#and him not being okay makes me even more not okay

[vintagebuckybarnes]

In Vino Veritas

Pairing → Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Lab Assistant! Female! Reader

Total Wordcount → 3.5K

Summary → It all started when you and the Avengers enjoyed drinks during the afterparty back at the Avengers Tower. There, Tony revealed one of your deepest secrets, and even though you wish it had never come to light at first, you’re glad it did when the man you love stands on your doorstep, ready to start the rest of your life together.

Tags & Warnings → Semi-canon compliant, Avenger! Bucky Barnes, Female! Reader, Tony’s Lab Assistant! Reader, Bucky’s past as TWS is mentioned, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining, some cursing, and explicit sexual content.

Tags: Smut → Grinding, begging, some dirty talk, praise, teasing Bucky, protected sex, cowgirl position.

Story Rating → Explicit

Author’s Note → This story is beta'd by the wonderful @late-to-the-party-81, and I cannot thank you enough for that. I hope you'll all enjoy my story, which is filled with some angst, lots of fluff, and some smut to top it all off! 💜

Writing Prompts @fandom-free-bingo Bug Edition → “There is no us.” | Riding | In vino veritas | “Touch me.” @fandom-free-bingo Medical Edition → Crush at first sight @julybreakbingo Post-JBB → Being confronted about their feelings for another

Tags List → If you’d like to be tagged in my stories, you can add yourself to my tag list here.

The evening starts fine, good, even. But it all takes an unexpected turn when the man you work for - Tony Stark - reveals your secret. A secret that you’d only recently revealed to him.

Earlier that day, you’d spotted Bucky as he was working out and from that moment on your mind has been with him instead of your usual work and tasks.

“Hello, Y/N? Anyone home in there?” Tony asks as he lays a hand on your shoulder, making you jump. You look up at him with a worried look while he smiles back at you with a kind expression. A soft sigh escapes your lips as the thoughts in your head wander off again, specifically how his back looked underneath the tank top he wore in the gym while doing squats. Not only that, but you also can’t stop thinking about the way his ass looked in the sweatpants he wore. In a word, magnificent.

“Is everything okay with you? You’ve been a bit off your game today.” As Tony sits next to you, you put down the screwdriver you were holding - the one he asked you three times to pass to him - before turning to face him, your gaze focusing somewhere on the wall behind him. For a moment, there’s a silence between you as you gather the courage to tell him what’s been on your mind.

“Well, uhm- There’s something, or someone, that I can’t stop thinking about, and it’s taking over my mind every second of every day. It- It’s Bucky,” you say almost in a whisper. For a few seconds, Tony is completely silent as he lets the thought of you having a crush on one of his fellow Avengers sit in his mind. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he reaches out for your hand and takes it between his warm ones.

“You know that I’ll always support you in everything, right? I supported you when you expressed your desire to halt your life as an Avenger and retrain as my lab technician, and I supported you when you moved out of Avengers Tower to have your own home with more peace. This is not going to be any different. All I’m hoping for is that he will make you the happiest and best version of you, as you deserve nothing less.”

Tears brim at your waterline as Tony tells you this, and even though you deeply appreciate him, his words, and everything he has done for you, you can’t help but still feel a bit… odd about the fact you told him you’re having a crush on Bucky. That you have a crush on the man who was once the most feared assassin in the world under the hands of HYDRA.

“Now, can you hand me that screwdriver before your thoughts wander off to him again?” your boss asks in a teasing tone, making you smile as you grab it and hand it to him. Somehow, he always seems to know the right thing to say, and it's exactly why you enjoy spending time by his side while learning everything there is to know about his lab and what's going on in there.

Just as you’re about to get comfortable with another drink in your hand, you meet the gaze of the man you’re crushing on, and you feel heat coursing through your veins. The lines around his deep blue eyes intensify as he smiles at you, his attention making every last thought in your brain disappear. You’re so captivated by how Bucky looks at you that you miss your seat as you sit down. However, before you fall, you’re caught by a pair of solid arms that prevent you from hitting the floor.

“Careful there, Little One,” Thor says in his deep voice, his accent always making the butterflies in your stomach go wild. Even though you’d known Thor since you were young, you couldn’t help but get a little flustered by the nickname, and he smiled at you as you were finally sitting on the chair you intended to use.

“Thank you, Thor,” you whisper before sipping your cocktail. Around you, the conversations are starting to become a little blurry as you focus on Bucky and everything he has to say, his lips forming around the words effortlessly. When you suddenly feel a little shove against your arm, you yelp, making everyone go silent as they look at you.

“What did you do that for?!” you ask Thor in a low voice, but all he does is point to Tony, who obviously has something to say as he’s waving for everyone’s attention. There are moments when you enjoy the fact that alcohol can bring out people’s true feelings or thoughts, also known as in vino veritas, but not now. Oh no, now you wish you could disappear as you listen to the words coming out of Tony’s mouth.

“Guys, you really shouldn’t say this to Bucky or Y/N, but they’re having a massive crush on one another!” Tony says in a loud whispering tone, but what he fails to notice in his inebriated state is that you two are sitting right across from one another, enjoying the afterparty just like everyone else. Or at least, you were enjoying the afterparty until your secret got out.

The glass you were holding falls out of your hand before shattering into pieces on the floor, and your feet carry you as fast as they can away from the party and away from your worst nightmare come true. The music behind you fades away as you turn one corner after another, tears burning in your eyes as the event repeatedly replays in your mind. Your lungs start to burn as you keep running, the stinging feeling in your side increasing as you run out of the Avengers Tower into the night.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s world feels like it has taken a 180-degree turn. Mere minutes ago, he could only fantasize that you could have feelings for him, but now? A wave of disbelief washes over the super soldier, his expression showing pure surprise as he takes the moment in. For him, it was a crush at first sight from the momentyou walked into the training room on your first day. Over the years, his feelings have intensified, although he has only told Steve about his crush - or rather his now deep-rooted love - for you.

And yet, now that the pair of you have been confronted about your feelings for one another, he doesn’t know what to do. He has replayed the moment he’d confess his feelings to you more times than he can count in his mind, and in none of those versions, this is one of the scenarios that had appeared. It’s only when Steve grabs his arm and pulls him away that he seemingly comes back to reality again.

“Bucky, how does Tony know about your crush on Y/N? I mean, I’m, of course, fine with you sharing it, but-”

“I don’t know, Steve, I don’t know, and it kills me,” Bucky says as he runs his fingers through his cropped hair.“Fuck- I was planning on telling her this week but… but now it’s ruined, and I didn’t even get the chance to talk to her, and-” It’s all Bucky can say as he fights the urge to punch the wall with his metal fist, both hands clenched by his side as he tries to regulate his breathing. Without warning, Steve pulls him into a hug, and Bucky’s arms snake around his best friend's waist as his fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” Steve whispers, though he’s not entirely sure that’s true because he knows as well as anyone that things don’t always go back to how they were before. Still, Bucky decides to believe him as they stand there for a little while longer, and he soaks in every bit of comfort he can get for now. Lord knows he’s going to need it.

The past few days have been strange, to say the least. You haven’t been to the Avengers Tower since Tony revealed your now not-so-secret crush on the super soldier. You’re afraid of what will happen if you do. This also means you haven’t seen Bucky in a few days, and you miss him. You miss hearing his laugh, and you miss seeing how his mouth turns slightly upward as you hand him one of your baked goods, but most of all, you miss how his arms feel when he pulls you in for a hug.

Just as you’re about to make yourself a cup of tea, you get pulled from your thoughts by a soft but familiar knock on the door; only one thing can make that sound: Bucky’s metal hand knocking against the wood. For a moment, you contemplate your actions, but decide to give him at least a chance to talk, especially as it wasn’t him who laid out your feelings in front of everyone.

“Bucky, hi,” you say softly as you take in his appearance, your heart sinking as you do. It’s evident he hasn’t slept at all the past few days. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he doesn’t look as healthy as usual—more disheveled. The struggles he’s facing are apparent in his entire demeanor, and all you want to do is wrap him up in a warm blanket and cuddle him until the end of time.

���Hi,” he says hoarsely, and you step aside, allowing him to enter your apartment. He’s been here a few times already, and usually there’s a warmth radiating from you and every inch of the little place you call home, but ever since the party, it hasn’t been the same. It isn’t just the apartment, either. You feel different.

“Would you like some tea before we talk?” you ask to break the tension. “I was about to make some.”

He nods at you before wandering further into your apartment, and you head to the kitchen, picking out another mug for Bucky to use. Once he’s caught sight of your couch, he immediately takes a seat, a soft groan audible as he does. There aren’t many places more comfortable than the large couch that’s standing right here in your living room.

When you emerge a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate filled with chocolate chip cookies you baked fresh this morning, Bucky can’t help but smile at you. He gladly takes the tea with one of the cookies, as they’re his favorite, and when you sit down next to him, it feels just like it always has, as if nothing has changed. But you both know it has, and that’s why the super soldier’s now in your living room.

“So…” you start, unsure what to say now that he’s sitting on your couch. Bucky’s eyes are trained on the steaming tea in his hands, his thoughts going a mile a minute as he’s thinking about what he wants to say - other than confessing his love for you.

“So… uhm, we missed seeing you around the Tower,” Bucky starts, though you both know it’s mostly him who has missed seeing you there. You have always been a staple there during his mornings as you make him a cup of coffee, and during movie nights, you were always the one he could sit next to and enjoy the movie, but now that you’re not there, it’s like a piece of soul has left the Tower with you.

“I mean, yeah. It’s been a bit awkward for me to go back after what happened a few days ago,” you tell him, and a shudder of horror runs down your spine at the thought of having to face Tony again. A smile tugs at the corners of Bucky’s lips as he thinks back to what happened that night, a happy memory of your first meeting resurfacing in the back of his mind as he does.

“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. I’ve made some chocolate chip cookies, if you want some. However, I should warn you, Tony’s been on the prowl since I took them out of the oven, so I’ll advise you to be quick,” you say with a glare towards Tony, who has been eyeing them up since he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. For the first time in a long time, Bucky showed something akin to a smile, and everyone looked at each other to ensure they saw it, too.

“Thank you,” he says lowly, grabbing one of the smaller ones on the plate, followed by a cup of coffee, before swiftly leaving the kitchen to spend more time in his room. Before Bucky even left the kitchen, Tony was on the cookies as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and this time you let him.

“Can I- Is it okay if I tell you something? Because if I don’t say it now, I don’t know if I ever will,” Bucky says softly, and you nod before repositioning yourself so that you’re facing him. His gaze is still trained on his mug as he thinks carefully about his next words, afraid he might accidentally say the wrong thing.

“Tony was right. He is right, actually. When he said, we’re crushing on each other. I’ve been crushing on you since you offered me those chocolate chip cookies when Tony threatened to eat them all before anyone else had a chance to get them. It was like a switch flipped inside me back then, and I haven’t been the same since,” Bucky says, his mouth now in a line as he tells you about his feelings.

“Each time I look at you, it’s like I’m seeing an angel, and every time I hear your voice, it’s like a little piece of my soul is healing, too. I find myself drawn to you in every room and wonder what life has in store for us. But deep down inside, I know there is no ‘us’ yet. But I want there to be us. I want you, Y/N. I want you to be mine, in whatever capacity you’ll have me. If you want to stay friends, that’s okay with me, but if you want more, I’ll happily accept every bit of love you’re willing to offer me.”

Once Bucky’s done, you’re unsure what to say. What to think. What to do. You want to say that the feelings between you are mutual, that you’re in love with him and that you want nothing more than to be his, but something inside you is stopping you. So, instead of saying anything, you place your hand over his flesh limb, and his eyes slip shut at the feeling of your soft fingers against his rough hand.

“Bucky.” His name is a whisper on your lips, but it’s enough to make him look at you, to meet your gaze.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, Bucky carefully put his tea on the coffee table before hauling you onto his lap, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your waist as your lips interlock in a passionate dance. He can’t get enough of your soft mouth slotting together with his and the way his tongue fights for dominance with yours as your fingers dig into his neck. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt a strong connection with someone, and you’re happy to explore it with Bucky.

Your hips grind over his growing length of their own volition,your body looking for any bit of friction it can get. Without warning, one of Bucky’s hands slides lower until he’s cupping your ass, making you gasp into his mouth as a result. Bucky can’t help but smile into the kiss as he pulls you impossibly closer, your legs spreading just a bit further as you sink against his muscular body.

“Hmm, I’ve been wanting this - you - for so long,” he says between the kisses trailing your jaw towards your ear, his teeth nipping on your earlobe as your head lolls to the side. With every passing second, your thoughts are melting away more and more, and all that’s left inside your mind is Bucky. Soon, his other hand joins the first as he helps you grind onto him, a groan falling from his lips as he sets a perfect pace for you both.

“B-Bucky—" his name sounds more like a whine than anything else. “I—I want you.”

“But you already have me, pretty girl, ‘m right here,” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice, his hands continuing to help you grind until you’re a complete mess for him. Your shorts are ruined, your arousal soaking through them and onto the bulge in his black jeans, much to Bucky’s joy. He was wondering what it would take to get you to this point, and it turns out it won’t take much.

He smiles against the skin of your neck, where he’s taking his time to mark you with hickeys and small bitemarks, all of which leave you a bit more of a moaning, begging mess on his lap, much to his pride. When one of your hands moves away from his neck and down his torso, he quickly catches on to what you’re doing. “Someone’s a little impatient today, huh?”

“Yes, oh god, yes! I need you to touch me, Bucky. I want to feel you inside me as you make me fall apart on your cock, and I need you to fuck me like there’s no tomorrow!” Your voice sounds more breathy than usual, but every care you thought you had has gone out the window. All you want is Bucky and his cock to ride, until you’re orgasming so hard and long you can’t remember your name.

“Okay, I will. Don’t you worry about anything, okay? Let me take care of you, and I’ll give you everything you need and more,” he reassures you in a shushing voice. You nod before kissing him again, which immediately deepens before he gently helps you get up, allowing you to take off your panties and shorts, and he can take off his pants and boxershorts, too. As soon as you’re both freed from your last pieces of clothing, you hand him a condom you retrieved from the side table drawer while he took the time to undress himself.

“Hmmm, looks so thick,” you tell him as you look at it with wide eyes, wondering how he’s going to fit inside you as you’re positioning yourself on his lap once more, your legs bracketing his thicks thighs as you get comfortable.

“I know, but I’m gonna go slow. Wouldn’t want to hurt you and your perfect, sweet little pussy.” He smiles as he holds his cock in place, your pliant body sinking onto him slowly as your fingers dig into his shoulders to steady yourself. Your hiss of pleasure is audible and your face contorts at the slight sting of him stretching you, but just like he promised, Bucky is taking it slow to ensure you’ll both have the most amazing first time.

