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drabbles-mc · 3 months

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We Were Just Leaving

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut (protected p in v), language, alcohol, strangers to lovers

For Week 2 of Hot Bucky Summer: "What should I call you?"

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: my first time ever writing smut for bucky. it truly is a Hot Bucky Summer! 😂 biggest thanks to @buckybarnesevents for putting on this event! endless appreciation for all of your hard work 💞 maybe i'll write more for these two in this event if another prompt strikes inspo for them 👀

Going out on your own to get a drink and decompress after a long week had sounded like a great idea until about three minutes ago. Ever since then you’d been silently kicking and cursing yourself for not taking up your coworkers on their Happy Hour offer. The last thing you’d wanted to do after the way your week had gone was socialize, even with coworkers that you generally liked and got along with.

But now that seemed like the greatest thing in the world compared to the situation you were about to find yourself in. Theo from the finance department and his same half a dozen jokes seemed like a dream to be across a table from compared to your ex who had just walked through the door of the bar you were at.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.

You had less than a couple minutes to try and scamper out before he saw you. And the only reason you had that kind of time at all was because the bar was busy and it would take longer to spot you in the midst of everyone. But the second that your ex got up to the bar with his buddies to order drinks, your cover would be blown.

You dug some cash out of your purse, tossing enough onto the top of the bar to cover the one drink you’d ordered so far and the tip for the bartender. You were zipping your bag back up as you were hopping off the stool that you’d been sitting on. Your eyes were fixed on your purse, frustrated that this was the one time that the zipper decided to jam. The whole time you were straining your ear to make sure that you could hear how close your ex was, trying to hear his voice or his laughter.

“Fuck,” you were trying to weave your way through the crowd but the clusters and groups of friends all lingering and waiting for their chance to slink up to the bar and order were all packed tightly. You didn’t remember when this spot became a popular place to be. You huffed, trying to say, “Excuse me,” loud enough for people to hear you but not so loud that it came across as rude or drew any real attention to you.

A pocket of space opened up and you were more relieved than you should’ve been. Clutching your bag tight to you, you took long, measured strides to try and slip through the small groups of people that had parted ways just enough for you to sneak through. You were almost to the other side of them, almost out of what would be an easy range for your ex to see you, when someone took a step backwards as they laughed and inadvertently bumped right into you.

The fact that it was an accident did nothing to soothe your nerves. Them stepping back sent you stumbling mid-stride and bumping right into someone sitting at one of the few small high-top tables that the bar had scattered around. You felt a hand on your back and the heat flaring up in your face and you were already sputtering out five different apologies at once before you’d even fully turned around to face the person you’d bumped into.

When you looked at his face, all the words stopped cascading past your lips. Still white-knuckling your purse, still feeling like your face and throat were on fire from embarrassment, you found yourself incapable of looking anywhere but at the icy blue eyes staring back at you.

He didn’t look happy about you bumping into him, per se, but he didn’t look as angry or annoyed as other people in the bar might’ve been. No drinks were spilled in the process, which was a bonus. He raised his eyebrows slightly as he looked at you, but his expression was otherwise neutral.

“S-sorry,” you finally forced out, clear but still uncertain.

He shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Okay.” You nodded, knowing that you should be forcing your feet to carry you away, but you were locked in place.

His eyebrows went from raised to pinched together. Apparently, he took your hesitancy to leave as you not believing his simple reassurance. “Really,” he emphasized with a small nod, “it’s fine. You can go—seemed like you were in a rush anyway.”

Your eyes widened slightly at that, the full scope of the situation coming back to you. You cleared your throat. “Right. Thanks. Thank you. Sorry. I’m just gonna—” you were halfway to motioning over your shoulder when a vaguely familiar voice blared like an airhorn in your ear.

“Well look who it is!”

Turning to look over your shoulder, your stomach dropped. It wasn’t your ex, but you knew that he was going to run right back to your ex and tell him that you were here. Even if you tried to bolt it wasn’t going to do you any good. You were in it now.

“Hey,” you said, keeping it short, trying to make your tone as unenthusiastic as possible.

“Oh, Ricky’s gonna be stoked that you’re—”

“I was just—”

He waved you off. “Wait right here—I’ll go grab him.”

“Don’t—” It didn’t matter what you were going to say next because he was already taking back off towards the bar. You let out a deep sigh. “Fuck.”

You’d nearly forgotten the man stuck in the middle of all this until he spoke up again. “So, who’s Ricky?” There was a hint of amusement to his voice despite the fact that his expression hadn’t changed much at all.

You shook your head. “Whatever you’re already thinking, just go with that,” you said with a shake of your head.

“Rough.”

You had to laugh at the simple response. “Yeah. That’s why I was, you know,” you gestured vaguely towards the door that you had previously been trying to get to as quickly as possible.

You shook your head again, unable to do anything else. Each second that passed you could feel the anxious jitters building. You had no interest in talking to him ever again, and you knew that if he started talking to you, it was going to be nearly impossible to get out of it. That’s just how he was. You were so deep in thought and oncoming panic that you hadn’t noticed the way you were gnawing the inside of your lip until you felt a slight sting from it.

Turning to look at the man who hadn’t asked for any of this, you said, “You don’t owe me a favor, but do you think you could still do one for me?”

He shook his head, “I’m not gonna beat up—”

That got a genuine laugh out of you. “No, no. I mean, I bet you could. But just, can you pretend that we were here together and that we were leaving? I just, I need an exit strategy.”

“What, you want me to pretend to be your new boyfriend so your old one will leave you alone?”

“You don’t have to be my boyfriend. Just, be some friend that wanted to grab a drink with me. And get me the fuck out of here. Please.”

The pause that ensued didn’t give you anything resembling hope. But he must’ve taken just enough pity on you because his shoulders dropped as he sighed. “Alright, fine.”

Relief coursed through you even though you were nowhere near through this exchange yet. “Thank you.”

“What should I call you?” he asked.

You gave him a confused look. “My…my name, I guess?”

Your face and the tone of your response had him feeling whatever embarrassment you’d been battling with earlier when you bumped into him. He saw it all over your face then, and he was certain that you could see it all over his face now. The whole situation was much simpler about sixty seconds ago when you were the more flustered one in the scenario. Now he was the one in uncertain territory. He didn’t know why he asked it like that, but it was what had come out of his mouth when he tried to ask you for your name. It crossed his mind for a moment that maybe you’d bumped into the wrong person to get you out of this mess but it was too late now.

“Yeah. Um, enlighten me?” The laugh that you let out at that wasn’t a cruel one, which was the only reason he didn’t double-down on his embarrassment. You were amused, perhaps even a little relieved. After all, you could’ve just told him your name in response to his first question. As it stood, you told him now and he nodded. “Right.”

You figured you should know his too. “What’s—”

You didn’t get to finish the question let alone get the answer before your ex and his friend reappeared in front of you. They each had a drink in their hand and smug smiles on their faces. The reality of what had you asking ridiculous favors of a stranger you’d only known for about five minutes suddenly crashed down over you again. The knot in your stomach was back with a vengeance as you looked at the man in front of you, knowing that he was feeling none of the dread that you currently were.

“I didn’t believe it when he told me,” Ricky spoke up, nodding in the direction of his friend. “Thought you were still avoiding me.”

You forced yourself to swallow past the lump in your throat. “I tried to tell him that we were just taking off,” you replied, hating how defeated you sounded.

The smug look on your ex’s face disappeared instantly when he heard the word we. It was only then that he realized you were standing right next to a man. A man whose name you still didn’t know but he didn’t know that part.

“We?” Ricky repeated. “Well, care to introduce us?”

You tried not to let your panic show on your face. At this point you were ready to just give this random stranger you’d met in a bar an equally random name and apologize for it later. You barely registered the sound of his chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it away from the table and stood himself up from it.

Fighting the uncertainty out of your voice, you said, “This is—”

He cut you off by putting himself between you and Ricky, holding his hand out for the man to shake in the process. “James,” he said as he nonchalantly slipped his free hand into yours. It wasn’t a gesture you’d been expecting, but you weren’t going to go against it either. There was something reassuring about the callouses of his palm against your skin as he threaded your fingers together. When he broke off the handshake with your ex, he gave a small tilt of his head and said, “Ricky, right?”

You knew that you weren’t doing a good job at all at hiding the pleased and surprised look on your face. The feeling only intensified when you saw the way it through Ricky completely off-kilter, whatever hand he had been planning on playing now no longer available to him.

He cleared his throat, and you noticed the way he adjusted, tightened his grip on the glass he was holding. He tried to recover from the temporary upset. “So, you’ve heard about me, then?” he asked, the look on his face letting you know that he considered it to be a good thing.

You were rolling your eyes and about to come back with something when James beat you to the punch. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

You tried to suppress the smile that wanted to take over your face but you weren’t sure if you did. You found yourself giving James’s hand a light squeeze, instinctively placing your other hand in the center of his back.

Ricky was trying to sputter out a response and James didn’t let him get a single coherent word out. “Like she said,” he gave you a small, gentle nudge towards the door, “we were just leaving.”

“I—”

James was already turning around and taking off towards the door. He called back over his shoulder, more nonchalant than your ex could ever hope to be, “Nice meeting you, Ricky.”

You were glad that the music and general chatter of the bar was hiding the sound of your laughter as the two of you made your way towards the door. Navigating the crowds was so much easier when you were attached to a man built the way that he was—funny how that seemed to work. The two of you were able to quickly maneuver your way to and out the door.

There was no better sound in the world to you than your boots hitting the concrete sidewalk outside the bar. The relief of being out of there was more than you were able to say in the moment, so instead you just kept laughing as you instinctively headed in the direction on the sidewalk that would eventually lead back to your apartment.

In that moment, there was no better sound in the world to James than the sound of you laughing. You were thanking him as the two of you walked away, and he was content to follow you under the guise of being committed to the little ruse you’d put together, to getting you far enough away from the bar to be considered out of the danger zone. He wondered if you, in the midst of your relief, even noticed that you were still holding onto his hand. He certainly still noticed.

You stopped suddenly and turned to look at him, eyes wide. “Oh, shit,” you gasped.

He looked over his shoulder, expecting your reaction to be because your ex had followed the two of you, or something similar. “What?”

You gestured back towards the bar. “Your drink! We didn’t pay—”

His laughter stopped you short. Shaking his head he said, “I was paid up.”

Your shock and tension both disappeared. “Oh. Okay.” It was then that you realized you were still holding his hand. You let go immediately, face warm as you let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

The two of you stood on the sidewalk, a few inches separating you as you faced each other. “So,” you started, the awkwardness that had previously disappeared rearing its head again, “James your real name or just something you made up so my ex can’t stalk you on Facebook or something?”

He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t have Facebook. But yeah, it’s my real name. You,” he cracked a tiny grin, “you can call me Bucky, though.”

You smiled. “Bucky? That, you know, that what I should call you?” you joked.

He laughed, head tilting back slightly as did. He felt the way his face heated up at that and he just hoped that it was dark enough outside to hide the fact that he was probably blushing. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Reaching out, you gently placed your hand on the outside of his bicep for all of a moment, not that it stopped him from being able to feel the warmth of your palm through the blue fabric of his henley. “Well, thank you, Bucky. I appreciate it. Sorry if I totally ruined your night.”

“You didn’t,” he said with no hesitation. “Sorry that your ex ruined yours.”

You shrugged, feeling the way that your lips were slowly tugging up into a smile. “Could’ve been worse.”

“Do you have plans right now?” Bucky asked, unsure of where the question came from or how it got out past his lips.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I was just planning on going home. Why? Have better plans in mind?”

It took him no time at all to realize that he’d walked himself into this with no idea where he was going with it. He knew that he had a decent poker face but even so he had a feeling you could read him like a book in that moment. And he definitely wasn’t reading like a mystery novel.

“I didn’t know if…you know…” he trailed off for a moment, “Wanna get…coffee? Or something?”

You chuckled and gave a small shrug. “Sure. Coffee sounds good.” You started to walk. “Or something.”

He quickly strode to catch up with you. “Got a place in mind?”

You laughed as you looked over at him. “Well, it didn’t seem like you did.”

It could’ve been a much more embarrassing call out if there hadn’t been such a warm look in your eyes. The only thing that he could think to do in the moment was follow you, so that was exactly what he did.

You couldn’t remember the last time that an invitation for a simple cup of coffee had suddenly caused an entire night to slip by. You didn’t even end up drinking all your coffee, too wrapped up in the conversation that you were having with Bucky. Funny that at the start of your evening you’d figured that a night alone was what you’d been needing, and yet sitting across from Bucky at a little café table, going wherever the conversation strayed to, left you feeling better than any number of nights by yourself at a bar or at home.

Bucky was fairly certain that he could talk to you all the way until the sun came back up again. He was also fairly certain that that fact had nothing to do with the caffeine from the coffee he’d had. His cup was empty, but he still found himself toying with it in his hands as the two of you talked. He didn’t know when the last time he got coffee with someone was. At least, someone who wasn’t Steve or Sam or Nat. This felt so foreign and new, yet there was something so familiar about you.

The pair of young twenty-somethings who were working at the coffee shop didn’t exactly tell you both to leave, didn’t exactly kick you out. But you both noticed the way that they were starting to wipe down the counter and tables and you knew better than to be the people who stayed right up until the last minute. Even though this time, you really wanted to. Getting a few more minutes with Bucky almost seemed worth it.

When the two of you were back out on the sidewalk once more, you turned to face him. The jitters you’d had when you left the bar hours before were gone, but there was a new feeling in its place. Similar but different. More excitement, more curiosity, more hope. You didn’t know what to do about it, though, didn’t know what to say to articulate those feelings.

“Well,” you finally said with a soft laugh, “now I really took up your whole night.”

The smile that Bucky gave you was charming enough to nearly have your knees knocking together. “Not the whole night.”

You hummed in amusement. “Then I’ll let you go before it turns into that.”

He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “You’re alright getting home?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I’m only a couple blocks away.”

“I can walk you,” he offered.

You should’ve hesitated at least a little bit, but you didn’t. “That’d be nice.”

The two of you fell into stride beside each other. The first little stint was silent, but not uncomfortably so. You couldn’t speak for Bucky, but you knew that you were trying to figure out what was going to happen when you made it to the main door of your apartment building. You also knew, though, that no amount of overthinking it now was going to make it any easier to navigate then. So, you did what the two of you had been doing successfully for the last few hours, and picked a new topic out of thin air to talk about.

By the time you reached your building, you were walking so close to Bucky that your arm was practically pressed against his. He didn’t seem to mind—it wasn’t as though he was trying to pull away. Every now and then when you laughed, you’d give him a playful little bump, shoulder to shoulder, and Bucky had to fight the urge to drape his arm around you and pull you closer.

Stopping in front of one of the many tall brick buildings on the block, you nodded towards the door before opening your purse to find your keys. “This is me.”

Even though you’d hold him that you were only a couple of blocks away from the café, he still found himself surprised at how quickly you’d arrived. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed that the evening was over so soon. Never mind the fact that the evening had started hours ago, and completely on accident.

It took him a couple seconds longer than it should’ve to realize he was supposed to be saying something to you. “Oh,” he said, trying not to let his disappointment show, “okay.”

You were smiling as your eyes stayed trained on your purse, still fishing around for your keys. “Thank you for, well, all of it I guess,” you punctuated your sentence with a laugh.

He smiled warmly at you even though you weren’t looking at him yet. “No problem.”

“Ah,” you said as you finally found your keyring. You never thought your purse was all that large and yet you never seemed to find what you needed when you needed it. “Right. Well, I’d, um,” you stammered, wanting to ask and say about twenty different things and unable to decide on a single one of them. Taking a breath to get yourself together, you said, “I had a really good time, despite how all of this started,” you laughed for a moment and so did he, “and it’d be, I don’t know, I’d like to see you again…” you trailed off even though you didn’t mean to.

He smiled, relief and excitement battling it out in his chest. “I’d like that.”

Without giving it a second thought, he pulled out his phone and gave it to you, fumbling his way through asking you for your number. He would’ve been more self-conscious about his lack of grace with it if you hadn’t seemed so eager to type in your name and number.

You held his phone back out to him. “So, yeah, let me know when you’re free.”

He reached to take it back from you. There was the briefest moment of hesitation before you let his phone go, one that got him to look up from where your hands were nearly touching and into your eyes. You let go of his phone, and he slipped it back into the pocket of his jeans, but neither of you took your eyes off the other. Bucky couldn’t help but to notice the way that your teeth pulled just slightly at your bottom lip. He found himself opening his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He could’ve let it all die out there, or he could’ve let himself succumb to the nerves of not being able to conjure up something to say, but instead he found himself choosing a third option that he hadn’t even thought was available to him.

Stepping in and closing the tiny strip of space left between you, Bucky pressed his lips to yours. It was gentle, and brief. He pulled away when you’d barely gotten past the shock of him kissing you at all. You saw the way his eyes were searching yours, looking for the cue to either get lost or come back for more. The moment of silence terrified him, almost had him sputtering out an apology.

Then you closed the gap and kissed him again. A little more conviction, a palm resting against his chest. It was a minor miracle that you hadn’t dropped your keys to the ground as he kissed you back. His hand came up and cupped your cheek, palm warm against you despite the chilly night air.

When you pulled away, you couldn’t hide that it’d left you a little breathless. His hand was still cupping your face and it had you smiling wide enough to make your cheeks ache. Fidgeting with the keys in your hand, you forced yourself to speak. You purposely ignored how soft and breathy your voice was.

“You can come up if you want,” you offered.

You were just far enough away from him to see the surprise that crossed his features. “Yeah?”

You nodded, keenly aware of the way his hand felt on your face as you did. “Yeah.”

The slowness of the elevator in your apartment building was usually something that served to be a mild annoyance for you. However, this time, you wished that it would’ve taken longer to climb up to the fifth floor where your apartment was. Hell, you would’ve been fine if it had gotten stuck if it meant you had a few more moments with Bucky keeping you pressed against the wall, his lips capturing yours over and over again.

It was the singular chime that broke the two of you apart, the alert that you’d arrived at your floor. The walk from the elevator door to your apartment door was a short one but it felt tragically long when you had Bucky behind you with his hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. You had no idea how you managed to get your key into the lock so that the two of you could get inside, but you did it.

You closed and locked the door behind you once you were inside. Out of habit you reached and flicked the lights on. Bucky still had one hand on the small of your back, using the other to deftly undo the laces on his boots so he could toe them off beside your door where the rest of your shoes had been tossed haphazardly as the weeks had passed by.

You’d hardly dropped your purse and keys off when he was pressed up against you again, his chest flush against your back. You sucked in a tiny gasp as your body melted back into him. You wanted to say something but the second he was pulling the collar of your shirt to the side and pressing his lips to your shoulders, whatever pleasantries you’d been thinking of went completely out the window.

Even though you knew your apartment like the back of your hand, had navigated through it in the dark and after nights out when you had more than a few drinks, you nearly found yourself stumbling as you walked through the lit-up room with Bucky attached to you.

Once the two of you were in your bedroom, Bucky put his hands on your hips and spun you around so that you were facing him. He wasted no time as he leaned in and kissed your lips, like the few minutes of being unable to had been hours instead. His hands trailed their way up to your face, palms warm and rough to the touch all at once. Keeping his lips on yours, he walked you back towards your bed. You were reaching for the bottom hem of his shirt just as the backs of your legs pressed against the side of your mattress.

Bucky indulged you, assisting you in peeling his shirt off over his head and tossing it aside. Any time that you would’ve spent standing there gawking at him was quickly stolen away as he pressed himself close to you again, firmly but gently getting you back onto the bed.

Every movement felt like it fed so easily into the next. The pair of you were nothing but wandering hands and ragged breaths as you stripped the clothes off each other. The floor was littered with them but neither of you cared. Bucky was down to his boxers, you your bra and panties. He had you pinned underneath him but it didn’t stop his hands from roaming everywhere they could. They wandered across your stomach, up and down your thighs, grazing over your chest. Every touch and graze had you pressing yourself into him more and more, teeth pulling at his bottom lip as you let out little whines and whimpers of encouragement.

You could feel the effect that it had on him. No amount of wanting to feel every inch of you underneath his fingertips could stop him from grinding his hips against yours. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had him feeling so desperate so quickly—he didn’t know if there ever had been a last time.

Like you could hear his thoughts, Bucky felt your fingers curling over the edge of the waistband of his boxers. You started pushing them down his hips and Bucky had no intention of stopping you. He quickly kicked them off the rest of the way before his fingertips dragged down your stomach until they slipped underneath the waistband of your panties. The lightest brush of his fingers had you bucking into his hand and whatever plans he’d had to drag this out no longer mattered. He easily pulled the flimsy fabric down your legs, making quick work of it as you lifted your legs to help.

It took every last shred of Bucky’s self-control to not just slip right into you. The way you had your legs wrapped around his waist would’ve made it so easy to do. He kissed you, neediness bleeding from his lips to yours as his hands continued to trace lines up and down your thighs.

“Do you have—” Pulling away just enough so that your lips weren’t touching anymore, but not so much that you couldn’t feel his breath on your skin as he spoke. He managed to get out half the question he had before you cut him off.

“Top drawer,” you answered, already knowing where it was going.

The chuckle he let out got a smile out of you. The awkwardness and discomfort that occasionally accompanied first-time hookups was nowhere to be found. He pressed a brisk kiss to your lips before leaning and reaching over for the handle of the top drawer of your nightstand. You took advantage of the momentary position of vulnerability that he was in, lifting your head to kiss and then suck a mark where his neck met his shoulder. You heard the groan he let out, but more than that you could feel it as you kept your lips pressed there.

Him quickly tearing the foil of the condom with his teeth shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, and yet you found yourself staring. He caught it, too, and the smirk on his face would’ve made your knees week if you’d been standing rather than on your back beneath him.

You watched him roll the condom on, biting down so hard on your lip you were surprised that you didn’t draw blood. Your eyes slowly traveled their way back up his torso until you were looking into his. The eagerness, the tension in his body could be felt in all the places the two of you were connected. Even so, he still waited for one more yes from you.

The yes he was waiting for came in the form of you putting your hand on the back of his neck and pulling him down into a kiss, in the way you wrapped your legs a little tighter around him and pulled him in closer to you. You felt the way that he instantly gave in, slowly pushing into you as you moaned into his mouth at the sensation. You felt the way that he smiled into your kiss as your nails bit down into the flesh of his neck and shoulder.

“Fuck,” he rasped out, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. He took a moment to revel in it, the feeling of being buried into you so that his hips were flush against yours.

Moving your hand from the back of his neck so that it was cupping his chin, you pulled him back into another kiss. You felt each little hum and moan that he let out as he started to thrust into you, his arms on either side of your head caging you in. He kept himself pressed tightly to you, leaving your hands to wander the broad, muscular expanse of his back. The way you moaned his name, the moments when you’d rake your nails down his back, let him know that he was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

He peeled himself off you, separating his chest from yours. You longed for the contact as soon as it was gone, but before you could think too much on it, he moved one of your legs so that it was draped over his shoulder. When he picked up his rhythm once more, you were grabbing onto his hips before you even knew what you were doing, begging him not to stop like he’d ever even dream of that in the first place.

Your leg was starting to tremble against his shoulder. Instinctively he turned and pressed a kiss to the side of your calf as he continued to thrust into you. Your grip on him tightened as you breathlessly moaned, “Just like that.”

A few more thrusts just like that and you were coming undone around him. He soaked in every moment of it, the feeling of you, the way you cried out his name, the way your body arched and tensed before going pliant.

He was chasing right after you, after that same high. He was nearly there and the soft, needy way you whined out, “Bucky,” in the waves of aftershock sent him clean over the edge. His hips stuttered as he came, your name tumbling from his lips. He collapsed against you, face buried in the crook of your neck as your legs went back to looping around his waist, keeping him pulled tight and still inside you.

You weren’t sure if it was your own heartbeat that you were feeling thudding in your chest or his, but you supposed it didn’t matter. Both of you were fighting to catch your breath, bodies practically melting into each other’s. You wrapped your arms around him, hands gentle on his back where just minutes before you’d been digging your nails into the cords of muscle there. He kissed the column of your throat, the little bit of stubble that was growing in feeling extra ticklish in your sensitive state, enough to get you to giggle and twitch at the sensation.

Once he’d gotten a little bit of his breath back, he propped himself up enough to look at you properly. “You okay?”

You laughed, unable to do anything else but that and nod for a moment. Finally, you said, “I’m great, yeah.” It got a chuckle out of him as you reached and trailed your fingertips down his cheek. “You okay?”

He nodded before leaning in and kissing you. “I’m great.” A few more moments passed in comfortable silence, the two of you just taking in the sight and state of each other. You noticed the small shifts in his expression, and you waited for whatever was coming next. “Um,” he looked over towards the door of your bedroom, “where’s your…so I can…”

You laughed, head dropping back against your pillow. “Out the door and to the left.”

He chuckled, a blush creeping over his cheeks. “Thanks. I’ll be, you know, right back.”

You afforded him the illusion of privacy as he searched and grabbed his boxers off the floor and scampered off to your bathroom. You chuckled as you managed to get yourself out of bed, making your way over to your dresser on wobbly legs to you could grab your own shirt to sleep in. You were back in bed and under the covers by the time Bucky came back.

When he got back to your bedside, he reached down and grabbed his shirt off the floor. He didn’t make an immediate move to put it on, instead just holding it loosely in his hand. “I can—”

“Stay,” you didn’t even want him to put the idea of leaving out into the universe. Not after the night the two of you had just had. “I mean,” you laughed softly, “if you want. I’d like that.”

There was no hesitation as he dropped his shirt to the ground. “Okay.”

He easily shimmied down underneath the covers beside you. You curled into him, allowing his arm to slip beneath you and pull you tighter so that your head was resting on his chest. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the thrumming of his heartbeat. You also started to feel not just the tiredness in your muscles from everything that had just happened, but also the exhaustion of how late it was now.

The same tiredness was present in Bucky’s voice as he spoke, words partially mumbled as he spoke them into your hair. “Light’s still on out there.”

“Leave it,” you replied words equally mumbled as you said them with your lips partially pressed against his chest. “I’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

The hum of amusement that he made let you know that he wasn’t going to worry about it now either. Draping his other arm around you, he slipped his hand underneath your shirt so that his hand was splayed across the center of your back and keeping you tight to him. Nestling farther into him, you rested your palm on his chest as you finally let yourself start drifting off to sleep.

(divider by @saradika-graphics 💞)

MCU Taglist: @garbinge @beardburnsupersoldiers @artemiseamoon @late-to-the-party-81 (If you want to be added to any of my taglists please let me know! xo)

#hotbuckysummer2024 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction

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arjwrites · 2 months

Text

left my heart at home for you to hold- dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: leaving you is the hardest thing dean has ever had to do, but coming back home is the joy of his life.

warnings: none, fem!reader

word count: .9k

a/n: my first drabble for my 100 follower event! based on the song russell county line by 49 winchester (how fitting!) thanks for the request, i hope you enjoy!! <333

arj's 100 follower event

xxx

“I miss you, sweetheart.” Dean's words came out almost desperately.

The giggling of your response through the phone speaker sent a pang of hurt through his body. He was so sick of being away from you. On hunts these days, Dean felt like he was just going through the motions. He used to enjoy hunting, at least to some extent. He felt a sense of satisfaction and purpose when he ganked the monster and saved the day. But ever since you came into his life, nothing satisfied him like you did.

“When will you be home?” Your sweet voice bounced around in his mind and he held tight to the shape of your words, imagining them in the shape of you. Sometimes, when his eyes darted up to check the rearview mirror, he would swear he could almost see you perched back there, nodding along to the music and throwing him a cheeky grin.

A few days was the answer to your question, though he didn’t like it very much. Hunts these days felt lonelier than ever, and a routine three-day hunt stretched into lifetimes apart from you. Of course, his brother was right there next to him, thumbing through newspapers and lore books. Sam would jump right into discussing this next case the second Dean snapped the phone shut. But he wouldn’t hang up just yet. He’d hang on to this little scrap of you for as long as he could.

The hunt would go on longer than expected, like they always did. Each snag in the road would enrage Dean. He was always desperate, needy, longing to return home to you. More often than not, Sam would catch him distracted. He’d be staring off into space while researching, or zoning out while interviewing a victim’s family member. He just wasn’t on his game. It was like he wasn’t fully there- a piece of him was always left behind, his heart all those miles away, tucked into your gentle hands for safekeeping until he returned.

Eventually, things would come to an end and the boys would emerge victorious- sweaty, tired, and often bloody, but nonetheless victorious. Before Dean had you, car rides after a successful hunt were full of classic rock sing-alongs and lazy diner stops. It used to be a common occurrence to stick around, hit the local dive bar, celebrate a little. These days, however, when the bodies hit the floor and the case was said and done, Dean put the pedal to the metal. The second their work was done, he was ready to hit the road. Sometimes, Sam would turn away to say goodbye and offer some comfort to a victim, and when he turned back around, like magic, their bags were all packed and Dean was already posted in the driver’s seat, revving the engine and honking the horn. “Let’s go, Sammy.” As they hit the open road, Dean would press his foot down, reveling in the growl of the Impala’s engine as they barrelled down the highway en route home to his girl.

There was a familiar routine when Dean returned from a long hunt. You’d always have some sort of meal ready, no matter the time of day, knowing he would be returning tired and hungry. He’d stroll in dramatically, tossing his bag down and throwing some sassy remark like “Honey, I’m home.” When you’d run up to him all smiles, he would wrap you in a hug that radiated the genuine love you had been missing. He’d pepper your face with kisses, absentmindedly recounting stories of the hunt that seemed boring now. Once he had you again, back in front of his eyes and in his arms, nothing else mattered.

In the days between hunts, when life was normal for as long as you each could manage, Dean wouldn’t leave your side. He’d follow you from room to room, lingering in your presence for as long as possible. His eyes were always locked on you, drinking you in. He couldn’t get enough. Most often, he was quiet. His love for you was strong, silent, reverent, yet ever-present. But there were always moments where the feelings inside him became too much. They bubbled up inside him and threatened to spill out uncontrollably. It was in moments like this where he attempted to turn his sentiments into words.

“I love you so much, you know that?” Dean spoke from his spot next to you as the two of you washed the dishes from dinner. Your beauty made the mundane so fascinating. He could see your face reflected in the shine of the plate you were drying, capturing your form in a way that was so uniquely you, and yet, could never live up to the real thing.

“I love you too, Dean,” you hummed in response, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you placed the final dish into the cabinet.

“No, seriously.” He wrung his hands, turning from the now-empty sink to face you. “You’re home now, kid. It’s always gonna be you. I hate leaving, but I’m always coming back to you.”

You smiled, wiping your hands on your jeans before taking Dean’s. You lifted his arms up, wrapping them around your shoulders and allowing him to pull you close. There you stood in the kitchen, swaying gently to a song that wasn’t there, yet you both could hear it so clearly. It was as if you could feel your life together growing up around you, sprouting and blooming. This was home, where Dean would always return. And you’d always be waiting.

#arj's 100 follower event #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester reader insert #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural one shot #supernatural reader insert #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester drabble #supernatural drabble #requests <3

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comic-sans-chan · 5 months

Text

Fic I'll never write where Dukat decides the biennial Cardassian Festival of Whatever the Fuck (it is never actually specified) should be hosted on Deep Space Nine as a way of bridging the gap between the Cardassian and Bajoran peoples. Sisko and Kira are both Ehhhh about it, but Dukat is obnoxiously persistent until finally the Bajoran government and Federation higher ups are like “K”, on the condition that no Cardassian military (or Order) personnel be allowed. All security for the event will be handled by Odo and Starfleet. Dukat is suspiciously cool with this, which puts everyone on alert, but soon Cardassian vendors and decorators start showing up and they turn out to be pretty chill people, so they let it happen.

While the preparations for the festival are underway, another operation has started. A motherfucker from Garak's past is doing typical motherfucker things on the station. One of these things is scouting Garak's quarters, learning the layout, tracking Garak's routine. It becomes clear very quickly that the rapidly increasing number of Cardassians on DS9 is putting Garak on edge, though, because he seems to be fiddling more with his security protocols, so the motherfucker realizes they need to make their move and they need to make it fast.

They succeed. Sort of. With the circumstances as they are, they had to get a little... creative, but it should do the trick.

By early next morning, every PADD, screen, and computer system on the station is streaming seventy-two different poems on a constant loop. Love poems. Ardent, anguished, often utterly indecent love poems, all with the central theme of being about one Doctor Julian Bashir.

Quark is one of the first to notice the problem, being the type of asshole who opens early despite this only increasing his bottom line by a fraction of a fraction. At first, he's furious that his systems have been tampered with, but after reading a few lines of what his normal menu and advertisements have been replaced with, he's laughing, and by the end of the third poem, he's on the floor.

"Odo!" he shouts, banging on the bastard's door twenty minutes later. "Odo, open up! We've got a problem!"

Odo slinks under the door and slips up between it and Quark's pounding fist with a glare. "Quark! I'm not on duty for another hour. What could possibly be so urgent?"

Quark's sharp little rat teeth are splitting his face clean in half as he holds up the PADD. "Take a look."

Odo scrolls through a couple poems, then squints and scrolls through several more. "Erotic love poetry? I didn't peg you for the type."

"To like erotica? Hoo, I thought you paid better attention than that, Constable."

Odo returns the PADD with a dry expression. "To read."

"Oh, you're hilarious." He taps Odo's chest with the PADD. "The whole station is filled with this stuff. My bar, the Replimat, the Celestial Cafe, the promenade. Someone's either desperate to make a statement, or we've been sabatoged."

Dramatic sci-fi music swells and we get a close-up of Odo’s eerily hairless face and nasal cavity.

The next few hours are dedicated to trying and failing to seize back the servers and briefing the bridge staff on the situation.

"Are we sure these are all about Doctor Bashir?" Sisko's voice booms across Ops. He's on his second cup of coffee and a pile of useless PADDs lay beside him.

Julian has remained stoic throughout the discussion and he remains so now, avoiding eye contact with anyone who's smiling a little too wide. Like Jadzia. "Oh, definitely," she says. "He's mentioned by name in three of them, and several others make a point of highlighting the subject's 'golden sand dune skin', 'aristocratic' features, and 'voice that never stops singing.' Sounds like Julian to me."

A few snickers break out, but Sisko is taking the matter seriously. Thank fuck, Julian thinks. It actually looks like it's giving him a headache, which would make two of them if Julian was capable of having headaches. The captain's rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "And the source..."

"There's a clear data trail back to Garak's quarters. Whoever did this, they wanted us to know where it came from," Kira reports. A muscle jumps in Julian's cheek.

"I tracked Garak down for his statement on the issue," Odo says, gruff, "and he told me he had nothing to do with the virus. In fact, he denied ever having laid eyes on the poems in his life. He's claiming he's been framed." He rolls his eyes.

"Okay," Jadzia says, "we all agree he's lying, right?"

"But which part..."

"Oh, they're Garak's. I've read enough Lloja of Prim to be familiar with traditional Kardasi meter and syntax, and that isn't even going into all the parallels drawn between our doctor and Prime. Sand, heat, rainforests. Bit of Romulan imagery in there, too, if I'm not mistaken. A lot of flowers and vines. Wasn't Garak a gardener?"

"I see no reason why anyone would want to embarass themselves like this," O'Brien cuts in before Jadzia can make it worse. "Even if he is trying to distract us or something, this seems counterproductive in the long term. Everyone’s watching him now, not just us. The rumor mill is running rampant. Not exactly a spy’s MO."

"He did blow up his shop once."

"Because someone was trying to kill him," Julian pipes up for the first time, looking concerned. "Do you think this might be another cry for help?"

"Oh, it's a cry for something," Jadzia quips, and Julian shuts the fuck up.

"Dax," Sisko snaps, like the good benevolent Wormhole Alien Jesus he is, and Dax shuts the fuck up, too. Sisko gives them all the stink eye. "Constable, you're nearly as familiar with Garak as the doctor is," he says, and holds a hand up before any jokes can be made. "What do you think?"

"I don't think he's behind this, sir. None of the pieces add up, and he seemed genuinely agitated when I spoke to him, in his way. At present, I believe he is as much a victim here as the rest of us."

Sisko sighs. "All right. Do we have any idea who is behind this?"

The room is silent for a time, before Odo reluctantly answers for everyone, "Not yet, sir."

