platitude at best.

Ever since Soonyoung very heavy handedly sent you his number in the hopes that you'd focus your attention elsewhere, you two had been speaking borderline nonstop for a week now. Him regaling you with the less glamorous aspects of being an actor and you venting to him about a particular unruly classroom. You'd learned that he cried easily and had a weakness for anything dogs related. He'd learned that you love musicals and random historical facts.

It was the first time in a long time Joshua had barely crossed your mind. He still had but, it was an improvement. A week wasn't realistic enough to completely be clean of him but, you were taking steps. Seokmin definitely made it less difficult.

So, when Seokmin, nervousness rolling off of him in waves even over text, had asked you on a date, it was a no-brainer that you'd agree without much question. You deserve a pleasant night out. It also certainly doesn't hurt that Seokmin is an Adonis of a man.

You honestly don't remember the last time you were giddy over a date. Over a man. Butterflies kicking up in a storm in your stomach when you agonise over what you should wear. The temptation to cancel springing up more times than you count with every drag of your hangers and article of clothing that adds to pile accumulating on your bedroom floor. Fortunately, you find a dress in the back of your wardrobe that clings to you in a way that balances attractive and formal masterfully.

Seokmin is somehow even more attractive in person. All the pictures you came across during your search across his social media accounts do not even begin to do him justice. He's funnier too. His tales of disastrous productions and poor costume fittings prompting laughter out of you the likes of which mostly Soonyoung and Seungkwan are able to. Before you know it, it's already been three hours, and your mostly plates and glasses remain largely untouched.

"I had a great time," Seokmin starts once you two are outside. Whether it's the breeze or his proximity to you, goosebumps rise on your skin. It doesn't help that his cologne infiltrates your senses and muddles your mind further. The butterflies have chosen now to make a reappearance as well.

"Me too," you reply, your cheeks hurting from how hard you've been smiling all night and now isn't any different. Seokmin looks for all the world that he wants you to kiss him. Kind, brown eyes fliting down to your lips in a way you assume he hopes is subtle but, it's not. Terribly so. It's cute though. He's cute. However, you think you're going to take it slower this time around. As infatuating as he is, you know you're in no place to be kissing anyone.

Before you can bring up a different topic to help cut some of the tension weighing on your chest, your phone vibrates in your hand. Alerting you that your Uber has arrived.

"Looks like my ride is here," you tell him with a disappointed turn of your lips. For all your reservations, you really wouldn't have minded spending some more time with the man who would put the sun to shame.

"Have a safe ride home. Text me when you get home, okay?" And his blinding smile spreads across his handsome face once more. You've only known Seokmin for a short period but, it feels freeing to talk to someone whose feelings you don't need to attempt to decipher. They're there and clear as day on his face and in his words. Or maybe you're projecting. That's possible.

"Will do. Text me when you get home too, okay?" You reply, steeling your resolve before pulling him in for a hug. Hugs are fine. Safe. At least a safer option than kissing. Seokmin happily returns the gesture and heat that you haven't felt in some time begins to simmer in the very pit of your stomach when you feel how solid he is.

Now is not the time.

"Of course. It was nice getting to finally meet you in person. Hopefully we can see each other again," Oh. The butterflies certainly feel strongly about that.

Untangling yourself from his built frame is unpleasant, and a deeply irrational part of you wants to continue to cling to him. You opt to shove it down. "Hopefully," you respond with a coy smile, "I'd like that." And you truly would.

Seokmin watches you enter your Uber. He watches you until he can no longer see the car, and the gesture brings a smile to your face so wide that it feels a little foreign. If the driver hears your dreamy sigh, they choose not to comment on it. Thoughts of the actor with perhaps the brightest smile you've ever seen in your life fill your mind all the way to your apartment. Seokmin is still occupying your thoughts as you greet the on duty security and enter the, thankfully, empty elevator. More people don't need to see you practically levitating over this man. Over one date.

The smile that's been stinging your cheeks drops from your face when you notice a figure lingering at your front door. You can tell even from this distance that it's Joshua. Your steps grow more hurried, the clinking of your heels echoing through the empty hall. You suppose you're grateful that none of your neighbours are out. You're not entirely sure how this is going to go based on the anger bubbling up inside of you at the sight of your ex-boyfriend.