As soon as you’re fully seated on his lap, your body goes limp against him, your face tucked in the crook of his neck as you adjust to his girth, and Bucky places soft kisses on your head while praising you through it all. “You’re doing so well for me, baby. Such a good girl for me, letting me take the lead and giving you exactly what you need.”

A small smile appears on your face as you look up at him with big, doe-like eyes, and he can’t help but smile back as the back of his fingers gently caress your cheek. He may have thought you were beautiful before, but nothing compares to this moment. 

“I love you, Y/N, and I promise to take care of you with every fiber of my being,” he whispers, his lips sealing his promise against your cheek. Your eyes fall shut at his words, and his hand moves down your side until it’s on your hip again, ready for you to let him know when you’re good to go. Your bodies work in complete sync with one another with every rise and fall of your chest, and his hands guide you beautifully as you slowly sink and rise on his length.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, and it doesn’t take long for both of you to find your highs for the first time, and they’re serving as a promise of everything else that’s still to come in this lifetime. A few days ago, you and Bucky didn’t even know you felt the same about one another, but now you’re sharing the start of the rest of your lives, and it’s all thanks to Tony. Because without him, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the man of your dreams how much you love him.

Masterlist → Bucky Barnes

GIF: Source → All the other graphics you see are made by @vintagebuckybarnes

[theonottsbxtch]

MISS YOU BABY | MV1

an: i need a hug from max verstappen stat, based off this request! thank you for sending it :)

summary: max thought his girlfriend was missing his final race during his triple header, little did he know she'd planned to come and visit all along.

wc 3.6k

The hotel room she was in was quiet.

She sat cross-legged on the bed in a dark hotel room that mirrored his, only three floors below, making sure he couldn’t see her surroundings. Her phone was propped up against a pillow, and Max’s face filled the screen, his hair still damp from the shower, tousled and messy. He looked worn-out but managed a small, tired smile just for her.

"I’m sorry, Max. I really tried to get time off, but there was just… no way," she said, the fib slipping from her lips with surprising ease. "I wanted to be there with you. Especially now."

Max exhaled, leaning back against his headboard. “I know. It’s alright.” His voice softened. “I just miss you, is all. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek, wishing she could reach through the screen and wrap her arms around him. "You’ll get through it, though. You always do."

"Doesn’t feel that way." He laughed, but it was brittle around the edges. “I feel like I’m letting everyone down. The team, the fans… you.” His eyes searched the screen, as if he might find a solution hidden somewhere in her gaze.

"Never me." She leaned closer, her face so near to the camera that she could see her reflection in his eyes. "I’m so proud of you, Max. Always. No matter what."

For a moment, he just looked at her, his expression softening, and the tension she’d seen in his face for days seemed to melt, just a little. "I wish you were here," he murmured. "I swear, you’re the only thing that keeps me sane sometimes."

She swallowed, feeling her heart pull toward him with a force that was hard to resist. "Soon, I’ll be back with you. Just… hold on a bit longer, okay?”

She gazed at his face on the screen, her heart swelling as she watched the way his eyes softened every time he looked at her. She knew he was tired and worn down, but in this moment, he looked at peace.

"I love you, Max," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, and when he opened them again, there was a warmth there that seemed to cut through the miles between them. "I love you, too," he replied, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "More than you know."

She tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling her cheeks flush, and nodded. "Get some sleep, alright? Big day tomorrow."

He grinned. "Yeah, yeah. You, too. Dream about me, okay?"

She laughed, rolling her eyes, but her heart skipped all the same. "Always. Goodnight, Max."

"Goodnight, love."

With a final smile, she ended the call, letting the screen go dark as she leaned back into the pillows, her heart fluttering with anticipation. She’d hardly been able to sleep on the plane ride here, and she could already tell tonight would be the same.

Still, the thought of finally seeing him in person tomorrow kept her too giddy to care. She’d surprise him at the track, slipping through the garage just as he arrived, or maybe even at breakfast if she could manage it without spoiling the surprise. Her mind spun with ideas, each more elaborate than the last, but all she really wanted was to see his face light up when he realised she was there.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she let her eyes drift closed, replaying the moment over and over in her mind, savouring the thought of his reaction. She loved him fiercely, and she knew that being here—no matter how much of a secret she’d had to make it—was exactly where she was supposed to be.

As she finally began to drift off, her last thought was simple but bright, shining like a promise: Tomorrow, he’ll know.

And while she was glad she held onto the secret.

The following morning she wished she’d told him earlier.

She woke to the faint glow of her phone on the nightstand, her morning alarm. Blinking herself awake, she squinted at the screen and saw Max’s name, followed by the time—5:02 a.m.

Heading to the track early today. Miss you already, wish you were here.

She smiled, feeling that familiar warmth spreading through her chest. But then her heart sank a little. She’d been hoping to catch him in the hotel this morning, maybe surprise him over breakfast. Now, with him already gone, she'd have to adjust her plans.

Throwing back the covers, she got up and went to the window. Rain streaked down the glass in thick, heavy drops, and the sky was a murky grey. The weather was only supposed to get worse throughout the day; she knew that’d make things complicated, especially for an outdoor track. She had no clue if her surprise would even be worth the stress of navigating the drenched, crowded paddock.

After a moment’s hesitation, she tapped her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she reached the name she wanted. She dialled, and after a few rings, Max’s assistant, Sophie, picked up.

“Hey!” Sophie greeted, sounding pleasantly surprised. “What’s up? Did you make it in?”

“Yes, I’m here!” she whispered, unable to contain her excitement. “I wanted to surprise him before he heads out on track, but with this rain… do you think I should even bother?”

Sophie sighed sympathetically. “Honestly, it’s a mess out here. They’re saying the rain’s going to be even heavier by the time qualifying starts. He’ll be in back-to-back meetings until then, and I’d hate for you to sit in the rain, just to get a few minutes with him.”

She nodded, glancing out the window at the sheets of rain. “So you think I should wait?”

“I’d say hold off until right before the race,” Sophie replied. “He’ll have a short break, and I think he’d love the surprise then. Plus, everyone’s less frantic between qualifying and race prep.”

“Good point,” she agreed, a little disappointed but knowing Sophie was right. The track on a rainy race day was chaos, and if she could avoid it until the right moment, she’d have a better chance of actually spending time with him. “Thanks, Sophie. Let me know if anything changes?”

“Will do! He’ll be so happy to see you,” Sophie said warmly. “Hang tight, okay?”

As she hung up, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement, knowing the surprise would be even more perfect with the wait. So she ordered herself a coffee, sat by the window, and watched the rain pour down, imagining the look on Max’s face when he’d finally see her just before the most important race of the weekend.

The rain hadn’t let up by the time she arrived at the track, the skies dark and moody, the air thick with humidity. She’d navigated her way through security and weaving lines of drenched fans, her heart racing as she got closer to Max’s garage. But by the time she finally made it, he was already in the car, helmet on, visor down, his focus entirely on the track ahead.

Her heart sank a little as she scanned the bustling garage, hoping for some last chance to catch his eye. But he was already strapped in, a crew member leaning in to give him a final check before he rolled out. She spotted Sophie in the corner, scribbling something down on a clipboard, and made her way over to her.

“Hey,” she whispered, feeling the dampness of the rain still clinging to her hair and clothes. “I… I just missed him, didn’t I?”

Sophie looked up and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, he was swamped the moment he got here. They barely had time to get him settled with all the delays.” She gestured to the grid display above them, where Max’s name glowed beside the stark “P17” position. “Rough start, but he’ll be glad to know you’re here.”

She nodded, feeling a pang as she glanced at his car just as it rumbled to life. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel, even from a distance she could see the tension there. She let out a breath, feeling a swell of pride and worry all at once. “Well, I’ll be here watching, then.”

Sophie handed her a headset, which she slipped on just in time to hear his engineer’s voice crackle through with the first instructions as they prepared for the start. The rain was relentless, turning the track into a slick, treacherous maze, and she felt her stomach twist as the cars peeled out onto the track for the formation lap. Max’s car trailed near the back, but she knew he’d fight, as he always did, with a ferocity she both admired and feared in moments like this.

The race began, a chaotic blur of spray and metal, the cars kicking up rooster tails of water, visibility nearly zero as they fought for position. She gripped the edge of her seat as the laps ticked by, heart pounding with every close call. It quickly became clear that the conditions were only worsening, drivers struggling to keep their cars on track, a few even skidding off into barriers with loud, bone-jarring crashes. Her hands tightened around the headset as Max navigate his way forward, battling his way to P10, then P6.

And then, just when the tension seemed to reach its peak, there was a deafening crash, followed by a sudden hush as the red flag went up, halting the race.

Her breath caught in her throat. The screen above replayed the incident—a skidding into the barrier that had caused an emergency stop. The seconds felt like hours as she waited, desperately searching for a glimpse of his car on the feed. Finally, there it was, intact, safe. Relief flooded her, and she felt her shoulders sag.

The race restarted after the delay, and she watched in awe as Max took advantage of the reshuffled positions and tire changes, surging forward with a newfound intensity. Lap by lap, he clawed his way through the field, passing car after car with a precision that made her heart race. It was as if he’d transformed, harnessing every ounce of his frustration from the last few races, channelling it into something extraordinary.

The garage erupted in cheers as he moved into P3, then P1. She stared at the screen, hardly daring to blink, her heart racing as he crossed the finish line in first place, drenched in rain and glory.

She could hardly believe it. From P17 to P1. He’d done it.

Forgetting herself, she laughed, a sound of pure joy, her heart swelling as she watched him slow down, the victory finally sinking in. She couldn't wait to see his face when he finally realised she was here, to be the first person he’d see when he stepped out of that car, soaked and grinning, finally at the top.

Ripping her headset off, she followed the crew as they ran out to parc fermé, her heart racing as fast as the roar of the crowd. The team, buzzing with excitement, parted slightly as she joined them, nudging her to the front so she’d be the first face he saw. She could barely breathe as she caught sight of Max’s car, now still, the rain glistening on its blue-and-red bodywork.

With all the force he had he climbed out, pulling off his helmet to reveal damp, messy hair and a face lit up with exhilaration and disbelief. For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in the shouts of the crowd and the blinding flashes of cameras. And then, his gaze landed on her.

His eyes widened, his exhaustion and surprise giving way to pure joy. Without hesitation, he broke into a run, crossing the slick tarmac with the kind of speed and determination that made her heart leap. She barely had a second to react before he wrapped her in his arms, his lips crashing against hers as he pulled her close, his hands pressed firmly against her back, as if he still couldn’t believe she was real.

“You came,” he murmured breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at her, his face filled with awe and happiness.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she replied, her voice trembling with emotion, brushing a wet strand of hair from his face.

He smiled, a bright, unguarded smile that melted her heart. “God, I needed this. I needed you.”

And then he kissed her again, a kiss filled with all the missed moments and the words they hadn’t been able to say, the thrill of his victory mingling with the fierce love they shared. She felt the rain soak through her clothes, the crowd and the noise around them fading as they held each other, his arms wrapping around her as if he could protect her from the rest of the world.

“I still can’t believe it,” he whispered against her lips, his forehead resting against hers, his hand gently brushing her cheek. “P1. And you’re here.”

She laughed softly, her eyes shining. “You deserve it, Max. I knew you could do it.”

He held her close, a triumphant laugh bubbling from his chest as he buried his face in her neck, and they stood there in the pouring rain, lost in each other, savouring the victory and this long-awaited moment they both knew they’d never forget.

As the noise of the cheering crew and fans started to swell around them, Max pulled back slightly, brushing his thumb across her cheek, his gaze lingering on her face as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory.

“I have to go,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “The interviews, cool-down room, podium… but wait for me? I’ll meet you in my driver’s room as soon as I can.”

She nodded, understanding but already missing the warmth of his arms. “I’ll be waiting. Go,” she whispered, giving him a small smile. “Enjoy every second—you deserve it.”

He pressed one last, lingering kiss to her forehead, then turned and jogged off to join the waiting crew, helmet in hand, while she stayed rooted to her spot, watching him disappear into the crowd. Her heart swelled with pride as she trailed after the team to watch his interviews, his beaming, breathless face glowing with pride and energy as he spoke about the gruelling conditions and the unbelievable climb from P17 to P1.

Then came the cool-down room, where she watched from the sidelines as he bantered with the other drivers, sharing exhausted smiles and congratulatory claps on the back, the weight of his achievement settling in as he finally let himself relax a little. She couldn’t help but smile, feeling as though she could burst with joy just watching him, his eyes sparking with energy even as he looked ready to collapse from exhaustion.

And finally, the podium. She felt the crowd’s excitement echo through her as she looked up to see him standing tall, drenched from head to toe, a bottle of champagne in hand. When he raised it in victory, the crowd erupted, and she joined them, cheering at the top of her lungs as he sprayed champagne with abandon, laughing as he celebrated with the other drivers. His eyes swept over the crowd, and when they found hers, he gave a subtle nod, a silent promise that he’d be back with her soon.

After the podium, she made her way to his driver’s room, her heart fluttering as she paced the small space, the thrill of the day lingering in every fibre of her being. And then, finally, the door swung open, and there he was.

He looked completely worn out, his hair still damp and messy, his fireproof undersuit clinging to his skin. But his smile was bright, and his eyes lit up the moment he saw her.

Without a word, he crossed the room, pulling her into his arms, his lips finding hers in a soft, exhausted kiss. She melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as he held her close, the adrenaline and joy from his victory radiating between them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” he whispered against her ear, his voice low and hoarse. “Winning today… and having you here with me. It’s everything.”

She brushed a strand of damp hair from his face, smiling as she traced her fingers along his cheek. “You did it, Max. I’m so proud of you.”

He took her hand, pressing it to his heart, his eyes never leaving hers. “None of it would mean anything without you,” he said quietly, his voice steady.

She felt her eyes sting with tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his words. “I’m here,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ll always be here.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world slipping away. He stroked her hair, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, as if savouring each moment.

“Let’s get out of here,” he finally murmured, his voice warm and soft, “celebrate somewhere a little less chaotic.”

She laughed, nodding. “Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

They headed back to his hotel, hand in hand, a peaceful quiet settling over them as they left the track behind. Once in the privacy of his suite, he gave her a lingering kiss, then smiled, nodding toward the bathroom. “Give me a few minutes to wash off all the champagne and… probably half the track dust,” he said with a laugh.