"Find out," Sisko demands, "and Chief, get these damn poems off of my reports. Dismissed."

Julian is out of the room before anyone else has stood up.

The rest of the day is spent ducking in and out of his office, only treating those who ask for him by name and keeping all conversations strictly professional. Any mentions of poetry, the festival, Cardassians, or Garak are firmly sidelined, and on a couple occasions, rewarded with a none-too-gentle hypo. He skips lunch altogether and extends his shift by two hours to avoid the dinner rush.

By the time he's leaving the Infirmary, it's late. Unfortunately for him, not late enough that the halls aren't still speckled with observers to his personal soap opera. With the Festival of Frank’s Hot Dogs less than a week away, DS9 is becoming increasingly crowded with tourists, mostly Cardassian, but a surprising amount Bajoran, too–apparently this festival was a rare bright point during the Occupation, when their oppressors were not only lenient with them for once, but generous with food and drink and freedoms. It doesn't hurt that the only Cardassians on board are civilian rather than military, so the atmosphere is rather more colorful, courteous and conversational rather than cold, dark and aggressive. It would make Julian smile if he wasn't so busy being gawked at.

"I don't see it," one Cardassian man grumbles and Julian's accursed augmented ears pick up. "He's even smoother than a Bajoran."

"Oh, yeah," his companion replies, "just think of how easily he'd slide around."

"Tanett!"

"Oh, hush, Grandpa. You're just xenophobic. He's cute."

"Well, you be careful who hears you say that. That Garak fellow is in the Order, you know. Ears everywhere. You don't want to know what things a man like that is capable of."

"Wasn't he exiled? Hardly intimidating now. Apparently all he's capable of anymore is whimpering over an alien like a pakrela."

Julian covers his ears and walks faster.

But that just brings him within range of a cluster of Bajorans. "Oh, there's the doctor now," one is saying, up on the balcony.

"The one the Cardassian tailor wrote about?"

"That poor fool. He thought they were friends, but here this whole time it was perverse. I can only imagine how much that hurts."

"Happened to my friend once. He thought a glinn was being kind because he was having a crisis of conscience and wanted to help him escape. No, he just wanted to–"

He could go to his quarters, but a flash of memory - Garak's bright eyes at the end of his bed, his figure encased in shadow - sends him in the opposite direction. Before long, he finds himself on an oft-unused Observation deck, since it offers no view of the wormhole or either Bajor or Cardassia's suns. It's blessedly empty, as usual, and Julian settles on a bench and stares into the dark nothingness of space for a long time.

At some point, he finds that his hand has retrieved the PADD from his medical bag, and the screen is lit up automatically with the first poem.

He reads well into the night.

—

The next morning finds Garak with a tall glass of rokassa juice and two eggs, staring intensely into a mysteriously operational PADD at the far end of Quark's bar. Quark pops out of his backroom like a jack-in-the-box.

"Ha! Well, if it isn't the man of the hour himself, gracing my fine establishment so soon after nearly destroying it. Do you know I've had to have menus printed, like we're in the dark ages? Do you have any idea how extensive my menu is? I ought to sue you for damages." He catches a glimpse of the PADD's screen and its decidedly unpoetic contents. "Hey, you fixed it? How?"

"It was just a simple virus. Viruses can be purged," Garak says without looking up. He barely seems aware of Quark's existence.

When no other words are forthcoming, Quark huffs. "Well, can you purge it from the rest of the station, then?"

"I gave the program to the Chief last night."

"And he didn't immediately come here to fix my bar? I'll have to file a complaint.”

Garak offers no reply. Just continues to stare into his PADD.

There are other customers he could be seeing to, but Quark can't pass up this golden opportunity. He's known Garak a long time and known of him even longer, and now that he has the guy's guts all neatly lined up on several dozen isolinear rods, he's never felt closer to the man. He makes a point of knowing things about his customers, but before yesterday, the most he knew about Garak was that he was an assassin, a tailor, a mean, weepy drunk, and friends with Bashir, Odo, and a smattering of other shopkeepers. That was it. But now...

He leans over the counter, closer to Garak's unblinking face. "You know," he says, with a smile rising slow on his cheeks, "if it's humans you like, I have a couple holosuite programs that might be just what you need."

Garak's gaze ascends as if on a motor, smooth and mechanical.

Good. He’s considering the bait. Now he just has to get him to bite. "All completely customizable. Skin, eyes, hair. You like long legs, they've got long legs. Scrawny, they're scrawny. Whatever you want. Although if you're really hung up on the one face, that can also be arranged. For the right price." When Garak just looks at him, Quark switches tactics. "Or maybe it's the uniform that does it for you? I've got 'em, but I'd suggest something out of my lingerie databases. I've still got some little Cardassian numbers filed away that I think even a man with your discerning tastes could appreciate. Just imagine, Doctor Bashir in a–"

He doesn't see the hand coming until it's already crushing his windpipe. Quark claws at it for several long, desperate moments while Garak continues to look.

Leeta scuttling over and yanking him away is what ultimately puts a stop to it, and it's while Quark is gasping in dramatic bursts of air that Leeta says in a rush, "Garak, please! Whatever he said, he didn't mean it!"

"Oh, I meant it," Quark coughs out with a high, strangled laugh, "he just didn't like it."

"Whatever conclusions you've drawn in the last twenty-six hours, allow me to dispel them," Garak says primly, as if he hadn't almost committed murder in broad daylight. "I am not a xenophile and I do not have feelings for Doctor Bashir. There are no less than two-hundred Cardassians currently aboard the station, and I assure you, none of them like me. Those poems were obviously planted."

Oh, but Quark is a little pissed now, unwise as that is. "Please, Garak," he says, "who has time to write that many poems about Julian just to mess with you? Two or three, maybe, but over seventy? If you're going to lie, at least don't insult our intelligence."

Garak's eyes flash and Quark ducks behind Leeta, repentant. Leeta sighs. "Garak, what's so bad about loving Julian?" she asks softly. "I thought the poems were really touching. It’s sweet how much you care for him."

But he's already staring into his PADD again. "I'm sorry, Miss Leeta, but I am a bit busy. Perhaps we can discuss my hypothetical feelings for your paramour another time."

"Julian and I have never been serious," she tries to assure him, but he's engrossed again, or at least pretending to be. Her and Quark share a look and leave him to it. Lesson learned.

"Let the bastard be pent up and miserable, then," Quark grumbles from the other end of the bar as he pours Table 3's drinks. A prickle on his neck has him looking up and there Garak's eyes are again, piercing, and Quark rushes off to deliver the drinks.

The three young Cardassians there are much more friendly. One has their nose stuck in one of the useless poetry PADDs while the other two smile at Quark while he sets out their orders.

"Three Raktajinos, extra bitter," Quark says, and is thanked. Polite. One even praises the drink's exoticness. Klingon coffee, exotic. Heh. "Your food will be out in a few."

Before he can finish turning, though, a hand is touching his arm. "What is the title of this anthology you include at every table?" the young man asks.

"Oh, that's not..." He sighs. "It's new. I can't remember."

"Find out for us, please," he says. "Works like these can be hard to come by on Prime and we make it our business to collect them. Whoever this author is, they're very unique."

"If these aren't banned on Prime already, they will be soon," his friend comments with a giggle.

"No doubt."

"'In my desolation, I am as weeds: Cut my roots and Let the waters take me, To drown and bloom anew, in You,'" the one with her nose in the PADD reads aloud, and shivers. "They'd burn the whole Central Archive down just for this one. It's so explicit."

"Let me see that," the boy demands, as the other one is already surging over to read over the girl's shoulder. Watching them fight over the PADD has Quark thinking back to the isolinear rods in his safe, and he hums thoughtfully, glancing over his shoulder.

Garak isn't looking.

—

Glinn Halon Duvur. Former underling of Gul Dukat. Out of uniform, vacationing on Deep Space Nine with his wife and nine children. Spends his days gambling while his kids play unsupervised in the holosuites and his wife visits old friends.

Beloved uncle sent to trial by the Obsidian Order in 2356 and executed that same day for crimes of attempted sabotage against Cardassia.

Garak watches the man wander down the promenade sans his proud lineage, jingling a fat little bag of gold-pressed latinum and yet-unconverted leks. He wanders out of range, so Garak switches to the next camera and there that unfortunate face is again. He drums his fingers on the desk. It won't be long now.

An alert rings in his ear and he almost initiates the shockfield on impulse, but the flash of smooth, brown skin on a monitor stays his hand. The knocking comes, and that haunting voice calls out, "Garak! Are you there?"

Garak rests his head next to the surveillance screens.

Predictably, the doctor tries to input his override, but the door remains shut. There's a long pause.

"Garak..." Julian sounds irate. Garak hums. "Did you deprogram my override code? Nevermind how illegal that is, that's dangerous! What if you're injured? Or fall ill?"

He says this just after attempting to abuse his station privileges for personal reasons. Infuriating hypocrite.

"Oh, my barging in at random, odd hours is no less than you deserve, Garak," Julian says as if in response to Garak's thoughts. "You set that precedent in our relationship yourself."

Terrible man.

"Fine. I'll give you some more time, since you want it so badly, but I'll be back and when I am, that override had better work. If it doesn’t, I promise there will be hell to pay, my friend."

Beautiful man.

"Goodbye, Mr. Garak."

Goodbye, Doctor.

Glinn Duvur dies two hours later of alcohol poisoning while his wife is in bed with Gul Rilimn's wife.

—

“I just can’t believe it,” Kira is bitching. Jadzia smiles and sips her drink, looking out over the Replimat balcony at all the happy brunchgoers. “A Cardassian writing poetry about something that isn’t conquest or the wonders of dictatorial rule or, at best, the pride of the traditional family nobly bowing and scraping. I’ve never seen it.”

“It would certainly seem to run counter to Cardassian values.”

“And about Julian!” she shrieks in her inside voice, slapping her hands down on the table. “Garak the spy, writing love poetry about Julian. Going on and on about his–his...”

“Ass?” Jadzia offers.

“Eyes. His eyes! Ohhh, I knew he wanted to have sex with him, everyone knew that, but to write about his eyes like... like that? It’s practically Bajoran.”

“That’s true.”

Kira stops long enough in her tirade to eye her, and presses her lips into a thin line. “How are you so calm about this?”

Jadzia takes another sip. “I’m just fascinated,” she says. “I’ll admit, I’ve been looking at this more through Tobin’s eyes than my own. Have I ever told you that he met Lloja of Prim during his exile?”

“He did not.”

“He did, and Lloja flirted with him outrageously. It was embarrassing, looking back. Of course, nothing ever came of it, because Tobin was always hopelessly blind to those sorts of things even without the language barrier, but his children liked to joke that many of Lloja’s poems were about him.”

Kira’s jaw is hanging. “Were they?”

Jadzia grins and shrugs. Kira laughs.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Perhaps,” Jadzia allows, “but I do wonder... Being able to call nervous, asexual Tobin the lover of Lloja of Prim would have been quite the notch in my belt. Think of the stories I could have told! And now here Julian is with the opportunity. I know it’s not the same, I mean, it’s Garak. But, you have to admit, to write about him like that...”

“He must really love him,” Kira finishes for her, stumped. “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

“I didn’t see it, either,” Jadzia confesses. “I was still wrestling with the idea that they were actually friends. I thought their association was strictly professional and all the books and flirting were just a front.” She cradles her head in her hands suddenly and sighs. “Ugh, but those poems. The poems are so good! Kira...”

“I know,” she moans. “They’re heart-wrenching. Which one are you on now?”

“Thirty-nine. I came back home, but I came back gone.”

“Ouch.”

“I know.”

A shout from below interrupts them and they both shoot out of their seats. Below, a Cardassian man has just had a beam fall on top of him. Jadzia and Kira bound down the stairs to him, Jadzia already slapping a hand on her comm badge.

“Dax to Infirmary, a man has just been crushed, possibly impaled. Send a medical team to Replimat and be ready for emergency beam out.”

“Acknowledged, we’re on our way,” Girani says, but already Kira is looking up at Jadzia helplessly, the man’s wrist laying limp between her hands.

“He’s gone.”

“Shit!” Jadzia hunches over, hands on her knees. “That’s the third one today. Are Cardassians always this accident prone? No wonder you won the war.”

“No,” Kira says. “They’re not. You don’t think...”

“I don’t know,” Jadzia says grimly, and looks around at the crowd that’s formed. All Cardassian, all terrified. “But we need to find out.”

—

A Cardassian is sitting at the bar. This isn’t an unusual sight now, with the Festival of 90s Funk and Beyond coming up, but seeing one so young and looking so hunted is odd. Quark approaches him casually.

“What’ll you have?”

The Cardassian’s eyes dart. “Uh...” He leans over suddenly, cups both hands over his mouth, and whispers, “E. G. Special.”

Christ, these kids are going to kill him. “Coming right up,” he says in a normal person voice, and reaches under the bar for a glass. A little drink-mixing magic later, a beautiful fizzy blue drink is sitting between them, with an isolinear rod tucked neatly in the straw.

The Cardassian takes the drink between both hands excitedly, and Quark snaps his fingers in front of him. “Oh! Right,” the kid stutters, and all but launches the latinum at Quark’s face. “Thank you!” And off he goes, out of the bar with the glass still tight in his grasp.

“Idiot,” Quark mutters to himself, crouching carefully down to pick the latinum up off the floor without dirtying his expensive pants. “You’re supposed to take the straw, not the entire glass. That’s it, I’m switching to plastic. These little rebel brats don’t deserve my ni—Oh, hello, Constable! I didn’t see you there. What can I get you?”

Odo looks as unimpressed as ever. “That’s a funny question since last I checked, I don’t drink.”

“Ah, right, because you’re a liquid. How could I forget. You know, one of these days, I ought to serve you up with a little umbrella, see how people like it. I’d bet you taste bitter.” Odo harrumphs, and Quark makes himself busy with wiping down the counter. “Well, out with it then. What nefarious scheme am I up to now? I love to hear your little stories.”

Four isolinear rods drop onto the counter, right where Quark was just cleaning. “Hey now,” he says, throwing a performative glare at the changeling. “Careful. If you shatter glass in my bar, you’re cleaning it up.”

“I just had the most interesting conversation with the Tokal family,” Odo says, steamrolling right over him. “It seems their four darling children had somehow come into some questionable reading material. They tried searching for it in the Central Archives and yet, despite it being clearly Cardassian in origin, they could not find it. And I don’t need to tell you that when a piece of Cardassian reading material isn’t in the Central Archives...”

Quark, from his plastered position on the floor, stares up into Odo’s face directly horizontal to his and smiles. “What?”

“It’s illegal,” Odo sneers, stretching his body even further over the bar and nearly sending Quark starfishing.

“Okay! Odo! I get it! But what does that have to do with me?”

“Quark!”

“Okay, okay! Whatever it is you think I’ve done, I’ll stop! I’ll stop, okay?”

“I know you’re going to stop, because I am going to confiscate every copy of Garak’s poetry that you have absconded with and destroy them.”

Quark gasps. “Book burning? In this day and age?”

“Garak did not give his permission for you to sell his work! He didn’t even want anyone to see it in the first place! Those poems were stolen. Now, I expect a list of every person you sold a copy to and a full and complete refund to be issued by tomorrow morning. Do I make myself clear?”

Quark glowers. “You’ve made yourself something, all right.”

“Quark...”

“Okay! All right. Consider it done.”

Turora Lumok. Obsidian Order operative and old colleague. Usually in deep cover in the Organian sectre, but has abandoned post to explore the space station. Barren, unattached. Cold. A model agent, if you ignore her unfortunate habit of going rogue and eliminating civilians on a whim.

Recruited into the Order by Enabran Tain’s former right hand, Euluk Bucun, who was assassinated by Elim Garak in 2341 under orders from Enabran Tain for suspicions of treason. Turora Lumok disciplined shortly afterward by Elim Garak for complaining that she had wanted to be the one to kill that bitch.

Garak watches as the woman pretends to touch up her makeup while scouting for cameras. “Oh, Lumok, you always were woefully obvious. Have you been expecting me? I wonder why.”

Satisfied with the positions of the cameras, she puts away her mirror and strolls out of sight.

Garak shakes his head. “Fool. You forget how long I’ve lived on this wretched station. I don’t need to see you every second to know where you are.”

But then, the smell of antiseptic. Starfleet issue soap. Herbal shampoo, unique, robust. Gels. Oils. Sweat.

He’s near.

Forcing calmness with a deep, measured breath, he takes off his eyepiece and slips it into his sleeve. He pays for the food he barely ate. He stands. He turns.

And is promptly thrust into the dark, deep woods of Julian Bashir’s eyes. “There you are, Garak! I’ve been looking all over for you,” the doctor says as if it’s just a regular day on Deep Space Nine. His hot, mammalian body caging him tightly in place against the table betrays the ruse. “Who was it you were talking to?”

Garak tries to step around him. Julian steps with him. “Oh, only ever myself. Forgive me, but you’ve caught me just on my way out. I have a strict appointment at 2.”

There’s Julian’s hand now. On his shoulder. Garak is calm. This is normal. “Well, why don’t I walk you there then.”

“My dear Doctor, I couldn’t rob you of your meal. Clearly you’ve just walked in.”

“Actually, I’ve found I’m craving something a bit different now.”

Garak makes to step around Julian again, and still Julian’s steps match his. It’s like they’re dancing. He doesn’t let this deter him. He’s not sure he’s capable of letting anything deter him now, with his heart trying to pound out of his throat. He keeps stepping doggedly forward, and Julian keeps mirroring, still with that damned hand burning through his tunic. “Well, you only have so much time before you must return to the infirmary, I know. Do not allow me to delay you in securing a table at a different locale.”

“Oh, but you’ve already delayed me so long. What’s a few more minutes?” A peek of teeth, a hint of warning. “Though I will admit... I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.”

“Then don’t.” Finally, Garak manages to elbow past this madness and shoot out of the restaurant. The station is so crowded these days, it’s short work to get lost in it. In a sea of ridges and black hair, Garak slips his eyepiece back on and lets the wave take him.

“Garak!”

Oh, for the Union’s sake—

He does not run. He does not stumble. He walks normally and not desperately, keeping his eye on both the path to the turbolift and Lumok. She’s down the corridor now, pretending to check her makeup again like an imbecile. Just a few paces more. Almost there...

“Garak, you’re the best dressed one here! You are not difficult to spot, you ridiculous dandy! Oh, no offense, Ma’am. Lovely scarf. Excuse me.”

There.

In the reflection of the mirror, Garak makes eye contact with the rogue and taps in the correct sequence on the device sewed into the seam of his pants just as the turbolift doors close behind him.

Like that, Turora Lumok is beamed into space and dies instantly, without a soul to mourn her, and Elim Garak walks back to his quarters with a hand over his mouth and a warmth on his shoulder, without a soul to mourn him, either.

—-

The Festival of Fierce and Fantastic Frogs is two days away and already it is being protested.

Outside Quark’s Bar is a growing army of dissident children with voice amplifiers and holoprojectors shouting to the stars that if they don’t get their porn back, they’ll tear it all down. Signs are projected in the air with essays cycling through them that look to be several pages each, a small holographic fire barely reaching ankle-height is lighting up the length of the promenade, and – perhaps most disturbingly – a comically inaccurate approximation of Odo is rotating at the center of the group, fitted in the typical regalia of the Cardassian military and holding a Klingon bat’leth. It is certainly... something.

“They’re Cardassians,” Quark is saying as he pours out some root beers. “They’ve probably never seen a protest in their lives, they don’t know what they’re doing. The Union puts an end to things like this pretty fast on the surface.”

“Heh,” Jadzia says, “what happens on DS9, stays on DS9.”

“Where’d you hear that?” Kira asks.

“It’s something Julian likes to say. Basically, they figure they can get away with speaking their minds here.”

Kira drums her fingers on the bar, staring into the flailing protestors thoughtfully.

Right then, Odo arrives back on the scene. It looks like he’s trying to get through, respectfully, but the protestors are not making it easy. Jadzia and Kira come to his rescue just as about fifteen Cardassians start forming a blockade around him.

“I walked around as you do, investigating the endless stars,” one young woman is yelling at him while he stands there with big helpless baby eyes, “and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked, the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind!”

“I don’t know what that means,” Odo says consolingly.

“Clearly!”

“Okay, okay, let him through!” Kira wiggles her way between the crowd and Odo, snatching him by the arm like a fish with a hook. “He’s not your enemy here, he was just upholding your laws!”

“The Cardassian government has no jurisdiction on a Bajoran station!”

“He made his choices!”

“Beautiful Julian would be ashamed of you! Repent! Repent!”

Kira and Jadzia manage to reel him most of the way through the protesters and he shapeshifts the rest of the journey. The protestors try to follow, but Quark bustles over to stop them. “No, no demonstrations inside! Remember who your allies are,” he says, and they all cow back. “Thank you.”

Odo ripples his form a couple times to make sure everything’s back in the right place and harrumphs. “Allies, Quark?”

“Yes, allies. It’s terrible what you’ve done to them. You can’t police art, Odo–-this is culture we're talking about here, the very bedrock of society.”

“And I’m sure this virtuous attitude of yours has nothing to do with the incredible profit you made and lost at the expense of our mutual friend.”

“Oh, I did him a favor.” Quark uncaps another bottle of Kanar and gestures back to the entrance, with its swarm of frothing Cardassian children. “Look, he’s got fans!”

“How has Garak been handling all this?” Kira asks Odo, sharing a look with Jadzia. “I haven’t heard a peep out of him since he gave us that antivirus program.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Didn’t you have breakfast with him yesterday?”

“Hmmm, that would have been routine. Except he didn’t show. When I made it back to my office, I found a message from him apologizing, telling me he’s so busy with orders he’s lost all track of time.”

“How has he been getting commissions?” Jadzia asks. “His shop’s been closed all week.”

Odo rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure the reality is he’s simply avoiding the issue. Dr. Bashir has informed me he’s been treating him like ‘the black plague’ as well.”

“Julian’s one to talk. He practically pole-vaulted over a vedek the other day to get away from me.”

“Speak of the devil,” Quark says, looking towards the door, and everyone turns just as the commotion starts–or, more accurately, the commotion abruptly stops.

The protestors have all gone quiet, in apparent awe as they part around Julian like the red sea around Moses. He’s smiling stupidly as he stands in the center of them, nodding at something a Cardassian man is exclaiming. It’s an incredibly awkward scene, and Quark starts choking at some of the things his ears are picking up. “They’ve deified him,” he tells them, and Jadzia bursts into giggles at the idea, but Quark isn’t joking. “Really. He might as well be one of the prophets to them. You read the poems. You know.”

Ugh. Kira wrinkles her nose in disgust. The worst kind of blasphemy–horny blasphemy. “What is he even doing here?” she asks.

“Getting his head inflated,” Jadzia says dryly, because now that Quark has mentioned it, it’s pretty clear from the shit-eating grin on Julian’s face that that’s exactly what’s happening.

“Poor Garak.” Quark says it absentmindedly, but the comment gets several eyes turned on him. He’s shaking his head as he watches the scene unfold. “First, he falls for a human… humiliating… but then that love becomes public knowledge and several young beautiful Cardassians decide that he’s onto something, and now that human is going to get more action in a week than he’s seen his entire life. I’ve witnessed the rise and fall of more than a few star-crossed romances, but this might just be the saddest.”

“Julian wouldn’t have an orgy the same week the whole station found out Garak’s in love with him,” Jadzia says, insulted on his behalf.

Quark hefts a tray up onto his shoulder. “He just did,” he says as he leaves to go do his job, and Jadzia whips her head around to see Julian escorting two attractive Cardassians away from the protest. Her jaw drops.

“Bastard,” Kira spits, surprising everyone, herself most of all. Those poems must’ve affected her more than she realized.

Odo clears his throat unnecessarily. “I’m no expert on the behavior of solids, but it seems to me that neither party is handling this situation well.”

“I’ll tell you how the pakrela should be handling this,” an older Cardassian sitting at the far end of the bar cuts in, with a twitch to him that makes it clear he’s more than a few deep. “He should be settling his assets, because he doesn’t have long now. Whatever his human is doing is the least of his worries. Ha. Hehe. Being a traitor wasn’t enough for him. No, now he’s gone and corrupted the next generation with his degeneracy. Exile was too soft a punishment. Uh-huh.”

Kira opens her mouth to tell him to fuck off, but Odo touches her shoulder. “You speak as if you know him,” he notes mildly, because of course, the exact reason for Garak’s exile isn’t public record. It’s barely even private record. The Order doesn’t work that way–or didn’t, as it stands. It is interesting that this man is acting like he has classified information despite being a civilian.

But then, sometimes day drinkers just like to spout speculation as fact.

The man looks into his glass and laughs at his reflection. “Who doesn’t know Garak these days? But that’s temporary. He’ll be forgotten soon enough, just like the Order.” He finishes his drink and gets up. He insincerely mutters some friendly Cardassian farewell and starts to walk past them, but Kira can’t let it go.

“Excuse me, but what’s your name, sir? You’ve been so informative.”

He looks at her for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he says, and elbows past the protesters.

—

“Solt Mebol, left behind a widow and child six years ago when he was tragically killed in a transporter accident. In reality, he accepted an undercover mission which required him to fake his death and have his bond dissolved. A significant sacrifice. Certainly not one many Cardassians could have made.”

The Cardassian stares at Garak sitting on his couch. Turning, he tries to exit his temporary quarters, but the door won’t open.

Garak tuts. “Oh, you know better than that, Mebol.” He taps his disruptor with his forefinger, resting harmlessly against his knee. “The festival isn’t for another couple days, yet here you are. Catching up with old friends before the festivities, I assume? Only I haven’t found you in anyone’s company but your own. You must be lonely. Please, let me alleviate your loneliness for a while.”

The Cardassian sighs at the closed door. “Solt, is it?”

“I can tell you the names of your wife and child as well, if you’d like, and the city they live in. Do you know your wife never rebonded? Unusual behavior for a Romulan. Quite dangerous, as I understand it.”

Solt steps carefully into the small living space and sits in the chair opposite Garak, with the coffee table between them. “As one of the last living members of the Order, I don’t suppose you would consider letting me go?”

Garak smiles pleasantly. “I would be delighted.”

“Would you? I had a deal with Central Command and they’ve been good to me so far. You, however, have been known to…” He eyes the disruptor casually turned in his direction.

“Yes, I imagine I must be something of a mystery these days to my people. I have been… squirrely, is what I suppose a human would say, and I must as well now that I’ve been painted with their brush. Oh, it is an incredible sin, I know. That I should enjoy the company of an attractive alien while in exile.”

Solt snorts. “You expect me to believe those poems were the natural result of a fling?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything you do not wish to. I only say that it’s convenient that I should be seen as even more traitorous just as a swarm of Cardassians should enter the station.”

“What’s convenient is that you’re still alive. You have friends in high places willing to go to bat for you, in spite of everything you’ve done. It’s a disgrace. You are a selfish disloyal anarchist and no one is holding you accountable, because you just happened to be good at your job once and everyone likes the idea of having you as a potential weapon should the need for one arise. Until then, they’re content to keep you in a cabinet collecting dust and sentiment. You can wave that disruptor all you want, but we both know you make a poor operative now. You’re in love.”

Garak is still smiling, but Solt can see the signs of a grimace. Dusty, indeed. Too passionate. Too human. “I’m hardly so foolish. You know better than I the dangers of such things in our line of work. You’re little better than a puppet now that you’ve had a whiff of the truth, Mebol.”

“You’re right.” Solt attempts to raise one eye ridge, despite it being unfit for such maneuvers, and leans forward towards that disruptor. “Pull my strings, then, and let’s test that grip Bashir has on yours.”

—

Kira crashes into Garak’s quarters and kickflips past all his booby traps like Indiana Jones’ hotter cousin.

“What the fuck, Richard?” is basically what she says, only it’s in character, so it’s more like, “What the fuck, Garak!”

Garak spins around in his maniacal villain chair with a look of surprise. “How did you get in here, Major?” Miles bustles his way in after her with his impractically enormous toolkit, and Garak lets out an, “Ah,” then, sedately, “I suppose Dr. Bashir filed a complaint about my tampering with the door codes. Of course, there’s a perfectly logical explanation. You see, it–”

“This isn’t about door codes, Garak,” Kira yells. “What I want to know is why our best suspect for the sudden influx of murders on the station was just found drowned in his own toilet!”

“Oh my,” Garak says. “What an unfortunate end.”

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. We know what you’re capable of, but we’re good people and we didn’t want to accuse a victim until we had exhausted the rest of our line-up. Only, interestingly enough, they’re all dead, so now…” she marches over with the fury of the Prophets on her heels and stands imposingly over him, her teeth clenched, “here we are.”

“That is interesting.” He runs a hand down a roll of fabric in his lap, smoothing it. “I suppose you must have some of that ironclad evidence that the Federation so treasures.”

Kira glares at him.

Garak feigns looking around. “Oh, but I can’t help but notice the good Constable isn’t here with you. What could that mean? Surely not that you broke into my quarters without due cause or a hint of warning–at your own word, not even to fix my glitching door. For all you knew, I could have been in here writing one of my vaunted Bashir epics.”

Kira’s hands are in fists now. “The evidence we have would be more than enough to have your face plastered on every viewscreen in Cardassia and you know it.”

“The Federation and Bajoran legal processes do seem a tad inefficient in moments like these, don’t they?”

“Okay,” Miles cuts in, because he has Turbo PTSD and is not in the mood for a flare up. “I think I'll just wait in the hallway, then. Holler if you need me. Good luck, Major.”

Kira and Garak spend a few moments watching him waddle out of the room and then go back to staring each other down.

“Look, you ass,” Kira starts, “we couldn’t link every victim to the Cardassian government or some third-party organization, but we were able to link enough of them to recognize that these aren’t just random nobodies having ‘accidents.’ Someone was able to break into your computer and embarrass you and you don’t like that so you’re pitching a fit. I can’t have Odo arrest you – yet – but I can tell you to cut it out. This vigilantism isn’t helping–”

That gets a reaction. “Vigilantism!”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“Self-defense.”

“They attacked you?”

“Possibly.”

“Goddamn you, Garak! Just… don’t do this anymore, okay?”

Garak looks at her with innocent astonishment, like he’s still bewildered by her totally plausible accusations. “Well. You have my word, I suppose,” he says, bemused.

—

Gul Skrain Dukat. Blessed with a wife, seven children, two sets of living parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, minus one father. Habitually cheats with lower ranked military officials, slaves, and barely legal adults, unbenownst to his family. Father was interrogated by Elim Garak and executed by the Union over live broadcast in the year 2350 for the crime of being a piece of shit.

Elim Garak was shortly thereafter levied with an amateurish execution attempt by Gul Dukat. It failed.

The second attempt will succeed, but at a great cost.

The Festival of Filthy Fucking Foot Fetishists has officially begun, but Garak is struggling to feel any enthusiasm. He is surrounded by his people. The station has been dimmed by 15% to better suit Cardassian eyes and misting stations have been set up in limited locations. Extinct and invented flowers crafted by Cardassian and Bajoran artisans decorate the banisters and doorways. A wash of blue, green, and sparkling gold lights up every direction. There is the smell of freshly prepared Cardassian sweets on the air, a gentle warmth suffuses the atmosphere, and children are laughing on the promenade. It’s the first time the station has felt not just tolerable, but nearly pleasant, in years.

But then, Garak has never felt particularly welcome among his people. As a child, he was an orphan generously cared for by service workers and sponsored by a government official, and as an adult, he was a member of the Order, which granted him more fear and loathing than it did admiration and respect. Companionship, in its truest form, was a rare thing to come by and not something he was encouraged to come by at all.

Perhaps that is why Dr. Bashir blindsided him.

In any case, Garak is delicately balanced on the line between proper misery and numbness. He gave up imbibing around the same time that he gave up the implant—or rather, the implant gave up on him—but he’s on his third cup now, wandering through the festivities with no particular direction in mind. The exact spot of this last operation isn’t important, only the timing.

He finishes his drink while a group play a spirited game of cold moba in front of him. It shouldn't be long now.

All the nearby screens suddenly flicker from the event schedule to Dukat’s sharp grin and Garak hums. There we are. He knew the bitch wouldn’t be able to resist showing his face.

“Welcome everyone to the biennial Festival of–” a baby wails, “generously hosted here on Deep Space Nine by Bajor and the Federation, and of course organized by our own prodigous Detapa Council. Ah, that wormhole… quite the view, isn’t it?”

Garak looks around for another food stall that serves alcohol.

There aren’t any stalls in his immediate vicinity, but there is a young Cardassian couple marching towards him while making dogged eye contact.

Oh no.

Garak starts to make a break for it. Not too fast, it won’t do to cause a stir, but there are a number of very good reasons for him to stay far away from any Cardassians who might recognize him right now. Especially if the source of that recognition is those damn poems he was too stupid and sentimental to destroy.

Before he can make it more than a few steps, however, he looks up to see another few Cardassians working their way towards him, also making eye contact.

No, no, no.

He makes to move towards the stairs then, only for his eyes to land squarely on him.

Him, wearing the silky green outfit he lovingly crafted for him a few months ago. Him, shining in the festival lights, casting him in an even more arresting shade of gold than usual. Him, looking determined and coming straight towards him.

Oh, fuck no.

“Garak,” Julian calls out, likely reading the panic on his face and stance and soul.

“Today, I am not a Gul, though,” Dukat is saying. “I am but a humble representative of the Cardassian Union in its totality, and as such, I would like to thank Colonel Kira Nerys and Captain Benjamin Sisko for their hand in this week’s festivities. They have been nothing if not accommodating these last few weeks while our coordinators ran rampant through their halls.”

He should have accounted for the possibility of this. Thinking of Julian had become excruciating as of late, but that was no excuse. Whatever interaction Julian had been hoping to have with him couldn’t be allowed, not now, and not only for the sake of Garak’s traitorous, disgusting feelings. Even if it would give the sweet man closure, it would not be worth his life.

“Now, it may be a bit unorthodox, but I thought it would be only fitting if the first Reenactment was carried out by our benevolent hosts, and the Lakarian City Acting Troupe were all too happy to take them under their wing.”

More eyes are turning towards the screen now, the laughing and playing and sloshing of cups quieting down. Julian is nearly with him, his approach halted only by the gathering crowd, and Garak can only pretend to be interested in Dukat’s speech while he racks his brain desperately for a solution. Any solution. Anything.

“I trust that the history of Cardassia is in capable hands.”

The screen flickers again and changes to a shot of one of Quark’s holodecks, where a lone Bajoran man stands in a beam of red light.

A hand grabs Garak roughly by the arm, and he nearly cries with relief when he sees that it’s Lumok.

Well, Lumok with the face and attire of a Bajoran, but that ever-present spark of unchecked malice in her eye is quite unmistakable to someone who worked with her for over a decade.

“Surprised, you ugly old regnar?” she asks under the actor’s impassioned opening monologue.

He sucks in a breath as the sharp edge of something presses into his back. “Impossible. They found your body caught on one of the station’s spires.”

“A simple bait and switch,” she purrs, pressing the weapon closer, slicing through his tunic. A pity. This was one of his nicer ones. “You’ve gotten sloppy.”

He manufactures a smile. “A knife, then? A favorite of yours, I recall, but terribly messy for such a public venue. Not to mention if your aim is even an inch off, I’ll be in and out of the infirmary within the day, as if nothing at all had happened.”

“Don’t lecture me,” she growls. “You can’t do that anymore. You’re not anyone to anyone. Your master is dead, and what did you do the second you were off leash for the first time in your life? You went and choked yourself on the first Starfleet sotl you could find. You’re pathetic.”

It took incredible effort to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his skull. “Oh, just stab me already.”

“I’m not going to stab you. I’ve done a bit of outsourcing, in fact.” She slid the knife from his lower back to his side and looped her arm through his, pinning him in place with a wide smile. “All I had to do was suggest to my new friend that you were infiltrating the Federation. That you were poisoning them against Bajor from the inside, uniting Cardassia and Starfleet in a secret alliance under the guise of wooing the CMO. No, no, you won’t be killed by one of your peers. Your death will be at the hands of a perfect stranger. A pointless death for a pointless man.” She leans in and whispers into his aural ridge, “It always was so easy to make people hate you.”