Joshua turns his head at the sound of your heels and he has the nerve to smile. To look relieved. You beat him to the punch for once instead of allowing the very tentative wall you've meticulously been building since the last time you found yourself in his too cool bed to crumble.

"What're you doing here?"

The bite in your voice takes even you by surprise but, you're too tired and a touch too fed up to really care about potentially offending him. Your arms crossing over your rapidly rising and falling chest as anger courses through your veins.

For all your inability to typically read him, the surprise on his face is clear as day. You don't think you've ever seen him look this unsure, a nervous hand carding through his short, dark hair. Oh. He must have cut it in the time you haven't found yourself on his doorstep.

"Hi uh," he stutters in a way deeply unlike him, "Can we talk inside?"

A voice that sounds very much like Seungkwan screams to send him away. To cuss him out where he stood in your hall and send him back to his sterile apartment that you never quite seemed to fit into.

However, you've never been good at saying no to him.

"Fine," you spit, walking to your front door and unlocking it while he stood by just hovering. Admitly, beneath the frustration and anger and annoyance at seeing him again after what has felt like ages, a miniscule part of you is curious why he's here.

Joshua walks in after you easily. The same way he used to when the two of you were together. The knowledge simultaneously dulls and sharpens the knife that twists in your gut but, you push it aside. Maybe an actual conversation is far overdue so, you can finally be free of him. Your coworker Wonwoo likes to joke that closure is just an invention of fiction but, just maybe this is your chance to find a fraction of it.

He shuts the door behind him while you turn on the lights. You want nothing more than to kick off your heels, pour yourself a glass of wine and regale Soonyoung and Seungkwan with all the details of your night. Joshua sure has a knack for ruining your plans.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" You ask once you've gathered all of courage. Leaning against the back of your couch, waiting for him to explain himself. Ignoring the way your throat burns seeing him in your home again.

"How was your date?" Are not the words you were expecting and they throw you utterly for a loop.

"What?" You blurt out sounding completely flabbergasted, "Is that why you're here? Fucking seriously?" The anger that's been simmer under the surface grows in ferocity once you begin to piece together why he's here. Why he's decided to reinsert himself into your life.

"You're here because you're fucking jealous?"

He has the nerve to look affronted by the assertion, "I'm not jealous-" he starts but, you're beyond frustrated and annoyed right now. Seungkwan would be proud.

"Joshua, please. Then why are you here? Why are you asking about my fucking date? Because you want an update on my life? You haven't reached out to me in fucking months!" You exclaim and you just hope you're not loud enough for any of your neighbours to hear. Though your concerns around that are minimal as the object of your anger walks towards you tentatively.

"I know," he sighs, continuing to run a tired hand through what you assume was his meticulously styled hair, "Honestly, I'm not sure why I'm here. I'm sorry. I just- I just miss you, I think."

Soonyoung has always been fond of calling Joshua an asshole over the course of your relationship and even after its end, but, in this moment, you realise Josh is not just an asshole, he's cruel.

His admission renders you speechless. You probably look comical just staring at him as his words sink into your brain.

'I just- I just miss you.'

He continues on his cruel streak, your carefully constructed walls falling to pieces with every syllable that leaves his full lips, "When you sent me that text, it just felt so awful. I felt awful and I think I realised just how much I missed you. Missed having you around. So I just got in my car and drove here," he breathes out, nearly tripping over his words in a rush to get them out, "I think I'm starting to understand why you came to my place all those months ago," he laughs with very little humour.

You think this is perhaps the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. More than your first date. The first time you told him you loved him. The first time you two slept together. All of those moments could not ever hope to hold a candle to the unadulterated emotions stirring in his doe eyes right now.

"You really suck, you know that?" You respond, the watery quality of your voice not going unnoticed, "Just when I thought I could let you go and move on, you just had to come back and do all of this. Say all of this," you mutter tiredly, shutting your eyes to just have a moment to yourself to think. To breathe.

The press of his forehead against your own is startling but, and you won't ever admit it to anyone else, comforting. It just feels so good to allow yourself to melt into him. The familiar scent of his too expensive cologne infiltrating your senses and muddling your brain further. Your hands grasp the front of his shirt, a shuddering breath leaving your lips.