She grinned, watching as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the suite a moment later. While he showered, she took the opportunity to pack up her things from her own room, gathering her scattered belongings quickly. The thrill of being close, of finally sharing a space for the night, filled her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the tropical heat outside.

By the time she returned, he was out of the shower, towelling off his damp hair, his expression softening as he took in the sight of her standing there with her things. Without a word, he crossed the room and took her bags from her hands, setting them by the closet as he gave her a smile that made her heart skip.

Once they’d both changed into fresh clothes—she’d opted for a simple dress, and he in casual jeans and a loose shirt—they slipped out of the hotel through a side exit, making their way to a tiny, tucked-away Brazilian restaurant that had been recommended. The place was hidden, small enough to be missed by the crowds, with soft, low lighting that created an intimate, cosy atmosphere. A few locals lingered around tables, but they paid little attention to the couple as they took a corner table in the back.

They ordered caipirinhas and he reached across the table to hold her hand, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her skin as they laughed over silly little things, shared stories from the past few weeks, and spoke of things beyond racing, beyond work, just slipping back into the easy flow they always shared. The food was rich and delicious—small plates of feijoada, grilled meats, and pão de queijo—everything flavorful and homey.

He leaned across the table, his eyes warm and filled with that familiar spark, as he watched her speak, clearly savouring every moment. “You know,” he said softly, “I think this is the best victory celebration I’ve ever had.”

She squeezed his hand, smiling back at him. “Same here. I missed just… being with you like this.”

They stayed until the restaurant closed, lingering over the last bites of dessert, letting the night stretch out as long as possible. Eventually, they headed back to the hotel, the city streets now quiet and still beneath the soft hum of streetlights.

Once back in his room, Max changed into a pair of soft pyjama bottoms, leaving his chest bare, his skin still warm from the shower. She slipped into one of his t-shirts, the fabric soft and oversized, the scent of him comforting and familiar. When she stepped out the bathroom, he was already waiting for her by the bed, his gaze softening as he took her in, a gentle smile curving on his lips.

Without a word, he reached for her, lacing his fingers through hers as he pulled her close, guiding her to the bed. She sank into the mattress beside him, and he wrapped an arm around her, drawing her against his chest, his fingertips trailing absently over her shoulder. She nestled into him, feeling his warmth seep through her, a cosy silence wrapping around them.

They lay there, tangled together, her head tucked beneath his chin as he gently traced circles on her back, his breath even and steady. He tilted her chin up, his eyes searching hers for a quiet moment before he leaned down, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss, filled with a tenderness that said everything words couldn’t. She kissed him back just as gently, savouring the intimacy of being close like this, the world beyond these walls feeling miles away.

When the kiss ended, he pressed his forehead to hers, a soft sigh escaping as he held her close, one hand settling over hers, fingers intertwined. They stayed that way, her head resting against his heartbeat, lulled by the steady rhythm.

Finally, they drifted off, still tangled in each other’s arms, wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of just being together. As the night settled around them, Max couldn’t help but smile, holding her a little closer as he slipped into sleep, his heart full and light.

Max couldn’t have wished for a better weekend.

the end.

[verstappenverse]

The Price of the Podium

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: In the relentless pursuit of racing glory, Max faces the emotional fallout of missing an important weekend in his relationship, leaving your future uncertain.

1.5k words / Masterlist

Max's heart raced as the engine of his RedBull roared beneath him. The familiar hum had become a source of comfort, a steady rhythm that guided him through countless laps and countless victories. But today it felt different—a harbinger of an approaching storm that threatened to dismantle everything he held dear.

The season had been merciless. Each race had been a relentless pursuit of perfection, each lap a battle against time and competitors. Max understood that this world demanded sacrifices but lately the weight of those sacrifices had become different.

When Max glanced at his phone during a fleeting moment of respite his stomach dropped as a surge of guilt swept over him. A string of missed calls and urgent messages from you filled the screen, each one more desperate than the last.

Hey, can you please call me when you get a chance? I need to talk to you.

Max, you’re really starting to worry me. I don’t understand what's going on?

It’s been three days since we spoke properly. Can you at least let me know you’re okay?

Max’s gaze fell on the calendar, he had promised again to visit your extended family this weekend a significant step for you both that had been previously filled with excitement and anticipation. Your family were eager to meet him, and Max had been looking forward to it as well. But now, with the punishing schedule of the season, he was struggling to find even a moment to breathe, let alone make the trip.

He knew he was being a coward, but it was easier to avoid the situation than confront it directly and risk letting down the person who mattered most.

As Max approached the racetrack for another testing session, the weight of his choices hit him like a sledgehammer. He was about to miss an important milestone in your life together and he didn't think you'd be so forgiving this time.

His mind was full of conflicting emotions. He wanted to be there for you, to prove to your family that he was serious about your relationship. But the world of racing had a way of consuming everything in its path leaving no room for personal commitments.

The testing session was a blur. Max’s driving was flawless, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The track blurred into an endless ribbon of asphalt. He pushed himself to the limit, hoping that the adrenaline would drown out the guilt gnawing at his conscience.

Finally, the session ended. Max’s team were in high spirits celebrating the improved performance. He barely registered their enthusiasm, his mind was occupied with the image of you waiting for him in a small town, wondering why he had not shown up. He could picture you there, waiting for him, checking the clock, wondering if he’d even bothered to leave. And it wasn’t just about this weekend—it was about every missed call, every text he hadn’t answered, every promise he’d let slide.

The moment Max stepped out of the car he took a deep breath and pulled out his phone. He dialed your number hoping against hope that you would answer. After a few rings your voice came through the line tinged with weariness and frustration.

“Max?”

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been out of touch.”

“Out of touch? You’ve been completely absent! I was supposed to introduce you to my family this weekend. It was important to me.”

“I know. I wanted to be there, but things just got out of hand here. I’ve been trying to make time, but…”

“But what Max? You keep saying you’re trying, but you’re never here. There's always an excuse.”

“I’m really sorry, I’ve been working so hard this season...I thought I could make it work, I just…”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear more excuses right now. You’ve missed something important to me again, and it hurts. I needed you here, and you weren’t.”

The silence on the other end of the line was heavy, almost unbearable. Max could feel the pain that you were struggling to mask, like a knife twisting in his gut. It cut him deeper than any criticism he’d ever faced on the track.

“Please. I know I messed up, I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“Make it up to me? I don’t even know if that’s possible anymore. This wasn’t like the other times when you just forgot or lost track of time; you made the choice not to come. I’ve tried to be understanding—I know how hard this season has been, and I know how much time and dedication it takes. I never wanted to undermine that. But I don’t know how much longer we can do this. I get it, you have to make tough choices sometimes, and I’ve done my best to support you, to step back and let you focus on your goals. But it’s happening too often now, and it feels like every time, you’re choosing this..this life over us. Over me. Every single time.”

Max’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to explain more, but he also knew that he couldn't keep making excuse for his absence, and he couldn’t bear to hurt you anymore. He’d run out of explanations, out of promises he knew he couldn’t keep. He wanted to say something, anything to fix it, but he could hear the finality in your voice. You’d reached a breaking point, one he’d seen coming but had been too afraid to acknowledge.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally whispered, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them.

The silence stretched on.

“I understand if you need space.” he murmured, barely able to get the words out, blinking back tears.

Your voice was barely a whisper throat locking up, it felt like he was giving up. Was this even worth fighting for if he wasn't?

Then, in a voice so small it broke his heart all over again, you whispered,“You’re right. Maybe space is what we need right now.'

The line went dead, leaving Max alone in the garage. The celebration of the session’s success felt hollow. The echoes of the track still rang in his ears mingling with the ache of your absence.

In the days that followed Max tried to bury himself in the upcoming races, hoping that the endless rush would drown out the regret gnawing at him. He avoided reaching out to you honouring your request for space. Each day felt like an endless rotation of driving, media commitments, and sleepless nights. The thrill of racing was overshadowed by the growing distance between you and him.

You had always been patient and understanding of the demands of Max’s career. You had supported him through the highs and lows, celebrating his victories and comforting him through the losses, but it hadn’t been enough. Each missed call and unanswered message chipped away at your resolve. You couldn’t keep repeating the same cycles and expecting a different result. The weekend you had planned for Max to meet your family was meant to be a milestone, a step toward a future together. Instead, it felt like a crushing disappointment.

You replayed the conversations you had with Max in your mind, trying to reconcile the man you loved with the absence he had become. You had pictured this weekend as a chance for Max to understand the importance of your family, to see the life you had outside of his world. The hurt and frustration you felt were compounded by a growing sense of doubt—doubt that maybe this life of constant motion had created a rift too wide to bridge.

You needed time to process the hurt, to focus on yourself and figure out where to go from here. The support you had hoped for seemed distant and unreliable, and the future you had envisioned together felt uncertain.

Loving him had been a beautiful dream, but you knew it was time, you hesitated just a moment before hitting send.

Max,

I need you to know that I’m not angry anymore. I’m just… tired. I need to focus on myself right now.

You

Max read the message over and over, his hands trembling. The message was brief and seemingly final. The reality of your words sank in, there was no dramatic declarations, no harsh accusations, just a simple statement of exhaustion, a quiet resignation that tore through him. He wanted to call, to beg you to come back, but he knew it was too late.

As the season drew to a close, Max stood on the podium, the roar of the crowd a distant echo, his gaze searching as if somehow he’d see you there. The trophy was in his hands, but it didn't feel like he had expected. He looked out over the crowd searching for a sense of fulfilment that seemed to elude him, it all felt like ashes without you beside him.

Max only thought of you as he stood amidst the celebrations, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that in the pursuit of his dreams he had sacrificed something far more precious, and wondered if there was a path back to what he had lost.

[voyter]

DEVOTION — jeon jungkook.

genre. a song of ice and fire au. 103 AC. smut. knight!jungkook. queen!reader.

your knight is completely devoted to you, and while it’s his duty, you can’t help but wonder if there’s something more behind his unwavering loyalty.

word count. 17.1k words (FUCK i am so sorry) warnings. this fic might be a bit confusing if you havent watched game of thrones or house of the dragon !!! misogyny. gender dynamics. seokjin and namjoon cameo hehe. forced / arranged marriage. over protective jungkook <3. cute convo between oc and her husband. violence. mentions of blood and murder. SO MUCH FUCKING TENSION. smut. two sex scenes !! dry humping. oral (male!receiving). unprotected sex (this universe takes place thousands of years ago and condoms didnt exist yet give me a break). bath sex. they almost get caught OOP. cheating (but both parties are consenting and they both openly do it to each other but they dont love each other romantically so its okay i guess) ???? jungkook literally worships her oh im sick i need him.

seven's notes. this fic ended up being much longer than i anticipated but oh my gosh i literally could NOT STOP WRITING !!! this is the longest fic ive ever written hello. this is inspired by alicent and coles relationship in season 2. sorry i hate them but this trope ??? OUUU TOO GOOD. so you know i got inspired. anyways, i love this one so much, so please let me know your thoughts <3. as always, keep your comments positive or say nothing at all xx

listening to. blue jeans by lana del rey / middle of the night by elley duhé / flawless by the neighbourhood

part of the based off film series. this one shot is based off house of the dragon.

You had always hated the idea of marrying someone you didn’t love, but you knew that marriage was not a choice — it was an obligation woven into the fabric of your destiny. Though reluctance filled you at first, you gradually came to terms with your duty, accepting the role thrust upon you with a measure of peace.

House Emberwyn ruled the Seven Kingdoms, making them the most powerful house of all. Your father had forged a deep bond with King Aelyx, the two men connected by the shared grief of losing their wives. Beyond their friendship, your father was adamant that uniting your houses through marriage was crucial. He envisioned a future where the intertwining of two powerful, wealthy legacies would forge an unbreakable realm.

Atticus, the son of King Aelyx, was only a year older than you — making him a suitable match. Like you, he was reluctant to marry, but he, too, understood the importance of duty. He wanted nothing more than to make his father proud, even if it meant sacrificing personal desire.

As the sole heirs of your respective houses, the pressure to produce children was immediate. The act of intimacy with Atticus was never one of passion or love; it was merely another duty. The first time was uncomfortable, almost unbearable, but over time, you learned to tolerate it. This was your life now, dictated by duty rather than desire.

Since your marriage, you have been blessed with three children. Ares, your eldest and only son, was conceived during your bedding ceremony. Now a boy of one and ten, he is wise beyond his years, his sharp mind driven by a deep love for books and knowledge. Celeste, your first daughter, is nine years old — a whirlwind of wild, unrestrained energy that seems impossible to contain. Already, she’s been eagerly awaiting the day she can take to the skies on dragonback, her spirit far older than her years. Then there is Luna, your youngest and newest addition to the family, a radiant little soul who brings warmth and light into every corner of your life. She is the calm of the storm, a small but powerful source of joy that never fails to lift your spirits, no matter how heavy the burdens of the day.

Atticus is a good father, never neglecting his children. He is present in their lives, providing for them with steadfast love and care. As a husband, he is kind and dutiful. Yet, despite all his virtues, he is not the love of your life.

The two of you had come to an agreement early in your marriage: you were free to seek pleasure where you wished, as long as heirs were made with each other. It was a compromise, one that allowed you both to navigate the confines of your duty while maintaining some semblance of personal freedom.

Tragedy struck shortly after Celeste’s birth when King Aelyx succumbed to an unknown illness. The crown passed to Atticus, and with it came the immense burden of ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

With Atticus as king, you became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, unlike your husband, you did not feel the same pressure. Your days were mostly spent within the confines of your chambers, where the laughter and antics of your children filled your life with light and purpose. Despite never having known your own mother — she had died giving birth to you — you felt as though motherhood had always been your calling.

While you wouldn’t trade your life for anything in the world, motherhood came with its challenges. Ares and Celeste were at the age where they bickered endlessly over the smallest of things — whether it was toys, attention, or simply to see who could get on your nerves first. Their constant squabbles were a source of frustration, and yet you knew it was a phase they would eventually outgrow. Luna, on the other hand, still so small and newly born, could not seem to stop crying. Her wails often filled the castle, and while the maids were always close by, ready to assist, you never allowed them to. You wanted your daughter to find comfort in your arms, not anyone else’s.

There were days when calming her down felt like a losing battle, the hours stretching into what felt like an eternity. But when you finally succeeded, when her cries quieted and her tiny form melted into sleep, it filled you with a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory in a life full of larger, weightier battles.

Fortunately, today was one of the easier days. Luna wasn’t feeling particularly fussy, and after a few gentle rocks and soft pats on her back, she fell asleep in your arms without much protest. Relief washed over you as you gazed down at her peaceful face, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The soft warmth of her against you, the quiet of the room, made you feel like, for a moment, everything was right.