The next few seconds are a flurry of chaos. One second he’s watching as Human, Bajoran and Cardassian actors alike are all holding hands and reciting ancient poetry and the next he’s on the floor with a searing weight bearing down on him from calf to shoulder. There are screams and footfalls coming from all directions and Odo’s voice is immediately discernible shouting over the commotion. His back is on fire, he can’t breathe, and there’s a slash in his side, but he doesn’t miss the thump of Lumok’s body a few feet away, dead before she hits the ground.

“Garak? Garak?” the weight on him is speaking frantically, pawing at his head and shoulders. The weight shifts and the hands flip him onto his back. Those same hands pat him down, blazing a path down his chest and his stomach and his sides, stopping at the superficial gash near his rib, and Garak knows who this is before he even opens his eyes.

“Garak,” Julian sighs with relief. Garak was meant to be dead by phaser blast right now, but instead Julian Bashir is smiling down at him like he’s important, kneeling beside him, his hands on him, branding him with their incredible heat. It shouldn’t be possible. No one could be that fast.

“Doctor,” he manages on a wheeze. One of his ribs might be broken, actually.

“Dukat,” Sisko growls from the monitor in billowing robes and a long flowing wig, surrounded by flowers.

—

“Explain,” Sisko commands.

Having decided that showing weakness right now can only help his case, Garak is sitting hunched to the side, holding his reeling head in one hand. It’s through a hiss that he replies, “A woman named Turora Lumok was responsible for sabotaging the station with those poems forged with my data signature. The Bajoran woman who was just assassinated–she was no Bajoran, but rather one of the last remaining members of the Obsidian Order. She was hired by Dukat to kill me during the festival under the guise of a hate crime. No doubt because of her indomitable reputation, I’m sure. A number of Cardassian casualties these past several days were at her hands.”

Sisko walks to the viewport to stare out into the stars for a moment, processing this. “All his talk of friendship between Bajor and Cardassia…” he trails off, the ghost of a sneer on his lips as he turns back around. “His goal was just the opposite. He wanted to destroy any hope of cooperation.”

“And get me out of the way in the process,” Garak grumbles.

Sisko hums and wanders over to Garak’s side, looking down at him thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me who assassinated Ms. Lumok?”

Garak stares at the floor through his fingers, his eyes glazed.

“Or who your informant is on Dukat’s involvement?”

“Captain,” Garak mutters, not looking up, “I have sat here concussed after an attempt on my life and shared with you everything that I know, and here you have not even told me who the tailor of your magnificent robe is.” He tugs half-heartedly at a strip of embroidery on the fabric. “I must admit, I am feeling a touch betrayed you didn’t come to me.”

Sisko flicks his eyes up to Julian, who has been standing in the corner with his hands behind his back. “Very well, Mr. Garak. I release you into Dr. Bashir’s care for now, but I expect to continue this conversation soon.” He massages his forehead. “Once I figure out what to do about this damned festival.”

Julian comes over to help Garak out of his chair, but Garak snaps upright and to the door before he can touch him. Sisko takes the opportunity to lean into Julian’s face and whisper, “Get more information out of him.” The doctor nods.

Julian isn’t angry when he steps out of Sisko’s office and sees that Garak is walking in the exact opposite direction of the infirmary, but he is disappointed.

“Mr. Garak,” he says urgently once he’s caught up to the idiot.

Mr. Garak interrupts him in the same tone, “Now, now, my dear doctor, we both know I have a dermal regenerator in my quarters, so we need not extend–”

“And I think we both know this is about much more than a few bumps and bruises. I’m afraid the time for beating around the bush passed quite a while ago.”

“You’re right, Doctor,” Garak says, coming to an abrupt stop and rounding on him with wild eyes. “There is an urgent matter we must discuss.” Julian’s eyebrows raise, and Garak nods severely. “Oh, yes, let us not ‘beat around the bush.’ We should talk about how you threw yourself directly into the line of a lethal phaser blast on the one in a millionth chance that you might save my life. The cost of such an action being almost certainly your own life, and yet, here you stand, and here I stand. Will wonders never cease.” Julian opens his mouth, but Garak raises a finger. “Nevermind that I was in the middle of an altercation with a very dangerous, very volatile woman who would not have hesitated for a second to dispose of you. She had a nasty habit of that. Now I knew that you were naive, Doctor, Doctor! I knew that! What I did not know – what I never could have guessed after all these years – was that you are an idiot.”

Julian stares back into Garak’s hissing face, unimpressed. Garak feels a wave of deja-vu and does not like it. It has no place here. And yet, Julian takes in a breath and smiles, raising his shoulders. “All right, Garak. If it’s really so important to you, we can talk about your suicide attempt.”

“What?” Garak bites out.

“You were going to let yourself get shot, yes?”

“I was n–” Garak starts to lie, disgusted, but is stopped by Julian stepping entirely too close. He stumbles back a step, then another when Julian attempts to crowd him again, and the familiarity of the routine has him shutting his eyes, rueful. They’re dancing again. It’s humiliating, the things this man makes him do, how effortlessly he can gain the upperhand. Most of the time without even having to lift a finger.

“You figured out Dukat’s plan and arranged for Lumok to die if she succeeded, but you expected her to. You didn’t expect to be saved,” the doctor tells his blank, unresponsive face. His eyes are still closed, his hands tense at his sides, but he knows Julian’s stepped closer again by the heat of his livid breath. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Very well. I didn’t figure it out. I was informed.”

“So, the captain was right.” He sounds bored, but Garak seizes his chance. His eyes open in a sudden burst of animation.

“Yes, I had an informant. I believe the major was familiar with him, a fellow by the name of Damoc who was recently presumed dead? Though I knew him far better as Mebol. We first met on Romulus, you see. In the event of my death, he had strict instructions to reveal Dukat’s plot in my stead and protect my remaining assets. In return, he was to receive some valuable coordinates, which by now he will have long accessed. I suppose he’s already booked passage off of the station, if he hasn’t already gone.”

“Quick to abandon you,” Julian says, completely off-script. Garak’s carefully measured breathing stutters.

“Surely Captain Sisko would like to have a word with him.”

“I’m sure.”

“Doctor…” Garak says, lost. “There isn’t time to was–”

Suddenly there are two hands slamming into his chest like they’re iron forks and he’s a slab of meat, rocketing him back into the nearest wall with a loud thud. Garak gasps at the strength of it, astounded, but all his attention is quickly monopolized by Julian’s snarling words.

“Stop trying to distract me, Garak! Stop racing away before I can even properly get into the room, stop begging off lunch, stop ignoring my comms, and stop acting like your bloody life is over just because it was found out that you have feelings for me!”

“I–I don’t–”

“Lke hell you don’t! Thirty-seven.”

Garak blinks several times. “What?”

“Thirty-seven. That’s how many direct references to our literary discussions are in your poems. All chronologically concordant with the dates of those discussions, and six of which from that classic Earth album I recommended to you a year ago that you swore up and down sounded like a pack of voles had been crammed into a bucket and shaken around. I knew you were having me on. You love Mitski, and you love me.”

Garak’s face shutters.

Finally, Julian takes a step back. His hands remain on his chest, pinning him in place, but he allows him some oxygen. Exactly twenty seconds pass like this, before the doctor becomes impatient and huffs, “You can’t possibly have nothing to say.”

“What would you have me say, Doctor?”

“I would like you to admit it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve heard it from friends and coworkers and strangers and every tourist on this damn station, it feels like, but I haven’t heard it from you.”

Garak is silent for a long time. Finally, he quietly asks, “You would further humiliate me this way? Knowing what you do? My dear friend…” He, carefully, with only the gentlest of pressure, puts a hand over one of Julian’s. “Please. You’ve read everything I could possibly have to say. What more could there be?”

Julian’s hands are unforgiving, but his eyes soften at the simple lowering of the curtain. It’s not the direct confession he was looking for, the I love you completely, traitorously, ruinously that his poems professed and a deep, broken part of Julian desperately wants to hear, but it is, it is. For Garak, this is as explicit as it gets, and Julian can feel his heart trying to catch in his throat.

“Garak,” he starts to say.

Garak isn’t scowling anymore. His eyes are shining as he looks away and sucks in an aggrieved breath. “Oh, please, let us skip this excruciating precursor. I have no intention of remaining on this station.”

Julian goes unnervingly still. “Excuse me?”

“I will need time to pack up my shop and settle my lease, but then I promise, you will never suffer the consequences of my unfortunate… condition again.” When Julian only stares at him with mounting alarm in his lovely eyes, Garak grimaces. “You must know I had no intention of pursuing you.” At least, not after the implant had been shut off and he’d realized what horrors he’d stumbled into with the doctor while under its influence, and by then, it was already too late. He was too weak to stop speaking to him, but he was not a complete monster. “I wouldn’t have. My writing was never about nurturing the emotions, only managing them.” A bit of a lie, but only a bit. He does love to languish and he never could resist a good innuendo. Their friendship had been infinitely precious to him, though, and he couldn’t bear the slow death it would undergo now that everyone knew the truth.

The worsening rumors that would spread. The suffering of Julian’s reputation, career, and love life with the Cardassian spy’s drastic affections hanging over everyone’s heads. The danger it would place them both in, the damage it had already done. The way Julian would know every time Garak flirted now, it was never idle. It had never been and could never be.

It would be a torture hitherto unthinkable. Better to sever the limb before it could rot.

Still, Julian is silent. The pressure on his chest is more a suggestion than a command now.

“Doctor, I…” he swallows back anymore hideous truths. “I apologize. Your rage is understandable, but I swear to you, I have every intention of righting this wrong.”

“Oh,” Julian says then, softly, as if he isn’t speaking to Garak at all, “you don’t know.”

“Doctor?”

He makes a bizarre human gesture, skimming the heel of his hand off his forehead. “My God! Of course. I thought it was pride, or shame, or paranoia. Anything and everything but this, but of course you would be this ridiculous. Well. That’s an easy enough problem to solve.”

“Doctor–?!”

The hands on his chest are gone. Instead, they’re seizing him by the head and pulling him up to connect his mouth to Julian’s.

Oh.

If Julian’s touch was a brand before, this is lava running down his throat, into his stomach and down, down, down to eat through the twenty inch thick duranium floor. Slow, thorough, and final in its devastation. A transformation that cannot be persuaded. He grapples with it, hands scrambling stupidly over and across his doctor’s shoulders. Whether it’s to pull him closer or push him away, he doesn’t know. He’s too busy being brutally altered to give it much thought.

His hands settle for burying themselves in his hair at some point. When doesn’t matter. Time holds no power here. It happens, and then he knows how soft Julian Bashir’s hair feels, and there is no going back.

The loss of control becomes alarming enough that he finally manages to pry himself away, gulping in desperate, anxious breaths of frigid station air. It works. The fire and the madness that followed it calms down and he manages the strength to push Julian back, but the wet smack of their lips disconnecting will echo in his dreams for the foreseeable future, as will the dizzy grin on Julian’s face inches from his own. There’s a hand on his ass keeping him from tumbling through the hole in the floor and a couple unlucky passersby gawking at the gruesome scene and Garak is a different creature entirely, incandescent and strange, forged anew in the curious fires of mutual attachment.

He feels insane.

“Doctor, you cannot truly be this naive.”

Julian looks anything but naive right then. He can’t focus on that, though. He needs to focus on the fact he was nearly assassinated; the fact that the kindest man alive nearly died with him out of some misguided terran idea that all lives are of equal value and importance.

And yet, Julian is leaning in to kiss him again, so Garak puts a hand on his chest and says, “You know what I am.”

Julian’s expression turns complicated and it’s clear he understands. Garak’s roiling emotions can’t settle on being relieved or horrified. How to go on after this? After knowing intimately what he almost had, with the smoke of it still thick in his eyes and his throat and his heart?

A gentle hand on his jaw brings him back to the moment, where Julian’s eyes are serious. “I know,” he murmurs.

Garak sucks in a wet breath.

“The question is,” Julian continues, even quieter, “do you know what I am?”

His head is spinning. “Doctor?”

Julian just smiles sadly, and it's clear that there are some long conversations in their future. But for now… “About that dermal regenerator in your quarters,” Julian begins, and Garak is relieved to find out that whatever stupid, lovely thing he’s become can still appreciate an innuendo.

—

Not long after, in the middle of telling Sisko all about Mebol over Julian’s comm badge while its owner watches expectantly in a state of teasing half-dress, he’s horrified to find that whatever thing he’s become is also rather eager to please.

—

A couple days later, the two of them are picking from a generous cut of flaming taspar in the Replimat.

Or, Garak is picking, anyway. Julian is stuffing his face. Ordinarily, this would mildly scandalize him, but the fact it’s taspar, one of the most traditional delicacies of his homeworld, being shoveled enthusiastically into that pretty face makes it so he can feel only hope.

Rather than giving into that inadvisable feeling, he takes a dainty sip of his tea and tries to look nonsuspect. Cardassians from all sides and angles are staring.

“About Miss Leeta…” Garak begins.

Julian wipes his face with the side of his hand. Disgusting, but oddly compelling. “What about her?”

“When will you be breaking the news to her?”

“Oh.” Julian smiles, bemused. “She knows.”

A tightness in his chest dispels slightly. “Does she?” he says faintly.

“She’s the one who first brought it up. We performed the Rite of Separation days ago. She said it was great timing, what with the festival and all. We didn’t even have to leave the station.”

“So you were together then.”

“Well, in a sense. We weren’t in love, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Garak takes another sip, lowering his eyes. “I wasn’t worried. Only concerned for the young lady’s feelings.”

Julian’s face is incandescent. A Cardassian to his far left is openly gaping. “Of course, of course.” He leans suddenly over the table then, moving a hand forward to rest on his knee. “So, should I take this line of questioning as an indicator that you’re open to a relationship with me?”

Garak shifts a little in his seat, moving his knee further under the table and its shadows, but otherwise doesn’t pull away. “It would be unwise,” he says quietly, without actually saying no.

The hand squeezes. “It isn’t as if people won’t assume anyway.”

“Rumors can be dispelled. Redirected. Altered.” He reaches forward to take a small saucière and pours a bright red sauce over a couple groatcakes. “There would be no coming back from a confirmation.”

Julian’s hand falls away. “Would it be so bad?”

“I don’t know,” Garak says, splitting a cake up into three neat sections. “Would it, Doctor?”

A Bajoran couple walks past their table then, and while one purposely avoids eye contact and seems to be giving them a wide berth, the other throws a meaningful glare Julian’s way. This is the fourth judgemental or pitying look he’s received since they came in for brunch. Julian calmly returns the look, refusing to be the first to look away, until finally the man averts his eyes and Julian looks back to Garak with a stern smile. Garak inclines his head.

“Be careful, Doctor,” Garak goes on. “Rumors can ruin lives. End careers.” He scoops up a bite of his cake, dripping with red sauce, and lifts it to his mouth. “Kill,” he finishes, and eats.

At that, Julian leans back in his seat with his arms crossed tight. Garak gives him his time. It’s a relief to have finally made a dent in Julian’s lovesick, idealistic conviction–and Garak can admit, after the last few days, that it is lovesickness. Julian’s decided he loves him back and there will be no stopping him from pursuing this, but there may yet be some tempering. A small, equally stubborn, sentimental part of Garak despairs at the whole horrid affair, but the behemoth of his good sense squashes this part down with little difficulty.

It’s this moment that a smattering of young Cardassians, accompanied by one Jadzia Dax, arrive at their table. Immediately, Garak recognizes them as the ones that nearly intercepted his meeting with Lumok and his stomach drops. Julian, on the other hand, brightens back up.

“Well, hello there,” he says warmly.

Jadzia responds first, with each elbow leaned on a Cardassian’s shoulder and a knowing sparkle in her blue eyes, “Hello to you.” The Cardassians all echo with similar greetings, some shy, others giddy.

One young woman standing at the front, with her hair in three elaborately plaited braids and little makeup, is looking at Garak with particular interest. “You’re the one who wrote the poems about Julian.”

Garak looks at the girl coolly. “Do you mean Dr. Bashir?”

She goes blue. “Oh, um. Yes. I do.” She tucks an imaginary lock of hair into her perfectly coiffed hair and lowers her head respectfully. “My apologies, Doctor.”

“Hey now,” the doctor scolds with good humor, “none of that. We’re all friends here.”

The girl throws another searching glance Garak’s way. “Friends?”

That’s enough of that. “This is certainly quite the surprise,” Garak says genially, plastering on his most pleasant smile. “Is there something you needed? As Deep Space Nine’s resident Cardassian tailor and reputed troubadour, I’m always happy to be of service.” Julian sends him a sharp look, which he ignores.

Jadzia is looking as foxy as she ever does, with a grin nearly to her spotted ears. “Julian asked me to bring them here,” she says too happily, and Garak has to sit back in his seat to process that. Julian scratches his neck with a guilty smile, obliviously alluring. It cannot be overstated that there are, still, eyes on them from all directions and angles.

“Garak, sir,” the Cardassian woman-child begins again, earnest, “let me start over. My name is Inia Milam. I am the President of the Ivory State Liberation Library. We collect–”

“Madam,” Garak interrupts her quietly, stunned. “This is hardly the time and place.” He blinks, still shocked stupid by her brazenness, and leans towards her, peering into her distressingly young features with beseeching desperation. “And I am hardly the audience.”

Milam doesn’t appear to process his warning at all, though. She just continues to look inquisitive. She has that gleam in her eyes that is common in Cardassian women, calculating and intelligent, but there’s something else there. Something indefinable that he’s seen hundreds of times over an interrogation table, but without the fear to staunch it. Without the hopelessness. It makes his stomach flip. “On the contrary, you are exactly the sort of person we look for.” She bows her head. “Dr. Bashir promised that if we assisted him a few days prior, he would introduce us so that I could formally welcome your book of poems into our shelves. I apologize if this comes as a surprise. I wish only to thank you for your excellent contribution, E. G., and tell you that we hope to welcome many more pieces from you in the future. I’ll be in touch. Dr. Bashir.” She nods to him, returns his gentle smile, and walks confidently away. The rest of the group mirror her, voicing similar words of polite farewell and appreciation, and leave.

Garak forces himself not to track their departure and instead picks up his fork again, as if nothing world-shattering has occurred at all. The cake is tasteless in his mouth.

Julian is concealing nothing of his thoughts, however. He’s staring openly at Garak, as if he’s a bomb and he’s trying to figure out which color wire to cut.

Ultimately, it’s Jadzia that breaks the tension. “Well,” she says, “that is some harem you’ve got there, Julian.”

“Jadzia,” Julian barks. She laughs.

“I’m teasing, I’m teasing.” Uncharacteristically, her impish smile turns regretful. “Now that that’s out of the way, I do have to bring your friend in for questioning,” she says, and that explains that. “I’m sorry, boys. I stalled Ben as long as I could.”

Garak polishes off the last of his meal and takes one last gulp of his tea to wash it down. With that done, he stands with a placid, conciliatory smile.

Julian puts a hand on his shoulder before he can take a step. “I’ll come see you after my shift.” Those lovely, dark, deep eyes search his, pinning him like a moth above his fireplace. “Okay?”

Garak inhales. “Without end,” he murmurs, waits for Julian’s eyes to light in understanding, and then aloud says, “I am at your disposal, Doctor. Good day.” With that and a firm, friendly pat on Julian’s hand, he limps away.

Jadzia rather pointedly watches him limp to the exit for a few long seconds before throwing Julian a rakish grin. “Well, well,” she says largely. Julian pretends not to notice, and Jadzia pivots on her heel after Garak.

“Before we lock you up and throw away the key, could you sign my datarod,” Julian hears Jadzia asking, and he shakes his head, unsuccessfully trying to rub away his smile.

Without end Do I think of you and so Come to me at night. For on the path of dreams at least, There's no one to disapprove! Ono no Komachi

#my posts #garashir #I wanted to post this on April 1st but LONG SIGH it didn't work out #at least it's still april. pranking people on the 1st is so predictable anyway #fics I'll never write #credits to ono no komachi cynthia cruz and pablo neruda #really weird how tumblr just lets you publish blank posts like this one #this entirely blank post with nothing in it at all #very strange

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cameronspecial · 6 months

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Really, Rafe?

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Couple Arguments and Angst

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Summary: What is supposed to be a romantic getaway starts to feel like something else when Y/N realizes the type of activities the resort has.

A/N: Inspired by this post (Totally not because Tom Holland liked the post).

Masterlist

One rule in their relationship is that Y/N and Rafe take turns planning dates. Everything from small picnic dates to large vacation dates. This time, it is his turn to plan a vacation. When it comes to holiday trips, it doesn’t have to be far or grand. It could be a small thing, as long as it is a getaway from their normal life for at least two days. The last one they went on was when they both went to a small beach house in Myrtle Beach. Y/N was lucky enough to have found a private rental away from most of the city’s commotion. It was just the ocean, cocktails and the two of them for a week. It was absolute Heaven. As she watches the scenery pass by, Y/N can’t help her excitement as to where they are going. “Can’t you tell me where we are going?” she pleads. Her eyes are as big as dinner plates. He gently squeezes her thigh and throws her a smile, “That’s a secret for me to know and for you to find out.” She giggles with a shake of her head. “That is such a cliche saying.” He shrugs, “So? It still doesn’t mean I am going to tell you.” She gives him a playful pout and continues to look out of the window.

Ten minutes later, the dense forest turns to equally placed decorative trees and the paved road turns to decorative stones. He parks the car and steps out to open the door for her. She takes in the castle-like resort. The golden trimming and fascia remind the girl of Versailles. She imagines all sorts of things they can do together. Sit by the pool with a drink in hand. Relax thanks to the hands of a masseuse. Dine in fairytale-like restaurants. It takes her breath away, but only for a second because she finally spots the real reason why they are here. To the right of the building are expansive green plains with people of various ages swinging back a club to send the ball flying through the air. Y/N notices Rafe isn’t by her side and turns to find him unloading his golf clubs from the trunk. He packed the trunk, so she didn’t notice it. Disappointment falls over her as it all clicks into place.

“Really, Rafe?” she disgruntled. Her arms cross over each other and her right hip juts out. He looks at her with a tight-lipped smile, “What? This place has a great high tea evening, which I know you’ve been dying to try. And they have an indoor and outdoor pool that you could take advantage of. Plus, a great spa package for you to try.” This man is really digging his own grave. She lets out a bitter laugh. “You do realize through your whole little spiel, you always said you. Never we, like you expect me to do all those things by myself while you go off and spend all your time with your golf clubs,” she argues. Rafe’s eyes widen, “No, Sugar, you got it all wrong. I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, I planned on doing all those things with you. I promise I just brought my clubs in case you got sick of me and I need to give you some space.” She didn’t believe him. Not when a previous experience told her otherwise. It may have been four years ago when they started dating, yet a girl never forgets. Rafe had planned a date at a football bar. It would’ve been fine if his sole reasoning wasn’t to be surrounded by TVs to watch the game. Halfway through the date, other football fans joined their table to watch the event with him. She felt so ignored and unimportant during that hour. She left the date without so much as a goodbye.

She wouldn’t have seen him again if it wasn’t for how apologetic he was. He expressed remorse through his words and then flowers. She eventually forgave him, agreeing to another date. However, she never forgot the way that she felt in that bar. The humiliation of walking away from a man who paid her no attention. Up until today, she never regretted the decision to give him a second chance. Now, she feels the same way. She worries he didn’t listen to her concern about them not being able to spend a lot of quality time with each other because of how busy they have been with work. It’s the reason why they decided to go on this two-week getaway. To reconnect with each other and they couldn’t do that if he planned to spend all his time on the course. “Sure, that’s totally why you did it. If you didn’t want to spend time with me, Rafe, you could’ve told me. I would’ve given you the space and you wouldn’t have had to drag me with you here,” she criticizes, storming into the hotel to calm down.

———

For the past five minutes, she has been cooling herself down in the resort lobby. Rafe has been at the front desk, probably checking into their room. She doesn’t know if she should stay or just call a cab to take her to the nearest train station. She watches as he points in her direction and the receptionist gives him a nod. The woman removes herself from behind the counter, walking over to Y/N with a smile. “Excuse me, Ms. Y/L/N? Could you please follow me to the front desk?” the receptionist, named Kate according to her name tag, asks. Y/N hesitates to nod, yet still obeys the request. Once at the front desk, Y/N keeps her distance from Rafe. Kate types into her computer and turns it toward the female guest, “Mr. Cameron requested I show you all the bookings he made for stay here.” Rafe’s girlfriend stares at him with narrow eyes and he leans in to whisper in her ear. “I didn’t tell her what happened. I just asked her to show you what I booked.” She gives him a small nod, turning her attention toward the screen.

The list is long, but it is easy to recognize a pattern. Everything is reserved for a couple and not a single one is a tee-time reservation. She couldn’t argue that he had Kate remove his tee times because literally every single minute between nine in the morning and seven in the evening had something planned. She made a horrible mistake and accused Rafe of not caring about her. She turns to him with teary eyes. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you, Rafe,” she apologizes, wrapping her arms around him. He lets her snuggle into his neck and wraps his arms around her waist. His lips rest on her forehead, “It’s okay, Sugar, I know I was really an ass on that date so long ago. I mean I can’t say I’m not hurt that you still think I could still be that idiot, but I am grateful every day that you chose to forgive me. Which means that I have it in my heart to forgive you too. I love you.” She presses her lips against his. “Thank you for forgiving me. I love you too.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

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astonmartingf · 6 months

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HAVEN'T MET YOU YET ; JB22

jenson button x fem!reader

. . . slowing down as the high life of the party, jenson turns a new leaf and thinks optimistically about his plans in the future concerning his love life.

amgf finally moving the last couple works 😭 i definitely procrastinated moving these because they're so long and quite frankly i chose to study than move these but now i have time, i can't escape i need to do this for the alo fic to be posted

death of a bachelor ; masterlist

Frozen in front of his hotel room, muttering a string of curses to himself Jenson stood still tracing back the events that led him to this.

Making his way to the front door, Jenson was faced with an eager German and an Australian fellow trailing behind him. With raised brows, Jenson opened the doors wider letting both men inside.

“Are you coming with us tonight?” Sebastian, wasting no time, asked diving into his kept bed making Mark grimace.

“I’m actually choosing to stay in, rest early for tomorrow.” Jenson nods, convincing himself of his plans to stay in. This doesn’t go unnoticed as Sebastian shared a look with Mark before turning his head towards Jenson.

Uncharacteristically for the Briton, Webber expressed his confusion first with raised eyebrows, “You’re staying in? Why?”

Shrugging, Jenson pushes Seb to make space for himself. “I just don’t want to go outside, also there’s practice tomorrow. I don't want to go out for drinks.”

“Okay. we’re not necessarily going out for drinks. Just dinner, walking around the town, maybe a few light drinks here and there.” Sebastian sits up in an attempt to convince Jenson to come out with them. Noticing his reluctance the German looks up to Mark for support.

“Is this about the headlines about you?” Sebastian let out a small groan, brows furrowed directed towards Mark as he mouths “What about discreet do you not understand?”

Mark scoffs in reply, keeping his hands in his pockets, tired of the German’s antics. The exchange however left Jenson smiling to himself, which was a win for the two.

“Are you here to distract and cheer me up?”

Pressing his lip into a thin line in admittance, Sebastian looks over toward Jenson who’s been silent for quite some time.

Breaking the silence, Mark removes his hands from his pocket walking near to Jenson ina soft voice speaking, “If you don’t want to, you don’t-”

“I’ll go”

“Really?” Perking up, Sebastian hurried jumps off the bed pulling Jenson towards the front door.

“Okay we’re going now.” Hooking his arms to both men, Mark drags both of them outside.

Shit.

Exactly. Letting Sebastian and Mark drag him downtown for dinner was the plan, yet somehow the trio managed to lose each other as the night came, assuming the pair had gone over for drinks at some local bar. Jenson didn’t want to be associated with that, not at the moment that is.

Because as much as Jenson tried to hide it, their words were eating at him every time. And just like the rumors say, somewhere in between he believed them, and in turn began to question his own character.

Fuck.

Rubbing his eyes awake, Jenson looked around the hallway looking for anyone familiar who could help him. With no phone, no key card, and in a different country there’s no one he could truly contact to ask for help. Opting to sleep out on the hallways for the night, Jenson was on the verge of giving up.

“Excuse me, sir? Are you okay?”

English.

Jenson looks up, unsure if it was the jetlag, the light drinks, or the lack of sleep in his system but Jenson knew what was in front of him was an angel, his savior, he knew then and there he would give her everything- despite him not having anything at the moment.

“I’m not.” Stopping himself, Jenson chose his words carefully. Shocked at his own honesty, this was the first time he felt vulnerable. He can’t help but open up to such a beautiful stranger, even when he goes over his thoughts, everything is hazy.

“I’m locked out of my room with no phone, no wallet to even get a new one because my friends convinced me to go out. Not that I blame them, I was moping and being sad, and they had good intentions, I said I wouldn’t go out for drinks, and somewhere in between I lost them. I don’t know how I ended up back in the hotel, but I just want to sleep.” Jenson yawned in between his rant, leaning towards the wall, eyes drifting to sleep.

“Do you maybe want to sleep in my room?” Jenson turned his head, now you truly were his savior. But despite his excitement, Jenson couldn’t help but frown to himself.

“I wouldn’t want to impose on you. I’m sorry you had to sit with me on the floor, listening to me rant about my day.”

Chuckling you stood up in front of him, that’s when Jenson thought- he’d never have a chance with you. You were choosing to walk away, which is understandable since he was nothing but a mere stranger. To you, he could be lying just to find a way in your room, something he had done before.

Now he is crushed that karma has gotten back to him by letting him meet the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, when he’s on the lowest of lows and never to be seen again.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed. Fortunately for you I happened to pass by you and your friends earlier, it’s Mark right?”

Grabbing your hand, Jenson laughs before introducing himself, “That’s my friend, I’m Jenson.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Jenson. I’m Y/N, I stay in the room at the end of the hallway. Let’s get you to sleep, I wouldn’t want you to end your night on such a sad note. Especially after your friends tried to cheer you up.”

“Thank you Y/N, you’re actually my savior.”

jensonbutton

liked by yourusername, aussiegrit, and 1,640,462 others

jensonbutton four months ago you met me and i was at my worst yet welcomed me with open arms.

staying with me when i was locked out of my hotel room, i thought of you as my savior and i remember saying that before falling asleep.

listening to my worries as a stranger, i didn't think we'd grow as friends and eventually lovers. since the day we met my day hasn't ended on such a sad note.

yourusername i love you and i'm glad to be a part of your life. i'm thankful that i'm with you now, and always.

view 857,248 comments...

aussiegrit i'm happy for you two 🤍

sebastianvettel aren't you glad we invited you out, or else you wouldn't have met each other

jensonbutton okay thank you seb and mark

aussiegrit you're acting like we were there, we literally left him alone in the middle of the night, i'm sorry jense

jensonbutton you dragged me out and left me, if it wasn't for y/n i would be sleeping in the hallway

sebastianvettel thank you yourusername you're cute together and i'm taking the credit ☺️

user1 wait jensey/n lore????

user2 i thought of you as my savior 😭😭😭 hello?

user3 it's always i love you and never "SINCE THE DAY WE MET MY DAY HASN'T ENDED ON SUCH A SAD NOTE" 🥹😤😭🥹😤😭😤🥹😭😤

user4 how are we feeling everyone?

user5 happy crying 😭😭😭

user6 MY PARENTS >>>>> i called it

user7 have y'all seen yn's post 🥹

user8 i love them your honor 🥲

yourusername

liked by jensonbutton and 98,734 others

yourusername four months, since the day i met you. in such a short time i've seen your highs and lows and even then i knew that i wanted to be with you.

you changed my life and i'm constantly proud of you, i won't stop reminding you on how deserving you are of every good thing in life.

you fill me with pride, joy, and i'm so lucky to be with you. since then i knew that i wouldn't let your night end on such a sad note.

jensonbutton i love you so much.

comments are limited by the user.

jensonbutton thank you for giving me a chance to show my love to you.

#f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #jenson button smau #jenson button x reader #jenson button fluff

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mitsuyeaah · 1 year

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DEVIL IN DISGUISE

SANZU HARUCHIYO x f! reader

“he lies, he bluffs, he’s unpredictable. he is a sucker with a gun, a bad boy with a tainted heart, a villain by the devil’s law.”

cw: sugar daddy!sanzu, law student!reader, nsfw (mdni), smut, implied age gap (late twenties sanzu, early twenties reader), bdsm (gunplay, restraint, blindfold), rough unprotected sex, creampie, slight exhibitionism, oral (m & f receiving, cum swallowing), alcohol use (brief), mentions of smoking, mentions of drug use, swearing, pet names (pretty girl, princess, baby), degradation

word count: 11k

a/n: my piece for The #SugarDaddyCollab event by @sleepysnk !! © divider: anlian-aishang

The loud bass of the music reverberated throughout your body, the bouncing strobe lights of the dimly lit club making it hard to navigate through, especially with the sea of sweaty bodies grinding against each other.

You adjusted the black masquerade mask that rested on your nose that partially hid the top part of your face—except your eyes—before reaching for the tray full of alcoholic beverages that were in various interesting colours.

“Oh, I’ll take those. Manager told me she wanted you to specifically serve a private VIP room today, the Golden Room. Quickly! You have to be there before our clients.” Your co-worker swiftly took the tray full of drinks, ushering you away before hastily leaving, her short figure blending in amongst the crowd of people until she was nowhere to be seen.

The Golden Room. It was the most expensive private VIP room that the club had to offer as it had its own floor at the very top of the building, overlooking the bustling nightlife of Roppongi. The private room had its exclusive DJ and mini-bar that catered to the client’s needs—and only their needs—along with a personal server, which was you for tonight.

For the past few months that you’ve been working at this club, you have never been asked to serve one of the private VIP rooms, let alone the most expensive one. You were always down at the main floor serving drinks, blending in with the huge crowd that never seemed to die down, even at early hours of the morning.

Trying to make yourself presentable, you hastily made your way to the main elevators to get to the top floor. In all honesty, you were quite nervous about this, not only was it your first time being a personal server, but it was also because you knew that the clients had money, a lot of money, so you couldn’t afford to be fucking up your job any time soon.

After passing all the other floors in the building, the elevator dinged and its doors slid open to reveal an exquisite room, as expected. You finally knew why it was called the Golden Room, this private space had accents of gold everywhere, from the chandelier down to its marbled floor, it also housed a spacious balcony that overlooked the teeming city down below, this section of the club was so high up that you swore you could almost reach the dark clouds above.

Thankfully, the said clients still weren’t there which gave you ample amounts of time to calm yourself down and be at your best behaviour, you couldn’t afford to lose this job due to a simple mistake.

There were only three people in the room at the moment, you, the bartender who already worked on drinks, and the DJ who was busy fiddling with his controllers, music already coming out of the speakers.

You stood by the mini-bar, waiting for the patrons to walk in so you could warmly welcome them.

The elevator door dinged, revealing a lone man standing inside it. He was fairly tall, rosy pink hair that ended in a long mullet, noticeable scars on either corners of his lips, and deep turquoise eyes that complimented his prominent thick lashes.

The man strutted in, sporting a striped navy blue three-piece suit and a white button up, your eyes followed him as he sat in the middle of the long leather couch that rested against the wall, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on the backrest, his aquamarine gaze already on you.

That’s it? That’s our client? Just him? Questions ran through your mind as no other person walked out from the elevator, just the pink-haired man, all alone.

You realised he must’ve had a shit ton of money to be booking the most extravagant room that this club had to offer, all for himself. Goddamn, rich people really are something else, you thought.

It was awkward.

The pink-haired man stared at you and didn’t even bother hiding it, you felt small under his intense gaze, also making you conscious about the black strapless latex top you were wearing. You shifted uncomfortably, he was still staring at you but that was when you remembered you completely forgot to greet him.

Oh shit. You were too distracted admiring the patron.

Your eyes widened a bit at the realisation, embarrassment slowly engulfing your body as you tried to take long confident strides toward the man, black thigh high boots clicking against the gold-accented marbled floor with every step you took. You plastered a warm smile, standing in front of the patron before introducing yourself and warmly welcoming him.

Well done, already fucking up the job, you thought, but the turquoise-eyed man let out a small chuckle, his voice deep but smooth like velvet, “Aren’t you cute?” He tilted his head to the side, a small smirk forming upon his pink lips. It was a bit hard not to stare at the scar that decorated his face, but you tried your best not to shift your gaze downward, not even the slightest bit.