"I know. I'm sorry," he whispers, and he's just so close, and you remember how easy it was to fall in love with him. How easy it is to continue to fall into him every chance you can.

So you do.

Everything, every voice that sounds like a friend screaming at you that this is a horrible, stupid idea, that you've been doing well, are all silenced when you press your lips to his in a kiss that is more hesitant than anything else. He kisses you back fiercer than you anticipate. Than you're used to from him. Swallowing your startled gasp like it's the first thing he's consumed in days and cupping your face with his large hands. His teeth nip at your bottom lip briefly when a whimper falls from your lips from how aggressive he's being.

"This is my favourite dress of yours," he mutters into your mouth between kisses, the tender way his thumbs brush your face juxtaposing with his desire to seemingly consume you whole, "I've always thought you looked gorgeous in it. So beautiful. Sexy," he continues, one of his hands drifting to palm at the thickest part of your exposed thigh. Arousal pools in the pit of your stomach. The fact that it's been months since you've been with him, been with anyone, fully hitting your body based on how quickly you find yourself becoming wet and your thighs rub against one another.

"My beautiful girl," he whispers, not giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth descends on you again. His hand kneading your thigh in a way that could be considered desperate if this was anyone other than Josh, shoving the material of your dress higher.

Once you remember you can touch him too, your hands find themselves in his now shorter hair, the inky locks filling the gaps between your fingers easily and the groan he presses into your lips worsens the ache you feel at the apex of your thighs. You want him. You don't think you'll ever stop wanting but, seeing him lose his composure for once has your panties sticking to you in a way that grows uncomfortable fast.

"Bedroom," you whisper, maybe part of you is worried that if either of you speak too loudly you'll burst this bubble you've found yourselves in. Josh just nods, tugging you to wobbly feet and pushing you towards your bedroom. His mouth never leaving yours while his hands touch and feel and grope and paw at every part of you they can reach. You try to not think too hard about how this reminds you of the first time he spent the night here and, how easily he seems to remember where your room is.

Fortunately, it doesn't take the two of you long to bump against your bedroom door. Fumbling with it longer than necessary while being lost in each other. A breathless giggle from you fills the quiet space when he curses while struggling to shut it behind him. Your laughter doesn't last long. His lips pressing scorching kisses to your throat as you settle onto your bed. It's like he can't even go a few seconds without touching you somehow. The thoughts prompts your heart to thunder in your chest.

"Can I take this off?" He asks against the hollow of your throat, impatiently tugging on the straps of your dress. You nod quickly, shuddering when he runs his teeth along your pulse and you feel him lightly grinding against your thigh.

"I want you to use your words, baby," baby. He really will be your demise. You can't remember the last time he called you that and, it only further fogs up your mind.

"Yes, Joshie, please," you whimper, your fingernails biting into the muscles of his biceps. The veins on his forearms coupled with the way the muscles flex is just so hot that it feels just the slightest bit unfair. Briefly, you wonder if he wore a short sleeve shirt because he knows how just a little bit stupid his arms make you.

He stills over you. His lidded eyes widening in surprise and, that forces you out of your lust-filled daze. He beats you to it before you can question his change of demeanour.

"You called me Joshie," is all he says in explanation at first, fingers ghosting over your shoulders. The barely there touch causing goosebumps to rise on your skin, "You haven't called me that since we broke up," he finishes and the raw emotion in his eyes renders you unable to respond for a few, long moments.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"It's okay. More than okay, actually," he cuts you off with a shake of his head, tossling his hair even more, "I didn't realise how much I missed hearing you call me that and Shua until now," he leans down, heavy eyes focusing on your well-kissed lips as his hands begin to slowly undress you, "Please keep calling me by those names."

The control he had slips out of his grasp as his hands tug down the straps of your form-fitting dress. While you'd much rather wind your arms around his broad and solid torso, you concede for these few minutes to help him undress you. Helping him free your arms from your straps before he tugs it off of your body in record time. Between how quickly you find yourself nearly naked and his words, you can't help yourself reaching for him and he happily complies. Nestling himself between your thighs properly while his hands squeeze your breasts over your bra.

"Shua," you whine into his mouth, your hips jolting up to his when you feel him pressed against you. Your hands tug him as close to you as humanly possible. Determined to fuse yourself to him and, based on the way his grip on you grows harsher, he doesn't seem to mind the idea all that much.