“Your Grace?”

A voice interrupted your quiet reverie, but you didn’t turn. Your eyes remained fixed on Luna, unwilling to break the fragile serenity of the moment. You hummed in response, acknowledging the speaker but unable to tear your gaze from your sleeping daughter.

“Your presence is wanted, though not required, Your Grace.”

The words draw you from your thoughts, and with a soft sigh, you finally turn to face the speaker. It’s the Lord Commander, standing tall and imposing, his armor catching the dim light filtering through the windows.

“What for?” you ask, your voice calm but laced with curiosity.

“The Kingsguard posting,” he replies, his tone formal, as always. “It’s been suggested that you select who will guard the Red Keep.”

You consider his words, your gaze drifting back to Luna, still fast asleep in your arms. The thought of placing your trust in someone else, of relying on others to protect what matters most, brings a weight to your chest. As a mother, your first instinct is always to shield your children. You would want nothing more than for them to roam the castle freely, knowing they were surrounded by those you trusted — those you handpicked.

“I suppose,” you murmur.

After carefully setting Luna in her crib, you linger for a moment, brushing a tender hand over her soft cheek. Ensuring the maids were nearby to watch over her, you quietly slip from the nursery and follow the Lord Commander through the castle's stone corridors. Your thoughts remain on Luna for a heartbeat longer before shifting to the matter at hand — choosing the knights who would guard your family, your children.

You arrive at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where a line of knights stands at attention, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. The air is crisp, the tension palpable as each knight awaits his turn to be presented.

The Lord Commander steps forward, his voice ringing with authority. "Step forward, Ser Kim Namjoon."

The knight moves with a quiet confidence, offering you a small, almost shy smile. Dimples crease his cheeks, and despite the serious nature of the proceedings, you find yourself smiling back, charmed by the warmth in his expression.

"Ser Namjoon has proved strong and steady in both the tourney lists and in service beyond," the Lord Commander begins. "While traveling through the Kingswood on the way to King’s Landing, Ser Namjoon recently brought a would-be poacher to justice."

You listen carefully, considering the man before you. His loyalty and steadiness are clear, and his recent actions speak of a knight who serves with honor. Still, your mind drifts to a darker, more urgent thought — combat. The Red Keep, and more importantly, your children, needed knights who were not only honorable but battle hardened. In these uncertain times, loyalty alone would not be enough. 

"Ser Namjoon," you say, your voice polite yet measured. "We thank you for your loyal service to the Crown."

He bows deeply before stepping back into line, and you offer him a nod in return, though your thoughts continue to circle around the same question — how many of these knights had seen true combat?

The next knight steps forward, and your gaze narrows as you take him in.

"Ser Kim Seokjin," the Lord Commander announces.

This knight is taller, leaner than Namjoon. He holds himself with a quiet grace, his expression serious, but there's a spark of something beneath the surface — determination perhaps, or ambition.

"Winner of the melee at Cider Hall," the Lord Commander continues. "He was the last mounted of three and twenty knights. Ser Seokjin was knighted at eight and ten."

You raise an eyebrow, impressed by his accomplishments. Yet, your thoughts linger on something more pressing, more crucial to the protection of your family.

"Do any of these knights have combat experience?" you ask, your tone sharper now. "Beyond capturing poachers and winning tourneys?"

The Lord Commander nods solemnly, signaling the next candidate.

“Ser Jeon Jungkook.”

As the name is called, a young knight steps forward, noticeably younger than the others who had come before him. Yet, despite his youth, he carries himself with an air of quiet confidence, his steps measured and purposeful. Strands of raven hair fall loosely across his forehead, framing a face that, while youthful, is sharp with focus. His dark eyes meet yours with a steady gaze, neither too bold nor deferent — he stands unshaken by the weight of the moment.

He looks about your age, perhaps even younger, and though he lacks the grizzled scars of a seasoned warrior, something about him immediately draws your attention. There's a natural grace in the way he moves, his armor fitting him perfectly as if he was born to wear it. He’s quite handsome, a fact you can’t help but notice as he stands before you, the light of the setting sun casting a faint glow over his features.

"Tell me, Ser Jungkook," you say, breaking the silence, "have you seen real combat?"

He doesn’t falter, his voice steady as he speaks. "I have, Your Grace. I fought for a year as a foot soldier against the Dornish incursions. I was knighted after we razed two of the watchtowers along the Boneway.”

There is no hesitation in his tone, no embellishment. The quiet intensity of his words, the weight of lived experience behind them, strikes you deeply. His demeanor isn't that of a man seeking glory but of one who has already faced the fire and come out stronger for it. In that moment, your decision feels clear.

“It’s settled.” Your lips curve into a smile, one of certainty and satisfaction. “I choose Ser Jungkook.”

The Lord Commander stiffens slightly, his jaw tensing as though weighing whether to speak. Before you can take a step back toward your chambers, his voice interrupts, filled with respectful hesitation. "Perhaps we shouldn’t be too hasty, Your Grace. There is no doubt Ser Jungkook is a fine warrior, but Ser Namjoon and Ser Seokjin are from houses that are important allies of the Crown."

You turn slowly, your expression cool but firm. The politicking of the court — alliances, the endless exchange of favors and titles — was something you understood all too well. Yet, this was not a matter of alliances. This was the safety of your family, the future of your children. And no amount of courtly maneuvering could change that.

“Those men are tourney knights,” you say, your voice laced with a sharp edge. “My children should be defended by a man who’s known real combat. Should they not?”

The Lord Commander pauses, his gaze flickering between the knights and your unwavering stance. He gives a short bow, conceding. “Of course, Your Grace.”

You nod once, satisfied. “Very well, then,” you say, a smile returning to your face, though this time with a sense of finality. “I expect you to plan Ser Jungkook’s investiture.”

There’s a flicker of something in the Lord Commander’s eyes — perhaps begrudging respect or recognition of your authority in this matter. He bows once more before stepping aside. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will see to it.”

As the days passed, it became clear that your decision to appoint Ser Jungkook was more than justified.

Jungkook proved himself an unwavering presence in the lives of your children. He guarded Ares and Celeste like a loyal hound, always at their side, his dark eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. Wherever they went — whether it was the training yard where Ares spent hours practicing swordplay or the garden where Celeste attempted to name every flower — Jungkook followed, his sight never leaving them.

In the corridors of the Red Keep, you would often catch glimpses of him, stationed at the door to whatever chamber Ares and Celeste had wandered into, standing with that same quiet intensity that first caught your attention. He never intruded upon their activities, never interfered with their games, but his presence was felt all the same. He was a silent sentinel, ensuring that no one entered or exited a room without his knowledge.

Even the servants and court members began to take note, offering respectful nods as they passed him. There was a certain respect that began to build around Jungkook, not just as a knight, but as a protector of the royal family — of your family.

Before Ser Jungkook’s arrival, the Red Keep had always felt secure. Its towering walls and seasoned guards provided a fortress of safety, a place where danger rarely crossed your mind. Yet, somehow, with Jungkook’s arrival, there was a new, tangible sense of protection. His presence, quiet yet vigilant, added an extra layer of assurance, as if the very air had shifted, growing thicker with safety, steadier with his watchful eye. He didn’t need to speak or make grand gestures; just knowing he was there, standing mere feet away from you, made the castle feel more fortified than it ever had before.

In many ways, he made you feel like that too — protected, even in the smallest, unspoken ways.

The Small Council was always the most grueling part of your day. Despite your title as Queen, you found yourself constantly sidelined, your voice often drowned out by the men who dominated the discussions. You had grown accustomed to their subtle condescension — the way they’d nod and pretend to listen, only to carry on as if your words had never been spoken. You’d learned to expect it, but the sting of dismissal never faded entirely.

And today was no different.

As you took your seat, Jungkook stood nearby, ever the silent sentinel. He’d grown adept at reading you, his dark eyes keenly observing the smallest shift in your demeanor. He noticed how, at first, you entered the room with a composed grace, ready to engage in the matters at hand. But as the meeting dragged on, frustration began to creep in, visible in the slight tightening of your jaw each time a man at the table spoke over you or dismissed your suggestions with a polite but infuriating nod.

Jungkook’s eyes followed the subtle changes — the way your posture stiffened, the soft sigh you tried to suppress, and then, finally, the way boredom started to settle in as you reached for the small stone ball on the table, rolling it between your fingers absentmindedly. He knew you were doing your best to remain patient, but the disrespect weighed heavily in the room.

His hand instinctively twitched at his side, a protective instinct rising within him as he stood there watching. He was ready to intervene if the moment called for it, though he knew better than to step in unless absolutely necessary. Still, his silent support was palpable, a reassuring presence amidst the clamor of men who failed to see the strength in the woman before them.

“Perhaps we should discuss Driftmark, Your Grace,” the Maester began, his voice too casual for the gravity of the subject. He directed his attention toward your husband, but the mention of Driftmark instantly drew you in, pulling you from your growing boredom. You straightened in your seat, the defensiveness in your posture clear.

“What of it?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, the raw emotion behind it hard to suppress. Driftmark wasn’t just a topic for idle conversation — it was family. Personal. The loss of the Lord of the Tides, your cousin’s husband, had been a blow that still lingered, and the aftermath of it weighed heavily on your heart.

He had been more than just family; he had adored your children as if they were his own, even naming your daughter, Celeste, as his heir. It was an honor, though one with its own set of complications. With Ares set to inherit the Iron Throne, Celeste was to inherit Driftmark. Your cousin, devastated by the loss of her husband and without heirs of her own, was to hold the seat in her stead until Celeste came of age.

The Maester’s eyes flickered between you and your husband, clearly aware of the tension in the room but too entrenched in his own position to approach the subject delicately. He cleared his throat, then spoke with a tone that bordered on patronizing. “It’s... a delicate matter, Your Grace. There are those who believe the succession should be reconsidered, given your daughter’s age. Furthermore, some question the wisdom of naming a girl as heir to such a powerful seat.”

Your stomach tightened, fury simmering beneath the surface. A girl. As if Celeste’s age or gender diminished her worth, her potential. You could feel the disdain, not just for your daughter, but for the very idea of a woman wielding such power.

You held the Maester’s gaze, your voice sharp with barely concealed fury. “And do you agree with them?”

The chamber seemed to freeze in that moment, the weight of your words pressing down on everyone in the room. All eyes flickered nervously between you and the Maester, the tension palpable as if even the air had thickened, making it harder to breathe. Everyone braced themselves for the confrontation that was surely coming.

The Maester, sensing the chance to finally reveal his true thoughts, straightened in his seat, his chest puffing out as arrogance replaced caution. He no longer glanced toward your husband for approval; instead, his focus was solely on you, his eyes glinting with condescension.

“A woman on the Driftwood Throne, Your Grace?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “Forgive my candor, but Driftmark is not some soft and delicate estate. It is a seat of warriors, sailors, men of the sea and battle. Its history is steeped in strength and tradition. To put a mere girl — no matter her bloodline — on that chair is folly, plain and simple. A woman’s place is in the home, tending to hearth and children, not commanding fleets or sitting in council chambers. The late Lord has a brother who would make a fine new Lord, more befitting the legacy.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your hands tightening into fists. “His brother has no desire for rule!” you shot back, your temper dangerously close to boiling over. “Celeste is his rightful heir. It was his wish, and it will not be questioned!”

The Maester, unfazed, continues. “Your Grace… with all due respect, your daughter is but a child. A girl of her age should be concerned with dolls and dresses, not the governance of a seat as vital as Driftmark. There are many in the realm who would argue that Driftmark deserves a stronger hand. A male heir, one capable of steering the course of the future, as tradition demands. Perhaps it is time to reconsider your decision, before it’s too late. Before the realm begins to question not only Driftmark’s future, but the Queen’s judgment as well.”

The insult hung in the air like a storm cloud, casting a heavy, suffocating tension over the room. The audacity — the sheer gall of the Maester to question not only your daughter’s right but your authority as Queen. Fury simmered beneath your composed exterior, your hand twitching as though you might lash out.

But before you could muster a response, Jungkook was already moving.

“You will watch your tongue when speaking to the Queen, Maester,” Jungkook’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble, carrying the unmistakable weight of a threat. His usually calm demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more menacing. “Or it shall be taken from you.”

The room seemed to shrink around the Maester, all eyes now on him as the color drained from his face. His earlier arrogance dissolved in an instant, replaced with wide-eyed panic. The man who had dared to question your daughter’s birthright now looked as though he might faint from fear.

“I- I meant no offense, Ser Jungkook,” the Maester stammered, his words tumbling over themselves in a desperate attempt to backpedal. His gaze flickered nervously from you to Jungkook, searching for some kind of escape.

“You did,” Jungkook cut him off sharply, his tone like the edge of a blade. His gaze bore into the Maester, unyielding, unwavering. “And I will remind you once more: mind your tongue.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the threat hanging in the air like a blade, and no one doubted that Jungkook would make good on his promise if pushed further.

You turned your gaze to Jungkook, barely concealing your silent shock. The man who stood just feet away, usually so quiet and composed, always speaking only when spoken to, had stepped in to defend you — boldly, without hesitation. The gesture was unexpected, and for a moment, you were struck by the kindness and protectiveness it held.

It was not just the words he had spoken, but the intensity behind them, the clear signal that he would tolerate no disrespect toward you. In a room full of lords and courtiers who often dismissed your voice, Jungkook’s sudden defense felt like a rare and precious show of loyalty. Uncommon as it was, it left a warmth spreading in your chest, a silent but deeply felt appreciation.

Jungkook still hadn’t met your eyes, his intense gaze fixed on the Maester, the disapproval and disgust etched in his expression radiating an aura so fierce, it was almost frightening. He stood there like a wall of steel, silently daring anyone to challenge him again.

You turned your attention back to the Maester, who now squirmed under the weight of the moment. His once confident, condescending exterior had crumbled, now sitting timidly in his seat.

“Celeste is the rightful heir,” you stated, your voice even and composed, though laced with quiet authority. “She will rule Driftmark, and she will do so just as well as any man ever could. Anyone who questions that,” you paused, allowing the weight of your words to settle over the room, “will regret it.”

The Maester lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze, his earlier arrogance completely shattered. “Of course, Your Grace. Please, forgive my words.”

Jungkook didn’t move an inch, his focus still locked onto the Maester like a hawk waiting for the slightest wrong move. The room felt smaller, the tension almost suffocating as the Maester’s earlier confidence reduced to a pitiful murmur.

“See that you don’t forget that again,” you said, your tone final and cold, leaving no room for further argument.

With that, you stood up from your seat, the weight of the moment still hanging heavy in the air. Without another word, you turned on your heel and made your way out of the courtroom, every step deliberate, your posture unyielding. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as you moved, a quiet power radiating from you that demanded respect.