You let out a shy laugh, “Thank you, I’ll be your personal server for tonight. If you need anything, I’ll be over there, at the mini-bar.” You couldn’t care less about his little compliment, you’ve heard the varieties of it, coming from different types of men that you had previously served.

It was common sense to expect some customers—if not all—to act this way toward the servers, and it honestly sickened you how some men could think that it was okay to talk to women like this. Yes, you and your co-workers were employees of a club but that didn’t give them the liberty to say and do anything they wanted.

After all, you guys were just trying to make a living. The least customers could do was extend their respect to mere club employees.

As you walked back to the mini-bar, you swore you could feel his burning gaze on you but you shook it off and ignored it, after all, he was just like any other man you’ve interacted with in this club.

“Whiskey, on the rocks.” He signalled the bartender behind you before pulling something out from his pocket, you didn’t know what it was but he was writing something, not that you cared.

Shortly after, the bartender set a lowball glass on the tray, the translucent coppery liquid modestly filling the glass, complemented with ice. You grabbed the tray and made your way over to the man situated on the sofa, neatly setting the cold drink before him.

“Sanzu.” The rosy-haired man spoke up from where he sat, pocketing whatever he was writing on and leaned forward to reach for the drink, “Hm?” You blinked at him, unsure what to reply, eyes wide and giving him a curious look

“Name ‘s Sanzu.” “Oh, alrigh—” “Why don’t you come hang out with me a little, hm?” Sanzu cut you off, an expectant look forming in his pretty aquamarine eyes. You awkwardly looked around as if there was someone you could ask for permission, but nonetheless, you hesitantly made your way over to him.

You sat next to him, knees touching together and arms neatly folded on your lap as if you were getting a formal photograph taken. There was ample room between the two of you, although it looked awkward, you decided it would be more awkward if you had sat next to Sanzu so closely, given the fact that you didn’t even know this man and he was a patron.

“I’m not really sure if this is professional. It’s protocol that I am not to sit with any pat—” “It’s completely fine, I personally know the people who own this club.” Sanzu slung one arm on the back rest while the other held the whiskey, bringing it up to his lips.

All you could do was nod, clearly, there was nothing else you could argue about.

Sanzu set the empty glass on the table and shifted his whole body to face you, “Tell me… what’s a pretty girl like you working at a club like this? That glint in your eyes screams innocence.” He lifted the slender hand that rested on the backrest and brought it up to your black mask, tracing each intricate design that decorated it.

His hand ventured further to one side of your face, reaching for the satin bow behind your head that secured the mask, his slender fingers tangling with the loops of the bow before pulling at the loose end, causing your mask to fall on your lap.

How exquisite. Sanzu keenly tilted his head to the side, turquoise eyes brimming with such interest.

“I asked you a question, pretty girl.” A saccharine smile formed on his scarred lips. You snapped out of your trance, blinking up at him, “Oh, uh, ‘m just here to pay my bills and student loan…” you whispered, a bit embarrassed.

“Oh? And does this club pay you enough to do so?”

It didn’t. Your pay was just enough to get you through each week but you were practically scraping through, most of your meals were from the convenience store and there were times where you didn’t bring any lunch to eat in between your lectures due to your financial situation. It also didn’t help the fact that the weekly allowance from your parents all went to the dorm you rented.

Your parents weren’t white-collar workers like the customers you encountered in this club, they walked with confidence, swiping their cards left and right without a care in the world. Their wrists and neck decorated with heavy and expensive accessories while also donning luxury brands from head-to-toe that were probably expensive enough to pay for at least half of—if not more than—your tuition fee.

You assumed Sanzu was a white-collar worker, seeing the way he strutted into the room earlier, like he owned it, and the way he was neatly dressed and not a single wrinkle on his expensive suit. You also noticed the shiny watch he sported on his left wrist, glimmering under the lights.

“No.” You simply answered, gaze fixed on your hands that were slowly balling into fists.

Where was this conversation even going? You thought.

Was he here to degrade and make fun of your social status? Mock you because you weren’t in the same tax bracket? Flaunt his dirty money in your face? You’ve encountered this many times with other customers, belittling your very existence because of a simple mistake you’ve made.

It never bothered you these days like it did when you first encountered it, you remember crying on the toilet as you replayed the scene of a customer yelling harsh words at you, it didn’t help that they were also quite intoxicated. You were used to it by now but it was tiring, you didn’t need strangers telling you left and right that you weren’t like them.

“What if I tell you I could pay you more? Much more than your job can.”

You met his gaze, brows furrowing as you were confused about what this whole conversation was about. God, was he a businessman wanting to recruit employees? If he was, then this is highly unprofessional, you thought.

“I don’t quite follow…?”

Sanzu just gave you a small chuckle before pulling something out from his pocket and handing it to you, “If you decide you’re too good for this environment, I’m just a call away.” He stood up and made his way towards the elevator, bidding goodbye to the DJ, bartender and you.

He gave you one last smile before the elevator doors shut in front of him, and just like that, Sanzu was gone.

You let out a breath you’ve been holding ever since you entered this room and looked down at the folded piece of paper on your lap. With curiosity, you opened the paper, ‘I’m just getting started’ it wrote, with his number in red ink. You were about to shove it into your pocket until you noticed another paper behind it, your eyes widened.

It was a cheque. Was this what he was writing earlier?

Haruchiyo Sanzu, it stated on the top left corner, but what shocked you the most was the amount ordered to pay you, it was clearly more than what you made in your part-time job and was enough to get you through the week, more than a week, even.

How could Sanzu just give you this much money without batting an eye? Let alone a stranger he had just met. Was he crazy? But then your mind wandered back to the sentence on the other piece of paper, ‘I’m just getting started.’ Did that indicate he was able to give you more?

Surely not.

Boy, were you wrong. You contemplated for days on end whether to call Sanzu or not, it was very tempting but what if he was just bluffing? You knew he wasn’t, you went to the bank a few days ago to check if the cheque was fake or not, and to your surprise, it wasn’t fake. It had the exact amount of money stated on it.

A few weeks had passed when you finally decided to call Sanzu’s number due to the growing desperation for financial aid, you tried your best to rely on yourself and the part-time job at the club but it just wasn’t enough, you needed more. You needed what Sanzu was offering.

You were a bit hesitant to call him since you didn’t know if his offer still stood even after quite a period of time but you were desperate, and plus, it didn’t hurt to try. If he didn’t pick up then you’d have to suck it up and find other ways to support your living, even if it meant bending your back.

To your surprise, Sanzu did pick up, rather quickly, even.

Little did you know that this call was the pivoting point of your life, where you could finally say goodbye to your old lifestyle and welcome a new one you have never experienced before.

Upon meeting up with Sanzu, he had come clean about his intentions and how he was going to provide you anything and everything you ever wanted in exchange for company and sexual favours, and nothing else. A sugar daddy. You knew the offer was too good to not involve some kind of physical factors, but it wasn’t like you were new to sex.

Yes, others might view it as dirty and disrespectful to one’s self that they would simply let an older man ask them for sexual favours in return for the lavish lifestyle, but life was never butterflies and rainbows, life was harsh and as much as you’d hate to admit it, only the richest could survive among times like this where everything was in demand and becoming more expensive.

Looking at the situation at hand, it wasn’t like you had any other choice at this point. If the luxury life was going to welcome you with open arms through a man named Haruchiyo Sanzu, then you’d willingly let it.

You sat inside Sanzu’s white Bugatti Centodieci, on the way to a dinner reservation, the low roaring of its exhaust filling your ears as it came to a smooth halt at an intersection. You’ve been in this luxury car countless times before but you’ve never gotten quite used to it because you knew how expensive this vehicle was; you’ve done your research on some of the brands Sanzu sported, one of them being this extremely flamboyant car.

Your little research told you that there were only ten of the Centodieci models around the world, and Sanzu owned one of them. Your hands couldn’t help but sweat at the thought, causing you to smooth your pleated skirt down to wipe it off, “I like your nails, princess.” Sanzu reached a hand over the console and took yours, his fingers tracing the intricate details of your jewelled stiletto nails. Rhinestones gleaming underneath the bright city lights outside.

Not only were they embedded in expensive rhinestones but some of them were covered in 24K gold foil, costing your appointment at a whopping price but Sanzu never batted an eye when he swiped his card yesterday, no hesitation whatsoever. Last week, he had asked you to choose a nail design you really liked and he would take care of booking the appointment, of course, you jumped at that opportunity.

You knew why Sanzu loved paying for your nail appointments.

“Do you want me to test them out?” You blinked up at him and took his hand into yours, sensually massaging and rubbing it as if it were something else, god, Sanzu wished it was something else. He cursed under his breath at the sensation of his blood rushing down to his cock with need, his other hand gripping the leather steering wheel a little harder, knuckles turning painfully white as you continued with your ministrations,

“You always know what I want, huh?” He let out a breathy chuckle, shifting uncomfortably in his leather seat, cock now straining against his navy dress pants and begging to be let out. Sanzu skilfully manoeuvred his vehicle, taking desperate turns left and right to find a random deserted place to park, although it didn’t really matter if there were people around or not, his vehicle was heavily tinted and he liked the thrill of getting caught.

What were they gonna do? Stop him from getting head? They could try.

The tyres of Sanzu’s vehicle loudly skidded against the rough pavement of the empty parking lot as he desperately parked his car, not even bothering to situate his vehicle in a parking space, it was already evening and no one was around anyway.

“Fuck, come here.” Sanzu groaned, reclining his seat back and pulling your face closer to his own. You leaned over the console to kiss him, knees resting on the smooth material, one arm against the window of the driver’s side for support, and the other gripping the headrest behind his head.

Sanzu craned his neck forward to meet your gloss-stained lips, one hand firmly resting on your chin to keep you in place, while the other wandered elsewhere. His kisses held desperation in them, soft pillowy lips laced with hunger as it moved against your own. The man beneath you let out short erratic breaths that tickled below your nose, occasionally letting out soft eager whines into your lips.

He was usually on the dominant side, but fuck, was he needy when it came to receiving. Not that you complained, though, it was a pretty sight to see him all wrecked and at your mercy. It was priceless to see his authoritative demeanour crumble into nothing but a pathetic whining mess that begged for his cock to be touched and sucked on, even if it rarely happened.

You slightly jerked at Sanzu’s wandering hand that found its way to your inner thigh under the dimly lit car—the only source of light coming from the warm street lights of the parking lot—, slowly massaging and rubbing unfamiliar shapes at the supple flesh and earning a small whimper from you. His hand ventured around your outer thigh and flicked your skirt up, the skimpy fabric that was once barely covering your ass, now rested on your lower back and in full view for anyone who passed by the passenger’s window.

But you weren’t worried, Sanzu’s vehicle was tinted.

A small moan escaped your swollen lips but was swallowed down during the heated kiss with Sanzu as his large hand landed a merciless slap against the fat of your ass, the sharp searing pain from the sudden skin contact spreading across your backside making you wetter, “Put those pretty hands to use, baby.” He broke the kiss, lips ghosting over your own as he panted out, desperate for air to fill his lungs.

Sanzu placed both his hands behind his head and relaxed his torso against the warm leather seat to let you do your thing, his lust-filled turquoise eyes intently following your every move.

Shuffling closer to the evident tent in his pants, you placed your palm over his crotch, roughly palming his erection, causing a deep throaty groan from Sanzu, his back involuntarily arching away from the backrest and hands flying up to the headrest behind his head, gripping on it for his dear life. His eager eyes watched the way your twinkling nails moved against his strained cock, biting his lip at the sight and heat spreading throughout his body.

He loosened the black tie around his neck and hastily unbuttoned his collar so he could breathe better. You gave him a sly smile before slowly guiding the small pull-tab down the teeth of the zipper, the car was quiet, so you could only hear the movement of the zipper and Sanzu’s soft desperate pants, his pink lips slightly parted.

With the help of his hips, you pulled his pants down along with his underwear just enough to release his throbbing cock from its confines, earning a slight hiss from the rosy pink haired man as you firmly gripped his heavy length, your rhinestone-studded nails complimenting his hard cock with your fingers wrapped around him.

Sanzu let out a loud moan as you pumped his dick up and down after spitting at it, you gripped him like a vice, wrist skilfully twisting and tugging at his cock just how he liked it. He could almost cum right then and there at the sight of your freshly manicured fingers wrapped around his length. Fuck, he loved seeing your jewellery-embedded nails around his cock.

You flattened your tongue and licked a long slow stripe up the underside of his dick, earning a loud desperate whine from Sanzu, one hand flying down to tangle into your hair to eagerly tug at it, “Fuuuuuuck…” he breathed out, his bottom lip tightly caged between his teeth as he threw his head back.

God, you never failed to give him the best head of his life, and you were just getting started.

More desperate airy whines slipped past his pink lips as you peppered his length with light kisses, his hips greedily bucking up at you, Sanzu needed more, “Ngh! Stop being such a tease and suck me off already. We have a reservation, remember—ah!” He whined, lust-filled hunger evident in his tone.

Suddenly remembering about the dinner reservation, you didn’t hesitate to put the pink head in your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue around the blunt tip and primarily focusing on his precum-filled slit that had Sanzu practically writhing in his seat, his face contorting with pure pleasure, back arching, and hips hungrily bucking into your mouth, causing you to hold them down,

“Haaah! That’s it, now take it all in like the good girl you are.” He moaned, breath shaky and unstable.

And so you did. Without hesitation, you slowly slid your mouth down his length while taking deep breaths through your nose just like had Sanzu taught you before. His grip on your hair tightened, earning a loud moan from you which sent vibrations down his cock, “Ohhh fuck, you’re taking me in so—ngh! So well.” You started bobbing your head up and down, taking slow experimental motions with his hard cock sliding against your throat, this caused Sanzu to buck his hips higher, eager to feel the constant friction of your mouth against him.

“Mhm, I told you to stop teasing, didn’t I?” Sanzu growled and swiftly sat up, roughly taking the black tie loosely secured around his collar. He grabbed both your hands and pinned them behind your back—just resting above your ass—, using his tie to keep them in place. The whole action caused you to lean forward, taking more of Sanzu’s cock into your mouth.

Sanzu leaned back into his seat, one hand gripping the headrest and the other going back into your hair as he thrusted his hips in and out of your mouth, “Mhm—ah! That’s more like it. I can’t keep reminding you that I’m still in control here.” He moaned. Sanzu gathered all of your hair and put it up in a make-shift ponytail with his hand, as it obstructed his view from your pretty mouth taking all of his dick.

With his hand wrapped securely around your loose hair, he started relentlessly thrusting up into your hot mouth, his other hand behind his head practically digging into the headrest which he knew was going to leave evident marks but he didn’t care. He didn’t give a fuck about potentially damaging the expensive leather of his car, when you were taking him so so well.

All you could do was sit there and take it, tears uncontrollably rolling down your cheeks which surely ruined your makeup, your knees were painfully digging into the console and thighs burning from the lack of stretch but you didn’t care, all you wanted was for Sanzu to cum into your mouth.

Sanzu’s head spun as he was nearing his high, his head thrown back, lips parted, and stomach clenching from immense pleasure while he kept at his pace. His chest heaved up and down as he let out short airy desperate whines in tune with the movement of his hips, fuck, he was so close.

“I’m gonna cum—ngh! You better take all of my fuckin’ load like the good girl you are.” He thickly swallowed, his desperate whines turning into shallow erratic breathing, only a few more thrusts away before he topped over the edge.

Sanzu’s hips faltered as the rumbling coil deep in his stomach finally snapped, he threw his head back and arched his back as he cummed into your mouth, letting out a loud shameless moan that filled the entire vehicle. You moaned into his dick, feeling his hot cum roll down your throat as he firmly kept your head in place, his hips rolling into you to ride out his orgasm while gripping the headrest behind him, the tips of his fingers hurting from the constant pressure he’s been putting on it.

“Haah, yeah that’s it. Such a good girl.” Sanzu praised, letting go of your hair as you eagerly lapped up some of his cum that rolled down his dick. Before he could undo the tie that bound your wrists together, his phone loudly rang, causing the both of you to jump at the sudden sound.

Sanzu quickly reached for his phone that was inside his blazer pocket and cleared his throat before answering it. “Yes, yes, we will be there soon. Just got held up in traffic.” He chuckled, giving you a knowing look before bidding goodbye to whoever was on the other side of the call.

“They were just confirming if we were still coming for our reservation.” Sanzu laughed as he pulled his tie from your wrists, “Held up in traffic, huh.” You raised a brow at him—throat sore from your recent activities—as you sat into your seat and fixed yourself up with the help of the sun visor mirror. Sanzu tucked himself back in and gave you a breathy chuckle, “That was the first thing that popped into my mind.”

“Also, I didn’t hurt you too much, right? Got really carried away, sorry.” He sighed as he adjusted his seat into its normal upright position, looking at you with concern.

Sanzu knew that he could get too carried away during sex which causes him to become rough and unrelentless. Of course, he had already discussed this with you and to his surprise, you were okay with it, apparently you liked it rough. You shook your head, brushing him off with a smile, “It’s okay, you were enjoying yourself back there.” You laughed, sending him a teasing look.

The man next to you shook his head as he could feel warmth creeping up his cheeks and embarrassment engulfing his body. “Nonsense.” He muttered before turning his car on to make your way to the dinner reservation.

Sanzu’s personality was such a contrast from the first time you met him back at the club, right off the bat, you thought he was a cocky and arrogant individual with the way he acted that night but as you got to know his personality better, he was a completely different person.

The facade that he had on back when you first met him was definitely gone. But was that really a front he just put up? It made you wonder.

Both of you calmly walked inside the exquisite restaurant like you weren’t just sucking him off a couple of minutes ago. Sanzu rested a palm on the low of your back as the waiter guided you to your seats, “Why the sudden fancy dinner?” You looked up at him, his aquamarine gaze meeting yours, Sanzu shrugged, a small smile forming upon his lips, “Just wanted to treat my baby, that’s all. You’ve been so good for me, might reward you more, later.” He leaned closer as he spoke the last line, a hint of slyness laced in his tone.

Maybe you could actually live in this lifestyle.

Ever since Sanzu stepped into your life, there wasn’t a day where you struggled anymore. No more sleepless nights of thinking how to get through tomorrow, no more stressing out about upcoming bills, and lastly, no more encountering drunk nasty old men at the club who sneered at your social status.

You could solely focus on your law degree now. You were getting better grades because the financial stress had been lifted from your shoulders, your mind wasn’t wandering elsewhere during lectures, trying to think of ways of how to ration your pay for the week.

There was no other possible choice for you but to take Sanzu’s offer. If you were going to take the easy way out of your financial stress, might as well do it with someone who splendidly paid you, not only with money but with gifts and mind blowing sex.

You stared at the man sitting across you, as the waiter poured Moët & Chandon MCIII into two flute glasses, the translucent yellow liquid neatly sloshing around the glass. You admired Sanzu’s features as he mindlessly tapped at his phone—work related, he said—his expression unchanging as his thumbs swiftly typed something.

It has come to your attention that you never really knew what Sanzu did for work, every time you asked him, he would just brush it off and say something along the lines of ‘just business related stuff’ and you believed him, you didn’t want to push his boundaries further but you wished he was as open to you as you were with him.

Sanzu was very secretive about his phone calls too; one time, you had seen his phone ringing on his night stand while he was in the bathroom. You were about to grab his phone and take it to him, that was until he came out of the bathroom and saw you reaching for it, he practically lunged for his phone and answered it straight away while walking out of his bedroom.

The only thing you heard from Sanzu as he answered the phone was, “Yes, boss?”. You knew this ‘boss’ was called Mikey since you had seen the caller ID while reaching for his phone. It seemed like Sanzu was working for someone in a higher position than him despite having immense wealth. Who was this Mikey, anyway?

There would also be times whenever you slept over at his penthouse, Sanzu would just disappear during ungodly hours of the morning, sometimes it would stir you awake because he always reached for his nightstand drawer—that was always locked—before he left and sometimes it would make a loud creaking sound whenever he opened it. He always tucked the item he took out from that specific drawer into his pocket.

You never knew what he took out or what other contents that drawer housed because it needed a key to be opened, a key that Sanzu always took with him. You assumed it was something heavy as he had dropped it on the rug one time, causing him to curse under his breath.

There were times where you slept alone in his bed waiting for him to come home during the night but he would never arrive, instead, he would arrive sometime in the morning, very exhausted and looked like he needed a week of sleep.

Was he being overworked? You hoped not.

You knew this relationship between you and Sanzu was just contractual and not built on any feelings but you couldn’t help feeling sorry for the man. Sometimes, when it was his day off and he wasn’t leaving during ungodly hours of the morning, you would catch him smoking out on his balcony instead, which overlooked the city down below. Sanzu would just stare off into the horizon, letting the tobacco completely fill his lungs.

He always looked so… empty.

“I have something for you later, back at home. If that's fine with you?” You were pulled from your trance by Sanzu’s voice. He tucked his phone in his blazer and gave you an expectant look. You nodded your head, “Fine by me, you don’t even have to ask.”

Sanzu was always like this, he always spoiled you. He was so unpredictable, in a good way. He always got you what you wanted and sometimes he would even go out of his way to personally pick and buy whatever he thought would suit you. This man spent money on you left and right without a care in the world, sometimes you would wake up with a big bouquet of roses that scented his entire penthouse because he ‘ felt like buying you one’ as per his words.

During the times you stayed at your dorm for the night, there would be a delivery next morning of whatever item Sanzu decided to swipe his card on, whether it be designer shoes from the most recent collection, overly priced flowers, or clothes that only catered to you, the only thing consistent was that it was expensive, it was always expensive.

You never even asked for most of the gifts he gave you but nonetheless, you were thankful for them. Although, it did overwhelm you sometimes with how much he was spending on you. One time you asked him, “What if you run out of money?” and Sanzu merely laughed at your question but answered, “Baby, I will never lose money. I can guarantee you that.” There was something odd about his tone when he said that but you brushed it off.

Back at his penthouse, you waltzed toward his couch and practically threw yourself on it while Sanzu wandered off to get the item he had recently bought you.

You still couldn’t believe that he had offered you to stay with him in this penthouse for free but you had to politely decline his offer since you still liked the idea of having your own space, plus, you didn’t even know when this whole thing was going to end, so it was better to be ready with a place to fall back to.

The first time you saw his penthouse, your mind was blown. The interior design screamed modern and luxurious, every corner you turned had your jaw dropping. There was a massive crystal chandelier that hung right at the centre of his living room, the walls were mainly floor-to-ceiling glass which allowed you to see breathtaking panoramic views of the city, it was truly beautiful during sunrise and sunset. The way the warm hues of the sun engulfed the whole space was just phenomenal.

His bedroom was grand and also consisted of these floor-to-ceiling glass, to which sometimes he liked to fuck you against, giving you a view of the bustling streets below as he pounded into you.

“Here.” Sanzu thrusted a rather large brown paper bag into your face, his aquamarine eyes gleaming with pure excitement. You sat up from his couch and took the paper bag, Christian Louboutin it read, written in white font.

He can’t be serious, you thought.

He sat next to you as you pulled out an equally coloured shoe box, which also had the same writing as the bag. “Sanzu…” you gasped, giving him a look of disbelief but he only silently urged you on to open the box.

After several layers of white tissue paper, you were met with a vibrant red shoe bag that had the same writing as the paper bag and the shoe box. As you removed the shoe bag, you were met with the most breathtaking pair of shoes you’ve ever seen.

They were black 130mm heeled platforms, donning its signature red bottom and consisted of a strap that would encase the ankle. The pumps were shiny underneath the chandelier light, causing you to gape at it with a curious gaze as you picked up one shoe. It was your very first pair of Louboutins and you were beyond ecstatic.

With Sanzu’s help, you managed to step into the heels. It was very comfortable despite its daunting heel size; you walked back and forth in his living room, strutting about and trying to get comfortable with the new pumps, the red bottoms loudly clicking against the tiled floors.

With a huge smile plastered on your face, you stopped in front of Sanzu, “Oh my goodness, I am over the moon right now.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest and inhaling his musky cologne. Sanzu stroked your hair, chuckling, “Anything for my baby. You always look so pretty in the things I buy you.”

“Now, how about I reward you for being so good today?” His hand stopped right at your nape and snaked around to the front of your neck, slightly pushing you away and leaning down to give you a passionate kiss, which you didn’t hesitate to return.

This time, his kisses were soft and sensual, like he wanted to savour every single moment with your lips on his but there was a slight desperation in them. You didn’t miss the way Sanzu’s fingers ever so slightly tightened around your neck and the way he leaned forward to try and deepen the kiss.

He didn’t spend much time with your lips and started trailing light but eager kisses down the side of your neck, earning a slight whimper from you as he bit down on a particular spot. Your hands clung to his navy blue blazer, wrinkling the expensive fabric with how much he abused your neck with his mouth.

You were already a whimpering mess and Sanzu hasn’t even done anything to you, yet. He loved how responsive you were under his touches, how the slightest touch he gave elicited the prettiest sounds from you. Such a good girl for him, that’s why he loved spoiling you.

“Wait for me on the bed, princess. You know what to do, everything off except those fuckin’ heels.” Sanzu broke the kiss and gave your forehead a soft peck, ushering you to his bedroom.

You nodded and wordlessly made your way to his room, platform heels loudly making contact with the tiled floor. Every step you took had your heart racing faster with excitement, you knew you were in for a long night and Sanzu wasn’t the one to hold back, especially if you’ve been such a good girl for him,

Before getting on Sanzu’s bed and waiting for him there, you had obeyed his instructions and stripped down every single article of clothing that covered your body, except your new Louboutins. You patiently sat on the edge of the bed, slightly shivering at the contrast of the cool air against your exposed skin, causing goosebumps and your nipples to immediately harden.

If you were being honest, you were already wet. You knew Sanzu didn’t have to do much since you were already turned on from the head you gave him in his car earlier. The way he turned into a whimpering mess despite being so domineering did things to you, it always did and you couldn’t help but rub your thighs together at the thought of him.

Sanzu came in a few seconds later, one hand holding his unfastened tie and the other holding handcuffs which mischievously glimmered under the hallway light, “Good girl. Now lie back on the pillows for me, baby.” He gave you a smug smile, his long legs striding towards the bed.

He encased one wrist with a cuff, the audible click of it letting you know that there was no getting away from him now; Sanzu looped the chain that held the cuffs together around the back of a metal bar on his headboard and cuffed your other wrist, both hands now firmly situated above your head. You slightly tugged at the cuffs, it was cold against your skin but you liked it.

Sanzu also brought the black tie up to your eyes, completely obstructing your view from anything, he firmly tied a knot behind your head and gave you a peck on the lips.

With your vision obstructed and your hands bound, you could only rely on your hearing. This made everything much more exciting, the thrill of not being able to see what he was going to do next nor not being able to touch him.

You could hear the rustling of sheets and suddenly, Sanzu wasn’t on the bed with you anymore, you couldn’t feel his weight on the bed. You assumed he was undressing himself as you heard the loud clang of the metal buckle on his belt meet the floor, along with the rustling of fabric.

The bed dipped under Sanzu’s weight as he positioned himself near your feet, he grabbed your ankles and brought them closer to you, effectively bending your knees toward the ceiling. He crawled closer to your anticipating body, watching the way your chest heaved with desperation and mouth slightly parted, smirking at the way your Louboutins dug into the mattress.

He spread your legs apart and started kissing down your inner thighs, alternating between each leg, earning a small moan of surprise from you. Sanzu stopped at a spot dangerously near the apex of your legs, biting and sucking at the supple flesh, causing you to whine and instinctively tug at the metal cuffs around your wrist.

“You’re already so wet for me… have I been neglecting my baby?” He cooed into your wet folds, lips ghosting over them to tease you. Fuck, your scent drove Sanzu crazy, he didn’t even know if he was even going to last but he wanted this to be about you and you, only. He didn’t care about putting his needs last, he wanted you to cum around him, and as many times as you could.

You let out a sigh of content as Sanzu flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your wet cunt, revelling at the way you tasted against him. He watched as you desperately yanked your wrists, making a loud clanking noise as he wrapped his mouth around your cunt, noisily sucking like his life depended on it.

Small whines escaped past your lips at Sanzu’s ministrations but soon turned into a loud moan as he shoved his stiff tongue inside, exploring every single space of your wet heat. His tongue moved in you at such speed that caused you to instinctively close your legs with the pleasure being too much to handle but Sanzu pinned both your knees sideways on the bed, his firm grip letting you know that he wasn’t going to let you close your legs.

“You can’t be doing that, baby. When I’m giving you a reward, you’ll have to take all of it.”

That’s right. Sanzu didn’t only spoil you by buying you expensive luxury items, no, he spoiled you in many different ways, and just like how you kindly accepted the things he bought you, you had to do the same thing with what he was giving you right now. Denying his mouth was equivalent to denying everything he had bought you.

Sanzu alternated between licking and sucking at your clit without faltering, causing you to near your orgasm. He looked up at you from his long prominent lashes and observed the way your stomach was clenching and back arching with pleasure, how you constantly pulled at the cuffs on your wrist hard enough to leave red marks, the way your lips were parted slightly and letting out shallow high pitched whines along with his name.

“Aah! Fuck, Sanzu! I’m going to cum.” Your hips desperately bucked up against his mouth as you came on it, head thrown back against his pillows as you cried out Sanzu’s name in a loud moan, it was music to his ears.

Sanzu lapped up your cum, sloppily licking at your cunt, causing your legs to shake at the overstimulation. If he wasn’t pinning your legs down, you would have tried to close your them already. He gave your cunt one last peck before finally leaving it alone.

You panted against his mattress, legs jelly and mind hazy from just being eaten out, your arms were also burning at the uncomfortable position but you knew Sanzu was nowhere near done.

The night just had begun, and like he wrote in that piece of paper when you first met him, he’s just getting started.

He got on his knees and gave his hard cock a few strokes, groaning at the pleasure. Sanzu placed both your legs over his shoulders and grabbed the base of his cock, teasing the tip of it with your cunt, slowly rubbing up and down your wet folds but never actually putting it in.

“Sanzu, please…” you whimpered, biting your bottom lip. He was so close but not exactly where you needed him to be.

It was truly a sight to see. Your hands bound above your head with handcuffs, your vision obstructed with his tie, your legs resting on top of his shoulders, and your newly bought Louboutins just behind his head.

Wasting no time, Sanzu slowly pushed his tip into your wet heat, already groaning at your tightness but before he could push any further, his phone loudly rang which caused both of you to jump at the sound. “Fucking hell.” Sanzu scoffed, slipping out of you and placing your legs back down to grab his phone from the pile of clothes.

“Sanzuuu, I’m sure they can wait. Please, just fuck me.” You whined, craning your neck as you felt him getting off the bed but he ignored your desperate pleas and answered his phone, “What the fuck do you want, Haitani?” He spat, hastily making his way back to you and placing your legs up on his shoulders again.

Was he seriously about to fuck you while on call? Who was that, anyway?

Sanzu kissed the inner side of your knee before slowly pushing all the way in, letting out a hot gasp and throwing his head back at the way your hot cunt desperately sucked him in, “Ah, fuck! You’re taking me so well, baby.” He praised you, on hand settling on your hip and the other holding his phone against his ears.

“Are you seriously fucking someone right now? Sanzu–” “You’re the one who called me during a very important moment, Ran. Now, what do you want?” You heard Sanzu reply to whoever was on the call, his voice clearly strained.

“Getting your dick wet isn’t important! I was just about to ask you if you wanted to come with Rindou and I.” Ran huffed, Sanzu could tell the older man was rolling his eyes at him.

Sanzu picked up his pace, the way his balls loudly slapped against your ass could surely be heard by Ran. “Ngh—ah! Sanzu!” a loud moan escaped your lips, causing you to quickly bite down at your bottom lip, embarrassment filling you as the male on the other side of the call most likely heard your shameless moan.

“Why would I want to—ah! Fuck! Why would I want to go with you two—ngh!” He shamelessly moaned into his phone, not giving a single fuck if Ran was disgusted or not, he should be thankful he even picked up the call.

Sanzu saw the way you were biting your lip so hard that it was sure to draw blood soon, he didn’t like you concealing your moans so he leaned forward and the hand that was previously on your hip was now situated on the mattress, beside your chest. This position allowed him to get deeper strokes into you, earning a loud cry of his name from you.

He was so deep and deliciously hit your g spot over and over again that you couldn’t help but let out a chain of loud moans, at this point you didn’t even think about the person on Sanzu’s phone, he was giving it to you so good that you had to let him know. The metal cuffs clinked against his headboard as you tried to desperately reach for something to keep you grounded with the immense pleasure you felt.

It also didn’t help with how your vision was obstructed, resulting in your other senses to become heightened, you could feel pleasure at a much higher level.

Ran was saying something to Sanzu but he was too lost in pleasure to even comprehend what the fuck he was talking about. His head was spinning from pleasure, god, you were taking him so well. “Mhm. You know what—ah! I don’t—oh fuck, Princess! I don’t even fucking care at this point, I’m hanging up.” Sanzu threw his head back in pleasure as he chucked his phone somewhere in the sheets but forgetting to actually end the call.

He couldn’t care less. He wanted your cum around his dick.

With the distraction at bay, Sanzu focused on you. Leaning down to suck on your breasts and neck as you panted below him, “Are you close, baby?” he gritted against your neck, jaw tightening at how tight you were around him. You frantically nodded, face contorted with pleasure and lips parted, letting out desperate high pitched whines, “I—ngh! I’m going to cum, Sanzu!” you cried out.

Sanzu leaned closer to your ear, “Fuck, that’s it, princess. Cum around my cock like the good girl you are.” he panted, his hot breath fanning against the side of your neck.

You arched your back in pleasure, chest pushing up against Sanzu’s as you moaned his name, followed by a string of profanities. Sanzu’s hips didn’t falter one bit, despite how tight you became as you clenched around him, he whispered sweet nothings into your ear and how much of a good girl you were for him as he rode out your orgasm.

“Ngh—ah! I’m so close.” Sanzu whined as he quickly pulled his cock out of you, desperately pumping it with his hand. He bucked his hips up at his hand and threw his head back with a loud groan as he cummed on your chest, his hands not slowing down to milk his cock down to every last drop.

You moaned at the sensation of his hot cum landing on you, arching your back to push your chest further toward him. Sanzu panted above you, seeing the way your body was decorated with his semen.

“We’re not done yet, baby.” he chuckled.

Before he could do anything, he heard his phone beep, like someone had just ended the call. Sanzu was surprised that Ran actually stayed that long in the call, he thought Ran would’ve ended it by the time he threw the phone elsewhere.

Sanzu was true to his words. He was not done with you until you were all spent and begging for him to stop, safe to say that you weren’t going to be walking properly anytime soon and that was fine by you, it was a Friday night anyway.

You lazily lounged on Sanzu’s couch, eating and mindlessly watching whatever programme was on the TV. You were currently waiting for Sanzu to get home, apparently he got called in for work even though it was a Sunday, but oh well. He also told you not to stay up too late and try wait for him but you were stubborn.

It was late in the evening and the programme that was on was the news channel, but you didn’t pay much attention to it and savoured the way your food tasted against your tongue. You could feel your eyes getting droopy by the minute but fought the urge to let sleep take over you.

“In tonight’s news, we now focus on the country’s most notorious crime syndicate, Bonten, as they continue to pose danger to the public… the people shown in this video clip are it’s executives and members…”

Instinctively, you looked up from your snack and towards the TV to see the footage of a white haired man walking and his back towards the camera. A particular design caught you off guard, it was the tattoo on the man’s nape that made you think for a while. His tattoo was of a hanafuda card that symbolised the full moon.

Have I seen that before? You thought.

You shook your head at the silly thought, how have you seen that tattoo before when the news reporter literally mentioned that it originated from the country’s most notorious crime syndicate. Surely if you were to come across a member of that crime syndicate, you probably wouldn’t even make it alive.

Trying to take your mind off the news, you switched the channel to a random one which happened to be a food channel, you could work with that. Your attention shifted over to the door, hearing it close and someone shuffling around.

Sanzu.

The man walked through the hallway, hanging his blazer on the coat rack and rolling his polo sleeves up, “Baby, what are you still doing up?” Sanzu sighed as he waltzed over to you, hands wide open to pull you into a hug. “I wanted to wait for you…” you mumbled into his stomach, the smooth material of his tuxedo vest rubbing against your face.

He rubbed your cheeks and smiled down at you, his eyes filled with genuineness, “I’ll just wash up real quick, okay?” You nodded and Sanzu gave you a soft peck on the forehead before heading for his bedroom.