"God, I fucking missed you so much," he groans, nuzzling himself into your neck once more. Licking and kissing every millimetre of your skin he can, and every breath hitting you sends you further into madness. You suppose after months of not being touched, even his breath fanning against your skin is enough for goosebumps to rise to your skin and your thighs to clamp around his waist.

"Missed you too, Shua," you sigh, arching into him when his soft lips drift from your throat to sear kisses to the tops of your breasts. His hands reaching behind you to skillfully unclasp your bra and toss it somewhere onto your bedroom floor. Completely forgotten as he takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of your breasts moving with every greedy inhale and shuddering exhale you take.

"God, you're beautiful," he sighs in a way you'd almost describe as dreamy. His irises totally swallowed whole by his dilated pupils. The 'thank you' you intend to respond with is wiped from your mind when he latches onto one of your hardened nipples. His massive hand kneading your other breast to ensure it's not neglected. Your fingers weave into his hair, tugging on it with each tug of his plump lips and lick of tongue. His fingers tugging on your nipple enough to make you gasp from the embers of pain.

"Always so responsive," he chuckles throatily against your skin, pinching your nipple to prove his point. His eyes glinting at the way you moan and grind against his prominent length.

"Stop teasing," you whine, pouting at him. You're taken aback by the way his eyes soften considerably. Leaning up to press a heartbreaking gentle kiss to your more than likely bruised lips while his hand drifts towards your thighs. Swallowing your keens as his stupidly long fingers drag themselves over your panties. Coating them further in your wetness while you attempt to ground yourself by clawing at his broad shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he says and, based on the way he speaks, you're not entirely sure what he what he's apologising for.

His fingers shove your panties to the side and touch your slick folds directly before you're left with your thoughts for too long. "Joshie," you cry into him with every barely there brush of his digits. Your hips bucking into him when they circle your clit before continuing their leisure stroke of you.

"You're so fucking wet already," he groans, returning to your breasts to litter them with much harsher kisses. His fingers shallowly dipping into your entrance but never giving you the satisfaction you so deeply need. "All of this just from some kissing and playing with your tits, baby?" He asks, glancing up at you like you could realistically answer with his long fingers touching you and his breath fanning across your breasts. The amusement in his tone prickling your cheeks in embarrassment, more of your wetness leaking out of you and onto him.

"Or maybe you just get this wet for me." He muses out loud with a grin that's too smug for your liking. "Don't roll your eyes at me like that," he chuckles. However, the lightheartedness of the moment is cut short when he brings the hand that's been toying with your pussy up for you to see.

"I mean, it is true though. Isn't it?" He poses with a glance to gauge your reaction as his fingers spread, your arousal webbing them. You wouldn't be surprised if you were radiating enough heat from your face to rival the sun.

"Shua, that's embarrassing," you whine, avoiding his intense gaze, choosing instead to focus on an imaginary spot over his shoulder.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, baby," he mutters, resting his slick fingers on your bottom lip and focusing on them fully, "If anything, I'm flattered," he finishes with another arrogant uptick of his lips. It doesn't take much nudging for you to part your lips and for him to push his digits into his mouth. A quiet groan hitting your ears when you hum around them, your tongue licking up the taste of yourself eagerly.

"Fuck," he hisses, his thumb catching the drool that slips past your occupied mouth, "I should let you suck on my fingers more often. You look so pretty with them in your mouth," he mutters, grinding his hips against you as he memorises the sight of you gagging on his fingers and lapping at your essence. "Plus, I know how much you like them. You're not very subtle," he laughs, pulling them from your drooling lips and leaning away from you.

He doesn't give you much time to complain or miss his warmth over you, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your soiled panties and tugging on them so frantically you're worried that he'll rip them. Luckily, they remain intact and soon join the heap of your clothing strawn all over your bedroom floor.

You don't typically have the presence of mind and time to feel self-conscious when you've been with Joshua. Too preoccupied with shutting your brain off and enjoying whatever time with him he lets you have. However, the way he pauses and his eyes leisurely scan your body now tempts you to hide in your pillows. Your heart trying its utmost to burst out of your chest and your blood roaring in your veins all you can hear.