Jungkook, as ever, was by your side in an instant, but he kept a respectful distance, just enough to remain a silent protector, his presence still like a shield around you. His footsteps were measured, the sound of his boots echoing softly in the corridors, and yet there was an undeniable sense of security in the space between you two. No words were exchanged as you made your way to your chamber — there was no need for them. His silent solidarity was all you required.

Jungkook’s presence was reassuring, like the calm after a storm, and it made the weight of leadership — of being Queen — just a little easier to bear.

After the heat of earlier’s events, the last thing you wanted was to step foot back into the chaos of the court. The weight of the Maester’s words still lingered in the air, and you felt the need to retreat, to recharge in the only place that felt truly like yours. So, you didn’t leave your chambers for the rest of the day. You took the rare opportunity to unwind, the need for solitude outweighing any further obligations for the day.

Without a second thought, you changed into your nightgown well before the moon rose, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the tense weight of your court attire. You moved with practiced ease, the familiar ritual of shedding the day’s responsibilities easing the knots in your shoulders. 

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a warm glow that danced across the room. You sank into the couch, the cushions molding to your body as you settled in front of the flames. With a book in hand, you opened the pages, the words inviting you into another world — a world where you could forget, if only for a moment, the burdens of being Queen.

You lost yourself in the story, the flicker of the fire keeping time with the rhythm of your reading. Outside your window, the castle was quiet, the usual noise of the corridors muted by the sanctuary of your chamber. For the first time that day, you felt a sense of peace. The world outside could wait. Here, in the comfort of your own space, you could simply be.

But just as the fire’s soft, flickering glow began to lull you deeper into peace, a knock at the door broke the fragile silence, its sound sharp and intrusive. A flicker of annoyance stirred within you — someone daring to interrupt the quiet sanctuary of your evening. But then, a familiar voice, calm and steady, followed.

“Your Grace?”

It’s him.

You took a slow breath, the irritation melting away at the sound of his voice, and called softly, “Come in, Ser Jungkook.”

The door creaked open, but Jungkook didn’t immediately step inside. He stood just beyond the threshold, his tall frame framed by the dim light spilling from the hall, casting long shadows across the stone floor. There was something endearing in the way he paused there, as though uncertain, hesitating to cross the boundary of your private space without your explicit permission. His respect for the sanctity of your chambers was something rare, a simple act that made him stand out even more.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, like the evening air itself. “I’ve just come to alert you that the children are abed.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

What you didn’t know was that the children had been in bed for some time. Jungkook had only alerted you now because he was standing just outside your door, hesitating. He wasn’t sure if he should disturb your peace with the news. Still new to this role, he was uncertain of how to balance his duties with the delicate art of discretion.

“Thank you, Ser Jungkook,” you said, your tone warm with gratitude. “I would appreciate it if you informed me every night from now on.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Sleep well.” Jungkook gave a respectful nod, his voice as steady and sincere as ever, and he turned to leave.

“Ser Jungkook,” you called again, before he could close the door behind him.

He paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe, his dark eyes meeting yours in the soft, flickering firelight. For a brief moment, the noise of the castle seemed to fall away, the crackling fire the only sound that filled the space between you. It was rare, these moments of true stillness, where it was just the two of you, no interruptions, no duties weighing on either of your shoulders. The warmth from the fire cast a soft glow over him, accentuating the quiet strength in his features.

For the first time, you found yourself truly looking at him — not just the protector of your children, not just the present knight, but Jungkook. 

“I’ve yet to thank you for earlier — in the Small Council chamber,” you said softly, your voice quiet but earnest. “I appreciate your defense. Thank you.”

The words hung between you for a moment, carrying a weight that felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t just the defense itself, though that was significant; it was the quiet way he had stood up for you. Jungkook had always been the silent one, always just there, standing in the background. But today, he had been more. He had spoken when no one else had. His simple act of defending you meant more than you could say.

Jungkook’s posture softened at your words, though his expression remained composed, his usual stoic demeanor intact. Yet, as he held your gaze, his dark eyes seemed to linger a moment longer than usual, a subtle warmth settling in his look that wasn’t often there. It was as though the space between you both had shifted, the heavy tension of the day dissolving into something quieter, almost comforting.

“It was nothing, Your Grace. You need not thank me,” he replied, his voice low and measured, though there was something beneath it — something genuine, almost vulnerable, that made the words feel different from his usual calm, detached responses. His eyes remained steady on yours, and for a moment, the usual distance between you seemed to shrink, as though he was offering something unspoken, something more than just a knight’s duty. “You shouldn’t have to endure that kind of disrespect. It’s my duty to protect you, in all ways.”

You gave a soft nod, absorbing the weight of his words. Jungkook was a constant in your life — a silent guardian who stood watch over both your children and yourself. But hearing him speak of protecting you in such a way, so plainly and honestly, stirred something within you. It wasn’t just your children that mattered to him; it was you, as well. 

“You do more than protect,” you said, your voice softer now, the weariness of the day gradually easing. “Your actions today… they meant more than you know.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched at the corners, acknowledging your words, but he didn’t respond right away. There was a brief silence between you both, the fire’s crackling embers filling the stillness as he shifted his weight, his stance still as rigid as ever, but now, a slight tension in his shoulders had eased.

“If there’s ever anything you need, Your Grace,” he said finally, his tone softer than it had been moments before, but with an underlying firmness that conveyed his commitment, “I am here.”

The sincerity in his voice wrapped around you like a quiet promise, steady and unwavering. The light of the fire caught on his features, casting soft shadows over his face, making his usually guarded expression seem less distant, more human. You felt a sense of peace settling into the space between you both, a momentary connection that felt more genuine than anything that had passed between you in the public eye.

“Thank you,” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, finding comfort in the rare, honest exchange.

Jungkook inclined his head once more, his expression softening in a way that was unusual for him — a small, but genuine smile curling his lips, the warmth of it making him seem more approachable, more... real.

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” he said quietly, voice full of respect, but also something else — something deeper.

“Goodnight, Ser Jungkook,” you murmured in return.

With that, he turned and moved to close the door behind him, the soft click of the latch signaling his departure. But as the door clicked shut, you realized that this time, you didn’t feel the usual solitude. There was something different. Something comforting. Something exciting that made the pit of your stomach feel funny, in knowing he was standing just outside your door.

Just the barrier of wood between you two.

The next day unfolded much more peacefully than the last. 

You sat on the floor of your chamber, the luxurious fabric of your gown pooling around you like a soft sea of silk. The quiet of the room was comforting as you focused on the delicate task in front of you — embroidering a blanket for Luna. Each stitch was a calming motion, your mind momentarily free of the weight of royal duties. 

You hadn’t seen Jungkook yet, but his presence lingered in your thoughts, like an unspoken promise. The anticipation of his arrival stirred a quiet excitement within you, though you had no idea when he might appear. 

The silence was broken by your husband's voice, cutting through the peaceful air as he entered without knocking, his tone casual. “How are you feeling today?”

You glanced up briefly, meeting his eyes before returning to your work. “Better,” you answered, the edges of your lips curving into a faint smile.

“Good,” Atticus replied, smirking as he made his way over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Do you think you’ll be attending the Small Council today?”

You hesitated, the thought of sitting through another long, tedious session filling you with a quiet reluctance. “No… if that’s alright?” you replied, your tone tentative, not wanting to seem too dismissive of his suggestion.

“Of course,” Atticus said, lifting the goblet to his lips. His eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he added, “But I’ll have you know, I’ve hired a new Maester.”

The words hit you like a spark, and without thinking, you put your needle down. The sudden shift in the conversation caught your attention fully. Your eyes locked onto him, eyebrows raised in surprise. The idea of a new Maester was unexpected — and it immediately piqued your curiosity.

"Are you upset about that?" you asked, your voice soft and laced with a hint of apology, eyes searching his face for any sign of how he truly felt.

Atticus paused, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, and he set the goblet down gently on the table. "I could never be upset with you for only standing up for yourself," he said, his voice steady, though there was an underlying heat to his words. "And someone as disrespectful as that will not continue to walk around in this castle."

His declaration was resolute, filled with a quiet determination. The confidence in his voice was not just from his position, but from a place of deep respect for you. It was as if he had taken the full weight of your frustration upon himself, and the fire behind his words showed that he would do whatever it took to ensure you never had to endure such treatment again. 

You smile warmly at his words. "Thank you, Atticus."

He pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips, his fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. "You know, as much as I’m not in love with you," he says slowly, his tone more thoughtful than usual, "I still love you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, the raw honesty in his voice bringing a quiet comfort. It wasn't the passionate declaration of romance you might have hoped for, but it was the kind of love that ran deep — steady, consistent, unshakable. 

You meet his gaze, and your heart softens with understanding. "As do I," you reply, your voice gentle but genuine. 

It wasn’t the kind of love that others might expect, filled with grand gestures and whispered sweet nothings. But in its own way, it was a love that had stood the test of time. It isn’t passionate, but there’s a respect and understanding between the two of you that runs deep.

“Now,” Atticus says, his voice low, teasing. “Can we talk about your knight in shining armor?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smirk that tugs at your lips. “Oh Gods,” you say, the edge of amusement clear in your voice as you go back to your needlework.

“Oh, come on,” he whines, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “I let you pick, now you have to tell me all about him!”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “It was you who suggested I pick?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you’d feel more content choosing someone yourself.”

“I do,” you reply with a small smile, returning to your embroidery. “It was a wise suggestion.”

“Oh, don’t change the subject now!” He motions with a dramatic hand. “What was that about yesterday?”

“He was just defending me,” you say, hoping to dismiss the conversation, though you’re well aware it won’t be that easy.

Atticus lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes in dramatic fashion. “No knight is that devoted to duty, my dear wife.”

His words make you pause, but you try not to let it show. Still, a smile begins to creep onto your lips, unbidden. You hadn’t really allowed yourself to think about it that way. Jungkook had always been quiet, loyal, reliable — but devoted in the way Atticus is hinting? It’s a thought that stirs something unexpected in you.

“Well, believe it or not,” you say, unable to stop the small grin now, “we’ve spoken to each other only a few times.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly, clearly entertained. “Is that so? And yet, with little words between you, he’s ready to challenge a room full of lords for your honor. Fascinating.”

You roll your eyes, returning to your needlework in an attempt to focus, but your mind can’t help but drift back to Jungkook. The memory of his voice, steady and unyielding as he defended you, lingers. Maybe Atticus has a point, but admitting that would only fuel his relentless teasing.

“He’s just dutiful,” you insist, though even you can hear the uncertainty creeping into your voice. 

Atticus catches it too, and his smirk widens as he takes a slow, deliberate sip from his goblet. “Dutiful because he loves his duty? Or because of you?”

Your cheeks flush instantly, the warmth creeping up your neck as you try to brush off the insinuation. “You’re reading into this too much,” you mumble, focusing on the embroidery in your lap, though your needlework suddenly seems less interesting.

“Am I?” Atticus drawls, stepping closer, his tone playful but probing. “Did you solely choose him because of his skills?”

You glance up at him briefly, trying to suppress a smile. “Are you implying something?”

He shrugs, the smirk on his lips widening. “Well, did you?”

“I did!” you exclaim, the words tumbling out a little too quickly, as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him. You glance up at Atticus, catching the amused gleam in his eyes. “He’s excellent with the children, and he strikes the perfect balance around here — intimidating enough to make it clear no one should challenge him, but not so much that the children are frightened. I trust him completely, and I’ve only known him a short while.”

Atticus hums, swirling the wine in his goblet with deliberate slowness before taking a sip, his skepticism apparent in the slight arch of his brow.

You shake your head, sighing lightly. “He’s proven his worth,” you say, trying to sound firm, though the soft smile that sneaks onto your lips betrays you. “It’s his abilities that matter.”

Atticus grins, thoroughly enjoying this exchange. “Of course, his abilities. And it’s just a coincidence that the knight you trust with our children’s safety also happens to be rather… easy on the eyes?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrays your amusement. “His appearance has nothing to do with why I chose him,” you insist, though your tone has lost its edge, becoming playful and light. “He’s capable, loyal, and vigilant. His looks are irrelevant.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a knowing grin. “Irrelevant, but not unnoticed?”

You shoot him a mock glare, though the smile tugging at your lips makes it hard to maintain any seriousness. “You’re impossible,” you say with a shake of your head. “I care about his skills and nothing more.”

Atticus chuckles softly, clearly entertained. “We shall see,” he teases, his voice lingering in the air as he begins to make his exit. His steps are slow, unhurried, as though he’s savoring the moment. 

He walks out with a lightness in his stride, and the faint echo of his laughter trails behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts — and the quiet, unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, his words weren’t entirely off the mark.

Returning to the Small Council felt different this time. The atmosphere had shifted. The men were more considerate, actually taking your opinions into account — a stark contrast to their usual dismissiveness. It seemed Atticus’ harsh punishment of the last Maester had sent a clear message: disrespect would no longer be tolerated. They were treading carefully now, not wanting to find themselves in a similar predicament.

You exhaled a long breath as you walked into your chamber, ready to unwind after the tense day. Removing your jewelry, you placed each piece delicately on the table, the soft clink of metal filling the otherwise quiet room. You went to bend down to slip off your shoes, eager for the relief of the cool floor beneath your feet.

But before you could, a sharp point suddenly pressed against your neck.

You froze.

Panic surged through you as the cold blade pressed harder against your skin, the world around you narrowing to the sound of your racing heartbeat.

“Don’t scream,” a low voice hissed in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “or you will die.”

Your breath hitched, the threat sinking in, terror flooding your veins. Tears welled in your eyes as helplessness gripped you. You had never felt so vulnerable, so utterly at the mercy of another.

The man spun you around with a jerk, and your gaze landed on another figure lurking in the shadows — both were dressed in the rough, dirt stained garb of rat catchers, but their eyes gleamed with intent far darker than pest control.

“We were paid to kill the little girl,” the man growled, his eyes boring into yours with malicious purpose. “The one who is set to inherit Driftmark. Where is she?”

Your heart stopped. They wanted Celeste. Your daughter. 

Desperation clawed at your insides, but you forced yourself to remain calm, though your voice trembled as you spoke. “I have many things in here of great value,” you said, your mind racing to stall, to buy any time you could. “You can take whatever you want. Jewelry, gold…”

The man sneered, pressing the blade just a fraction closer, enough to make your skin prickle with fear. “We’re not here for trinkets,” he spat. “We’re here for the girl.”

The suffocating pressure eased as the man shoved you away, though he kept his dagger trained on you, its sharp point a constant threat.