You looked over his shoulder and trailed his figure that slowly disappeared into the hallway leading to his room, letting out a sigh you’ve been holding as you could feel your heart racing faster.

There were two things that stood out to you despite his dimly lit penthouse, the first one was the hanafuda card tattoo on his left forearm and the other was the ever so slightly spots of red on his sleeves but maybe your eyes played tricks on you for that one but you surely saw his tattooed left arm.

Your mind was quick to wander elsewhere, you didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe you were just overthinking it, maybe he just coincidentally got the same tattoo as the country’s most feared syndicate, surely, right?

Besides, the odds of becoming face to face with an executive of Bonten were practically zero to none. You lived a quiet life so there was no reason for you to even encounter a member, that’s right, your life was nothing but monotonous… until you met Sanzu.

Come to think of it, Sanzu never even told you where he worked or who he worked for. All you knew is that he was a busy man but still made time for you but this piece of missing information was enough to speculate. You knew it was wrong to accuse someone without hard, concrete evidence; innocent until proven guilty, your law professors taught you that.

But something inside you screamed to know the truth, you didn’t know how you’ll gain the information, surely not by walking up to him and going, “Hey, are you part of that crime syndicate called Bonten?”

Just then, a name suddenly popped up in your head. Sanzu mentioned a name two days ago during a call.

Haitani.

That name rang a bell to you but where have you heard it before? It took you a few minutes to ponder over the somewhat familiar name but it finally clicked. Haitani, that was the name you’ve heard a lot back when you were still working at the club in Roppongi. The club they owned. You didn’t know much about the name’s origin but you knew there were two of them and they basically ruled that district. Gang members.

It dawned upon you that Sanzu once mentioned that he knew the owner of the club when you first met him. It made sense. The dots all connected to one another but what were you exactly going to do?

You quickly turned the TV off and made your way to Sanzu’s bedroom, the shower was still running which indicated he was nowhere near being done. You walked into his room, your eyes immediately catching his unlocked drawer slightly ajar, the drawer that he always locked without fail, the one he always opened before he left early in the mornings.

Shallow breaths slipped past your lips as you nervously made your way toward it, taking cautious steps like something would jump out at you at any minute. Your hands nervously reached for the handle and pulled it, the loud creaking sound making you jolt.

A gun. All in its glory, lying right in the middle of the drawer and nothing else. The metal barrel shone under the bright lights of Sanzu’s bedroom, as if it was taunting you.

You took a few steps back, eyes widening at the dangerous weapon before your eyes. So many questions ran through your head and it also didn’t help the way your heart was beating faster than ever.

Your head snapped toward the bathroom door as Sanzu stepped out, damp rosy pink hair, exposed chest and grey sweatpants sitting dangerously low around his waist. His eyes darted between the unreadable expression in your face and the opened drawer, tilting his head slightly to the side, he looked at you with a weird glint in his eyes,

“Baby, has no one ever taught you not to go through things that aren’t yours?” His voice laced with venom as he took long strides towards you, his slender fingers making its way to your chin to firmly hold it in place.

Avoiding his eye contact, you muttered a small apology, closing your eyes which only made Sanzu smirk, “Guess I’ll have to teach you a lesson, huh?” Before you could say anything, he closed the gap between your lips, his other hand silently reaching for the 9mm in the drawer and placed it in his pocket. It wasn’t loaded, Sanzu knew better than to load his gun with bullets with you around his penthouse.

He backed you into the floor-to-ceiling glass before deepening the kiss; his kisses were rough and needy, the way his lips hungrily moved against yours told you that he was desperate. You didn’t hesitate to return his kiss in the same manner, your mind slowly forgetting about this whole thing but it was still there, in the back of your head, waiting to be unravelled.

Sanzu’s hand snaked inside your pants, giving tight circles around your clothed clit, causing you to moan into his mouth. He didn’t have to do much to get you dripping, after all, his light kisses and fingers were enough to have you begging on your knees for him. That was the effect he had on you, he was like drugs and you needed a dose of him everyday.

“You better be all ears for me, baby. I’m only teaching you this lesson once.”

In no time, you were out of your shirt as he turned your body around and pressed your exposed front against the cold surface of the glass, your breath immediately fogging it up. Sanzu trailed kisses down your nape and sucked at a spot on your back, earning a small moan from you. His hands wandered to your chest, each roughly massaging a breast, pulling and groping it.

“Mhm… Sanzu, please.”

Sanzu wasted no time to pull your pants down, slightly shivering at the sudden cool air that hit your exposed legs; he swiftly pulled his stiff cock out of his sweatpants and teased your wet folds through your panties. Your nails scraped against the smooth glass as Sanzu continued with his teasing, tears almost forming in your eyes at how turned on you were.

But he was just as horny as you, so he pushed your panties aside and slid his cock in, bottoming out in one go. You threw your head back against his shoulders, your hands balling into fists against the fogged up glass, “Hah, Sanzu!”

“Such a slut for me, aren’t you?” Sanzu chuckled, pulling out his unloaded 9mm and firmly pressing it against your neck, your walls tightly clenched around his dick at the cool sensation of the barrel against your skin, Sanzu also noticed this and from there on, he saw red.

He picked up his pace, hips roughly fucking up into you at the fastest pace he could possibly attain, “You like it when I use my gun on you? You like the thrill of that? What a fucking slut.” Sanzu whispered into your hair, teeth gritting at the way your walls deliciously hugged his cock, you were so tight that he literally had to let his mind wander somewhere else so he wouldn’t cum right then and there.

You could only moan at his questions, your breasts tightly pressing against the glass surface as your back arched due to Sanzu’s merciless hips. Nothing else was on your mind now, just his cock and the way he was hitting your g-spot with every single thrust of his hips.

His gun made its way to your lips, “Suck on it.” He demanded and you didn’t hesitate to open your mouth and place your lips around the tip of his gun, tongue swirling and sucking on it like it was Sanzu’s dick.

Sanzu cursed against your neck as he heard the wet squelches of your mouth working against his gun, the way your head desperately leaned into the 9mm as if you wanted more, the way you moaned around it the same way you would with his dick. His grip on the weapon tightened, fuck, you were so filthy.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as Sanzu hooked his free hand on the back of your knee and brought it up against the glass, he was much deeper this time and it turned you into nothing but a teary moaning mess around his 9mm. You were so close to cumming.

High pitched whines escaped your lips every time his crotch slapped against your ass, there wasn’t anything you could do but fist your hands into the glass and moan against the weapon that he held up your lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum! Cum with me, princess…” Sanzu groaned, inhaling the scent of your hair as he sealed his eyes shut at the immense pleasure. He pushed his gun further into your mouth as you reached your orgasm, causing you to moan loudly and tightly clench around his dick, your legs shaking and nails scraping against the glass surface at the intense sensation you felt.

Sanzu stilled his hips as he came and roughly pushed his dick inside you, causing you tiptoe a bit. He moaned against your back, the grip around your knee tightening, a string of profanities slipped past his lips as you rode out his orgasm by clenching around him.

That night, Sanzu came clean to you. He was indeed part of Bonten and even had a high position as the second-in-command. He told you how you were free to terminate the contract between the two of you because he would understand the fear it instilled within you but he did let you know that he would make sure no harm would come your way, if you decided to stay.

It was pretty self explanatory about why he kept you in the dark about the truth about his job, but he also told you how you helped him take his mind off all the fucked up things he has done. That’s why he had no problem giving and spending large amounts of money on you, after all, it was just dirty money anyway. He figured he could at least put it to good use.

Sanzu has also opened up about how he had practically stopped popping pills left and right ever since he became your sugar daddy, it was a very different world with you, he felt emotions he’s never felt before and feelings he’s never had before.

The world with Bonten often left him feeling empty, a void where his heart should be that he filled by abusing drugs just to get a quick high to try and forget about the horrors of what he has done to innocent people.

You always thought that Sanzu being your sugar daddy only benefited you, but little did you know it actually benefited him more than you could imagine. You needed his money and he needed your company, you needed each other to get through life.

He asked you that night if you were still going to stay with him despite his criminal status.

If playing with fire was your only ticket to living the lavish lifestyle, then you wouldn’t hesitate dancing with the devil in disguise, also known as Haruchiyo Sanzu, Bonten’s second-in-command.

#SugarDaddyCollab #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x reader #sanzu x y/n #sanzu x you #sanzu smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers

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finelinevogue · 1 year

Text

the best thing

summary - you hate harry after that one night together, but when you need someone the most he will always be there

a/n : mentions of sexual assault, quite intense scenes, crying, angst, drunkeness

word count : +3.8k

pairing : ceo!harry x reader

You don’t know how you got here.

One minute you were eating crisps at home and watching reruns of Friends, then the next thing you know you’re at an exclusive event in the centre of London with your best friend; Leia.

Apparently, your best friend is now dating some actor who is in with all the A-list celebrities and so she can get into all these cool events now.

This party was hosted by none other than Harry Styles, billionaire and CEO of StylesTech. He happened to be the one man on Earth who you absolutely despised. Well, maybe he wasn’t the only one.

Harry became a celebrity when he got put on the front cover of GQ’s magazine for sexiest man alive four times. That’s right… four.

Harry was friends with James, your best friends new boyfriend, and had said she could also invite a plus one. The more the merrier was what Leia had said over the phone.

Now you were here.

Some rooftop bar in the heights of London. The lighting was very low, the music was very loud and the room was completely packed.

There was a dance floor where people were grinding more than dancing. There was a bar, which apparently was a free-bar. There was panoramic views of the city and tiny people below, making you feel like a Goddess up here in the clouds.

“We’re going to get drinks, you coming?” Leia asked you, James tugging on her hand to move them through the crowd.

“Yeah.” You nodded and grabbed onto her open hand.

You weaved through the crowds, apologising for people you bumped into.

You felt slightly too single here. Everyone seemed to be clinging onto someone and yet you were clinging on to a couple - third-wheeling to be precise.

When you reached the bar Leia and James ordered together, leaving you wait for another waiter to come to help you.

You waited a few more moments, before someone whistled behind you like they were calling over a dog.

“Oi, Henry. Serve this lady now.”

You turned around with a disgusted look on your face, only to be met with Harry Styles in front of you. He smirked at you when he noticed your facial expression.

You scoffed and turned back to Henry. “Don’t worry yourself about me. You can finish whatever job you were doing, hun.” You smiled at the young boy, who looked terrified of his boss behind you.

“No, he won’t.” Harry came and stood beside you. “She’ll have a vodka cranberry with ice.”

“She has a fucking name. Prick.” You mumbled the last word under your breath. “Sorry, Henry. I’ll actually have a Long Island Ice Tea, please. Thank you.”

Henry was off, probably to get away from Harry and make your drink.

“Sure your tolerance can handle a Long Island?” Harry laughed beside you.

“Don’t act like you know me, Harry.” You sneered his name.

“Oh, but I do know you. Don’t I? Know you very, very, well.”

You huffed, trying to not let his words effect you.

You knew exactly what he was talking about. Specifically, the night he was talking about. It had been one night back when you were working in a rival tech company. You had been issued to attend a conference weekend, there had been limited numbers of rooms and Harry - the gentleman at the time - had offered you a space in his room.

That night you had too many vodka cranberries and ended up sleeping with Harry that night - although not much literal sleeping actually happened.

The point of hatred for Harry occurred when he left in the morning after you’d confessed that you could see yourself liking him. You’d offered yourself to him for a date together and all he said was; ‘I don’t do seconds.’

Hence, the birth of the hatred for GQs sexiest man alive x4.

“That was one night, years ago. Wasn’t anything to remember.” You sneered.

You lied. It was actually one of the best nights of your life and no one has been as good since.

“Except it was. You didn’t scream that much because you were hating it.” Harry sipped on his glass of whiskey.

“You’re a fucking pig.” You grabbed your drink that Henry had given to you now. “Stay away from me, Harry.”

“Then why did you come to my party?”

“I’m here because of Leia, not you.”

You scoffed and walked off, leaving Harry leaning against the bar in his gorgeous suit to stare at you as you walked away.

The little black dress and heels would do wonders for the power walk away from him. He could see what he has been missing.

You saw Leia and James standing at a table and went over to join them.

“Hey.” You said on approach.

“Hey babes.” Leia smiled as James wrapped his arm around Leia’s waist.

“Cosmo?” You asked, pointing to Leia’s drink.

“You know it. And what the fuck did you get?”

“Long Island.”

“Do you even like them?” Leia laughed.

“No.”

“Then why—”

To prove a point. “Dunno.” You shrugged, taking a sip and feeling sick already from how disgusting the drink was.

“Oh hey man.” James unwrapped his arm around Leia to shake hands with someone. Unfortunately for you, it happened to be the one man you were trying to stay away from.

“Hey. How are you?” Harry asked as they bro hugged.

“Good, good yeah. This is my girlfriend, Leia.” James introduced her.

Leia smiled politely, shaking his hand, and you suddenly wished you’d told her that the story behind the ‘One-Night-Stand’ guy had been this guy. “Hello. Great party.”

“Thanks.”

“And this is Y/N, Leia’s best friend.” James introduced you, not realising that you didn’t need an introduction.

Harry stuck his hand out for you. If you didn’t shake it someone would know something is wrong, so you could your hand in Harry’s and tried to ignore the soft skin against yours. Instead, you tightly squeezed as if you were trying to strangle his hand.

“Lovely to meet you, Y/N.”

You just tightly smiled, not feeling like returning the sentiment.

“Have we met before? You look very… familiar.” Harry had the cheek to say to you. He was an evil man.

“No. You don’t really have a face that I’d remember.” You pulled your hand away from him in disgust.

“Oh really? I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It’s not.” You smiled, returning to your drink and trying not to gag with how awful it tasted.

“Uh, so, what are you drinking Harry?” Leia asked, clearly sensing some tension between you.

“Vodka cranberry.”

“Ah no way! That’s our Y/Ns favourite drink.” Leia smiled genuinely.

“How coincidental.” Harry faked a shocked face.

“Yeah. Truly.” You rolled your eyes.

“You two must be soulmates or something.”

“That would require two people going on an actual date.” You stabbed into the conversation.

“I guess..” Leia looked awkward now.

“Your capable of going on a date, aren’t you Harry?” You innocently questioned, turning to face him.

Harry’s nostrils flared and it looked like he was biting back from saying something brass. Instead of speaking, he shot back a good half of his drink.

“Lovely speaking to you, Leia. James, we’ll catch up in a bit.” Harry nodded his head to them both. You didn’t miss how he didn’t acknowledge you as he left the table in a hurry.

You breathed a sigh of relief after he’d gone.

“What the fuck was that about?” Leia asked you immediately.

“What?” You asked dumbly.

“You and Harry. The sexual tension was insane!”

James nodded his head in agreement.

“Don’t be silly.”

“Y/N… C’mon. I’ve seen a penis and a vagina have less sexual tension than you and Harry. Get a fucking room next time.” Leia fanned herself.

“I give up.” You shook your head and downed the rest of your disgusting drink.

“Where are you going?” James asked.

“To find a fourth wheel for me.”

•••••

Twelves minutes later and you’d managed to find someone to spend the rest of your night with.

His name was Jordan and he was very good company. Attractive company too.

You two were cornered away in the back of the room in a circular booth. A tray of shots lay empty in front of you and another tray contained full ones.

You were playing a drinking game to get to know each other and now you were absolutely spinning. Your head had taken a hit after the fifth shot and now you were nine deep and couldn’t stop yourself.

“M-my turn.” You laughed as you hiccuped.

“Okay.”

Jordan sat close to you, his arm wrapped around the back of the booth where you were sat. His eyes were deep brown and his hair was light blonde. He looked the complete opposite of Harry, which maybe was subconsciously a choice.

“Favourite sex position?” You giggled immaturely.

“Hmm. Doggy. I actually hate seeing a girls face when we’re fucking.” He replied and you had to take a shot because he answered honestly.

That should’ve been your first red flag about Jordan.

You just laughed instead.

“My turn. Have you ever masturbated?”

“Alllll the time. No guy does it for me anymore.” You laughed sadly.

Jordan took his shot and then moved in closer towards you. You tilted your head so he could speak into your ear.

“I could fix that problem for you.”

Your eyes bugged at his forwardness.

“No thanks.” You shook your head and laughed to try and keep it civil.

“Oh c’mon. You’ve been flirting with me all night and you know it.” His hand dropped onto your shoulders and pulled himself closer. His other hand dropped onto your bare thigh and started rubbing up and down on your soft skin.

“No I haven’t!” You laughed the situation off.

“You have. And I bet you’re all excited ‘cause of it.”

He started moving his hand further up your leg. Due to your toxic alcohol intake your reaction times were a little slower, but when his hand had made it underneath your dress-skirt you gasped and tried to tug his hand away.

“No. Please stop.” You said softly, whining as he tried to push his hand higher.

His face came closer again and he started to kiss your cheek. You tried to move your face away but his other hand was there to trap you and keep you close.

You started to worry because of how dark it was and how hidden away you were. Everyone was busy dancing and drinking away and none the wiser about the situation you were in.

“Give in, you tease.” His hot breath felt disgusting against your skin.

“I said no. Please.”

You struggled to push him off. Both your hands were focusing on his hand on your leg that you couldn’t do much to get his face away from yours.

“You’ve been teasing me all night and now we get to play.” He laughed.

Tears formed in your eyes as you kept pushing and pushing and pushing. You kept saying no over and over again, but Jordan was just not listening.

He felt disgusting on you and it made you feel just as disgusting.

Jordan just kept laughing whilst you were crying.

An employee caught your eye - in fact, it was Henry. You thought he might’ve come over to you and help, since he could clearly see you crying and struggling with Jordan on you, but instead he turned and walked away.

You sobbed then, thinking that might’ve been your only chance to get help and he just left.

You wondered whether it was because Harry was a dick to him.

You closed your eyes and tried to think of happy thoughts as Jordan started attacking your neck.

You tried to think of Harry. It wasn’t hard.

He was constantly on your mind.

“You taste so good. Stop denying me all of you.” Jordan bit your neck too harshly to be pleasurable.

“Jordan, no!” You shoved with all your strength and managed to completely get him off. You were pissed now. Your mascara may have run, your eyes red and blotchy, your breath shaky, but that was all he was getting from you.

“No?” Jordan scoffed. “NO?”

Jordan grabbed your cheeks and pulled you towards him.

“Ow.” You mumbled through his harsh grip.

“Listen here you little bi—”

“The fuck is going on here?”

Jordan dropped your face and straightened his jacket, whilst you turned your head to find who you already knew was there; Harry.

His voice had sent a wave of calmness through your body the second he started speaking. Now he was standing there with a deathly look on his face you couldn’t help but feel relief.

And you noticed Henry standing behind him, looking just as angry.

“Hi boss. Just having fun.” Jordan responded.

Harry looked between Jordan and you. Jordan looked dazed and content, whilst you looked broken and scared.

“Are you okay?” Harry looked intensely at you.

“She’s fi—”

“I wasn’t fucking speaking to you, was I?” Harry rhetorically asked. “Y/N, come here, love.”

Harry held out his hand, palm facing up.

You made no hesitation as you weakly moved away from Jordan and towards Harry.

Harry helped you stand up and kept a tight hold on your hand. It grounded you, his touch.

“Can I touch you? Just on your face?” Harry asked you softly and you nodded.

Harry cautiously held your chin and moved your head to the side, noticing the red mark and blood on your neck. He hadn’t taken note of your legs yet, but he would come to find red marks on them too.

Your teary eyes were wiped by Harry’s careful thumb. You looked down at his shoes the entire time, too afraid to look at him. You knew you’d crumble if you did.

“Are you okay?” He asked you again.

“No.” You said softly, shaking your head. “I-I was really scared, Harry.” Your voice broke and Harry immediately cupped the back of your head and brought you into his chest. You collapsed there and Harry’s hands held you up strong.

“You’re okay now. I’m here, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Harry said, whilst nodding his head discreetly to the two security men.

They came over within seconds and yanked Jordan out of the booth. His protests were no match for the security guys. As he was being escorted out, Harry stopped him to say “See you in court.”

After Harry had thanked Henry with a nod and smile, he walked the small distance over to the same booth and sat down on the edge of it, pulling you to sit on his lap.

Your body was still wracking with sobs, but only because the adrenaline of the situation had been too much for you.

Now you knew you were safe, it was too much.

Harry made you feel safe.

He rocked you as he held you. It was too loud to have a quiet, serious, conversation, but his actions spoke loud anyways. I’m here. You’re safe. It’s okay now.

You heard Harry shout to someone for a glass of cold water, which was brought back to you within a minute.

"Here, sunshine, drink this." Harry spoke closely to you so you could hear.

He held the glass up to your lips and tipped it back slowly for you. Your hands were too shaky to hold onto it yourself, but you managed to drink carefully with the help of Harry.

He even knew when you'd had enough.

Harry's hand cupped the side of your head and brought you to rest back onto his chest. His head stayed rested on top of yours and you both just sat like that for ten minutes or so. It was hard to know exactly how long.

You just sat and thought about everything that had happened tonight and everything that could have happened. Mixed with that, your brain was constantly thinking about Harry and how much, no matter how hard you try otherwise, you like him.

Your heart feels constantly pulled towards him. He's like a beacon in the middle of a storm, safely guiding you towards home.

Just as those thoughts were circling your mind, Harry made his move.

He told you he was going to stand up, so you let yourself slide off his legs onto your own shaky ones. You thought he might be leaving you to go back and mingle with the other guests, so you stood shy to the side.

Harry leaned over to Henry and whispered something in his ear to which Henry nodded.

Before you could make plans as to what you were going to do now, Harry held out his hand to you again - giving you a choice to take it or not. Of course, you took it.

He squeezed your hand in reassurance and then lead you off and out of the room.

You two made no conversation as you wandered out of the noisy room and into a quiet staircase. Harry started walking up the stairs, so you followed him.

It was another two minutes before you made it to the top of the stairs and through a door that led to a rooftop. It was only very small. It overlooked the city skyline, with hundreds of twinkling lights casting shadows over the small space.

There were twinkling fairy lights too, up here. They were knotted around various creeping wall plants like ivy. In the corner of the square space there was a big L-shaped sofa with plenty of cushions and throws.

Harry turned back to smile at you, leading you to the sofa.

He sat down and let go of your hand, allowing you to choose where to sit.

You took one last glance at the skyline and up to the moon, before deciding.

"Wanna sit next to you." You said in a small voice.

"Okay." Harry smiled perfectly.

He shuffled back into the corner of the L-shaped sofa, sitting up and letting his legs stretch out on the chair in front of him. He patted his lap next with a smile. You shuffled over to him and sat on his lap, perpendicular to the way he was sitting so your legs stretched out along the other length of the chair.

"Comfortable?" He asked.

"Mhm."

Harry wasn't too sure though, and next thing you knew he was gathering a couple of blankets to throw over your legs and shoulders.

"Better. Thank you." You nodded.

"You're welcome."

"It's beautiful up here."

"I guess it is."

"Is it all yours?" You questioned.

"What? Everything up here?"

You nodded. Harry then took your hands in his and started to play with the few rings you had on.

"No. Not everything is mine."

You looked up at him and into his eyes, noticing he was looking straight back at you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you thought about the implications to his words. You couldn't help but let a blush and smile take over your face. If he was implying what you thought he was then maybe you were in with a chance of Harry liking you back.

"What do you want to have? You're a billionaire. You could have anything you want." You asked, curiously.

"No even a billionaire can buy everything." He smiled sadly.

"Well, what do you wish you could buy even though you can't?"

Harry chuckled under his breath, "Redemption. A second chance. Love."

You tilted your head back against the sofa, your head feeling less and less drunk by the minute. You sighed, looking at the beautiful moon and wondering how lonely she must be up there.

Loneliness is something you've suffered with for far too long.

You wanted to find that connection with that someone who makes you feel wanted, feel loved and feel chosen. You craved it.

You chuckled.

"What?" Harry asked, softly caressing over the back of your hand.

"It's just funny, is all."

"What is?"

"Us, wanting the same thing. Wonder if we want it from the same people." You tilted your head to the side to face Harry, watching him lick his lips as he looked at yours not-so-subtly.

"You already know we do." Harry said quietly, leaning in towards you.

Your breath hitched as he got closer, your heart beating faster than your brain was processing the motions. You knew you wanted to kiss Harry as badly as he wanted to kiss you, but not like this. Not yet, at least.

"Harry, wait..." You said, watching him stop immediately.

"Fuck. Shitting, fuck. Sorry, Y/N. That was completely inappropriate of me. I mean.. After... Tonight and us... and...."

Harry shot back to his original position and ran a stressed hand over his face as he tried to work through his thoughts.

You smiled as you watched him panic, before taking his stressed hands in yours and kissing the back of it softly - right over that small triage of freckles you knew sat pretty there.

"Hey. It's okay." You reassured him. "I'm not stopping you because of what happened this evening. I'm stopping you because I feel I deserve to know why I wasn't enough the first time around."

This was you standing up for yourself.

"Weren't enou-.. Y/N, love. God, I was such a dick. I never, ever, left you because I thought you weren't enough. I left because I didn't think I was. I was a nobody back then. I looked at you and saw someone who could literally be the epitome of sunshine, and then I looked at me and all I saw was a dark cloud that would cover you. I never thought someone as bright, as happy and as golden as you should ever have to be with someone like me. Hell, it's still a thought that niggles away at the back of my mind. But, I've learnt that I can't let those thoughts win. I owe it you myself, and definitely to you, to at least try."

"Well that was as good as apologies get." You sniffled, trying to hold back the happy tears.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, for our wasted years. I... I just wasn't ready for us back then and I know I was a prick about it."

"You were. A right big prick."

Harry wiggled his eyebrows and you had to fake punch him for it.

"I'm sorry." He said honestly. "And I'm sorry for tonight too."

"That wasn't your fault, okay? I promise." You squeezed his hand.

"Okay. I'm still suing that motherfucker though."

"You're a billionaire already!"

"So? I was going to donate the money to a sexual assault charity or something." He shrugged his shoulders like what he just said was no big deal - like he hadn't just shown his truest heart.

"You're a good person, Harry, who deserves good things." You moved closer to him.

"I am?"

"Mhm."

"Do these 'good things' include you?"

"I don't know. Do you think I'm a good thing?" You teased him.

Harry leaned in closer. "No. I think you're the best."

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #harry styles blurbs #harry styles ceo #ceo harry styles #ceo!harry #harry styles fic

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romanovthinkver · 6 months

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pov: you’re scarlett johansson’s wife // sfw headcanons

scarlett knows you’re in love with New York and despite having drivers that can easily bring you to one side to another of the city, she knows you prefer taking the subway. you’re favourite is the Q train where you can see the best landscapes as it’s an open train space. your wife always makes sure to pick up a spot by the door, she always says “i want to see that beautiful smile on your face the whole ride” and as you watch the train going from Manhattan to Brooklyn, scarlett wraps an arm around your waist and looks up at you with pure love.

scarlett loves how you adore your county despite its bad sides. you’re here for work so you don’t go back home as much as you would want. the last time was at christmas two years ago with all the family. little pieces of your culture are spread in the house tho, through the food, the flag you hung in your home office, some products you buy at the authentic drug stores owned by people of your home-country. you also started to teach the kids your childhood traditions, your favourite meals, your native language even. sometimes you go out in typical restaurants, or the one that claims to be typical when they’re not, and your wife has to listen you ramble about how they couldn’t make a simple dish of your land and instead ruined it. “can you believe baby? they ruined it, look at this: chicken. why? there’s no chicken in the original recipe and yet i see chicken here, why you americans put chicken everywhere?” scarlett would laugh and sometimes record your little grumbles. the kids loves when you, their mama, cook home land dishes of a culture they’re starting to feel like theirs. your wife loves when your accent rolls off your tongue when you’re tired or pissed, sometimes even when you two fuck roughly; it send her over the edge in no time. however the thing she likes the most is when you speak in your native language giving her or the kids pet names or when you whisper “i love you.”

you’re the biggest supporter ever. the way your eyes shine when you stand beside scarlett at movies premiers, it’s unmatched. you always buzz around your wife when she’s being prepared by make-up and hair-stylists taking extra time to snap some phots of her proudly. you make sure her dress is always perfect and adjust it often during the carpet. you make sure scarlett is always hydrated, not only with alcohol but with water too!, and fed because these things are stressful and your lady has to be healthy. you step back when she poses for paparazzi photos even tho she insists to have you beside her, she would softly place her hand on your chest clothed by the black jacket and shares smiles and little whispers. “you’re so beautiful, baby” or “i can’t take my eyes off you” these are the words that you find to whisper to her in that moments when your eyes are glued to her form, your hand gently cradles her back. you in the end step back giving your wife the deserved moment in the shiny flashes of the photographer’s bulbs, she poses and you look at her, sometimes you would snap a few picture too of her beside the paparazzi. scarlett would peck your lips amidst the event, they reassure you like a warm blanket and she softly pass her slender fingers to wipe her lipstick off your lips. you watch the movie with rapt attention because despite everything, before meeting her, you were and are a fan of her movies. in the end you always hug her and pepper her lips and cheeks whispering “congratulations my love, you were brilliant!”, “i can feel the oscar baby, can i start your campaign now?”, “i’m so incredibly proud of you, you’re a movie star” or “look at that baby, they’re all clapping and cheering for you, you’re so inspiring.” at the after party you both dance, engage in conversation with people and sometimes only seat at the bar together. you make sure to drink only safe drinks and let your wife party as she deserve. you take care of her and by the end of the night she’s not much sober but you steady her holding by her waist, your suit jacket always ready to shield the woman from the cold gently rest on her shoulders and her heels accomodate your feet while she wears you’re much more comfortable shoes.

scarlett started a skin care brand line with her friend and co-founder, kate foster. you, despite not knowing a thing about skin care, started to be supportive since the first day. however you didn’t know your wife would make you be a tester. you forgot how many times you ran around the house to dodge her “c’mon baby let’s try this eye cream, i swear it will be good for your eyes!” or the times she would let you sit on the bathroom sink with a blue argyle mask on your face, a hand band with the brand logo that would definitely make your curls frizzy and messy. you would groan and grumble a lot but your wife is always quick to kiss you. in the end you fell into a routine of doing this pampering ritual every night. slowly you started to learn a lot about skin care and your wife’s work. you also would crash often at her office to just bring donuts and coffee or sneak to spend more time with your wife and the team. and much to your dismay, scarlett will never stop treating you like a tester, she’s already planning on dragging you at the offie to record some funny videos of her putting on your face brand new face creams.

talking about videos, you hate cameras and photos. oh you’re the opposite of your wife in this department. you’re a diplomat, an ambassador specifically, so you barely stand in front of cameras and address speeches, a safe way to do what you love without struggling with the media press. however since you got into a relationship with your wife and got married, you quickly became a target to paparazzi’s cameras. you awkwardly stand beside your wife when you’re taking photos at the event she has to attend, but scarlett is always there to calm you down with soft touches, whispers and little pecks. “it’s okay baby, focus on me, everything’s is alright”. when they catch you in the street you go protective over the kids and wife putting your discomfort aside. “little one it’s okay, look at mama, everything is okay. scarlett, baby, come closer to me. it’s okay”. when you’re alone, you just hide behind a hoodie hood. you rarely talk to the microphones and usually only offer politely smile and shield your anxious eyes.

scarlett never saw you crying in the years you’ve been together and probably she thought she would never. this until your wedding day arrived. oh, boy! the moment you saw her walking down the aisle you started crying for her endlessly beauty and the overwhelming love you have for her. after that you cried again, much harder, when your little girl was born. scarlett loves teasing you a lot about it. you blush rolling your eyes playfully and dismissing her with a groan.

you rarely fight but when you do, and it’s always for silly things, it doesn’t take much to crack the hard shell. one of you crawl in the arms of the other not much more than 1 hour later. you’re an ambassador so your job is to make peace, after toxic experiences in your past relationship, your communication level is high and you’re lucky enough to have found scarlett that is on the same page as yours. scarlett would hold you close and kiss the crown of your head. “i’m so sorry my love, i promise to work better on these things.” you would kiss her knuckles and whisper “i’m sorry too, baby, we’ll work on them together.”

at the end of the day it’s just you and your wife. you softly sway in the gold sunrise painting your skins. scarlett arms wrapped around your neck cradling the glass of wine between her hands while she leans to ghost your lips. your hand on her hip, the other hold your glass of wine close to the chest. you both hum the song that is putted on the background while behind you food cooks on the stove and mixes with the noises of the city. it’s peaceful, it’s a paradise, it’s you and the love of your life in a life that isn’t perfect, but has a glimpse of perfection shared together.

a/n: pt.2? nsfw part?

#lesbian #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff #romanoffthereal #natasha romanov #the outset #wlw #headcanon #headcannons #scarlett johansson x colin jost #scarlett johansson x you #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson imagine #scarlett johansson smut #scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson x fem reader #natasha romanoff x fem reader #woman x woman

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undreaming-fanfiction · 2 months

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Written for @steddieangstyaugust day 4: angst with a happy ending.

Once upon a time, when the world almost ended and didn't, Eddie Munson used to think that surviving the near apocalypse would be the most difficult thing he'd ever have to do in his life. Surely being bitten to death, then resurrected by the big bad, then breaking away from his influence and helping save the world, that must have counted for something, right? He'd earn a happy end through all that suffering.

Well, no. Not really. That's what he learned the second the portal to the Upside Down closed. The lovely people of Hawkins still hated him, he and Wayne had nowhere to live because their trailer split open, and he barely escaped another group of government scientists very much interested in the whole "came back to life" thing.

It was only natural Eddie ran. Why wouldn't he? He brought Wayne only bad luck, even worse reputation, and a bunch of extra expenses. His friends from the Corroded Coffin? Tortured by Jason to find his location. The freshmen he dragged into Hellfire? Also targeted. Eddie's name was a target on the back on everyone he loved and he wouldn't stay long enough for it to put the others in danger. Not Wayne, Dustin…Steve. Steve who confused him as much as enticed him. But Hawkins wasn't the place to explore this forbidden space in Eddie's head.

Indy sounded like a good destination and so that's where he went. He wrote a bunch of goodbye letters, trying to explain, but mostly to ease the pain. I will be in touch once I settle in, he said in them. He was never a good liar, not even on paper.

The whole Upside Down affair had robbed him of everything. His baby, his guitar. His closest relationships. His only proper home. The future he saw with himself and the Corroded Coffin. But he still had his life, so that was something.

He made friends, but not really. How do you make a real connection with someone when you can't tell them anything about the most important event in your life? How do you explain staring at every girl with golden blond ponytail on the street, dreading the moment they turn around because it won't be her?

He would send letters to Wayne sometimes. They would be long, talking about this and that, he would sometimes call too. But he noticed that for how much he talked, the content was empty. He wondered if Wayne noticed too. He must have - his uncle was the most perceptive man he'd ever met. He sent a bunch of short messages to Dustin via Wayne, just to keep him from going all Sherlock Holmes on Eddie. He swore to visit them both one day. Just not today. Or tomorrow.

The only good thing about his life in Indy was the anonymity of a large city and with that, the possibility to explore who he really was. He saved as much as he could and bought a new guitar. It would never be like his first love, but he could get back to music and drive his roommates insane with how out of practice he was. He'd play here and there, become very slightly famous in the local queer community. Sometimes his performances would earn him a free drink, sometimes a kiss. Or if he was really good, company for the night.

Five years in, it was going fairly well, he thought. He wasn't completely broke, he could kiss who he wanted - boys, how long it took him to admit that!, his songs got more genuine. He even wrote a bunch about Hawkins, never naming the place or people, of course, but it helped him work through some stuff. And on some days, he didn't even think much about what and who he'd left behind.

Until that fateful evening when he was scheduled to perform in his frequented gay bar. He sat on his usual stool on the podium with his acoustic guitar, greeted the regulars, and said his usual spiel: "This one is about a very special boy. He wore a yellow sweater, saved my life a bunch of times. Was really badass too. I think he made me realize who I really am, even if he never knew how I feel about him."

He never gave the song a name. He considered "His vest over my bleeding heart", or maybe something like "Keep me like you kept the vest", something with sunflowers, nail bats, perfect hair. Everyone in the bar knew he hated naming his songs anyway, so he took a deep breath and got ready to play.