He doesn't leave you to spiral for much longer. Tugging off his shirt that costs more than you think a plain, blue shirt has any right to. Your walls clench hard when your eyes land on the expanses of muscle, skin and arms that are available for you to fully consume.

"I want you to sit on my face," he says and his words are laden with so much unflinching desire. His eyes reflecting the same emotions and, you didn't think it was plausible for you to get any wetter yet, here you are.

"Shua, you don't have to-"

"I want to," he cuts you off with an air of finality. His gaze holding your own and waiting to see if you'd push this.

"I was such a fucking selfish asshole," he huffs, dragging the hand not covered in your spit down his handsome face, "I'm sorry."

You soften at that. Reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers with his, "It's okay."

"It's not," he argues, squeezing your hand before letting it go and settling beside you, "You deserve better than me, you know."

"I've been told," you respond dryly, trying your utmost to keep the images of your friends out of your mind. Basking in the warmth of his body.

"I'll make it up to you. Every chance I can. I promise I'll make it up to you. So, come here," he says as though his words don't close up your throat and cause your heart to hammer against your chest. When he looks at you like that, how could you ever dream of denying him?

Joshua's eyes never leave yours the entire time you move to settle yourself on his handsome face. The look in his eyes makes you feel like you're being set alight from the inside out, only finding a brief reprieve when his focus shifts from your face to your pussy. Large hands palming your thighs while his eyes drink you in.

"Come here," he commands, pulling you towards him. The strength in his hold causes your walls to flutter but, he doesn't force you. Giving you the chance to settle down on his face at your own pace. It doesn't take you much more prompting to do so. Carefully straddling him to make sure he can still breathe and that you're not smothering him. Joshua, however, doesn't care for your concerns. Firmly pulling you down onto him and latching onto your clit like a man starved. Not allowing you a moment to catch your breath. Long fingers biting into your ass as he guides you along his face.

"Shua," you cry, steadying yourself on your headboard while he continues to eager lap at your clit. Your thighs quiver around his head with every suck and lick he gives you, his hold helping you along his tongue. If you could find the strength to crack open your eyes, you would've noticed him watching you. His cock twitching in his boxers with every shuddering exhale and moan from your bruised lips.

The knot in the pit of your stomach tightens faster than you anticipate. Perhaps it's not being touched by anyone for so long or, perhaps it's simply Joshua that has your orgasm building up so quickly. From the way he groans into your drenched folds and his fingers dig into your so harshly that you wouldn't be surprised to find imprints on your ass later, he doesn't. If anything, your fragile state just motivates him. The vibrations from all of his own sounds of pleasure coupled with his unrelenting tongue made it so you really never stood a chance.

He continues to lap at you through one of your most intense orgasms. The grip you have on your headboard bites into your skin but, you can't bring yourselves to care when your walls spasm continously and your vision darkens around the edges. Overwhelmed tears spilling from you and streaking overheated face.

"Joshie," you whimper, your hips attempting to jolt away from him but, his strength is unrelenting. Keeping you firmly situated on his face while his focus shifts lower. A shudder running down your spine and goosebumps once again prickling your skin when he chooses to lap up your wetness directly from the source. The prods of his tongue and brushes of his nose on your clit make your stomach feels as though its tangled in a series of complicated knots.

The tears continue to fall freely as the overstimulation settles itself into your very bones. Your second release hits you like a runaway train. Your choked moans and cries of his name echoing so prominently throughout your bedroom, you're a little worried your neighbours might hear you. Joshua doesn't seem to care all that much. Cursing into your twitching entrance as more of your wetness seeps out of you and onto his awaiting tongue.

His hold on you eases up significantly after that, and with the near nonexistent energy you have and on still shaking thighs, you move off of him. Gracelessly plopping yourself down next to him in an attempt to regain sensation below your waist and come back from whatever dimension his mouth sent you to.

"Are you okay?"

Cracking a tired eye open to meet his heavy but, slightly concerned eyes proves to be a mistake. His hair is a complete and utter mess. Sticking up in every which direction in a way that just endearing him to you. However, the flush to his cheeks and sheen of your juices on the bottom half of his face quickly diminish any less carnal feelings you felt bubbling up for him. Despite nearly blacking out from how hard you came. Twice. Your body still opts to betray you. Your walls clenching around nothing at his dishevelled state and the outline clear as day in his dress pants.