“Lead us to her,” he snarled, “and you will live.”

Your pulse quickened, panic rising. But amid the terror, you clung to one thought: Jungkook was just outside, standing guard by the children’s room. He would protect Celeste.

Heart pounding, you forced your legs to move, stepping cautiously toward the door of your chamber. The rat catchers followed closely, one of them pressing the dagger against your back, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just inches away.

By the time you reached the door, your eyes caught a glimpse of movement. Jungkook — his back against the wood, waiting, ready. His gaze met yours, and in that brief moment, you felt a surge of relief, but it was fleeting.

Before you could react, Jungkook sprang into action. In a heartbeat, he grabbed your arm and yanked you behind him, shielding you with his body. You stumbled backward, watching in awe as he unsheathed his sword with deadly precision. 

Jungkook wasted no time. His blade sank deep into the stomach of the first rat catcher, a sickening thud echoing in the hallway. The man gasped, blood spurting from the wound, and crumpled to the floor.

The second assailant, wild with desperation, swung his dagger wildly at Jungkook. But Jungkook moved with lethal grace, dodging each strike effortlessly. His movements were swift, controlled, each step calculated. In one fluid motion, he caught the man's wrist mid swing, twisting it with a force that made the man cry out in pain. Jungkook’s grip tightened, and with a brutal efficiency, he forced the attacker to plunge the dagger into his own abdomen.

The man’s eyes widened in shock, the weapon lodged deep within him, his strength faltering. Jungkook released him, and the second rat catcher staggered before collapsing to the ground beside his companion, both of them now lying in pools of their own blood.

In shock, you stood frozen, tears welling in your eyes as the reality of the moment crashed over you. Only a minute ago, you had feared for your life, for your family’s lives. And now, Jungkook had effortlessly put an end to the rat catchers, his blade on the ground still stained with their blood. It all felt too surreal, too close.

Before you could fully process what had happened, Jungkook rushed to you, his expression softening with concern. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his touch grounding you. “Your Grace? Are you hurt?” His voice was low but urgent, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury.

You shook your head, still unable to find your voice, too overwhelmed by everything. Your heart pounded, your throat tight as you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re alright now,” Jungkook whispered, his thumbs brushing tenderly across your cheeks. “Everything’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. The fear, the relief, the gratitude — they all hit you at once, overwhelming your senses. And before you knew it, your emotions spilled over. You erupted into sobs, throwing your arms around Jungkook’s neck, seeking the warmth and safety of his presence. You buried your face into his skin, your tears dripping onto his armor as you cried.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate for a second. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close to him, his strength and warmth offering the comfort you so desperately needed. One of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your back while the other cradled your head, pressing you gently against his chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, was the only thing keeping you grounded amidst the chaos of your emotions.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured into your hair, his voice soft and calming. “You’re safe now.”

And in that moment, in his arms, you believed him.

After Atticus learned about the rat catchers’ attack, his fury was swift and intense, shaking the very walls of the Red Keep. His voice thundered from the Small Council chamber, echoing through the halls as he took command of the situation. His anger wasn’t just justified — it was terrifying. No one dared stand in his way as he set out to make sure something like this could never happen again.

You sat in your children’s room, seeking comfort in their innocent presence. Even as you tried to calm your racing heart, the distant roar of Atticus’s orders only heightened the gravity of what had nearly occurred. He wasted no time doubling the guard, placing knights at every vulnerable corner of the Keep. The added protection was meant to reassure, but for you, it only underscored the severity of the danger that had almost taken your daughter.

Atticus was relentless in his pursuit of justice. He immediately dispatched his men to find out who had hired the rat catchers. It wasn’t long before the truth came out — your former Maester hadn’t been acting alone. There were more, many more, who shared his poisonous view that Celeste, your little girl, had no right to inherit Driftmark. These men, clinging to their outdated belief that only a man should rule, had conspired to end her life before she could ever sit upon the Driftwood Throne.

Those who were caught speaking against Celeste’s claim were dealt with harshly. Atticus showed no mercy. He threw them in the dungeons without a second thought, ensuring that any who dared oppose your daughter’s future would be silenced. In this, he was steadfast, and you were grateful for his fierce protection of your family.

But even with the threat supposedly contained, the fear hadn’t left you. That night still clung to you like a dark shadow, creeping into your thoughts when you least expected it. The memory of those men — of their knives and their cruel threats — replayed in your mind every night, a loop you couldn’t break free from. 

Sleep was becoming harder to find. You would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the attack pressing down on your chest. Even with Jungkook stationed just outside your door, standing as your silent guardian, the sense of unease never fully faded. You trusted him more than anyone now, knowing he had saved you without hesitation, but your mind couldn’t silence the what ifs. What if something happened to him? What if the guards missed something? What if they came back?

Tonight was no different. The room was quiet, your children safe in their beds, but your thoughts raced. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind outside felt like a reminder of how close you had come to losing everything. You sat up in bed, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to calm the storm within. 

Jungkook was right outside the door — so close, and yet, the fear lingered. You knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but that night had changed everything. The vulnerability, the terror, had been too real, and you couldn’t just forget it. Even though the Red Keep was locked down, even though Atticus had done everything in his power to keep you safe, you were haunted by the thought that danger still lurked just out of sight.

You couldn’t sleep. The quiet room, the stillness, your own thoughts circling endlessly — it was too much. You knew that tonight, like so many others, you’d be awake until the sun rose. So, with a sigh, you slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and quietly opened the door.

And there he was.

Jungkook stood just outside, his back to you, ever vigilant. When the door creaked softly, he turned, eyes meeting yours. In the faint light of the moon, his features were softened, yet his gaze was alert, concerned. The gleam in his eyes caught the moonlight, and for just a moment, the comfort of his presence made the world feel a little less daunting.

“Your Grace?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I thought you’d be abed by now.”

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice quiet but laden with the weight of sleepless nights and endless worry.

“You’re safe now,” he said gently, his tone firm yet soothing, as if trying to will your mind to find peace. “Allow yourself to rest.”

You managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You said you’d be here if I ever needed anything.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he nodded, understanding your unspoken request. “I did.”

You hesitated only briefly before speaking again, your voice softer now. “Can you come in?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and he straightened. “Your Grace, I hardly think that is appropriate,” he replied, though his tone was more uncertain than firm. His sense of duty and propriety clashed visibly with his desire to help you.

“It will comfort me,” you said, the vulnerability in your voice enough to make him falter.

He hesitated, clearly torn. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if it could ground him in the face of your request. His loyalty to you was absolute, but the boundaries of it were something he grappled with now.

Seeing his hesitation, you added, teasing softly, “Your Queen demands you.”

That earned you a small smile, one that softened the tension in the air. Jungkook shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he conceded. “Well, who am I to deny my Queen?” he said, stepping past the threshold.

As Jungkook entered the room, his mere presence brought with it a sense of security you hadn’t even realized you’d been yearning for. His eyes never left yours, filled with a mix of concern and quiet understanding, as you led him over to the couch by the fireplace. 

You settled yourself on one side, pulling a blanket over your legs as you crossed them beneath its warmth. When you glanced up, you noticed he hadn’t joined you yet. Instead, he stood a little distance away, unsure, his posture stiff as if still on duty.

“Sit,” you gestured to the empty space beside you.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to the door as if he still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do. But your gentle command was enough to sway him. With a slight nod, he moved closer, his heavy footsteps softening as he reached the couch. Just as he was about to sit, you spoke again, your voice quiet but firm.

“Take off your armor.”

He froze, eyes wide as if caught off guard by your request. “Your Grace,” he said slowly, his tone almost a warning, a reminder of the boundary he believed needed to remain in place.

But you shook your head, your expression soft but insistent. “I don’t want you here as Ser Jungkook,” you explained, your voice carrying a vulnerability you hadn’t meant to reveal. “I want you here just as Jungkook.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, clearly torn between his sense of duty and the comfort you were asking for. But then, with a slow exhale, he began to unfasten the clasps of his armor, the metallic clinks filling the otherwise quiet room. Piece by piece, the weight of it fell away, and he set it aside, each movement careful and deliberate.

Jungkook looked at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he gestured to his cloak. "If you would," he said softly, his eyes warm but with a hint of playful mischief.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a bit lighter as you stood from the couch, the blanket slipping from your lap and pooling onto the floor. Your fingers brushed against his as you reached for the clasp of his cloak, feeling the cool metal as you carefully undid it. The fabric was thick and heavy, and as you pulled it off his shoulders, it seemed to take with it some of the invisible barrier he kept between you both.

The air between you felt different now, more intimate, as you set his cloak aside with the rest of his armor. When you turned back to face him, he was watching you closely, his expression softer than before, as if seeing you in a new light.

For a second, you just stood there, gazing at each other in the soft glow of the fire.

Now, without the weight of his armor, Jungkook looked more relaxed, his shoulders less tense, though there was still a quiet alertness in his posture. When you invited him to sit, he did so without hesitation this time, his expression softening as he settled next to you on the couch.

As the fire crackled gently beside you, casting a warm glow over the room, you found yourself seeing him differently. Here, sitting in your chambers, with the walls of duty momentarily lowered, Jungkook wasn’t just your knight anymore. He was a man — kind, steady, and unexpectedly gentle in his presence.

“I’ve not been able to sleep as of late,” you admitted, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than you intended. “But with you here... I feel safe.”

Jungkook’s smile was soft, a flicker of warmth that reached his eyes. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, though his voice was still laced with the respectful formality he always carried. “Your Grace.”

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke your name, more firmly this time. “Use my name. The formalities can stay with your armor… Jungkook.”

The moment hung between you, quiet but significant. When he repeated your name, his voice was different, softer, almost intimate. It felt personal, as if you were the only thing that mattered in this room, in this moment.

Your heart fluttered hearing your name on his lips. The way he said it felt more intimate than you’d expected, and as the quiet settled around you both, you realized the walls between you were coming down even more.

“My mother died when I was four and ten,” Jungkook begins, his voice steady but carrying the weight of years of grief. “She was murdered right in front of me. I was weak, untrained... I couldn’t help her. I just stood there, frozen, and I couldn’t save her.” He pauses, his gaze distant, lost in the painful memory. “When I left the children’s chamber to go guard yours and I saw those rat catchers in there… I knew I couldn’t let you down like I did my mother. I couldn’t let that happen again.”

Your heart clenches and your brows knit in sorrow, completely torn by his story. His words hang heavy in the air, the realization of his past weighing on your chest. You feel both gratitude and guilt — glad that Jungkook trusts you enough to open up, yet heartbroken by the trauma he’s lived through.

It suddenly makes sense — why he’s always so guarded, so precise, so fiercely loyal. You understand now why he was trained in combat at such a young age, why he’s so vigilant, and why he holds himself to such a high standard. His devotion to you, his protection of your family, it all stems from a promise he made to himself long ago, a promise born from tragedy.

You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm resting on the back of the couch, your touch warm and comforting. Jungkook’s gaze flickers to where your hand rests on his arm, and then back to your face, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“You’ve done well to uphold that promise,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. As your eyes meet his, you offer him a genuine smile, hoping it conveys the compassion you feel. “Your mother would love the man you’ve grown to be, Jungkook.”

For a brief moment, Jungkook’s eyes soften, his usual stoic expression breaking. He looks almost vulnerable, as if the weight he carries is shared, if only for a second.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice low and sincere. “I find myself very… protective over you.”

You tilt your head slightly, a teasing smile curling at the corners of your lips. The soft glow of the fire casts a warm light over your face, and your eyes seem to shimmer with curiosity. “Why is that?” you ask, a playful lilt to your tone as you watch him.

Jungkook hesitates for a beat, his dark eyes holding yours. He slowly pulls his arm away, the loss of contact leaving your skin colder than you expected. But before you can fully miss the warmth, you feel the feather light touch of his fingertips brushing down your arm. His touch is slow, deliberate, sending a tingling sensation across your skin, awakening something inside you.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail lower, the gentle path they take igniting a flutter in your chest. When his hand finally finds yours, his touch is warm and firm, his fingers lacing with yours like it was meant to be all along.

Jungkook looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over the back of your hand as if testing the waters. “It’s more than duty now,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with something deeper. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability there, something raw and unguarded. “I can’t explain it fully, but… it’s like you’ve become more than just someone I’m sworn to protect.”

His gaze lingers on your face, searching for a reaction, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you — curiosity, anticipation, and something that feels dangerously close to longing.

Your lips part slightly, your heart hammering in your chest as the room feels smaller, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “More than duty?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s fingers tighten just a little around yours, grounding you in the moment. His eyes soften, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes… much more than duty,” he says, his voice tender yet filled with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls, but all you can focus on is him — on the warmth of his hand, the depth in his gaze, and the way the space between you seems to shrink with each passing second.

With his fingers still interlaced with yours, Jungkook gently pulls you closer. The sudden shift brings you nearer to him, and you let out a soft giggle, feeling your cheeks heat up as you blush under his gaze. The warmth of his body, the way his eyes are fixed on you — it sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.

As the distance between you vanishes, your breath catches when you realize his gaze is locked on your lips. It’s intense, and it makes your heart race. You watch, spellbound, as he lifts his other hand slowly. His thumb brushes tenderly across your bottom lip, the pad of his finger soft against your skin. The simple, teasing touch sends a wave of warmth washing over you.

He lingers there for a moment, rubbing your lip, and then his thumb presses just a little more insistently, grazing the slit of your mouth as though silently asking for permission. The unspoken question in his eyes makes your pulse quicken, and you instinctively part your lips in response. His thumb slips inside, and you close your mouth gently around it, letting him in.

Your eyes remain on him as his thumb rests against your tongue, the sensation both intimate and electrifying. The fire crackles in the background, but the world feels muted, like it’s just you and him in this moment. Your heart pounds, and the connection between you grows stronger as you suck lightly on his digit.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes slightly uneven as he watches you, his eyes darkening with something deeper, more primal. He gently withdraws his thumb, his fingers now tracing the curve of your jaw, his touch both firm and tender. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

The air between you is thick with anticipation, the moment heavy with the promise of what’s to come. His forehead rests against yours, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stop.

“We should stop before things go further,” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and husky, the warmth of his breath tickling your lips as he gives you the chance to pull away.

You pause, your heart racing in your chest. “We should,” you whisper back, the words lingering in the air between you both.

But neither of you move.

Instead, your gaze remains locked on his, and you can feel the heat radiating between you, the unspoken desire that lingers in the small space that still separates you.

And just like that, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, his lips soft yet insistent as they press against yours. It’s slow at first, a tentative exploration, but the moment your mouths meet, everything else fades into the background.