Only then did he notice a familiar shade of yellow near the bar. And a surprised, but still a smile.

Eddie didn't run that evening. He finished the set, thanked his supporters and fans, and then he found himself sitting next to Steve Harrington, the man from his songs and dreams.

"Everyone misses you like crazy. They still hope you'll stop by, but I get it. I just feel lucky as hell. I didn't think I'd see you again," said Steve and it sounded sad. Like he actually missed Eddie too.

"I didn't think I'd find you in a place like this," responded Eddie. He wanted it to sound more rough, defensive, but his heart betrayed him and it was more of a question. Of a plea.

Steve smiled at him again, and maybe it was Eddie's imagination, but did he shift closer to him? "You haven't seen me in a long time, Eddie. This is exactly the place you'd find me these days. And now…I don't even need to drag Robin with me as an excuse."

Oh. Okay. Eddie could work with that. Licking his lips, he prodded even more. "So…uh. I take it you still haven't found what you're looking for?"

Steve turned to him fully, reaching out for Eddie's hand, and Eddie realized that he might have been wrong. This might be his happy ending after all.

Especially when Steve's lips parted and he said: "I have now."

Eddie would visit Wayne. He'd call Dustin, catch up with Gareth and others. Because he no longer felt like a bad omen. The morning he woke up next to Steve Harrington, with a careful promise of much more than one night, with pancakes for breakfast and talking, so much real talking with no secrets and no lies, he decided that he was ready to stop running. For good this time.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie drabble #steddieangstyaugust #steddie ficlet #not proofread we die like my immune system

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austinbutlerslovers · 8 months

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Bucked & Fxcked

Label Mature 18+

Finding out there is a military deployment party at the live music hall across from your college immediately entices you and your room mate. Bored with college boys you each excitedly plan to snag and shag a handsome soldier for the night, but when you lay eyes on two of the most handsome and suave majors you have ever seen in your life you can’t decide which one you want more. They both tease and seduce you in ways that get you so hot between the legs you flirtatiously admit you wish you could have both.

Upon hearing your words and realizing they won't get an opportunity like this with such a beautiful dame again they come to an agreement, they'll share you. They bring you back to their base in one of the Majors offices locking the door and double tapping you with pleasure the entire night.

No established relationship

Groping•objectification•degradation •fingering• biting• gspot fem •nippleplay •clitplay•restraint •threesome•oral sex m/f• P in V •sex on a desk• oral sex f/m• multiple orgasms •simultaneous orgasms•squirting • bukkake (2 males ejaculate on female )• cum eating• after care

Inspo: needing to be Fxcked by both Bucks 🥵

~*Bucked & Fxcked*~

You and your room mate get dressed in form fitting low cut tops and A-line skirts putting on lip stick and heavy mascara before leaving the dorms at 7:30 in the evening.

You are taking the half mile walk together with dozens of other girls from the college campus to have some fun at the live music dance hall.

All the girls are in their prettiest dresses giggling excitedly walking arm in arm gossiping because a platoon of soldiers will be there for a special military event dancing the night away before they deploy.

You and your room mate have already had quite the sexual experiences sneaking college boys into your dorm room after midnight for quick romps going through the roster never feeling completely satisfied.

You were both very excited to try something daring and new.

As you approach the establishment you hear the swing music getting louder. People surround the well lit dance hall talking, laughing, some coupled up already kissing. You see cars parked in the distance with couples inside making out.

You nudge your room mate pointing it out to her and she smiles mischievously, you both thinking the same thing, it's the pure debauchery you are expecting. The double doors to the dance hall swing open as a couple walks out arm in arm the music is blaring and there is a surge of excitement in the air as you enter.

The space is enormous red white and blue fan fare hanging everywhere. American flags stars and stripes draped colorfully on full display every where you look.

The dance hall is so loud, the brass band is deafening as you look to the players on stage. The floor is packed with a sea of men in green and brown uniforms holding colorfully dressed young ladies giggling, swirling, dipping, twirling, its orchestrated chaos. They nearly miss colliding with each other doing dangerous and provocative dance moves dizzy with excitement and booze.

You are so excited in this environment until your friend is immediately swept away by a handsome soldier who smiles at her twirls her and pulls her onto the dance floor with him. You smile at each other as she giddily waves farewell.

You head to the bar feeling your mood dip without her, she got swept up so quickly, you want to see if you can bump into anyone else you know from campus as you make your way through a crowd of dancers near the blaring trumpets being played on stage.

You are stopped in your tracks by a pair of dancers almost knocking into you, just as they clear your path, your eyes lock onto two of the most dreamily handsome Majors you've ever seen in your life.

They are standing with their elbows rested on the high tables in the drinking area near the bar. They are overlooking all the actions of the lower ranks.

Your gaze must have lingered a little too long because they both look over at you and make eye contact smiling so gorgeously you are shocked and wave politely.

One is a tall blonde with a gorgeous face, plump lips, strong jaw, perfect nose, and big blue eyes. The other is a towering brunette with a handsome face, broad nose, full lips, angular chin, and flirty blue eyes.

Your heart begins pouding as they wave back. The brunette making the signal he wants to meet you at the same time the blonde points to you to gesturing hes coming over. You laugh to yourself in shock as they both head your direction.

It's probably the sexiest thing to have two handsome men walk across a room and approach you. They are taller than you expected, you look up to them when they are standing directly in-front of you. They both smile at you making you blush, they are so clean cut and neat, they smell amazing.

When they try to speak to you over the music they begin laughing unable to get their words across you are all too close to the stage and can't hear a thing with the saxophone blaring. Finally the blonde leans into your ear "Come to a table it's quieter" he says holding your gaze nodding and gesturing you to come, you nod smiling and follow them.

They pick a table at the back corner farthest from the stage in a more secluded area.

Once you all settle down the music is at a manageable level and you can finally hear each other speak. "Hi!" you say cheerfully just happy to look at their handsome faces up close.

They each take a turn shaking your hand " I'm Gale" says the blonde "Im John" says the brunette, their eyes full of attraction as they stare at you.

"The boys call me Buck and him Bucky not to confuse you, the nick names are a long story" Gale says and looks at John to confirm but hes too busy giving you the dreamy eyes. Gale smacks him lightly on the chest for staring at you like that.

John snaps out of being mesmerized by your beauty and flashes you his normal pretty smile his flirty eyes still making you blush, heat creeping up your neck as you smile back politely.

Gale just shoots John a knowing look, it's the night before deployment so there is only one thing on all the men's minds at the dance hall, securing a girl for the night and now he and John are both set on the same one, you.

"Can we get you anything to eat or drink?" Gale asks politely as John rubs his fingers across his lips and chin admiring you. "Oh no l'm fine I'm actually a student at the college so they feed us supper every night, and seeing its Friday my friend said all the military were having a deployment party here so we wanted to get out and have some fun." You smile innocently and look away hiding your lustier intentions.

John rests his elbow on the table covering his mouth he turns away from you hiding his smile thinking you are so naive coming to a bar full of sexually deprived soldiers for fun looking this good.

"Well where is your friend?" Gale asks perking up thinking maybe he can introduce John to her and secure you for himself because you are clearly the most stunning girl they've both ever seen and he doesn't want to compete with John the entire night.

You scan across the dance floor and spot her just as the solider from earlier is holding her with both hands twirling her around panties flashing as he dips her.

"There she is, and wow that soldier is a really good dancer!" you say excitedly.

Gale and John shoot looks at each other knowing shes dancing with the number one play boy on the base before John blurts out "Yea she's not coming back to the dorm tonight!" and they both burst into laughter.

Your face flushes a little hot from them making fun but you remain calm and you show some assertiveness

"Well that's the plan gentlemen we don't want to go back to our dorm tonight" you retort and they both fall slack jawed.

"You don't say" Gale says in amusement, his eyes flashing attraction now as he looks at you. "What are they teaching you young ladies in college these days now anyway?" He asks intrigued, his voice turns sultry.

You feel the heat rising in your core as he locks in on your sexual deviancy wanting to know more. You look away hiding your sudden shyness as you answer "All sorts of things" your voice softer feeling you've just admitted to all the sex you've been having. "Is that so?" he says leaning closer staring at you so intently you return your eyes back to his. John clears his throat to interrupt the sexual tension and blocks Gales advances by speaking up.

"Well if you're not going back to your dorm, and you are planning to leave here with one of these fine gentlemen." He says extending his arms to show just how many you have to chose from in the dance hall before continuing "Which one are you choosing to leave with?" He asks with intent, his eyes full of all his hidden thoughts about you as he smiles.

When you smile back at John and then Gale, your face flushes as you feel the heat creep up your neck again.

You bite your lower lip trying to regain composure.

He and Gale flash each other looks, they've been serving in the military together long enough to be synchronized communicating with just a glance or a gesture. They have both decided it is now a competition. They sit back looking debonaire and cool awaiting your answer of who is the victor.

"If I had to chose one?" You say scrunching your nose cutely uncertain of which one you want more. You feel the arousal pooling between your legs as they both stare at you so seductively.

You decide to play with them "I wish I could have you both" you admit flirtatiously. Their faces look shocked making you giggle. "Both? " Gale says stunned. John looks around in disbelief holding back his laugh that you couldn't decide. "Yea just for one night" you say nonchalantly actually really liking the idea now seeing how competitive they are, all the attention would be on you.

Gale and John look at each other as they realize you are serious. Then it sets in that you really aren't going to choose and that they'll never have an opportunity like this with a beautiful dame like you again. "Would you excuse us just one moment." Gale says his face flushing red as he tries to act unfazed. You bashfully nod secretly wondering if they'll both agree to take you at the same time tonight, you squeeze your thighs together wet at the thought.

They stand and walk only a few steps away turning their backs to you lowering their voices "I think she's serious." Gale says with a stunned expression on his face making John start chuckling.

"Shes definitely serious and I kind of want to do it just to see the surprised look on her face when she realizes what she's asking for." John says smiling mischievously. "Getting fucked by the Bucks?" Gale says making them burst into laughter.

Gale comes to his senses and gets more serious

"Alright the ground rules then; if it get awkward we stop, if she starts screaming for her life we definitely stop, I get one side you get the other, and I think it could work." John smiles and agrees to the plan going insane with the fact you've already astounded both of them.

Gale peeks over his shoulder and sees you sweetly smile and wave flirtatiously at him, you like how they are being so shy and cute now.

"Yea look at her John she gets finer by the second, let's go get her." They break their huddle and return. Gale extends his hand to you and as you take it he wraps his arm around yours John extends his arm to your other side and you wrap your arm around his too. You try to contain your giddiness and excitement as the three of you leave together.

You exit the loud dance hall into the quiet night arm in arm with two handsome strangers. You are laughing inside of your head how crazy the idea is and how it's coming in to fruition.

You approach the military car and Gale gets his keys as John gets your door. You sit in the back seat and John gets in to sit next to but Gale pulls him back by the collar of his military jacket. "In the front" Gale snaps sternly with a look of 'don't touch her yet'. John laughs he really wanted to sit and talk and get to know you more, but Gale can’t have that.

During the short drive to the base Gale keeps peeking in the rear view mirror at you. "If you need anything let me know" he says actually feeling anxious that you left the dance hall with them rethinking the whole thing.

John on the other hand is fully invested "So what's the real reason you have to have both of us? What are you expecting us to do once we get here?" he asks peering back at you over his shoulder.

"Just have a little fun" you reply casually. You've already had so many trysts you assume if one can't satisfy you the other one could. "Is anything off limits or is it a free for all" he grins cheekily elbowing Gale who's focusing so hard on the easy drive that John knows he's too worked up in his head over this.

"It's just sex" you roll your eyes gently. For you it's a basic missionary hump for 2 minutes like all of your encounters they would definitely be top 10 for most handsome though.

"It's... just... sex" John repeats your words deliberately getting Gales attention shielding his lips discreetly mouthing ("I don't think she's had good sex") Gale tries and fails to hold back a quick laugh, finally breaking his nervousness. He realizes you think one will take you and then the other, having no idea of all the sexual things he and John are going to make you experience tonight.

You look out the window and see the entrance to the military base, its gigantic so many barracks and buildings it's practically its own town surrounded by barbed wire fencing. Gale slows the car down and shows his ID to the guard who salutes him and lifts the road block.

They drive in through the rows of buildings until they reach an office structure Gale hops out and comes to get your door. The base is unusually quiet all the men still at the dancehall partying the night away.

John gets his keys out first and unlocks the front entrance to the building the three of you walk inside through the lobby to an office door. You read the name plate 'Major Gale Cleven' as he unlocks and opens it.

Once you enter Gale clicks on the lights and John locks the door bolt behind you. They immediately begin to toy with you letting you know you are their plaything to be shared.

Gale steps in and kisses you as he gropes you all over your dress around your derrière and up your chest squeezing your breasts in both his hands.

John watches getting hard and jealous seeing Gale get to touch all over your body. Gale gives him a show that you'll let them do anything to you and firmly squeezes his hand around your derrière before pulling your dress up over your waist holding it there to show John your panties.

Gale breaks from the kiss with you "Come take her panties off and finger her” he says. You are so aroused loving how they speak to each other taking charge over you. Gale begins kissing you again holding your dress pinned up in the back for John.

When John kneels down behind you, his fingertips touch up your soft thighs reaching to your hips and hooking his thumbs in your panties sliding them down.

He looks at your perfect derrière and kisses across your exposed cheeks in worship. They’ve already done more than you've ever experienced your panties cling to your wetness as he pulls them lower. "Gale shes fully soaked" he says pulling your panties all the way down. Your pussy is glistening in his face, he trails his finger through your folds collecting your arousal gently rubbing your tight entrance making you clench around nothing.

He takes two fingers spreading you open like a book massaging your inner folds inches from his face getting drunk with arousal on the sight of your pussy. He slowly inserts his two long fingers inside of you making you moan into Gales mouth breaking his kiss "How does she look?" Gale asks through ragged breaths his cock already solid.

John whistles "It's one of the most pretty pussies I've ever seen" he says sliding his large fingers in and out of you amping up your arousal tilting his fingers to reach toward your navel and curling them back down making you moan loudly into Gales face.

Gale pulls your top halfway down exposing your breasts and rubs them gently in his hands. He trails soft kisses up your neck then pinches your nipples so hard it makes you bite your lower lip stifling your moan in your throat as you clench on John's fingers.

"I know I know" Gale coos at you "We're giving you things you never even knew you needed" you nod feverishly you love it your core pulsing as you feel your climax start. You are getting so wet with arousal it begins leaking out of you down John's hand as he fucks you with his fingers.

"Gale she's going to cum she's already dripping down my hand how should we take her?" When John says it, your face flushes and your knees buckle from pleasure.

"Make her cum on your fingers, I want to make her cum again on my tongue " Gales looking in your eyes as it registers what he said you moan from his dirty words. You’ve never experienced anything like this before, it makes them smile they are turning you out in so many ways.

John cups his large hand holding your bottom cheek kneading it as he plants kisses then gently bites into it.

When you feel the pinch of his teeth in your flesh it makes you clench so hard inside that he knows your about to orgasm. He begins pummeling his fingers into you so feverishly it makes your body shake as you feel the force of his knuckles wetly smacking against you.

Gales looking you in the eyes but you aren't able to focus back anymore just moaning lost in the pleasure of John's fingers about to make you cum. Your brows already knitted with your mouth panting and deeply moaning, your core clenching. "You like it when he fingers you?" He asks a little jealous.

"Yes Yes YES YES YES!" You repeatedly yell in his face triggering Gales jealousy. He reaches his hand between your legs finding your clit and rubbing it in time with John's finger-fuck. It makes you have an earth shattering orgasm instantaneously between both men.

" OH GOD OH G.." Gale cups his large hand over your mouth muffling your repeated moans and continues his assault on your clit making you cum so hard. It was so easy for them to make you orgasm he knows he can get one more. "John keep fingering her I want to make her cum again" he says it looking you in your blissed out eyes. You already feel the tightness building inside of you ready to be released again when he says it.

John turns his fingers inside of you from curving up to facing downward. He slides them up toward your navel this time hooking a squishy spot inside. Your body jolts when he finds it making you shiver and see stars. He pulls his fingers over it in a 'come here' motion pushing his fingers deeply in and out of your soaking entrance until your thighs are trembling and you are almost crying moaning into Gales hand.

He rubs his other two fingers over your wetness into your clit strumming it until your body tenses and you can't catch your breath. Tears rim your eyes as Gale removes his hand from your mouth seeing you so blissed you are unable to even breathe .

Your body gives in and your core snaps giving you such a powerful release from the orgasm that you feel like you are on cloud 9. John is still slowly hooking that special place inside until your shoulders shudder and you come down collapsing against Gales chest. He shushes you petting your hair as you breathe rapidly onto his neck the orgasm draining your energy entirely.

John slides his fingers out of you and sucks them clean licking his lips enjoying the sweet taste of you. He stands up his thick cock erect and strained in his pants as he begins to undress.

“Your doing so good for us” Gale coos and begins to make out with you cradling your head in his hands probing his tongue in your mouth. His cock is so hard he brings your hand down to touch him and you gasp in his mouth realizing both of these 6ft tall men are going to be so big between the legs it makes you whimper.

Once John is fully naked Gale passes you to him

"Hold her for me" Gale says as he gets undressed.

John holds you at your waist trailing his hands up your pulled down top to your exposed breasts. He softly circles his thumbs on your nipples.

You look at his wide chiseled chest, placing your hands there looking down farther and audibly gasp seeing the size of his length as he presses it against you without taking a step. His girthy cock a dark pink color just beneath his abs between his thick thighs. John smirks at you seeing the reaction he’s been waiting for.

"Turn her around " Gale says after he heard you gasp from Johns size. John turns you to face away from him holding your upper arms firmly.

You watch Gale finish undressing down to his boxer shorts, he slides them off revealing his long thick cock with a big round tip that makes your knees go weak.

"Hold her tight" Gale tells John and he grips your arms so you can't move.

Gale approaches you and continues pulling your top all the way down cupping your breasts in his hands. He leans in and slides his tongue out licking circles around your nipple until you start to moan then he licks the other. He switches back to the first nipple and slowly sucks it in his mouth twirling his tongue around the bud until you begin to squirm rubbing your knees together then he pinches the other one hard making you moan.

He alternates between each breast with either love or torture until your core begins pulsing from all his flicks and licks and pinches. You begin moaning deeper and rubbing your thighs together for sexual relief, you are absolutely soaked. He releases your nipple from his mouth with a wet pop the sensation hitting right to your core as your knees buckle and John keeps you standing

Gale reaches behind your waist unzipping your skirt letting all your clothing fall to the floor. You stand between the two men all three of you completely naked.

Gale looks you over head to toe nodding in approval stopping to stare between your legs, your thighs trembling drenched with your own arousal. "John you are right this is one of the prettiest pussies l've ever seen" He says smiling as he slides his hand between your legs cupping your folds. He forces you back into John's hard cock, the tip firmly pushes through the back of your thighs rubbing against your wet heat . You let out a high pitched shaky moan and shudder having hit your peak of pleasure.

The sound makes both of their cocks twitch at the tip.

"Put her on the desk" Gale says as John picks you up, his giant arms setting you back down on the desk and spreading your legs apart with his hands holding your upper thighs. John is so greedy for you and begins passionately kissing you lining himself up to push himself inside of you.

Gale snaps at him "Lay her flat on the desk and hold her down she needs more" Gales unspoken rule is he gets you first. John goes around the desk as Gale takes his place standing between your legs caressing your upper thighs. John helps you lay flat on your back and holds your hands above your head pinning them against the wood holding you by your wrists. You look down to Gale poised between your legs and then look up to John pinning your hands above your head to the desk. You are completely at their mercy.

"It's just sex huh?" Gale asks repeating your words from earlier to show off his prowess. He kneels down between your legs spreading your thighs wider until your knees are against his desk, he parts your pussy lips open and latches his mouth on your wet folds sucking and slurping them with the tip of his tongue and the suction of his mouth you completely give into him loving it so much.

He flicks your clit so hard with his tongue your back arcs from the table. You moan loudly as your hips jump up almost unable to withstand what he's doing. You look up and see John's eyes staring darkly at you loving seeing how aroused you are getting and wanting to give you more.

He pins your wrists with just one large hand taking the other to squeeze one breast at a time caressing your nipples with his flat palm then pinching them repeatedly until you begin writhing and moaning on the desk due to the sensations from both men.

You are panting and moaning loudly feeling so tight in your core as John pinches your nipples and Gale thrusts his tongue deep inside your pussy. Your moaning intensifies into a stronger tantric rhythm of “YES YES PLEASE OH GOD YES YES "as you are lifting your hips into Gales mouth. Your wetness slipping all over his lower face.

He stops to wipe his mouth and pins your hips firmly to the table with his hands so you can't move. "John she's noisy when she's about to cum make her be quiet" he says diving back down between your legs.

John presses his soft plush lips on yours in an upside down kiss eating your moans as Gale eats your pussy.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your body clenches so tight your back arcs from the table body tensing until your core snaps releasing clear liquid arousal all over Gales mouth, you moan into John's as you orgasm for them both.

Gale removes his mouth from you, his lips and chin covered in your clear slick cum. He licks his tongue as far around his lips as he can he can't get enough of your taste then he grabs his shirt from the floor wiping the rest. He throws it back down returning to his position between your legs.

Your vision is blurry, hearing distorted legs trembling body shivering. You feel so high from the pleasure you are delirious. "I've never felt like this before, Ive never cum like this before " you whisper to both of them your body feels like you are floating off the table. John leans in and kisses your mouth, seeing you in such pleasure he wants to be inside of you so badly. Gale pulls your body to the edge of the desk flush against him slipping you out of John's grasp breaking the kiss. "We haven't cum yet" Gale says making your core start throbbing.

John gets impatient you can see the flash of anger that he wants relief but Gale keeps taking you. He moves to your right, looking over your pretty body his giant cock pulsing as he's getting ready to pleasure himself over you but you reach out and grab him around the base first making his abs clench and his face flush as he locks eyes with you and you stroke him off.

"Are you that needy?" Gale snaps watching you give John a hand job. Gale in a newfound competition for your neediness runs his tip up and down your wet folds making you moan loudly "MMMM YES YES PLEASE!" you cry out wanting him inside of you. "Quiet her with your cock" Gale tells John.

John shudders from arousal staring at your pretty mouth open and moaning not planning to use you like this. He takes your head turning it to the side to face his pelvis and you release your hand from his base as he slides his heavy cock into your wet mouth filling it up.

You feel his tip squish at the back of your throat but he can't fit completely in your mouth due to his size. A small gasp escapes Johns lips at how amazing your mouth feels on him. He gently slides his large cock in and out of you mouth coating his length in your saliva.

Gale stops rubbing his tip through your folds as you leak arousal all over his desk from sucking John's cock, he wants finish you with his and places his hands on your hips lining up and pushing himself between your legs. Your moans are stifled with your mouth full of John's cock, and your entrance makes Gale slow his pace immediately. " Fuck she's tight!" he says loudly and begins working his length half way out, half way back in until he can begin smacking his hips between your legs burying his cock fully inside of you.

John is already blissed out eyes lidded his adams apple bobbing. He places his large hand on your head holding it in place as he thrusts into your mouth his powerful thighs flexing as he uses you.

You feel so aroused having both men satisfy you and themselves at the same time. The familiar tightening of your inner coil begins. The more each of them rams their cock inside of you the tighter your core gets until your moaning on John's and clenching on Gales. The tightened coil springs free inside of you giving you a sweet release that’s is so euphoric you don’t want it to stop . Your moans of extreme pleasure are muffled on John's cock but your fluttering walls gripping Gale tightly are the tale tale sign for him, once he feels you orgasm on him he wants to cum.

He slides his heavy cock into your tight soaked entrance faster and harder until it's making obscene squelching sounds. He starts pounding his hips between your legs making you scream on each hit vibrating John's cock in your mouth. Once you earn the first moan out of John feeling your mouth suck and vibrate on him he can't stop.

They both begin groaning in tandem getting off at the same time their deep guttural moans sound so good its cataclysmic to your ears and rattling your brain.

"I'm gonna cum" Gale yells as John shouts "fuck fuck fuck" thrusting in your mouth quickly and slipping his cock out unloading hot spurts of cum all over your chest. Gale pulls out of you too pumping his shaft vigorously making depraved moaning sounds as his body tenses and he spreads his silky warmth all over your naval.

They take several seconds to calm down staring at you covered like a sexy pastry "Should we make her taste us?" Gale asks already knowing the answer John grins they each dip a finger in their cum and bring it to your mouth. You suck Gales finger first then John's. Gale goes to get a towel to clean you up.

John grabs your jaw turning you to face to him caressing his thumb on your chin, he wants you more and to himself. He stares into your pretty eyes making him fall for you instantly a shiver running through him thinking you are the sexiest thing in the world.

Gale returns from the sink with a warm wash cloth gently wiping over each breast and down your naval cleaning you completely of their combined cum.

Gale sits you up slowly on the desk checking on you

"Are you alright?" He asks. You look up at him smiling weakly " I feel really good" you say smile spreading bigger across your face. He already has to have you again, he holds your waist caressing your naval with his thumbs. He's feeling things that he doesn't know how to process because he and John will never get over this.

John sees you both having a moment and feels crestfallen thinking he should just leave. He collects his boxers putting them back on as Gale looks around and finds his.

You slip off the desk and collect your clothing stepping into your skirt. "Where are you going?" they both say in unison. "I thought you would ask me to leave" you say thinking it's easier to leave as quickly as possible and never see them again. "You're staying the night I'm taking you back in the morning" Gale says. He goes to a blank wall of his office tugging a cord and releasing a pull down queen size Murphy bed.

"Oh" you say surprised. Gale enters his office wash room retrieving a tooth brush and a towel with one of his boot camp shirts handing them to you finalizing the stay.

You smile to yourself that Gale wants you to stay. You enter the bathroom brushing your teeth listening as Gale and John debate outside about the sleeping arrangement because John wants you to stay in his office instead and they can't come to an agreement.

You emerge from the wash room looking cute to break the tension " Do you guys want to take a shower with me?" You ask sweetly and they both drop the argument. Gale enters and starts the water, when it gets to temp he moves out of your way letting you step in first.

You rinse your hair and body as they brush their teeth.

Gale finishes first getting in the shower with you, John enters second. They tower over you in the small space as they take turns rinsing their bodies off. Your eyes can't stop staring at either of them feeling like it's heaven on earth. Shiny wet muscles, large hands, smiles, abs, large cocks, strong thighs.

They satisfied you so completely you can't even think about sex your body is only craving rest.

John finally gargles playfully and spits water out from the shower head finishing first. He takes a quick flirtatious peek at your body before exiting the shower. Gale turns off the water and hands you your towel and you use it to get dry.

Both of them dry off and wrap around their waists. As you finish drying your hair Gale helps you pull his boot camp shirt over your head. "Thank you" you say shyly in appreciation "It suits you" he says admiringly. He takes you by the hand and leads you to the bed

He turns down the covers and ushers you in you crawl and sit in the middle. John is putting on his boxers getting dressed to leave when you lock eyes with him

"Can you stay?" You ask nicely and he smiles at you then looks to Gale whose his lips are pursed in a definite no. "Weve already done ...everything else together...might as well actually sleep together " you smile at Gale sweetly to persuade him.

Gale doesn't respond he just goes to click off the main light in the room. You lay down and look at John patting the bed for him to come lay next to you, he smiles and climbs on top of you and planting a small kiss on your forehead to say thank you. He lays on your left side getting under the covers spooning you from the back holding you to him by your hip.

The remaining bathroom light clicks off and Gale joins a second later settling in front of you face to face placing his hand on your waist pulling you to his chest, John pulls you back to his side and Gale pulls you back to his side once more until they settle with Gale placing his hand on your waist and John placing his hand on your hip, you lay directly between them cuddling in the dark as you all fall fast asleep.

~*End*~

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lot-of-nothing · 5 months

Text

Entwined (Ch. 5)

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

A first date???

Warnings: Sexual innuendos and working through internalized homophobia

Author’s Note: No beta but this chapter took me wayyyy too long. This week was crazy with getting a new apartment states away and defending my thesis 😵‍💫

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4

Jacob nervously slipped into the kitchen as Melissa waited expectantly for a ziti you requested to finish baking. He attempted to keep space between himself and the Italian - for his own safety of course. The space between the two roommates had grown after he confronted Melissa a few nights ago about seeing her kiss you. Tonight he was looking to mend the bond between them.

He leaned on the kitchen island, hands clasped and eyes studying the countertop, “I wanted to, uh... apologize for what happened a few nights ago. I shouldn’t have been so abrasive.”

The redhead only offered him a momentary glance which was harsh and skeptical. It was clear she wasn’t interested in having any conversation about the events Jacob witnessed. While Melissa continued giving Jacob the cold shoulder, he wanted to make it clear he was there to support her, “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you.” “There isn’t anything to talk about.” Melissa quickly responded in a monotone with her back to Jacob so she could go about her business of pulling the ziti from the oven. She placed the baking dish on the top of the stove, and took a deep breath as she pulled the oven mitts from her hands and tossed them onto the counter. Spinning to face her roommate, she cocked her head and forced herself to make peace with the young man, “Thank you, Jacob.”

“I found a new puzzle for tonight... if you would like.” The young man gestured towards the dining room where he left the puzzle, earning a smile from the redhead.

With a flick of her hand, Melissa turned off the oven and folded her arms over her chest, “I would like.”

When Melissa picked up your phone call and wedged her phone between her ear and shoulder, she had no idea you were sitting outside her house. Before she could get a word in edgewise, you spoke - trying your best to sound smooth and collected so she couldn’t tell you were fearful of her rejection, “Let’s go, Schemmenti.”

“What?” She leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes to hide her enthusiasm from Jacob who sat across the table with his head cocked, staring at her in curiosity. They were about half way through their 3D puzzle of the statue of liberty when you interrupted.

After opening your car door, you step out and lean against the car door frame, smirking as you catch a glimpse of her red hair through the front window. You doubled down on your mission of taking Melissa out, giving her an order rather than asking, “Come on out here. I’m taking you on a date.”

“What makes you think I’d go on a date with the likes of you?” Melissa tittered as she tried to hide how she enjoyed flirting with you from her companion.

You reply sarcastically, feeling a sense of excitement wash over you when you make her laugh, “My good looks and sense of humor. Or perhaps my love of long walks on the beach.”

Melissa finally lifted herself from her seat so she could make her way to the front window where she pulled aside the sheer blinds to catch a glimpse of you. Your cheeky smile melted Melissa’s icy exterior as did the way you leaned your cheek on your forearm as you gazed at her. She had one hand on her hip as she stared you down, “Where are ya’ takin’ me?”

“I’m still trying to decide between the Olive Garden or some chain sports bar where we can watch the Cowboys play.” You joke, grinning wildly as you watch her lip curl.

She turned her back to you, looking around the room for her purse and shoes, “Are you tryin’ to get me to say no?”

“Just testing to see how much you like me.” You quip as you watch her curiously. More than anything you hope your joking wouldn’t turn her off from the date you had planned.

“What’s the dress code?” The redhead asked, glancing down at her comfortable outfit of old jeans and an Eagles shirt. She had been ready to slip on her shoes so she could meet you, but she began to second guess herself.

“Something easy to take off.” Your quick wit made the redhead stifle a laugh as she clumsily began gathering all of her belongings. Her pacing made her seem a little too eager to Jacob, causing him to arch his brow in amusement. You could see her grabbing her leather jacket and purse which caused you to remember the ziti you asked her to make just for this occasion, “Oh, and did you make that ziti?”

“Well, yeah.” She scoffed, almost offended you would question her willingness to cook for you.

“Bring that too.”

— Melissa folded her arms over her chest and watched out the window as she skeptically wondered where you could be taking her so late in the evening. When you turned into the stadium parking lot of the Lincoln Financial Field, she glanced over at you with a look of pure disbelief. She didn’t believe you could get her into the Eagles home stadium for a single moment, “And how do you think you are gettin’ in here?”

“I know a guy.” You shrug as your eyes sweep the parking lot for the entry point your cousin told you to find.

Melissa was all heart eyes in the passenger seat, watching you with complete amazement. Her chest swelled with pride when you ended up handing over her ziti to your cousin whilst telling them she is the best cook in her family. And the cherry on top was how you gave a subtle threat to your cousin to make sure they would return Melissa’s baking dish to you. In a period of five minutes, you tapped into three of her love languages: having connections, bribery through food, and not-so-subtle threats.

—

Melissa was like a kid in a candy store as you gave her free reign of exploring the sports complex. As a night security guard, your cousin had agreed to give you access to everything as long as you set him up on a date with some girl you knew from high school and Melissa’s cooking was just the icing on the cake.

The redhead was in her happy place when she settled on the Eagles sideline bench and grinned up at you, “You didn’t have to go to such great lengths to get me to sleep with ya’.”

“Who said I was trying to sleep with you?” You cock your head as you stare down at Melissa, your heart jumping into your throat as you consider sharing your true intentions for her. While every fiber of your being was screaming for you to stay quiet, you remembered you were conducting your relationship with Melissa on your own terms rather than giving her all of the power.

You popped yourself down on the bench next to Melissa, stretching your legs out in front of you as you stated your intentions with confidence, “I’m gonna get you to fall head over heels for me.”

“Oh, is that so?” Mel perked up in faux excitement as she loved to challenge anyone when they were filled with a noticeably high level of confidence. Her heart stalled in her chest at the notion of you trying to get her to fall for you - in a way it felt like too much too soon and a long time coming all at once.

You nod, staring out across the field with your chin held high, “Indeed it is.”

Melissa allowed a few moments to pass between you before she spoke again. While the prospect of a new relationship was frightening for her, she was determined to give a romance with you a fighting chance. She leaned into you when she spoke, giving your arm a loving pinch, “This is a good start, but if your guy can get us into the locker rooms, things will go a lot quicker.”

—

You shifted the car into park outside Melissa’s house and a silence fell between you. The date had gone well, but now there seemed to be a new energy between you that had yet to be felt by either of you before. It was almost as if there was a palpable mutual yearning that expanded far beyond sexual desire.

This feeling terrified Melissa.

“Everything is going to change.” When she spoke, you felt the need to do a double take to see if Melissa had been replaced with a 16 year old version of herself. Her tone was the same as when she told her father she wanted to be a teacher rather than the next Effa Manley - fearful of disappointing loved ones.

You shifted in your seat to more readily face the redhead. Cocking your head, you tried to give her an encouraging response, “Why does everything have to change?”

“Didn’t everything change for you?” She asked as she chewed her lip, one hand lifting to her miraculous medal to rub the image of the Virgin Mary with the pad of her thumb.

While it wasn’t easy coming out when you were teenagers, you remembered the support you received from your family and Melissa. At the time it was all you felt you needed, but of course, after telling Melissa about your attraction to the fairer sex, you did gain a sexual partner - the thought of which made you grin, “Mostly life was better. It helped having good friends.”

Melissa hummed to acknowledge your response before falling deep into thought. She wouldn’t even know where to start. Jacob would be easy, but Barbra? She felt sick at the thought of even discussing the matter with her.

You broke up her swirls of anxiety with your own question, “Why did you say yes to this date?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Melissa retorted as she was briefly filled with relief of a lightened mood before realizing you were completely serious. Her face fell once more as you left her in a heavy silence to respond to your question. Her reasoning stemmed from your spat that occurred months ago, “When you told me you remembered that night before the wedding… I forgot how you asked me to give you a chance and I never did.”

“I said a lot more than that.”

“So did I.”

When you opened your door to a red eyed Melissa, you were literally taken aback by the redhead pushing her way into your arms. It was the night before she was set to marry Joe - some loser firefighter she had met while tailgating at a Eagles game. You hated him since Mel told you he wanted to take her to a strip club on the first date.

While you would never tell her ‘I told you so’, you knew he wasn’t the right person for her. You kept your mouth shut, hugging her to your chest and guiding her further into your little apartment so you could close the door.

She told you through teary eyes and angry hiccups that the rehearsal dinner had gone terribly and that Joe was a complete pig. You didn’t offer an opinion, opting to let the redhead rage as you settled on the couch together. She would wave her hands over her head and curse in Italian while you nodded along, only deciding to pull her to your chest once more when hot, angry tears began rolling down her cheeks.