"Yeah," you manage to croak out, cringing at the scratchy quality of your voice.

"Good," he mutters before kissing you. It's much gentler this time around. His tongue still snaking its way into your mouth and, the taste of yourself on it is enough for you to pull him closer to you. Tugging on his hair with every press of his plush lips and nip on your bottom lip. You're reminded that he's very much still hard and hasn't cum when the weight of him rests against your thigh. Just the idea of his cock pulls a wanton whine from you, which he happily swallows.

"Want you," you pant against him, trying your best not to allow yourself to completely lose yourself in his swirling, brown eyes.

"You have me, baby," he responds with more meaning than your fuzzy brain can process right now. His thumb caressing your cheek while he plants quick but, gentle kisses to your lips.

"No," you say, reaching one of your hands between your bodies and cupping him over his pants. He groans against you, his hips jerking against your hand, "I want you, Joshie," you emphasise with a squeeze of his girthy, long cock.

"I wanted tonight to be about you," the drop in octave of his voice only adds to the fresh wave of wetness leaking out of your pulsing hole. "Well, I want to feel you inside of me. That makes it still about me, doesn't it?"

You would laugh at the strangled 'fuck' that leaves his lips if you weren't at your wit's end right now. His kiss is much more aggressive this time around. Barely giving you any time or room to breathe or think while his hands fumble with the buttons and zipper of his pants. Tugging them and his boxers off at record speed and tossing them unceremoniously to join the mess on your bedroom floor. His lips remain attached to yours the entire time. Determined to make you think of nothing but, him.

You moan into each other when his bare cock drags along your drenched folds. His hips shallowly thrusting along you until he's slick with your wetness and his pre-cum. Every nudge of his fat head on your hypersensitive clit causes your lashes to flutter and your hips to meet him in his shallow movements.

"Shua, please," you whimper out when he drifts to kiss and lick your throat once again. His hips never ceasing their movements while his hands occupy themselves with your breasts. Tugging on your nipples while he nips into every bit of your skin his teeth can reach.

"You drive me fucking crazy," he groans, pulling away from you. He doesn't go too far. Gripping himself in his large hand and watching the way he runs along your slit. Drinking in the way you mewl and arch into him, chasing him for every bit of sensation he offers. "Your pussy's so pretty, baby. You'll look even better with my cock spliting you open, yeah?" He breathes, blown out pupils watching your face when he teases your fluttering entrance.

"Yes, yes, Joshie please. Please, just fuck me. I need it, I need you."

That prompts an especially harsh thrust against you, but he still doesn't sink into you, and you think you may just burst into tears from frustration. You'd forgotten his fondness for teasing and pushing you as close as possible to insanity.

"You really want me to fuck you that badly, baby?" The smirk on his face is equal parts irritating and attractive, "You'll even let me fuck you without a condom? My poor, desperate baby," he coos. Shifting his attention away from your face momentarily to watch the way his length teases your hole, his head just barely pushing into you.

"Fuck," you whimpers, gripping your poor sheets for dear life, "Yes, Joshie. Yes, I want you to fuck me raw. Please please pleas-" you choke on a moan when he slowly starts to sink into you. Your head kicks back and whimpers flow freely from your lips with every centimetre of himself he pushes into you. You probably should have let him stretch you out on his long, thick fingers because it takes you a great deal of adjusting to grow accustomed to his cock. His hands scorch your hips and shake with restraint. Determined to allow you ample room to get used to the feeling of him before he really starts to move.

It's difficult to know who moans the loudest when he's finally fully sheathed inside of you. The last time the two of you had forgone condoms was when you were still dating so, the feeling him completely bare sends your mind and body into a tailspin. Your fingernails digging into his back harder than you mean to but, it's not like you can help it when you can feel his cock molding you around him and kissing the deepest parts of you and, he hasn't even moved yet. Joshua, for his part, isn't fairing much better than you. Panting into the space between your neck and shoulder as he attempts to gather his bearings while your walls sporadically clench and unclench around him. It's a little embarrassing how close he already feels but, when your warm, wet walls cling to him, he doesn't think he can be faulted too much.

"Joshie, you ca-can move," you manage to utter with everything within you. Reaching for him and cupping his beautiful face in your hands. You don't want to examine the look in his eyes too closely right now. You don't think your heart can take it, and you fear you'll cry for an entire reason entirely if you do.