As your lips remain locked with his, you straddle his lap, the movement seamless and natural, as if you’ve both been leading up to this moment for far too long. Your hands slide behind his head, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair, tugging lightly as the kiss grows more heated, more desperate.

Jungkook’s hands find your waist, gripping you firmly, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. You feel his muscles tense beneath your fingertips as you press yourself against him, your hips moving instinctively. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you feel the hardness beneath you, his cock straining against the fabric of his breeches, the friction making you yearn for more.

Your hips begin to buck slowly, grinding against him as you search for more contact, more release. The heat between you two is palpable now, your breath mingling with his as the kiss deepens, tongues tangling in a rhythm that matches the slow, steady roll of your hips. Every shift of your body sends a wave of pleasure through you, and you can feel his grip tighten on your waist, his breathing growing heavier.

Jungkook lets out a low groan against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, igniting something primal. You can feel the restraint he’s holding onto, the tension in his body as he struggles to keep control, but the way his hands grip your waist tells you he’s just as lost in the moment as you are.

The friction between you both builds, the heat intensifying, but the layers of fabric between you only heighten the desire, making you ache for more.

“Perhaps I should thank you,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and teasing as your hips roll against him, causing a deep groan to escape from Jungkook’s throat. You can feel him hardening beneath you, his body responding despite his attempts to maintain composure. “For your service…”

His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your sides just enough to make you feel how much he’s holding back. “It is only my mere duty,” he says, voice strained, each word laced with barely controlled desire.

You smile at his restraint, your lips moving to brush against the sharp line of his jaw. “You’ve done so much,” you murmur, your lips trailing lower, leaving a warm path down his neck, just beneath his jaw. His skin is soft and warm, and his pulse races beneath your touch. You hear his breath catch as you kiss along his collarbone, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate press of your lips. “For me…” You move lower, your kisses more intentional, feeling his chest rise and fall more rapidly under your touch. “For my children…”

His hands twitch on your hips, torn between pulling you closer and letting you continue your slow, torturous descent. When you glance up at him, you see the way his dark eyes watch your every movement, clouded with need, a silent plea for more even as he struggles to keep himself grounded.

"I think you deserve a reward," you whisper, your voice sultry, teasing as your lips hover just above the edge of his tunic. Your fingers slowly, deliberately trace the hem, brushing against his heated skin as you make him wait, drawing out the anticipation.

Jungkook's head falls back, his lips parted as he releases a shaky breath, his control slipping with every passing second. His voice is a low growl, thick with longing. “You owe me nothing,”

You shake your head softly, your lips grazing the exposed skin of his chest. “I owe you everything,” you whisper back, your voice filled with sincerity and seduction, the intensity of the moment building as your hand moves lower, testing the boundaries of his restraint.

His body tenses beneath your touch, but his hands stay firm on your hips, holding you against him as if he’s afraid to let go. His eyes meet yours again, dark and full of raw emotion, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “I am yours,” he breathes, and in that moment, you know that he means every word.

With a soft smile playing on your lips, you slowly lift yourself off his lap, feeling the tension in the air as you lower yourself to the ground, kneeling between his legs. Jungkook watches you closely, his breathing uneven, eyes darkened with a mix of anticipation and restraint.

You place your hands gently on his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric of his breeches, his muscles tense beneath your touch. You start slow, allowing the moment to settle between you, your fingers tracing soft, deliberate circles along his thighs, teasing without rushing. Jungkook’s breath hitches slightly, his gaze locked on your every movement, as if entranced by the sight of you at his feet.

With a deliberate slowness, you begin to untie the laces of his breeches, savoring the quiet rustling of fabric as you pull them off completely, your fingertips brushing against his skin, making him shiver. You take your time, your eyes never leaving his, a playful gleam in your gaze as you watch his resolve crumble little by little.

His cock springs free, finally released from its tight confines. Jungkook lets out a low groan, the sudden release of tension sending a wave of relief through him. The sight of him, hard and ready, makes your breath catch, but you don’t rush. Instead, you rest your hands on his thighs again, grounding yourself in the warmth of his skin, feeling the subtle flex of his muscles beneath your palms.

You glance up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sends a thrill down your spine. His lips are parted, his breath heavy, and you can see the restraint in the way he grips the couch, knuckles white, fighting the urge to take control.

You spit into your hand before wrapping it around his cock, feeling its warmth and weight resting in your palm. You start slow, allowing him to adjust to the sensation, your fingers curling around him with a firm but careful grip. As your hand begins to move, sliding up and down in deliberate, teasing strokes, Jungkook's head falls back against the couch. A low, breathy moan escapes his parted lips, his chest rising and falling more heavily with each breath, betraying his struggle to hold onto his composure under your touch. His muscles tense, eyes fluttering shut, as the pleasure builds with each movement.

His reaction fuels you, and you keep your pace slow and sensual, your hand gliding smoothly along his length. Each movement draws another sound from him — whether it’s a quiet sigh, a deep groan, or the way his breathing catches for a split second. The power you hold in this moment, the way his body responds to your touch, makes the air between you feel electric, alive with tension.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into the cushions beside him, as if holding on for control, but you can see the way his restraint is unraveling, bit by bit. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parted in silent bliss, eyes closed as he surrenders to the sensation.

With a mischievous smile, you tighten your grip just a little, adding the slightest bit more pressure as you continue to stroke him, and his moan deepens, sending a shiver through you.

You lean in, teasingly slow, letting the anticipation build. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he watches you, his chest rising and falling faster, his hands tightening into fists. The moment your tongue makes contact with the tip of his cock, his body tenses. You start with soft, delicate kitten licks, testing his sensitivity, letting him feel every light flick of your tongue as you work.

A bead of precum gathers at the tip, and you lap it up, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. Jungkook’s groan is deep, almost guttural, his head tipping back against the couch once more as you tease him with your soft licks, never giving him more than just a taste of what’s to come.

The way he reacts, the way his body trembles under your touch, only spurs you on. You take your time, savoring the control you have over him, feeling the way his thighs tense beneath your hands.

You glance up at him through your lashes, enjoying the sight of Jungkook completely lost in the moment, his lips parted, breath heavy. His reaction fuels your desire to tease him more. Your tongue moves slowly, deliberately, swirling around his sensitive tip, while your hand continues its steady rhythm, pumping him with just enough pressure to keep him on edge.

He moans again, low and deep, his hips instinctively bucking up, searching for more of that friction you’re so teasingly withholding. You hum softly, the vibrations making his cock twitch against your tongue. You take him a little deeper, wrapping your lips around the head, sucking gently as you let your hand pump the base, building the tension.

Jungkook’s hands grip the couch tightly, fighting to stay still, his body betraying him with every small thrust of his hips. You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, your tongue working against the underside of his shaft as you slide him further into your mouth. His response is immediate — his body jerks, a strangled groan escapes him, and you feel his hands twitch as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and grab you.

You reach up and intertwine your fingers with his, and in that simple gesture, a new layer of intimacy blooms between you. His grip is firm, almost desperate, as if holding your hand is the one thing grounding him in the intensity of the moment. It's no longer just about desire; it's something deeper, more vulnerable, a connection that transcends the physical. His thumb gently brushes over your knuckles, a soft, tender contrast to the raw passion swirling around you. That small touch, full of unspoken emotion, speaks louder than words ever could, reminding you both that this is more than just a fleeting moment — it’s a quiet, shared promise.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes even more ragged as you continue to take him deeper, your lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to push him closer to the edge. You can feel his restraint, the way he’s holding back, trying to stay in control despite the pleasure coursing through him.

He groans, your name slipping from his lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. You hum softly in response, the vibrations causing another moan to escape his lips. The combination of his hand in yours, his soft gasps, and the warmth of his skin beneath your touch creates an almost overwhelming sense of connection.

You pull off him with a soft, wet pop, leaving his cock glistening in the firelight. Your lips curve into a teasing smile as you drag your tongue slowly along the length of his shaft, watching his reaction. Jungkook’s breath catches, his body tensing with anticipation. When you reach his base, you let your tongue dip lower, tracing a path to his balls. You take your time, licking and teasing the sensitive skin before gently sucking them into your mouth.

The reaction is immediate — his hips jerk up involuntarily, a deep moan escaping him as his head falls back against the couch. His knuckles are white as he grips the cushions, and his fingers tighten around yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. You keep your eyes on him, enjoying the way his face contorts with pleasure, his lips parting with a shuddering breath.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice rough and strained, the sound vibrating through the air, sending a thrill through you. His chest rises and falls heavily as you continue to pump his cock in your hand, your strokes slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of your mouth as you suck gently on his balls.

You can feel the tension building in him, his body trembling slightly under your touch. His muscles are taut, straining as he tries to hold himself back, but you know he’s close. The soft, breathless curses he murmurs between groans let you know just how much you're driving him to the edge.

Jungkook’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more intoxicating than the last. The feel of your mouth wrapped around his cock is overwhelming, your lips warm and slick as they glide over him, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. But what makes his pulse race even more is the sight of you — the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — on your knees before him, your eyes dark with desire, lips wet and swollen as you take him deeper.

He can barely process it. A part of him feels like he’s lost in a dream, but the grip of your hand on his thigh, the soft, wet sounds filling the air, and the heat of your mouth around him all ground him in reality. His fingers tighten around yours, the intimacy of your entwined hands a stark contrast to the lust coursing through him.

He can’t stop thinking about how utterly beautiful you look, your regal composure gone, replaced by raw want. It’s sinful, how he can feel his cock throbbing in your mouth while your crown sits not too far away, a reminder of who you are — his Queen. And yet, here you are, on your knees, giving yourself to him so completely.

And then there’s the thought of what comes next. His cock twitches at the idea of getting you beneath him, of spreading your legs wide and burying himself in your warmth. He’s desperate to feel you around him, to watch your face twist with pleasure as he takes you, over and over again.

But even with all those thoughts swirling in his mind, one thing keeps echoing louder than the rest: the sheer power of this moment. The Queen, on her knees, sucking his cock like she’s wanted this as much as he has.

The thought sends another wave of heat through his body. He’s barely holding on, every moan, every stroke of your tongue pushing him closer to the edge. His breaths come faster, more ragged, his hips beginning to move on their own, thrusting gently into your mouth. 

Before Jungkook can take control, you pull back, rising from the ground and denying him the release he craves with a teasing smile. His frustrated groan fuels your confidence as you straddle him again, your knees resting on either side of his hips. Your fingers intertwine with his, and you guide both of his hands behind his head, locking your arms around his neck. His arms cross behind him, muscles flexing as he fights to keep himself in check.

The intensity in his eyes is undeniable — burning with desire, frustration, and the raw need to touch you, yet restrained by the control you've taken. Every part of him is taut, his body tense beneath you, waiting, aching for your next move. His gaze never wavers, fixed on you with an almost desperate longing, as if the anticipation alone could undo him.

You lean in slowly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, then another on his cheek, your breath brushing his skin. His chest rises and falls against yours, the heat between you both building to a near unbearable height. Then, lips grazing his ear, you whisper in a low, sultry voice, “I want you to fuck me the way a Queen should be fucked.”

Your words send a shudder through him, his body reacting instantly to your challenge. The restraint he’s been holding onto falters, his breathing turning ragged, his grip tightening slightly on your hands. The dominance of your demand ignites something primal in him, the heat in his gaze searing into you.

"Your Grace..." Jungkook murmurs, his voice deep and breathless, the title slipping out before he can stop it, laced with a mix of reverence and raw, uncontained desire. The slip into formality catches him off guard, as if he’s forgotten to leave the titles behind along with his armor. His jaw clenches, the tension in his body palpable as his control begins to fray at the edges. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, as if your very presence has set him ablaze, and now, all he can do is watch helplessly as the flames consume him.

You feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, and you smirk, rolling your hips against him, letting the friction drive him further into madness. “Are you going to make me wait, or must I command you again?”

That’s all it takes. His resolve snaps. With a low, feral growl, Jungkook releases your hands and grabs you by the thighs, lifting you effortlessly in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised giggle, heart racing at how easily he’s carrying you across the room. His strength, his commanding presence — it’s intoxicating, making your body heat with anticipation.

With a mischievous grin, he throws you down onto the bed, your body bouncing softly against the mattress. Jungkook is on you in an instant, crawling over you with a predatory grace, his body looming above yours, eyes dark and filled with intent. His hands press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you beneath him. The weight of him, the way his muscles ripple as he moves, has your breath catching in your throat.

His lips hover just inches from yours, teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “I’ll show you exactly how my Queen should be fucked.”

There’s a rough edge to his voice now, one that sends shivers down your spine. His hands trail down your sides, fingers curling around the fabric of your dress, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you beneath him, his gaze smoldering as he drinks in every inch of your bare skin.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Jungkook’s lips descend to your neck, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, and lower still, as his hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place. His touch is everywhere — greedy, relentless — stoking the fire that’s been building between you all night.

As his mouth moves lower, a soft moan escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him, craving more. And just when you think you can’t take any more teasing, he pulls back, hovering above you once more, eyes dark with lust and promise.

Jungkook pulls off his tunic, standing before you, fully bare. His gaze is unwavering, filled with awe and raw desire as he drinks in the sight of you, every inch of your body drawing him in with quiet reverence. The heat of his stare is palpable, his lips parting slightly as his eyes travel from your breasts down to your stomach, pausing at the faint stretch marks left behind by your children. 

There’s no shame in his gaze, only admiration — those marks are a testament to your strength, the life you’ve brought into the world. His hand reaches out, hesitating for just a second before brushing over your skin, tracing the delicate lines with his fingertips, as if memorizing every detail. His touch is tender, contrasting the heat in his eyes, and the reverence in his expression makes your heart swell. 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice hushed but filled with sincerity, almost as though he's speaking to himself. The way he looks at you makes your heart swell. There’s no hesitation in his gaze, no second thoughts — just pure admiration.

You can’t help but smile. Despite being nearly bare beneath him, you don’t feel vulnerable. You feel cherished, worshipped even, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you like this. There’s a sense of ease between you, as if his presence was always meant to be like this — intimate and without fear. 

Jungkook leans in closer, his lips trailing down to your hip bone, placing a soft, lingering kiss there. The sensation is both grounding and electrifying, sending a shiver through your body. You glance down, meeting his gaze — intense and burning with desire, the kind of look that makes your heart race and your breath falter. In that moment, you can feel the fire behind his eyes, as if the world has fallen away and you're the only thing that matters.