Rubbing Melissa’s back was an easy way to settle her anger, but her tears continued to fall regardless of how many times she wiped them away with her sleeves. You held her face to your chest and spoke softly, hoping she wouldn’t turn her anger onto you, “Maybe you shouldn’t be marrying him if all of this is happening and you aren’t even married yet.”

“My parents have already paid for the wedding. I can’t back out now.” Melissa nuzzled her cheek against your chest. She was in absolute despair yet she wasn’t willing to actively do anything to solve her issue.

“But if you do, then… maybe we could be together.” It was unavoidable for you to sound like you were begging. You wanted this so badly. You wanted her so badly. In the brief moment where she didn’t respond, you couldn’t stop yourself from trying a little harder, “Come on. Give us a chance, pretty girl.”

Melissa only peered up at you, and her furrowed brows and sad eyes broke your heart. “I want to… I just-”

You held a hand to her cheek, brushing her hair from her face. You were desperate for Melissa to come to her senses. Couldn’t she see that you were meant to be together? Your voice was barely above a whisper as you moved to press your lips to her forehead, “I love you, Melissa. Please.”

The redhead eyes lit up at your words - like you had ignited something within her. Without a moment’s hesitation, Melissa shifted to sneak closer so she could press her lips to yours. She kissed you over and over - each kiss was filled with so much desperation it left both of you breathless.

She pulled away only for a moment, her forehead resting against yours, “I love you.”

From there you fed off one another’s passion and energy like frenzied sharks. You ended up making love on your living room floor, clinging to one another as if you would be separated forever if any distance formed between you. Only if you would have known that distance was fated to form regardless.

Melissa’s face was unreadable. You couldn’t tell if she was reliving that night with regret or fondness - perhaps it was a combination of both. You watched thoughts run through her mind and her green hues were pleading when she spoke, “Have your feelings changed?”

“Never.”

Melissa both feared and adored your response.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes longer, spiraling at the omissions of love and not wanting your time together to end so soon. It was finally Melissa who made the move to leave, followed by your immediate reaction to open your door as well. You felt the thrum of excitement as you circled the car and walked the redhead to her door.

She stopped when she had a hand on the door handle and glanced back at you, noticing you were at the bottom step with no intention to go any further. Her brows furrowed in confusion, “Aren’t you coming inside?”

“No. I’m just walking you to your door.” You shrug, craning your neck back to watch her with a cocky smile.

“Chivalrous.” Melissa’s dry humor emerged as she abandoned the door handle to stand a step above you - her hands sliding up to your shoulders while she stared down at you. After years of being entwined with one another, you wouldn’t have thought her next words would make you so nervous, “Do I get a kiss at least?”

Wrapping your arm around her waist, you pull her into you, relishing in the feeling of her body weight pressing against you. The feeling of her green eyes staring intently down at you was overwhelming, especially as her focus on you was unwavering. Glancing back and forth, you whispered with a shyness that made you want to swallow your words, “Aren’t you worried about the neighbors getting the wrong idea?”

“Hadn’t crossed my mind.” She whispered in return - a white lie meant to soothe any concerns you may have about her intentions. Melissa had no interest in her neighbors knowing more than they needed to about her personal life, but she chose to wrap her arms around your neck and press her lips to yours regardless.

You could have sworn you felt Melissa Schemmenti moan as she leaned into you more to deepen your kiss. This wasn’t any moan, however. This high pitch, quiet moan was a ‘please dear god keep kissing me’ moan. It made your heart race and your stomach twist into knots - so much so that you pulled away.

“Goodnight, pretty girl.” You lingered close as you whispered your farewell, ghosting her lips with your own before you gingerly took a step back.

Melissa swayed where she stood, her flushed cheeks hidden by the dim lighting of the streetlights. She folded her arms over her chest, shrugging as she hopelessly attempted to find a way to bid you goodbye that wouldn’t rob her of her ‘tough guy’ style. The redhead suppressed a smile and watched you through heavy lidded eyes - she was smitten and hated every bit of it. “Yeah yeah yeah. Get off my lawn before I have to turn a hose on ya’.”

—

Melissa settled onto the couch next to Jacob and was stewing with mixed emotions she didn’t know how to process. For years she hadn’t given you the chance of letting you in emotionally, and the very second she let her walls down, she was tripping over herself to get your attention. She found you to be a perfect balance of everything she wanted in a potential partner, successfully making her feel remorse for how much of your time she had wasted by not pursuing this sooner. Mel was fearful of how you would move forward together, but god she wanted it terribly.

Jacob interrupted her thoughts with his own - knowing full well he was treading on grounds that could quickly earn him a place on Melissa’s ‘Perpetually Ignore’ list. He was shockingly plain and confident with his words, “I know you are going through something right now, but don’t... hurt your friend in the process.”

Melissa sat in his words, truly taking them to heart. She wanted to do better by you and she knew where she needed to start, but she was fearful of taking that leap. The redhead stared down into her lap as she began picking at her nails, “We aren’t really friends...”

Tears formed in Melissa’s eyes, but she wasn’t about to let Jacob see how scared she was to admit those words aloud. She hadn’t even truly come out to Jacob and she was feeling entirely overwhelmed at the prospect. Jacob wasn’t phased, rather he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. He rubbed her arm gently as he spoke, “I know, Melissa... I know.”

Link to Chapter 6

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta, @unicorniusfallapatorius, @sapphicxrat, @earpivore

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #toxic relationship? kinda

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thelastofhyde · 3 months

Text

hit the road, jack!

pairing. ex!jack daniels x fem!reader synopsis. the last time you sat in jack’s infamous bronco, you broke his heart. now, a year later, you’re sitting in it with a mud-stained wedding dress and he’s driving you back to the man you left at the altar. is one night, a thousand miles, and a well-timed car radio enough to remind you of the love you shared? warnings. road trip au, exes to lovers, runaway bride!reader, mutual pining, miscommunication/no communication, idiots in love, exes in love, minor character death, infidelity, one ( 1 ) comment regarding food restriction, mentions of period, smut ( unprotected piv, dirty talk, sex in public spaces, implied creampie, fairly non-descriptive ) the reader of this fic is mostly non-descript, with mentions of having hair long enough to stick to her neck when wet and hands smaller than jack's. word count. 14.7k hyde's input. quick disclaimer that this fic was admittedly better in my head, but i tried my best :') it unfortunately never got to reach it's full potential as my friends dragged me off on an unexpected trip on friday for my birthday (which is today aka the 23rd). because of that, i've not had time to finish the last few scenes as well as i'd hoped to (it's literally 5 am as i'm editing it bc it's the only chance i've had) but i don't want to post this any later as this is my entry to the #SummerLovin'24 event, organised and hosted by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery & @amanitacowboy , a massive thank you to them for creating such a fun event. i really enjoyed taking part and i can not wait to sink my teeth into the other amazing fics from this event. if you care to listen, here is a playlist of songs mentioned/featured in the fic.

INTRO — silver springs.

“Time cast a spell on you, but you won’t forget me.”

Stevie Nicks et al chant out of old speakers, a bass blown out over time and an intruding static that demands to play alongside the band. Perched upon the bar counter, they sit adjacent to a cash register that shakes each time it opens, a slam seemingly the only way to close it. The swish of a mop over chequered vinyl flooring and the squeaks of a waitress’ coffee-stained sneakers play to their own tune. The passing of time turns it all to background noise.

Through lunch, through dinner, and two shift changes you’ve survived. Out in the parking lot now sits only a semi-truck, its drivers, two men in scuffed boots and jeans that fray at their seams, the only other customers that remain. One tucks into a Sloppy Joe, the other has fallen asleep against the table, his coffee turning as cold as your own.

You ordered the coffee for nothing more than an excuse to sit a while longer. Time for figuring out what’s next. What you’ll do, where you’ll go, how you’ll get there. The elderly couple who’d been kind enough to take you off the side of the road, moving luggage into the trunk to make space for you in the backseats, are now long gone from the roadside diner.

It wasn’t a sorrowful departure. You were quite happy to see them leave, and take their pitiful glances and unasked questions with them. The looks still linger on in others. Each pair of eyes you’ve encountered, dragging over the expanse of your messed up hair, and your smudged eyes, and your mud-stained gown. It’s not hard to imagine the scenes they play out in their heads, of a bride scorned and abandoned on what was meant to be the happiest day of her life, a day meant for vows and first dances twisted into one of heartbroken wandering and roadside pit-stops.

You wonder if any of them know you’re not the victim, but the aggressor. The one who fled, leaving behind a bouquet of striped carnations, marigolds, and purple hyacinths.

Tires crunch on gravel as a car rolls into the parking lot. Whichever fool sits behind the wheel has their full beams on. A light flickers over your head. It’s been doing so for the past hour, an irritating reflection in the window that steals your attention back into the diner.

The waitress is eyeing you again, a weary look on her face that tells you she wants to approach but doesn’t know how. Maybe she wants to ask if you’re okay, or enquire about the events that led you here, deep in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe she just wants you to close your tab and leave.

The bell above the door rings as it opens. It’s been a while since you heard it do so. A smile comes over the waitress as she greets the newcomer. Her eyes seem to take them in, slowly. From top to bottom, and right back to the top. Innocent, if not a little flirtatious. She’d not looked at either of the truckers that way. Perhaps this is her lover, here to wait about and keep a watchful eye as she works the night shift. You can’t imagine it’s the safest place in the world for a woman to find herself working through the twilight hours, nothing but open road and sky-rise trees surrounding the diner.

A sip from your coffee. It’s as cold as you expected. Bitter too, having not found your voice in time to ask for sugar. Your stomach growls, a plea for a meal. If you’d only stayed at the venue, you’d be full of vanilla frosting, and smoked oysters, and… had it been the coronation chicken or the roast sirloin the wedding planner had gone with in the end? You can’t remember. What you do remember is her unwanted advice: just stick to some light bites, no bride wants a food-baby in her pictures.

In retrospect, you’d disliked her from the moment you met her. But you had no desire to plan a wedding. And no time either, much to your future mother-in-law’s chagrin. So out she’d gone, a cat on the hunt, dragging home some mousy-brown haired wedding planner as a sacrificial lamb. Better it be her than you who stresses over the shade of napkins, and the taste of merlots, and the seating arrangements.

Footsteps thud against the floor. Slow, deliberate, not a stumble in the way they move. You stare back out the window and spy a cowboy hat reflected in it. It belongs to the waitress’ lover, who by now is likely making his way over to pull her in real close and swoon her with a kiss only men blessed by southern charm possess.

A different version of you, a happier version, used to be kissed like that every morning.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” The voice of a man echoes. Softly spoken, yet loudly heard in the quiet of the diner. In the window, the cowboy hat stands right behind you. You turn slowly, let your eyes dance over its owner. Like a sculpture plucked out of ancient Rome, he’s a fine art only the most delicate hands could shape. He’s brown-eyed affection. He’s an aquiline nose. He’s a well-groomed moustache. He’s Jack. “Think it’s a few miles up north they’re expecting a pretty bride.”

Leather jackets and well-fitted jeans have been traded in for a suit. Simple, classic. White shirt, black tie, a trademark cowboy hat you’d never failed to spot amongst any crowd. There’s a crinkle where a cheeky grin meets eyes framed by full brows and lashes, a scar on his right temple a reminder of the kind of man he is. Dauntless, righteous, brave. An undercover agent, posing as the CFO of one of the largest whiskey distilleries in the world.

An illusion plays out where no time has passed and his is still the face you come home to each night. A lot can change in a year, however, like the bed you sleep in, or the ring upon your finger.

He welcomes himself into the seat across from you. The protective barrier of a water-ring stained table keeps a safe distance between you both, yet you still feel his knee knock against your own as he makes himself comfortable. One arm stretched over the backrest, the other rests against the table and drums a nervous tune with his fingers.

“You’ve worried a lot of people, darliln’,” his gaze studies you. You wonder if it’s the same look he used to give his targets. The thought sours the sweetness of seeing his pretty eyes after all these months. “Runnin’ off like that, not even a hoot or a holler to let your daddy know you’re alright.”

Your dad. He’d slipped off to the bathroom, a kiss to your cheek and a promise he’d be back in time to walk you down the aisle. What must he have thought, rounding the corner to the sight of a bouquet, abandoned a la Cinderella and her glass slipper. Before you stew in guilt for too long, the rest of Jack’s words catch up to you.

He knew you ranaway. That glimpse of a cowboy hat amongst the pews had not been an illusion.

Jack was at the wedding.

“What happened?” His hand seeks you out. Warm as you remember him to be, large enough to engulf your smaller palm in his. “Why’d you run?” You stay quiet. Shrug your shoulders, eventually, and stare down as his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “You gonna give me a proper answer, sweetheart?”

Another shoulder shrug leads Jack to a sigh. There’s a pause in the quiet tension brewing between you, in the shape of the smiling waitress, pen and pad in hand. Her eyes seem to dart between you both, and you can almost hear her wondering who Jack is, if he’s the man you were meant to meet at the end of the aisle. There’d been a time when yes was the only possible answer to such a question.

“A glass of your finest whiskey. Neat, of course. And how ‘bout somethin’ to please a sweet tooth, hm?” His foot bumps yours beneath the table, calling you to look at him. You meet his eyes, watch him raise his brows in question. “Spied a pretty mean lookin’ cherry pie on my way in. That sound good to you, darlin’?” Your mute staring continues. Your stomach takes control, answers him with a disgruntled growl from within. His head turns to the side, laughing, and he nods at the waitress. “Think she’s gonna need a slice of that pie, miss!”

The right to speak returns to you at last, as you watch the glass of liquid caramel be placed down in front of him, head turning to stare out the window, a familiar Bronco sits poorly parked, obnoxious in the way it treads the line of two parking spaces.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive.”

Surprise flashes over his face, but he recovers quickly, untensing his shoulders as he sinks further into the booth. “Didn't order it for me,” he slides the glass of whiskey over to you. “Eat up, drink up. You need it.”

Though it kills you to admit it, the first bite out of the pie feels like heaven in your mouth. Tart, sweet, with pastry so golden it’s as if King Midas baked it under the heat of his own hands. A sip of the whiskey isn’t so great, but you stomach the burn and accept the erasure of nerves it promises. Your eagerness to clear the plate and empty the glass has nothing to do with the approving smile Jack watches you with.

“How did you find me?”

“You doubtin’ my skills?” He’s teasing. You know this. Still, you fall into the trap of a panicked head shake, a cough over the final bite of cherry goodness. “I stopped at a gas station. Runnin’ on an empty in the middle of nowhere ain’t on my list of wants, you see. Overheard two kids talkin’ about some bride sittin’ at a dinner a few miles down. Don’t take no Hercule Poirot to figure it was you”

“Oh.”

You shouldn’t feel disappointed by his answer, there’s no reason a man you hurt so deeply would have any vested interest in finding you.

The last you’d seen of Jack was through your car’s rear-view mirror, his tear stricken face watching you drive away, five years of clothes, and shoes, and memories stuffed into your car. He’d begged you not to leave your shared home; offered to sleep in the spare room, give you both time to work things out between you. You’d been the one to declare it useless.

“This isn’t something we can fix, Jack!”

“But, darlin’, I love you.”

“A happy coincidence, I was lookin’ for ya anyway. You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours yet?” At least this time your mute stare is paired with a head shake. “Look, I mean well when I say this, but darlin’, you’re lookin’ a mighty mess. Now, a pretty mess that may be, but a mess all the same.” His hand is back on yours, squeezing with enough strength to ground you and keep you from floating off into the landscape of your own conflicted mind. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna take a trip to the gents, then I’m gonna square up whatever we owe this fine establishment, and then we’re gettin’ that pretty caboose of yours up'n out of here.”

Frozen where you sit, it takes a few moments for the warmth of whiskey to settle in your bones, lurching you forward when it does, a gasp and a tight grip at his wrist, holding him back before he can stroll away from the table.

“Where are we going?”

“For a drive, sweetheart.”

TRACK 1 — vienna

You and Jack are no strangers to a late night drive.

An entire love story, told within the confines of four wheels and a chassis. The very night you met, you wound up in his passenger seat, arms up in the air and the wind blowing through your hair, the charming cowboy next to you taking every joyful laugh as a plea to go faster, nothing ahead but the open road and a southern voice crooning out of the radio. Too lost in your own head, that’s what he’d claimed you to be, having strolled up to a lonely-you in a crowded bar, lamenting over a glass of bitter white wine, freshly fired and with no real clue of what you were going to do next. Never one to entertain a stranger, you’d tried to brush him off, but he flashed that smile and invited you, so tenderly as the intro to a Bruce Springsteen song began to play, to just give him one dance.

One dance led to unimaginable love.

As time passed, a relationship burst into full bloom, the imprint of you carved into the car’s leather. Jack insisted you grow accustomed to the life of a passenger princess. He picked you up from work, drove you to all your girls’ night outs, sacrificed hours of necessary sleep to drop you at airports, and train stations, and whatever other public transport your work trips demanded you to travel upon. But how could you dream of saying no when you got to ogle the view of him, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, effortlessly manoeuvring his beloved vehicle.

The car came on couples' vacations, too, road trip getaways. Up north, past the Canadian borders, and down south to the skyline of Mexico City. Out west, a trail up to the Grand Canyon, the Empire State Building in the east. But the late night drives, those were your favourite. Times when life felt too much, with work stressing you out, or your parents giving you grief, or a stress headache gnawing away at your remaining sanity, Jack would tug you wordlessly out into the driveway, buckle your seatbelt, and drive off into the night. Roof down, radio on, the cool breeze clearing your mind.

The only breeze you feel now blows in through an open window.

Pulling away from the diner, Jack turned the wheels south, out into the dark of the night. Trees wall the road in, a never ending sea of pine-green lit by headlights, the looming presence of a dark, dangerous, rumbling sky above. A storm brews ahead, awaiting the perfect moment to crack open and drop a downpour on the world. Little words have been exchanged between you, most of them spoken by Jack, as he tells you about the nightmare he had checking in at his hotel, and the difficulty he had finding the venue, and just how beautiful you look in your dress, tears tracks and messy hair aside. Softly playing over the radio, Billy Joel seems to speak to you, pleading that you slow down, you crazy child.

“D’you remember our trip to Vienna?”

Your head snaps over to Jack. His eyes remain on the road ahead, and a part of you is thankful, unsure of how you’d fare gazing into them as melancholy tangles itself in their shades of brown. The other part misses how it used to feel to catch him watching you from the driver’s seat, affection incarnate as his loving gaze burned heat into your cheeks, your own voice pleading him to pay attention to the road, the light’s already green, Jack!

“How could I forget you almost getting us kicked out of Saint Peter’s church?”

“Hey, now darlin’, let’s not start playin’ the blame game!” His head turns once in your direction, a teasing smile splashed upon his rosy lips. You try not to think about how you’ve felt that very smile pressed against your mouth, memorised the shape of it so perfectly you could draw it with your eyes shut. “You knew what you were doin’ wearin’ that pretty little sundress.”

The dress in question had been a purposeful attack, an attempt at getting payback for the night prior, in which Jack found pleasure in reducing you to tears, begging for release hour after hour, after hour of edging touches. Never the best at putting up a fight against his pouting lips, pleading eyes, and filthy tongue, you’d caved into his hands the moment they skimmed their way up the length of your thigh, the watchful eyes of any Lord above be damned.

“I still dream of the garden’s at Schönbrunn Palace,” a sigh floats out of you as your brain hits play on a kaleidoscope of memories of strolling the grounds, hand in hand with a man you’d imagined yourself being with for the rest of your life.

If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes? He’d asked, as you watched a couple get engaged before your very eyes.

Promise me we’ll get married here, and I’ll consider it.

“I still have nightmares of the boat.”

“The boat!” The patterns in the kaleidoscope shift into images of a viennan skyline reflected upon glassy waters, a city cruise dragging you down the canal. “I still can’t believe you fell off it!”

“I jumped.”

“Backwards? Just admit it, you fell into that water!”

“I jumped, to make you laugh!”

“Oh, don’t worry, me and the coast guard were definitely laughing!”

A silence settles between you both. Jack drums his fingers along to the closing notes of the song, your foot does the same. It crosses your mind that this, in itself, may very well be a dream. Sitting back in the Bronco, staring over at Jack as he drives you both into the aimless night. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s visited your dreams.

You watch him inhale, deeply. With a blink, his eyes reflect the moonlight, glassy with unfallen tears, the image of him too beautiful to be fiction.

“Sometimes I wish we’d never left Vienna.”

His words cut you deep, the sorrow he speaks them with cuts you deeper. Barely a week back in your own home, suitcases still unpacked, pulling into the driveway hours after the unexpected funeral of a friend, you broke both your hearts.

All that goes up must come down and, in the very same place your relationship started, it ended. Sat across from him, rain beating down on the windows, tears trailing down your face. He begged you to stop before those words came out of your mouth, tried his best to switch the engine back on and pull out into the road. You’re just stressed, darlin’, he’d said, a deceptive whine in his voice cracking his straight-faced facade. Just need to clear your head, right? Lemme take ya for a drive. It was too late, your own hand curling back around the handle and forcing the door open, the water from outside flooding in. I’m sorry, I can’t be with you. Not anymore.

“Yeah,” you exhale, shaky. Swallowed emotions, a tight lipped smile, eyes that search for sanctuary out the window. “Me too.”

In the wing-mirror, lighting crashes amidst the sea of pine-green.

TRACK 2 — purple rain

A perfect summer’s storm.

Mother nature’s mid-June release of pent-up heat, making space amongst the skies for what’s yet to come in the scorching months of July and August, the last of any rain to be seen until September brings back the sombre skies and cooler weather. The rain falls heavily, a persistent thump-thump-thump of water that bounces off the car’s roof, bonnet, windows. In the sky, thunder roars an angry sound, each one louder than the last, followed by an even brighter flash of lighting that electrifies its surroundings, turning the black night into shades of violet, and midnight, and indigo, and purple.

“You’ve not bought any new albums? None at all?” The question comes as you flip through Jack’s collection of discs, a notable lack of change in his roster since the last time you’d sat in his car.

This lack of change is likely not without good reason, like the lack of time to go CD hunting between secret missions to save the world, or a general lack of interest in newer records. He’s always been a fan of the old fashion, after all, the home you’d once shared made up of collections of vintage whiskeys, and classic records, and faded wallpaper that he convinced you gave the kitchen charm.

“Nothin’ new since…” His eyes shift over your way, the look in them enough to wordlessly end his sentence. “You were always the one buyin’ me music. Said you didn’t want me get-”

“Getting bored on missions,” impulse seems to be what forces you to speak, an honest smile sent his way. “I remember.”

It had been a while into your relationship, with i-love-yous and apartment keys exchanged, until the truth of Jack’s job came up.

On your first date, he’d told you he was a businessman. A few dates later, he specified that he was an investor, dipping his fingers into the honey jar of some classically Texa whiskey distillery. Only a half lie, and not one that was hard to believe. Every fibre of his being, stitches and loose threads included, made sense as a man in the business of selling whiskey. The overzealous amount of Statesman whiskeys occupying the shelves in his apartment, the photos he’d send of the view from his high-rise office, the endless number of suits and ties that occupied his wardrobe, even his damn name, Jack Daniels.

Then, out came the truth.

A phone call from one of Jack’s co-workers, Ginger, lasting no more than five minutes and of which only three words mattered: Jack’s been shot.

A bullet through his head. Any ordinary man would have died. Yet there was your Jack, eyes open, a measly bandage over his temple, and standing up-right. To your own credit, you managed to keep a grasp on your sanity long enough to drive him home, cook him dinner, and sit yourself down across from him at the table. But when he pricked his finger on the tip of his knife, the rivulet of blood dripping down his finger was enough to send you over the edge. Open mouthed sobs, hands clinging to him the instant he sank down on his knees at your side, tears staining every inch of his white cotton t-shirt.

You could’ve died, Jack.

Now how could I go dyin’, when I got such a pretty reason to live for?

You begged with questions, he promised with answers. Hands intertwining with your own, a gentle voice guiding you out the apartment, the soft slam of a car door closing. He turned the key in the ignition, pulled your hand up to his mouth for a kiss, and drove you both off into the night. Under the melodic fall of rain beating down on the car, you came to terms with three facts: Jack was involved in the business of selling whiskey; Jack was otherwise known as agent Whiskey, esteemed senior agent to the Statesmen secret intelligence agency; and Jack was not often shot- at least not in the head.

Arriving home that night, with the rain falling heavy on your front lawn, you’d tried your best to dash from the car and into the house but Jack had other plans. He’d gripped your hand, and pulled you close, and kissed you under the flash of lighting. And when you dared whine that your clothes were soaked, he held you tighter and let himself guide your body into a gentle sway, two lovers under the moonlight and the storm. That night had ended with a fatal promise from Jack, your limbs entangled upon a shared bed, his lips pressing into your forehead.

I promise I’ll always come home to you safe.

“Don’t need no discs anyway, already got all I need right here,” Jack’s impeccable timing, seemingly sensing the shift in your demeanour. It’s like he knows what you’re thinking about, and trying to drag you out of the past and back to the present, his fingers stretching over to turn the volume up. A familiar set of haunting chords plays over the radio, a grin instantly appearing on his face. “Shit, they even got Princ-”

“Stop the car.”

“Huh?”

“Just pull over, Jack!”

Despite the confusion, he abides by your words, foot pressing down on the break, hands steering the wheels off-road, fingers switch the car off. Without the hum of the engine, the rainfall grows louder, the view out the windscreen suddenly blocked behind a wall of flowing water. The radio plays on, the voice of an angel singing lyrics that so aptly match the purple shades painted across the sky by the storm above. There’s a cautious echo of your name, and, for a moment, it’s easy to forget this is the first time you’ve heard him actually say it in over a year. It feels like just yesterday he was calling out to you, begging with solutions you weren’t willing to give.

Your heart beats with a longing to escape your chest, hard and steady against the cage that is your ribs. Your eyes fill with emotions from the past and of the present, as every version of yourself that’s sat within this car comes together as one. Your hand curls around the silver grip of the door, pulling it open and lunging yourself out into the pouring rain.

Under the storm's wrath, you’re reborn. Baptised by mother nature, a soul cleansed of all its prior troubles, returned to you brand new and free of heartbreak. As the rain soaks your face, your neck, your dress, it washes all the pain away. Breathing easy, head tilted back, eyes closed. It's the feeling of being alive, an anomalous euphoria found only beneath a thunderous sky. The tears that dare fall here mean little, a known comfort that they’ll mix with the rain and be swept away.

Enthralled under the moonlight and barefoot, you drift on through the trees that line these woods, chasing the sweet promise of petrichor. You’re unsure if it comes from the sky, or the trees, or Jack, but something calls your name. A fallen tree trunk becomes your own personal tightrope as you dance over the length of it, one careful foot in front of the other, arms stretched out to the heavens above. All it takes is one misplaced step and you lose your footing, slipping over moss and bracing for impact that never arrives.

“Heaven to Betsy, darlin’!” Jack’s hands, warm as a summer breeze, catch you by the waist, your shoulder socking him square in the face as you fall back into his figure. He makes no complaint of pain, taking it like a champ and placing you back down on steady ground, upon unsteady feet. “Did’ya sneak a few extra whiskeys when I was takin’ a leak?”

You open your mouth to reply, to deny, but the rain comes to a stop, and the thunder no longer rumbles, and the moonlight breaks through the parting blanket of clouds, and you’re suddenly so aware of how close you both are.

Like his hands, do his lips still feel the same? Soft as a feather, pillowy as a cloud, as sweet as a peach? It’s not something a married woman should be thinking about another man, about the man another version of her had loved.

But you’re not a married woman, are you?

Wet to the bone, it's as if your wedding dress has shrunk, possessive linen meant to warn you away from leaning forward till your face meets his.

“Careful where you point those eyes, sweetheart. Don’t go givin’ me a reason to make a dishonest woman out of you.” His warning only makes you want to lean in more, test just how dishonest he’s willing to make you, in a dress you wore for another man, upon a forest floor covered by moss, and mud, and rainfall.

He’s stepping back and holding out his hand before you can even try, saving you the trouble of mixing up your head even more.

Careful steps back to his car, where the radio plays on as Prince’s voice slowly fades out. The headlights are back on, the key sits in the ignition, and you half wonder just how quickly he chased after you, abandoning his precious car so carelessly at the side of a darkened country road, free for any Tom, Bill, or Sally to claim for themselves.

“You’re lucky I got spare clothes in the back,” Jack’s voice echoes out from where he stands, bent at the waist, and rummaging through the floor of the back seats. You want to think he’s not going this on purpose, putting himself on display so obviously, but it feels easier on your conscience to blame him for your own inability to stray your eyes away from how snugly the soaked dress pants hug his behind. “Ain’t no hope in hell I’d let you in my car, all drippin’ wet.”

“You never used to complain about me being wet in your car.”

It’s a quickfire response, the kind you don’t quite get the chance to think over before you say it. Though it may shock your own ears to hear, it seems to shock poor Jack more, the smack with which his head hits against the car’s roof loud enough that you almost feel it in your skull.

You rush over to his side, dress dragging through more mud, and more leaves, and more broken gravel. No chance to even rest your hand upon his arm, Jack’s already pulled himself out the car to face you, a splash of pink brewing across his cheeks and a hand soothing over the back of his head. In the backseats, his hat lays abandoned, knocked off in the commotion.

“Can’t just be sayin’ things like that, darlin’,” he says as he holds out a change of clothes for you, smugness in his voice yet a shake in his hand. “Not unless you’re tryin’ to give old Jack over here a heart attack.”

In silence, you both turn your back on each other. Jack does so in spare of your modesty, and you, in search of someplace dry to lay down his clothes. You do so upon the passenger seat, hands immediately contorting every manner of way they can to reach the dress’ buttons that span down the length of your spine, each more finicky than the last. You manage to free only two, in the very centre, before you sigh and wonder if the entrapment you feel in the white gown could get any more literal than this.

“Jack,” it only feels right to seek out his aid, you tell yourself, the sooner the buttons are undone, the sooner the dress will be off, the sooner you’ll be changed, and the sooner you’ll both get back on the road again, destination unknown. It only makes sense, really, so who could blame you when you say, “come help me out my dress.”

No reply comes your way.

At first, you think he’s not heard you. Then, you worry that he has, and is choosing to ignore such a request, thinking it best he keeps his hands away from any act that involves undressing you. Then, fear that you’ve given him that heart attack after all. Fingers brush wet hair off your shoulders before you can turn to check on the cowboy.

Cicadas scream out into the night, and some faceless host rants over the car radio about the rising conspiracy theory of spycams in childrens’ toys, and your heart beats louder than any set of drums could ever hope, but all you can hear is the steady breaths Jack pulls in and blows out behind you, so close you feel each exhale brush your skin. His fingers do so too, with each button they pop loose, each inch of skin he reveals.

Before you can ask him to touch you with more than just his mouth and breath, his own voice fills your ears.

“I used to dream about doin’ this someday.”

“I think we both know this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten a girl out her dress, Jack.”

“Is your mind ever anywhere but the damn gutter?” A pinch delivered against your left side, a chastising tsk accompanying his words. “I meant that I dreamt about this, me helpin’ you take your weddin’ dress off.”

There’s an audible hitch in your breath, one that perfectly tells Jack everything your own voice seems to fail to. Air stings at your eyes, yet you refuse to blink, too aware of the tears building within them. His warm hands dance back up your spine as the final button is loosened, tracing slowly over skin he’d once memorised, a missionary returning to the land it once knew.

Your dress falls to the floor.

“‘Course I never thought I’d be doin’ it on the side of the road, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

TRACK 3 — lover you should’ve come over

“Wait, are these pyjama pants?”

The realisation dawns upon you twenty minutes after you hit the road again. Confined to the small space of the Bronco with little to look at— besides Jack, his clothes still damp and smelling of summer rain, a towel laid over his seat— you’ve resorted to the finer details, picking apart the scraps of clothing he’d handed you. A plain white t-shirt that, when paired with one of his tight-fitting jeans and a corduroy-lined leather bomber jacket, becomes a Jack Daniels staple. You find it best to ignore how it smells of campfire, and sweat, and the cologne you’d bought Jack on your last anniversary. He’s paired it with a pair of blue chequered pyjama pants, loose-fitting yet tied securely around your waist by a fraying draw-string.

“Took myself and the old gal up to Alaska a few weeks back, chasin’ after a view of the Northern Lights.” There’s a flash of something hot, bright, green as you register his words, myself and the old gal, tamed and dampened only when you remember that’s what Jack calls the Bronco, his old gal. “I was livin’ out my car the whole trip, figured it was easier than trynna find some inn out in the middle of the Alaskan woods. In fact, if you check down there, pretty sure you’ll find some uneaten energy bars I packed for the trip.”

He seems to point aimlessly down at a space around your legs, hand back on the wheel and guiding the wheels around a harsh bend before you can truly pinpoint what he’s referring to. You settle on the glove compartment, sitting upright and reaching a hand out to pop it open.

Then you remember what it houses, the weapons Jack carries in there. The lasso, the whip, the pistol, the bullets. A sickness burns your throat, your eyes unable to even glance down at the opened compartment, instead searching for Jack’s own eyes that stare back with equal amounts of surprise.

“I forgot those were in there.” He steals the words right out your own mouth, a nervous chuckle following them. You’d known to never touch the dreaded compartment, for your own sake, too eager to forget about the parts of him that made him an agent, the parts of him that put him in danger. “You can read ‘em, if you want. They were written for you anyway.”

Confusion floods the soul, curiosity winning over survival and dictating that you muster the courage to turn your head, take a peak at what sits inside the glove box. When you do look, you find there’s no whip nor pistol, no piece of Agent Whiskey in sight. What is there are the energy bars he’d promised, a hiking guidebook of sorts, a map, and a stack of wrinkled envelopes.

One glance back at Jack, he encourages you to take them with a nod, and so, you do. Feel the weight of them all in your hands, do your best to not drop any as you pull them out onto your lap. They scatter all over you, each a different shade of white, unopened and all sporting a red return to sender stamp. All appear addressed to the same place, and it takes only a moment of wondering why it seems so familiar for you to realise.

It’s your old address.

“They’re all labelled with dates, I wrote the first one a few weeks after you left. Wasn’t sure where you’d moved to, I figured there was a chance you’d gone back to your old place. I never forgot about how much you loved that apartment,” he says, and you did. Leaving it behind had been hard, the first real home you’d made for yourself since moving out of your parent’s place, the first space you made your own in the world. The idea of making a new space with Jack, a place you could build together, share together, had outweighed the pain of saying goodbye to your little one-bed apartment. “Wrote the second one because you didn’t reply, and I was missin’ you. Then I just kept writin’ em, and sendin’ em, and waitin’ on you writin’ back, even if just to tell me to get lost. I got a note back, along with the letters, but it wasn’t from you. Some older couple moved in to your old place, told me they’d been keepin’ em all safe incase you ever came round to collect your old mail, but they figured it was time I stopped writin’ to a ghost.”

Attentive to his every word, you search for the letter with the earliest date. Sent two weeks after things ended, with a colourful stamp and a seal that’s slightly opened at the edges, the glue’s hold loosening with time and neglect. You tear it open completely and unfold the sheets of paper found within, eyes drawn immediately three quarters down the page.

I saw our friends tonight for the first time since you left. They asked how you’re doing and where you were. I thought they were just being cruel at first but no, they didn’t know about the break up. I told them you weren’t feeling well, that you decided to stay home tonight. I guess I just wanted one more night where you were still mine, even if it was just in the eyes of our friends. I will tell the truth next time I see them.

You feel as though you’re invading his privacy, reading over words he’d written months ago, despite being the intended audience. That doesn’t mean you have the willpower to stop, however, eyes diving deeper down the page.

Or maybe I won’t have to tell them. Maybe, next time I see them, you’ll have come home. There’s still a chance for us. I believe it because I love you. You said this wasn’t something we can fix. I think you’re wrong. There’s never been an issue we couldn’t solve by talking it through, why should this one be any different? Let’s get coffee, darling. Our usual place, our usual time, next Tuesday. We can get through this, you just have to let me know it’s something you want, that I’m something you still want.

Jack’s quiet in the driver’s seat, forgiving with the time he gives you to read over his letters. When the turning of pages and the ripping of envelopes rings too heavy in the car, your shoulders tensing up in a discomfort of disrupting the peaceful silence, he wordlessly turns the radio back up and the voice of Jeff Buckley greets you both.

You return to his letters, the second he’d sent already open in your palm.