He nods. His first thrust is barely a movement at all, calling it shallow would be generous. However, after what has felt like a lifetime without any friction, that miniscule movement is still enough to set off sparks in the base of your spine and a gasp to be punched straight from your already struggling lungs. "I missed you," he grunts into your neck, the slight pain from where he runs over the bruises forming there with his mouth only causing you to clamp down even more around his thick cock.

"Missed you so fucking much. Only thought about you the whole time," he pants while he picks up his speed significantly, his hands keeping you in place while he sets the pace. Glancing up at you to watch the way your face twists with every drag of himself along your sinful walls and bite of your sensitive neck. "Did you miss me? Did you think of me? Think of this cock, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you cry out, trying to fill your greedy, burning lungs with any air you can while you lose yourself in pleasure, in him, "I only ever thought of you, Shua. Missed y-you so much," you moan because it's true. It was so hard staying away from him. From not running to your car and knocking on his door at concerning hours of the night. And now, as he fucks you to tears on his cock, you wonder why you even stayed away from him. From the look he gives you now that makes you feel like you're burning and, from the way his large hands that splay across your hips, you don't know why you ever thought of never seeing him again.

Your respective sounds of pleasure coupled with the obscene sounds of him thrusting into you ring out throughout your room. Bleary eyes drinking in the way his biceps flex and the sheen of sweat that's built up on his tan skin. Inky hair sticking to his damp forehead as he watches himself sink into you over and over and over again. Catching your lidded gaze and leaning down to kiss you, one of his hands cupping your jaw. Drifting downwards to ghost along your throat but, not applying pressure. Still, the thought itself is enough for you to keen against him and tightening around his cock.

"I love you."

Now that catches you totally off guard. Your eyes widening and your blood roaring in your ears. You blink up at him, your lips parting as your brain tries to process his words.

"Joshie," you sigh, lacing your fingers behind his neck and kissing the corner of his lips, "I love you too. I'll always love you," you whisper, not wanting to scare him away and feeling far too much far too quickly that you don't think you could speak louder even if you wanted to.

"Fuck," he grits out, pressing your thighs against your chest and tugging you into another searing, messy lip lock. It's more teeth and spit than an actual kiss but, you're not complaining. "You're mine, right? That other guy could never make you feel the way I do, right baby?" He groans against your mouth. You weren't expecting him to bring up Seokmin now of all times, while his cock bullies the sensitive parts of your walls and you're pretty sure another orgasm is building.

"Joshie-"

"I want you to say it," he mutters, his hand slotting itself between your sweaty, scorching bodies until his fingers find your clit. Not allowing you a chance to adjust, rubbing quick circles into while he continues to split you open on his cock, "that you're mine. That he'd never make you feel this way. Feel this good."

"I'm y-yours, Joshie," you whimper, his body keeping you in place so you have no choice but to allow yourself to be fucked dumb by him. That all too familiar knot tightening and tightening with every brush and stroke, "I'm yours. Always yours. Only yours," you cry out when he bites down on your neck.

You feel him cum before the warning tumbles out of his mouth. His cock pushed into you as deeply as it'll go and it throbs. It throbs and keeps throbbing with every rope of his cum that fills your waiting walls. Drawn out moans burned into your skin while his fingers clumsy continue to rub into you. It's no surprise then, with his warm cum already beginning to leak out of you, that your third orgasm hits you. This one isn't as intense as the previous two but, it does still causes you to squirm underneath him. Slick walls spasming around his softening cock while your combined orgasms trickle out of you and onto your poor sheets.

"Shua, my thighs hurt," you wheeze, tapping his arm. He mutters a tired 'sorry' before slowly pulling out of you and getting off of you. He does take a long moment to sear the image of his cum dribbling out of you into his mind. Shaking his head, he lies down beside you and tugs you to his broad chest. Cuddling with Joshua joins the litany of activities and behaviours you're not used to from him. However, he's so warm and you're so, so tired. It's just so easy to allow yourself to be lulled to sleep by his heartbeat and his hand playing with your hair. It doesn't take long for him to join you in the land of slumber after your eyes flutter shut.

Seokmin💛: Hey, just wanted to let you know I got home! I really did have a great time. I hope we can go out on another date soon :)

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