I went to our usual spot. You never showed up. Your lack of reply to my letter should have been enough to tell me that, but I still had hope. Maybe I really am a fool. Our friends seem to think so. I told them about us and they immediately asked what I’d done wrong. There was no answer I could give them. The worst thing isn’t just that I’ve lost you, it’s that I don’t even know why.

You open the next envelope, and the next one, and the next one, paragraphs melting together into a heartbroken shape.

I tried to sleep in our bed. I lasted half an hour before crawling back to the guest room. Our room just feels too empty without you. I smell you everywhere no matter how many new sheets I buy.

Eggsy and Tilde got married. It’s the first wedding I’ve been to without you. I’m doing a lot of firsts without you recently. I hate it. Our friends (am I wrong to call them our friends? I’m not ready to just call them mine) tried setting me up with someone new. They showed me a picture and she’s beautiful, but I just kept comparing her to you. Against your beauty, she’s nothing.

Your mother was at the Statesman ground tour today. I was surprised to see her, she already done the tour years ago. I tried not to talk about you too much, I didn’t want her knowing how desperate I am to hear about you. Congratulations on your promotion, I always knew you’d get it. I’m so proud of you for finally applying for it. I heard you’ve started seeing somebody, a veteran turned mechanic. Your mother was kind enough to give me his name. I hope you understand that I don’t want to invade your privacy but I had to make sure you’re safe. The guy’s got a clean slate, other than a sketchy trip down to South America with some other vets. He seems like a good man. I want you to get your happy ending. Are you happy? I’m not.

Only one envelope remains unopened. The weight of it sits heavy in your lap, a fear settling in that has you not wanting to open it. You study the front of it, find out it was mailed three months ago. The radio moves in sync with you, it seems, the song that plays reaching its climatic moment at the same time as you do, tearing open the final letter. Next to you, Jack clears his throat and wrings his hands over the steering wheel.

This last one, you read the letter in full.

Darling girl,

Spring came faster this year. The daffodils you planted bloomed in early March. I’ve been tending to the garden, I know how much love you put into it. The flowers are coming up alright, the fruit and vegetables not so much. If only I had your green thumb.

I visited Tequila last week. I don’t know if it’s right to call him that anymore. Champ’s still not named his successor, part of me thinks he wants to retire it. That’s not what Tequila would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted Ginger taking on the mantle. The grounds he’s on are beautiful, if not sombre. They overlook a lake, and the grass is cut everyday, and the sun shines on his grave from sunrise to sunset. I didn’t say much to him, just sat and enjoyed the view. Thought about a lot of things, and finally realised why you left.

You were scared. For me. I thought you were being selfish, breaking my heart like that, but I finally understand how awful that day must’ve been for you. We’d just buried my comrade, our friend, and you had to watch Tequila’s wife say her last goodbye, knowing it was almost me in that casket and you on the podium. That was my mission he went on, I could’ve been the one who didn’t come home to the woman I love.

I’m sorry I took so long to understand. I retired from my position at Statesman. I’m agent Whiskey no more. I’m coming to find you, and hope you give me one last real try at fixing us.

Love always,

your Jack.

“Your wedding invitation found me first,” Jack says, foot off the accelerator, eyes off the road, hands on the wheel.

The weight of his stare drags down to your lap, where the heap of papers now all sit, piled atop one another and rustling with every movement you make. Your own eyes have welled with tears that slip down the apples of your cheeks and splash the papers below, smudging the ink.

The confirmation of his invite knocks out the questions of how he wound up in the pews.

“I didn’t invite you,” you’re unsure if the truth is crueller than fiction. No part of you wants him to think you’d be so spiteful, so hurtful as to invite him to a day you’d once promised to share together. “I didn’t invite anyone. I was… busy, with work. My mom dealt with the invites, she must’ve written you down by accident.”

Your lips may be the ones to say it, but your own ears struggle to believe. Your mother’s always been a meticulous woman, practical, with her affairs eternally in order. The only mistakes she makes are the ones she means to.

“Yeah,” Jack sighs out from the driver’s seat, resignation in his voice. “I figured you didn’t invite me.”

TRACK 4 — 50 ways to leave your lover

Jack drives deeper into the night.

Out the car window, you watch as the world flies by, a blur of unlit trees and unmarked road signs. Earlier’s storm has rolled away and revealed the blanket of stars above, twinkling alongside a full moon. The road is long, and winding, and seemingly never ending. There’s no discussion of destination, no sanctuary you’re waiting to reach. You feel no urgency for it, either. So long as you sit right where you are, passenger in a car, you don’t have to take the wheel, you don’t have to choose where to go, or what to do. You can just exist within this liminal space, where no wedding lies in the balance and no hearts lay broken.

It’s just you and Jack, like the old days, going for a drive.

“Ask me,” permission comes off your tongue as you observe the driver and his less than subtle glances your way. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. Everything you wanted to know in the diner, I promise I’ll answer this time.”

“I guess I’m tryin’ to put myself in your shoes, figure out what was runnin’ through that pretty head of yours,” Jack is, at his core, a gentleman. For hours, he’s let you sit beside him, biting his own tongue and fighting back his own curiosity, a trait so vital to his existence it led him into a world of spies, and guns, and movie-esque kinds of evil. Even now, with your promised approval, he eases his way into his questioning, the part of him that knows you better than your own self dictating that this is something he must address with care. “How’d you do it?”

“I just slipped out the back, Jack,” there’s a chuckle of sorts that welcomes itself out the depths of Jack’s chest, your choice of words going hand in hand with that of the Paul Simon record reaching its end over the radio. As quick as the humour appears, it goes, leaving nothing but the unfortunate reality of the situation. “Someone left a door open, it led out onto the back gardens. The further away I got, the faster I started to run. I made it all the way past the highway on foot before an older couple pulled over. They dropped me off at a diner, and that’s where I stayed until-”

“Until I found you,” it’s a reminder you shouldn’t want, the image of Jack setting off to find you in the midst of the commotion of a missing bride. It’s not healthy for your poor psyche, already at odds with what it wants, no need for further complications brought on by unresolved feelings. You can’t help but smile at him, however, no filter strong enough to cover your subconscious’ joy. “Why did you run away?”

Your smile fades.

The promise you made is already at threat of being broken. You thought there’d be more questions, more time until he hit you with the heaviest of them all.

Why did you run away?

You know the answer. Of course you’ve known the answer, from the moment you decided to turn on your heel and sprint down the halls, in search of an escape. As much as you can pretend otherwise, and feign naivete, you can’t change the truth. That doesn’t mean you’re ready to admit it out loud, and so you refute it with a question of your own: “Why did you come to the wedding?”

It would be easy to forgive Jack for getting irate when faced with your avoidant response. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, he spins the steering wheel and shoots you a smile, the kind that used to keep you warm at night.

“I wasn’t goin’ to come at first,” comes his admittance. You can’t say you blame him, really, a picture of yourself in his shoes, receiving an invite to his wedding. The thought conjures a painful throb from your heart. “Nearly tossed the damn thing into the fireplace when I got it. A few weeks later, I met with Champ for a drink. Drank myself blind, till I started tellin’ him all about the invite. He told me I had to come.”

A lift of your eyebrows, a snap of your head towards him. There’s a desire to have his full attention on you. There’s also the awareness that the road acts as a buffer for the tensing heartache that swells and lulls between you, each exchange of words a game of painful chess. You make the choice to bring forth a pawn this once, a simple why?

“He said I’ve been livin’ with life on pause since you left, maybe watchin’ you marry another man would be the thing to help me hit play at last.”

INTERLUDE — go your own way

Like tires upon gravel, time rolls on.

No matter how easy it is to forget about the world outside, look out the window and pretend you’re simply on a train, trapped in a constant onward motion, there’s no ignoring the orange glow that begins to grow on the horizon, nor the red lights on the car radio that read 05:38. A new day grows fast upon you and, where you remain mute to it, Jack can not allow the fantasy to go on any longer.

The tires screech against the gravel and everything comes to a stop.

“Thinkin’ time’s up, sweetheart,” his hands retreat from the wheel, finding purchase on his thighs. You try not to follow their descent over the tailored suit, try not to think about the thick muscles that sit hidden beneath the black trousers. It’s not your place to think about them anymore. “Where are you goin’?”

Decision has never been something you’ve struggled with, much less when the choices are so simple and limited. Either you go back to the wedding venue, and meet whatever fate awaits you of scornful mothers, and disappointed fathers, and abandoned fiances. Or, you can go anywhere.

You make a mistake, let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, and end up asking yourself where will Jack go. He still lives in the home you once shared, this you know. Will he go there, pour himself a drink, and try to forget this night even happened?

You can still picture it all. The coffee table Jack hand-carved, both your initials engraved on the side. The picture frames all along the wall, a mural of memories shared between you. The matching set of mugs, eternally sitting on the drying board, waiting for Jack to stagger his way down the stairs and fill them with boiling coffee. If you walked through that door again, would you find everything just the way you left it? Or, has he gotten a new table, changed the pictures in the frames, bought new mugs? Is there someone there, right now, sleeping in his bed and waiting on his return?

A bitter taste overcomes your tongue at the thought, your insides twisting up like you’ve not spent the past few months sleeping next to someone else and saying yes to proposals you weren’t expecting.

“What do you think I should do?” You don’t want him to tell you to go home, you want him to say come home.

“You can’t ask that of me. My answer’s gonna be nothin’ but selfish.” Would it really be so bad, you wish to ask, if Jack was selfish? Maybe life would be easier if he was. He clears his throat, like he clears his mind, and gone is your moment to tell him you want selfish. “I can say this, though… Your fiance’s a good man, a kind man. Kind enough to trust your parents words and let me, a stranger, go searchin’ for you. He deserves to know what decision you make. It ain’t just your weddin’, it’s his too.”

He’s right, and you hate it.

There’s no way you can tell him now that you were even contemplating not going back, of disappearing into the sunrise with him, driving till life leads you down the right roads to find a new home, your old home, Jack.

The muddied wedding dress seems to call to you from the car boot, a whispering of your name that tells you to put it back on, go back, and walk down that aisle. You owe that much to your fiance, if he’ll still have you. With him, you’ve never had to worry about him coming home safe. With him, you could live a happy enough life, keep yourself busy enough to ignore all the what-ifs your mind would try seduce you with.

Besides, that’s what Jack needs, right? To see you marry another man, a final nail in the coffin named us, so he can finally move on with his life. You owe him that much, at least.

With a nod of your head and the straightening of your spine, you set your choice in stone, “drive me back to him, Jack.”

The engine shudders to life and the radio sets itself back on course, some upbeat voice that demands you go your own way, a musical slap delivered upon your face. Jack turns the steering wheel, rerouting the car’s course with an effortless u-turn before he presses down on the accelerator, propelling you forward down the paths you’ve already travelled.

You tell yourself you’re doing the right thing, even if a familiar dread starts to settle in the pit of your stomach, brushing them off as rational nerves. Who wouldn’t be anxious when facing a man they left at the altar?

A yawn escapes you.

“We’re a few hours out from the chateau.” There’s something in his voice that weighs on him, the tone between you shifting to something of desperation. Goodbye is a few hours away. This time, for good. “Sleep, it’s late.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Pull over, you want to say. Let’s sleep. The wedding can wait a few more hours.

How unfortunate that he cannot read your thoughts, understand the intentions behind your staring as you recline your chair, turn to face him on your side, hands crossed protectively over your abdomen.

One blink, and your eyes are already fighting to stay open, dragging you down into the depths of slumber.

“I’m fine. Don’t sleep much these days anyway,” the sound of Jack’s voice fades slowly into the background, melting away with the hum of the engine, and the turn of the wheels, and the voice on the radio. “Never got used to the feeling of an empty bed.”

TRACK 5 — i’m on fire

When your eyes next open, the sun’s warmth is caressing your face.

The sound of children’s laughter fills the air, and the smell of smoke fills your lungs, and the feeling of resting against Jack’s shoulder fills you with dread. Fearful to move, you take in all of him that you can see from this angle.

There’s no suit upon him, replaced with the casualness of a cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded denims. The hat’s back on his head, the curls of ungelled hair that peak through dry as a bone. A cigarette rests neatly between fingers on his left hand, the right one grasping at the neck of a beer bottle. No wheel sits in front of him, no gear shift keeps space between you. The Bronco’s been replaced with the view of your parent’s backyard and the comfort of a well cushioned outdoor couch.

You know this memory.

You’ve lived this memory.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” just like you remember, Jack’s stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette the moment he notices your open eyes. “How you feelin’?”

“Like my uterus is trying to carve its way out of me,” your mouth plays along with the dream, speaking the same words it had years ago.

“That good, huh?” A beer stained kiss meets the corner of your mouth, another follows up to your forehead, as Jack’s free hand reaches into his pocket, reemerging with silver foil between two fingers. “Got these off your mother. Let me go get you somethin’ to eat, then you can take two, hm?”

You remember thinking that you love him. You didn't dare speak it, however, simply nodding as you took the blister packet of paracetamol out his offering grasp and uncurled your legs back down onto the floor, stretching your arms. Jack bends down, presses his lips against the crown of your head, and then he’s off, venturing over to where your father stands grilling another round of burgers on the barbeque.

Jack’s always been a confident man. He carries himself with a head held high and a careless smile on his face, no chip on his shoulder and no flare for anger in his bones. A southern gentleman, who knows his own charms and, most dangerously, how to use them. Place him alone with your father, however, and watch how he crumbles like a house of cards. To the untrained eye, it’s unnoticeable, but you don’t miss the glances he spies your father with each time he throws out a joke, nor the way his hands can never seem to relax, a nervous tic of drumming against his thighs or balling into fists as he makes conversation with the older man. He’s desperate for the approval of your monotonous father, so desperate he fails to see he won it months ago,

“Eat up, drink up, you need it,” he says as he hands you the paper plate, and his half-drunk bottle of beer. He settles back down on the couch, pulling you into him once more. “Your old man was sayin’ we should probably head off soon, ‘fore it gets too late. Think he’s startin’ to warm up to me, he’s even worryin’ bout me drivin’ in the dark.”

“Oh, he loves you,” you take a bite, break two of the pills out their casing, wash them down with a swig of bitter beer. The summer sun burns in the corners of your eyes, forcing them into a squint. “He kept looking for you at the dinner table at my mom’s birthday, you should’ve seen his reaction when I told him you were stuck in New York slaving away in your office.”

Months later, you’d come to find out he wasn’t in New York, surrounded by mountains of paperwork, but somewhere in the south of France, hunting down some billionaire wine-maker with plans to poison the crops of surrounding vineyards, leaving only his wine safe to consume.

In your memory, Jack plucks the hat off his own head and rests it gently upon your own, a shaded barrier against the bright light in the sky. You thank him, he watches on quietly as you continue to eat, gaze not peeling itself away from you the whole time.

“What? Do I have ketchup on my face? Or, in my hair?” You’d asked him, mid-chew. No answer, more staring. Panic made a debut in your mind, suddenly alert to his unusual behaviour. “Wait, is it a bug? Jack, is there a bug in my hair?”

“I love you.”

No build up, no grand-speech, no overly romantic setting.

He said it like one shares the weather, or the time, or what they’re wanting for lunch. He said it like it was something he always said, would always say, despite it being the very first time you’d heard him do so. Tears had flown in quickly, your hormones already gone haywire with the unexpected arrival of shark week earlier that morning. There’s a vague assurance that you told him you loved him too, through tears, and he teased your weepy face with kisses down your cheeks and full-chested laughter.

“Bless your cotton socks, my sweet girl, cryin’ all cause old Jack says-”

“Tell me now baby, is he good to you?”

You jolt awake.

Jack’s by your side, suit on, hair air dried, one hand on the wheel, the other rests out the window. The roof is down, letting the sun shine on you and his caramel eyes. An old Springstein song plays in the background, the very same thing that coaxed you awake. Just like the dream, he takes a few minutes to notice your opened eyes, head turning your way as another car shoots off ahead of you both, overtaking him.

“You were mumblin’ in your sleep. Were you dreamin’ of somethin’ sweet?”

“I was,” too quick comes your reply. Too honest. Nerves have you stumbling over words, scrambling to pick them off the floor of your mind and spew out the first thing that doesn’t involve Jack and his easy-going professions of love. “About the first time my fiance told me he loves me.”

You regret it as soon as you speak, the visible halt to his smile. He overcorrects it, forcing a grin that stretches the corners of his mouth so tight it almost looks painful. “Well, c’mon, don’t go keepin’ it to yourself!”

“He, uh, wrote it in the sky.”

“How romantic. Pricey too, I bet.”

“It was his best man who did it, an ex military pilot.”

As you try to reminisce on the day, little memories blossom in your mind. Instead of vivid motion capture, the day is black and white, no sound. You don’t remember where you were, what he was wearing, how you felt when you read those words up above.

It happened only two months into your relationship, that you do remember. You also remember being parked in your old neighbourhood the night before, twenty minutes spent trying to will yourself to go knock on the door to your old home. The Bronco was in its usual spot, parked outside. No lights were on as you pulled away and willed yourself back to rational thinking.

“Jeez, if that’s how he’s tellin’ you he loves you, I can’t imagine how he proposed.”

You wonder if this is as tortuous for him as it is for you, listening to you detail the life you’d gone on to live just months after walking away from five years of love. “In a restaurant,” you can’t remember the name, or what you ate, or what you wore, as if the memory is one that doesn’t belong to you, never belonged to you. “I ordered dessert, ‘will you marry me?’ was written on it in cherry sauce.”

“You must’ve said yes immediately.”

“I did.”

You leave out the part where the whole restaurant had watched him get down on one knee, or the part where you rushed to the restroom right after accepting the ring, spewing your guts out in a stall. By morning, you told yourself it was fine, you were just feeling nervous.

After all, you loved him enough to spend time with him, so why not spend the rest of your life with him?

TRACK 6 — she’s always a woman

It had been too easy to forget the thing you loved most about road trips with Jack.

It wasn’t his constant commentary of interesting facts on sites you’d drive past, or his love for taking the long-way to anywhere and everywhere, or his ever-present need to drag your hand up to his lips with every few miles.

The thing you loved most was listening to his voice, unfiltered, unashamed, outloud, singing along to his favourite songs. The voice of a crooning angel and the shyness of a bashful fox. Every so often, when he’d catch you watching him a little too fondly as he sang along, he’d throw in a voice crack, or twist up a lyric into a sickly innuendo.

In the present, it’s you who interrupts his spirited rendition of a Billy Joel classic.

“You were right, in the letters,” the leather of your seat squeaks as you fix your posture, sit yourself up straight if only to force yourself to stop observing the way his lips fall into a natural pout and, instead, focus on memorising the licence plate that drives ahead. “I’m sorry.”

“Right about what?” As though nothing has changed, his hand extends towards your own, effortlessly intertwining your fingers, beginning an ascent to his mouth before mind takes over instinct and he’s letting you go, setting you free.

You give up on the licence plate ahead, turn your face once more towards Jack and his pouty lips.

“I couldn’t be with Agent Whiskey anymore.” A relationship made up of a man, a woman, and an agent. Whiskey would kiss you goodbye in the morning, while Jack would be the one to come home to you. With the passing of time, three became a crowd, and so you removed yourself. “I didn’t want to break your heart, Jack, I swear. But I also didn’t want to let you break mine. And you did, every time you walked out of our home and left me wondering if you’d ever come back. Then, when Tequila… You loved your job. You loved being Agent Whiskey. How could I ask you to leave that part of you behind?”

“Darlin’ if you think there’s any world where losin’ you was easier than losin’ Whiskey, you’re out of your mind.” Like his first I love you, he speaks words that flow out of him as easily as an exhale, as though they carry no weight to them. As though they do not momentarily flip your world on its axis and have you wishing he’d turn the car around, driving you both off into the forever you never got.

Yet another car overtakes the Bronco, its driver angrily pressing on his horn. You both continue to ignore the speed at which Jack drives. Up ahead, everything you’ve been dreading comes into view, an unmissable billboard. Clearview Manor.

50 miles to go. 50 miles till goodbye.

“I’m hungry.”

“Those energy bars should still be in there, if you’re wantin’-”

“Jack, I’m hungry,” you say it louder, hoping he’ll pick up what you’re laying down.“Can’t we stop somewhere for breakfast?”

His answer comes in the form of a left blinker switching on, wheels cutting over gravel and carrying you off the main road. Then, as if to break your heart some more than his last declaration, he turns to you. “If it had been me waitin’ on you at the end of the aisle, would you have ran?”

You try to picture it.

Jack, in his suit and tie, hands clasped behind his back to keep him from drumming nervous fingers over his thighs, eyes brimming with tears as you take your first step down the aisle. Would the panic have settled in? Would you have felt that same wrongness as when you’d been sneaking a peak at your fiance waiting down the aisle?

Would you have ran?

“It’s not something I planned, y’know? Running. I didn’t think it was even an option,” you’re laying your final card on the table, a truth you couldn't bring yourself to admit earlier at last coming out to play. You’re unsure if it dismisses or further condemns you for your runaway crimes. “I took a peak, at the ceremony hall, while waiting for my father. I needed to see what I was about to walk into. I guess I thought the nerves were just from that, the unknown. Then I saw you, a few rows from the back. At first I thought I was hallucinating, that you were just a man who happened to be wearing a cowboy hat. But then I saw my mum pulling you in for a hug, and I caught a glimpse of your face. That’s why I ran. I couldn’t… marry another man, not with you standing in the crowd.”

“You’ve not answered my question,” it’s the first you’ve seen Jack put his foot down since he dragged you out the diner, the seriousness etched into his frowning forehead and stamped onto his lips. “Would you have ran?”

“No.”

Jack just keeps driving.

TRACK 7 — dancing in the dark

“You can’t be serious!”

Squeezed into the corner booth of a dingy, run-down bar, you and Jack sit across from one another, digging into a stack of pancakes lathered in maple syrup.

The bartender and two of his patrons glance at you both every so often, and you have to wonder how odd a pair you and Jack must make. One dressed to the nines, if you ignore the dried mud at the bottom of his dress pants and his loosening tie, the other wearing yesterday’s make-up paired with cotton pyjama pants. You prefer it to the stares you’d gained in your wrinkled gown.

“Deadly. I’m a serious tap-dancin’ student,” his fork stabs into the fluffy goodness, dragging it along the plate, soaking the pancake in as much syrup as possible. You try not to think of mornings that used to be spent like this, sitting at your own table, flour in his hair and eggshells in your own, both of you ignoring the disastrous mess in the kitchen begging to be cleaned as you tuck into your homemade pancakes. “Retirement breeds weird hobbies.”

“Before long, you’ll be playing bingo at the old folks home.”

“I just have to ask, I really do,” a dread you haven’t felt since stepping out the car— with the help of Jack and his offering hand, the other holding your door open— creeps back in. You don’t want to talk about your own current reality, not when it’s been so easy to pretend none of the wedding fiasco happened and, instead, you’re simply catching up with Jack after bumping into each other in this bar. “This fiance of yours… is he bigger than me?”

As quick as it inflates, the tension pops.

“Oh my god, Jack!” You laugh, a little too loudly, and dip your head as other tables turn their heads your way.

“What?”

“You did not just ask me that.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You can’t just say things like that!” In mock surrender, he throws his hands up. Your own grab ahold of your knife and fork once more, an ironclad focus on the near-empty plate as you will the shameful heat away from your face, mumbling over your words. “But, no, he isn’t bigger. Happy?”

“You’ve no idea.” As though you’re being haunted by music, a song begins to play over the speakers. You’re not the only one who takes notice, Jack’s eyes lighting up with a devious look, his legs already rising out of his seat. “Think that’s our queue, darlin’.”

“Sit back down.”

“Oh, c’mon now, don’t be so uptight,” he lays out his hand, begging for you to place your own in it. Flashes of a memory, six years back, the very same song playing as the very same man attempted to coax a dance out of you. “One dance, sweetheart, then I’ll leave you in peace.”

Just like your younger self, you’re incapable of resisting his baby cow eyes, letting him guide you out onto a makeshift dance floor before it’s too late to run back and hide in your seat, the eyes of strangers already piercing you with their questioning stares. If you weren’t deemed a strange pair with your attire alone, you certainly are now, feet stumbling awkwardly along with Bruce Springstein.

“This song was playin’ when we met,” he says it like you don’t know, like you don’t remember, like you aren’t replaying that night as you speak, pretending you’re both in that same crowd of swaying bodies, young, and naive, and on the cusp of experiencing the greatest love you’ll ever know, rather than here, on an empty dance floor, stumbling blindly through the hardships of holding each other so close, mutually aware you’re dancing on borrowed time and, soon, you’ll have to go. “Knowin’ now how it ends, if I was sent back in time, I’d still ask you to dance. I’d do it all again.”

“This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just…”

He spins you, drags you closer, sways you. It’s far less care-free than the first dance you shared, no alcohol to dull the shame and a whole lot of history packed between your bodies.

The first dance had been the thing you had dreaded most about your wedding, dancing with your husband, to a whole room of loved ones watching. Dancing now with Jack— even through all the embarrassment you feel as an elderly couple point over at you— feels easier, less daunting, so much so that you can’t help the way you start to laugh, arms loosening around his shoulders, hips moving less abashedly.

The two of you inch closer, and closer, and closer as the song reaches its end. Like a happy couple finishes their first dance, Jack’s mouth lands atop yours.

A gentle kiss, innocent of sin, it begs you to give back, to press your own mouth against his. You answer its calling, hand clasping at the back of his neck, holding him safely against you, less he drifts away and reveals this all to have been a dream, a nightmare, a delusion. Like coming home after a cold winter’s day, his kiss is the comfort of knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

And it’s absolutely terrifying.

You rip away from him, flashes of your fiance’s face blinding you as you stumble off, doing what you do best: running away. You miss the way the patrons all go back to their own drinks, and the way a new song comes on, and the way Jack chases after you, stopped only by the slamming of a bathroom door.

You come up for air when you find yourself faced with the image you paint in the mirror.

Never has there been a more heartbroken girl, eyes a mess of tears, and faded eyeliner, and smudged mascara, hair a nest fit enough for any bird to build its home in, body draped in the clothing of an ex-lover. It’s almost as frightening as the image you made yesterday, wedding gown freshly laced and make-up pristinely done.

A knock rings against the door.

It’s followed by a gentle call of your name.

You switch on the tap, welcome the cold splash of water over your face. Pray that, if you scrub hard enough, you’ll wipe away the taste of him, forget the shape of his touch, purge yourself of the desire to follow anywhere he may go. Your hand slips down your face, the dim bathroom light catches on something.

Your engagement ring, a tight shackle that binds you to someone else, reminds you of the closure you owe to Jack.

He calls your name again.

“Darlin’,” it’s muffled behind the door, but the regret in his voice is all too clear. “I just got caught up, I’m sorry. Come on out and we’ll get back on the road-”

The hinges creak as the door opens, only a crack, and your hand shoots out, grabbing a hold of Jack’s tie before you can will yourself to be rational.

He lets you invade his space with little protest, mouths returning to the dance they never got to complete. Hands move, slipping off ties, and undoing draw strings, and locking doors. There’s a mumble, are you sure, followed by a moan, please.

All hope of forgetting his skin is lost, a leg hooked around his waist, fingers tangled in his hair. He bites at your neck, and kisses along your jaw, and pants into your ear, all the while his hips rock back and forth against your own, filling you inch by inch. Mouth covered by your own hand, muffling a cry of his name as you feel him brush against that spine-tingling spot inside you. Your head falls back, eyes slip shut. Jack’s quick to rectify it.

“Watch, darlin’,” he whispers, a hand tilting your eyes down to where your two bodies meet. “ Want you to see how perfectly your lil’ pussy takes me.”

You do as he says, hypnotised by the sight of his cock, glistening in your own arousal, sawing in and out of you, each thrust deeper than the last.

“He can’t fuck you like this, can he?” Despite his ego-fueled words, there’s a desperation in his voice, a soul lost in a sea of darkness, searching for a life jacket. “Tell me he can’t.”

He can’t, you tell him, clinging onto him tighter, needier, begging him to never leave.

Any minute now, you worry, someone’s going to knock on the bathroom door, kick you both out. Instead, the music that plays outside the door seems to increase in volume.

“Fuckin’ made for me, meant for me,” both of you grow increasingly desperate, fingernails digging into flesh, and mouths rejoining in a frenzy of kisses, and the tightening of an invisible string, drawing you nearer and nearer to the edge. “My sweet girl.”

An end that comes all too soon, both of you exhausted, and spent, and collapsing against one another, a sticky mess left between your legs where his hips continue to rut into you through his own overstimulation.

“I’m sorry,” his head falls against your shoulder, burrows into the warmth of your neck. There’s a press of his lips against your skin, and a million apologies that follow. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I love you.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” you lie, sooth a hand over his back, ignore the tears you feel falling against your skin.

TRACK 8 — hit the road jack

The clock reads 13:18 as Jack brings the car to a stop.

A set of stairs lead up to a grand double-doored entrance, a sign post declaring the extravagant building as Clearview Manor. Rented for the whole weekend, the wedding party isn’t cited to leave until late Monday evening. Though all cars remain parked in the driveway, no familiar faces await your arrival.

“I hope you get your happy ending,” the two of you step out of the car in sync. A voice whispers that it’s the last time you’ll step out the Bronco, you brush it off and follow Jack as he makes his way over to the boot. “No one deserves it more than you, Jack.”

“No promises, darlin’,” he extends his arms to you, you almost move in for a hug.

The sight of your wedding dress, no longer porcelain white, stains of brown upon a greying fabric, reminds you of why you’re here. You try your best to smile earnestly as you take it off his hands, but fear it only heightens the distress that dilates your pupils. “I’ll see you inside, right?”

The boot slams shut, and it’s an awful reminder that your time together is coming to a close, Jack dons his signature smile, cowboy hat back on his head, a head that’s shaking no.

“The mighty fool that I am, thinkin’ I could stomach watchin’ you get married to another man. After this little road trip of ours… well, I guess I just ain’t ready to hit play yet.” A tongue made of lead, shoes filled with weights. Moving feels impossible, talking even more so. You want to say his name, tell him you don’t need to marry another man, crawl back into the Bronco and beg him to drive off. “Go’on, get! There’s a good man in there, waitin’ to give you everythin’ you deserve.”

Instead, you just turn on your heel, take the first step towards the rest of your life. A life without Jack.

Halfway up the stairway, the sound of Jack’s engine reaches your ears, followed quickly by the obnoxiously poignant car radio, giving its final performance for you both.

“Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come back, no more, no more, no more, no more!”

Eyes meeting where Jack sits, back in the driver’s seat, you share one last laugh.

OUTRO — everywhere

“Thank god you’re okay.”

Two arms, strong and secure, wrap around your waist.

On the other side of the bridal suite door stands both your mother and your mother in law, ushered out by your fiance upon your return the moment he noticed the panic on your face as questions and fingers prodded at you.

You block out the thought of the scowling faces, burrowing your own into the space between his shoulder and neck, whispering your inquiry on, “how bad is the damage?”

“We told everyone you were suffering from food poisoning. All our guests think you’ve been spewing out of both ends the past few hours, but I think that’s justified for the bruising you’ve given my ego.”

“Santi,” the shape of your fiance’s name feels foreign in your mouth, the taste of it sour on your tongue, so much so that you can’t say it in full. “I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be, what matters is you’re here now.”

Jack was right, your fiance is a nice man. A good man. A man anyone would be lucky to land in the arms of, the kind of man people dream of, and romance authors write of.

But to you, his arms just feel like a cage you’ve lost the key for. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

“I don’t know. We just… make sense.”

“We do,” you pull apart, at last, nodding your head along to his answer. “But is that all marriage should be? Two people who make sense?” You stumble a few steps back from him, feet needing space to begin pacing back and forth as your filter slips and the word-vomit begins to spew itself out onto the pristine carpeted floors. “Do you really love me enough to spend the rest of your days with me? Because I don’t think you do, and I don’t think I love you like that either.”

Santiago is calm, collected, and completely unresponsive.

The longer he watches you pace and rant, the quicker you do each thing, as though you’re racing ahead to escape the fear of breaking his heart more than you already have, his love possibly more intense than you make it seem. He ends that fear in one foul swoop of words.

“When you didn’t walk down the aisle, I felt relieved. I also slept with someone at my bachelor party and the guilt has been eating me alive.”

“I just fucked my ex in a bathroom!” In an almost paradoxical response, the pair of you keen over in laughter, any expected animosity thrown out the metaphorical window and leaving you both no choice but to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “God, we’re a mess.”

“Wait, the cowboy’s your ex? I should’ve known, your dad told him you were gone before he even bothered to tell me.” Santiago had little luck at winning over your dad, though admittedly it was no fault of his own but, rather, your father had yet to move on from Jack. There’s a sudden commotion as Santi rushes past you, peeling back the curtains and peering down out the window. “What car is it the cowboy drives?”

“A Bronco.”

“Well, you might wanna hurry, because he’s just pulling out of the parking bays.” It’s more than just a warning. It’s a blessing to leave. Overcome with emotion, you dive back into his arms and find there’s no fear of goodbye, not like there had been with Jack. An engagement ring that slips off with no resistance, no longer a shackle that ties you both together. You hand it back to him gently. “Go, before it’s too late! I’ll take care of this mess, see if I can spin this in a way that’s heartbreaking enough to get our deposit back.”

There’s more you want to say, but now’s not the time. Apologies and thank-yous can wait till you pick up your things from his apartment, right now you’re too busy rushing to the door.

A call of your name comes when you’ve got one foot out it, treading into the now motherless hallway. You face Santiago with a smile, ready to say that magic word.

Goodbye.

“Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t invite me to your wedding.”

You make it out the double-doors, which slam loudly shut behind you, before you spot the retreating shape of Jack’s car and an anxious glee commands you to break out into a sprint, legs kicking faster than they ever have before.

Don’t speed up, you think, watching as the Bronco slowly creeps down the driveway.

“Jack!” You call out to him, hoping that, with the open roof, he’ll somehow hear you over the radio. Pushing your feet to move a little faster, your arms join the mix, waving wildly to the wind, a careless attempt to catch his attention in the rearview mirror. “Wait!”

The car breaks with a squeak, the blaring music comes to a halt, and Jack turns to face you with his own eyes, as though he can’t trust the mirrors. When you reach the car, you pull at the door handle and find he’s already unlocked it. You slide in with ease, back into the seat you’ve always belonged in: by his side.

He can’t seem to move, frozen with his eyes focused on nothing but you.

“Drive, jack,” you finally proclaim, asking him what you should’ve the moment you saw him in that diner, in the pews, in the heartbreaking hours post-burying a friend.

“Where to, darlin’?”

“Anywhere, everywhere!” You can’t help the smile that overcomes you as he pulls your hand up to his mouth, planting a familiar kiss upon it, before the engine hums back to life. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you, all roads lead home.”

Like old times, you lean forward and turn up the radio, a familiar tune filling the air as you sink back into your seat, the wind back in your hair and an open road laying ahead, ready to lead you both wherever the wheels may take you.

“Oh I, I wanna be with you everywhere.”

bts with hyde. this is just a little reflective commentary that i put down here, to avoid flooding my author's note with too much rambling. please feel free to skip this!!

this fic is a compilation of firsts for me. it's the first challenge i've taken part in within the pedro fanspace, which has been equally exciting as it has been daunting. i struggle immensely with writing on a time schedule, and so i'm pretty proud of myself for not posting this (too) late.

this is also my first time writing for jack. admitedly, i'm not sure if i've done justice to him, as his character is somehow incredibly strong and, yet, so open for interpretation that i found myself struggling to connect with him in my writing. i have no plans to write for him in any future wips, but that might change. it was definitely fun to push myself out my comfort zone and write for a new character!

something i want to praise myself for is the attention i put into smaller details of this fic. for example, each flower mentioned in this fic has a very specific symbol/meaning attached to it, fitting with the themes of the scenes in which they're mentioned. the other place i hyperfocused on very unimportant details is the playlist. it opens and closes on the only two songs fronted by a female vocalist, with my intention being that these songs are a representation of the reader's inner turmoils and thoughts in the opening and closing scenes. the rest of the playlist is full of male vocalists, giving a peak into jack's mind despite the entire fic being told through the reader's eyes.

okay, i've given myself enough delusional and unnecesary praise, i'm going to sleep now. please don't be mean if you didn't like this fic, it's literally my birthday 🫡

if you've read this far, ily, i hope you have a good day !

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