Without breaking the connection, he lowers himself further, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The kiss is soft, reverent, but full of promise, inching closer to the place where you crave his touch the most. Your breath catches in your throat, anticipation thick in the air, when he finally leans forward and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your pussy through your soaking wet underwear.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the sudden contact, and instinctively, you lift your leg, gently pressing your foot against his shoulder to stop him from going further. His eyes flash with surprise, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in them as he looks up at you, waiting for your command.

“Maybe another time,” you murmur, your voice breathless but firm. “I want your cock.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy with anticipation, and Jungkook’s expression shifts, darkening with pure lust. He gives a low growl of approval, his hands gripping your thighs a little tighter as he quickly moves back up your body.

Jungkook wastes no time, his hands quick but careful as he pulls off your last piece of clothing and positions himself between your legs. His cock, already hard and slick with anticipation, brushes against your entrance, the warmth of him sending a ripple of electricity through your body. You can feel the tension in his muscles, every inch of him taut with restraint as he fights the urge to simply take you. He wants this moment to be more than just a rush of desire.

With a slow, deliberate nudge of his hips, he presses the tip of his cock against your core, the sensation both tantalizing and overwhelming. Your body reacts immediately, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he teases your entrance, the heat between you intensifying. His eyes are locked on yours, as if he’s savoring every second before fully sinking into you. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer, urging him to give you exactly what you’ve been yearning for. His lips crash onto yours in a heated kiss, the moment charged with raw, unspoken passion as he finally pushes into you.

“Oh Gods,” you moan, your back arching off the bed as the sudden stretch overwhelms you. Jungkook fills you completely, every inch of him pressing into you, making your breath hitch as your body adjusts to the delicious pressure. His movements slow for a moment, letting you feel every bit of him, the weight of his body grounding you as the heat between your legs spreads throughout your entire body.

Jungkook’s forehead drops to yours, his breathing ragged as he holds himself still, giving you a moment to adjust. "You feel so perfect," he groans, his voice thick with restraint. His hands roam your body, gripping your hips as though he needs to hold onto something to keep himself from losing control completely.

Your fingers slide up his back, nails grazing his skin as you tug him closer, desperate for more. "Move," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I need you."

That’s all it takes.

With a low growl, Jungkook begins to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, the sensation sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Each movement is deliberate, deep, and measured. Your moans mix with his breathless grunts, filling the room with the sounds of your shared desire.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His pace quickens, and soon, he’s moving faster, harder, the rhythm building as the pleasure between you grows. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder, more desperate as you cling to him, completely lost in the moment. 

Jungkook’s lips find your neck, peppering kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. “You feel so good… so fucking good,” he pants, his hips snapping against yours with growing urgency. 

Your hands tangle in his hair, your body responding to his with a need that’s been simmering for so long, now finally unleashed. "Don’t stop," you moan, your voice shaky as the heat within you builds to a breaking point. 

Jungkook’s thrusts become erratic, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t think I can stop," he chuckles, his words sending a shiver through you just as the first waves of release begin to crash over you. 

You kiss him eagerly, teeth grazing his bottom lip before tugging at it playfully. Jungkook groans into your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment at the sensation. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more heated as your hands pull him closer, your nails digging into his back.

He responds in kind, his lips crashing back onto yours, the intensity of his kiss matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He bites gently on your bottom lip in return, making you gasp into his mouth, your bodies completely in sync as the pleasure mounts between you.

Your kiss is a frenzy of passion, tongues dancing, breaths mingling, as every movement pulls you closer to the edge. You tug harder at his lip, and he growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins.

Jungkook’s pace becomes relentless, his control slipping as he loses himself in you. “The day of the Kingsguard posting,” he starts breathlessly, his voice low and rough as he thrusts into you. “When you walked onto the balcony… I saw you. Thought you were so pretty. So, so pretty.”

His words, spoken between ragged breaths, send a shiver down your spine, making you arch closer into him. You gasp, your hands clutching onto his shoulders as his confession wraps around you like a heated secret. The intensity in his eyes as he speaks, as he moves inside you, is overwhelming — his vulnerability laid bare, a part of himself he’s never shared with anyone else.

“I shouldn’t have thought it,” he continues, his voice thick with desire and restraint as his pace quickens, “but I couldn’t help it. I wanted you from that moment.”

You feel your heart pound in your chest, not just from the pleasure but from his raw honesty. Your lips part, but no words come out, only breathless moans as he pushes you closer to the edge. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips brushing your ear.

“I never thought I’d have you like this,” he whispers, his voice rough with awe and hunger, each word laced with the weight of unspoken desire. “But now that I do… I’m never letting go.”

His confession wraps around you, sending a shiver through your body as his movements become more intense. The passion in his eyes, the way his body presses into yours, has you spiraling, lost in the heat between you.

You raise a trembling hand, gently brushing his hair back, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping from your lips like a vow.

The way his eyes darken, the way his grip tightens on you, tells you he’s heard it loud and clear. And in this moment, you know he’ll hold onto that promise as tightly as he holds onto you.

He laughs out a moan at this. His pace quickens, his thrusts deeper, harder, each one sending you spiraling further. Your moans mix with his, filling the room, the sound of skin against skin only adding to the fire between you. His hands roam your body, memorizing every curve, every inch of you like it’s the last time.

“I’m so close,” he whispers, his voice strained, his body trembling as he fights for control. His forehead presses against yours again, his eyes searching yours, desperate, as if he’s asking for permission to lose himself in you.

You nod, your own release building, teetering on the edge. “Cum with me,” you breathe, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please.”

With a few more deep, powerful thrusts, you feel Jungkook’s body tense as he releases into you, a low groan escaping his lips. The sensation triggers your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing through you as your body tightens around him. You gasp, arching against him, your hands clutching at his back as you ride out the overwhelming sensations together.

His name tumbles from your lips in a soft moan, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, the world outside fades — it's just the two of you, tangled together, hearts pounding in sync, as you both come down from your highs.

He doesn’t move right away, his weight still pressed against you, his hands tracing slow, soothing circles on your hips as he catches his breath. You can feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, a silent reminder of the intensity you just shared.

Finally, Jungkook picks his head up from your chest, his dark eyes soft as they meet yours. He leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, just because he finally can. It feels different now, with no hesitation between you, just pure connection. After pulling away, he shifts to lay beside you, pulling you against his chest, your bodies fitting together perfectly. 

You lie there in comfortable silence for a while, both of you catching your breaths, the calm after the storm. Jungkook’s fingers absentmindedly trace shapes on your back, lulling you into a peaceful haze. But then, he breaks the quiet with a teasing tone.

“Did I exceed your expectations, my Queen?” His voice is low and playful, a soft chuckle escaping him.

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “Arrogant, are we?” 

But you don’t let him respond. Instead, you sit up, straddling his waist once again, your grin mischievous as you lean down to kiss him, deeper this time, your lips lingering against his. 

“Might need to go again to give you a wholehearted answer,” you say with a smirk, looking down at the man who looks far too comfortable in your bed — a man who, by all means, shouldn’t be here.

His eyes widen for a moment before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, matching your energy. He chuckles, his hands gripping your waist firmly, his desire evident.

Jungkook knew that once the children were tucked safely into bed, these sneaky nights with you would be his favorite part of the day — full of far more excitement than he’d ever imagined.

The days stretched on like endless hourglasses, the sand moving far too slowly. Every moment of the daylight hours was consumed by anticipation, the constant pull of wanting the sun to sink and the moon to rise. It was during the night, when Jungkook would slip quietly into your chamber, that the world finally felt right.

Whether it was tangled sheets, quiet conversations, soft laughter, or simply lying in each other’s arms, those moments with him were the highlight of your days — only second to the joy of your children’s smiles, of course. But with Jungkook, time seemed to bend, each night feeling like a stolen treasure that you cherished more with every passing hour.

As much as you despised the act of walking past Jungkook during the day, pretending he wasn't your lover at night, the thrilling game of trying not to get caught was undeniably fun.

The secret, the tension of it, had its own special allure. Yet, there were moments when the near misses took a more terrifying turn.

Like that one time.

You'd been soaking in a bath, the water warm and fragrant with bubbles, the steam swirling around you like a blanket of comfort. But Jungkook, always unpredictable, had snuck in without a sound. Before you could even protest, he was stripping himself bare, sliding into the tub with you, the sudden shift in water making a small splash as he settled in.

Laughter filled the room as water overflowed, but that quickly faded into a mix of heavy breaths, wet skin, and the sound of sloppy kisses. Jungkook's hands gripped your waist as he leaned back, his head resting against the tub's edge, eyes locked on you. Your hips moved in sync, the sound of water splashing and your soft moans combining with his groans, creating a rhythm that made your heart race.

Then, just as the heat between you both reached its peak, a knock at the door shattered the moment. It was so sudden and unexpected that Jungkook's hand shot up, covering your mouth before you could release a gasp, freezing you in place. Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest.

"Your Grace, I have your warm towels," came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. The maid sounded so oblivious, so unaware of what was actually happening just beyond the wooden barrier.

Jungkook didn't move a muscle, still as stone, his hand resting over your lips as his eyes met yours with a mischievous glint. Slowly, he lifted his hand, urging you to speak.

"J- just leave them at the door," you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heartbeat betrayed your calm facade. "I’ll grab them once I'm finished."

Jungkook stifled a chuckle, clearly finding the entire situation amusing as though it was nothing more than a joke to him. But you knew better. This was dangerous, reckless, and could cost both of you far more than just embarrassment.

"Very well, Your Grace," came the maid's voice, before the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance.

The moment she was gone, you slapped Jungkook's chest, eyes narrowed in mock fury. "We could've been caught," you said, your voice laced with both exasperation and something else — something darker, more thrilling. But the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed your feigned seriousness.

Jungkook grinned, his chest rising and falling with a quiet chuckle, as he pulled you back toward him, the playful tension still lingering in the air.

Because nights with Jungkook were always too short, he made sure to steal as many kisses and playful winks during the day as possible. The fleeting moments shared between you were like stolen treasures, hidden in plain sight.

Whenever the children finished their lessons, Jungkook was quick to position himself in front of the door to the next room they’d move into, knowing you'd soon follow, eager to check on them and hear about what they’d learned. Each time, like clockwork, you’d approach, ready to step past him, only for him to block your way with a teasing grin.

“Let me in,” you’d whine softly, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

He’d simply point to his cheek, signaling for a kiss as if he were making a royal decree. You’d roll your eyes but play along, leaning in. Just as your lips brushed his cheek, he’d turn his head swiftly, catching your kiss on his lips instead.

Your heart would race as you quickly pecked his lips once more, a mixture of thrill and worry filling you at the thought of someone walking down the corridor and catching you both. With a final flustered glance at him, you’d hurry into the chamber to join your children, trying to maintain your composure as you asked them about their day.

Meanwhile, Jungkook would stand tall outside the door, his expression serious, as though he was merely guarding the room. But the sparkle in his eyes and the lingering hint of a smile betrayed him, the playful mischief still present even as he forced himself to appear composed.

The only person who knew about your secret relationship with Jungkook was Atticus. You’d confided in him, and he had been overjoyed to learn he’d been right all along. He had always suspected something, but hearing it from you only fueled his excitement and pride at being in on the secret.

Jungkook’s devotion to you went far beyond his duty as a knight. On the surface, he played his role flawlessly, always by your side, always vigilant. To everyone else, he was simply your loyal protector, the ever watchful guard who would give his life without question. But beneath that armor, beneath the stern facade he wore in public, his loyalty ran much deeper.

He wasn’t just devoted to you as his Queen; he was devoted to you as the woman he loved, with a fierce, unshakable passion that transcended titles or obligations. Every time he stood by your side, it wasn’t just as your sworn knight but as the man who would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant loving you in secret for the rest of his life.

In the quiet moments, when the world wasn’t watching, his love shone through. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his fingers lingered just a moment longer when they brushed against yours, or the way his lips would curl into a faint smile when he caught you stealing glances at him. It was in the way he held you at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke of a love so deep, words could never do it justice.

Jungkook didn’t need grand gestures or declarations of love. His devotion was in the small things, the quiet sacrifices, the way he protected you not just with his sword but with his heart. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word in the darkness was a testament to his unwavering loyalty — not to the crown, not to his duty, but to you.

And though the world might never see the depth of his devotion, you felt it every day. In the way he watched over you, in the way he shielded you from not only physical threats but from the weight of loneliness that sometimes crept in. He was your protector, not just in body but in spirit.

As the years passed, your secret love remained hidden, but his devotion never wavered. No matter the risks, no matter how many times you had to pretend in public that he was nothing more than a knight, Jungkook’s heart was yours, fully and completely.

In the end, it didn’t matter that the world would never know the truth. You knew. You saw the way he loved you, not just as a knight sworn to protect you but as a man devoted to your heart, forever bound to you in a way that went beyond duty or title.

And in that devotion, you found your peace. Because you knew, no matter what happened, Jungkook would always be by your side — not just as your protector but as your lover, your confidant, and the one person who truly understood the depths of your soul.

© voyter 2024, all rights reserved.

[alchemistc]

He's been good. He's been - pretending to be good well enough that no one has been suspicious.

It's just -

That was it. That was The One.

And sure. He can get back out into the world. He can fall in love again. There is a beautiful man somewhere out in the world who will make him laugh, make him cry.

He's just not sure he wants to put the effort in anymore.

For a hot second he'd really thought -

Not that it matters, anymore.

He's pretty sure his leg is pinned. The cockpit is more smoke than air, at this point. He can feel his toes, but honestly that might be more a curse than a blessing.

He's been staring at the phone in his hand for the last five minutes. Ever since he realized he didn't have the leverage to try to move the bracket keeping him from slipping free of the broken, crunched in door frame.

It's selfish. It's the most selfish fucking thing he's considered since he decided to break his own heart instead of letting someone else.

But logistically he's got about seven minutes until there's too much smoke and not enough air in here, and that's only IF the fire doesn't catch somewhere else.

He's got enough bars. And there are two numbers he could call. Two ways this could go.

The phone rings through four times, and on the fifth, someone answers.

"This is a bad time, Tommy," Eddie says, and Tommy feels a little hysterical. The laughter comes in fits, only slows when he gets a nice good whiff of smoke straight up his nose.

"Sure is."

The tone shifts. "Are you okay?"

"It was a bad idea anyway."

He feels woozy. Glances down at his leg and realizes that stain he'd thought was shadow is... definitely blood.

"Listen. I'm - when Evan gets the call, don't let him go alone. It's my fault for not updating my ICE."

The silence on the other line is deafening. "Tommy, where are you? Don't - don't make any decisions you can't come back from." It's a panned line he'd heard at the VA the half dozen times he'd gone.

"Yeah I didn't really make this decision myself. I'm just - I'm losing a lot of blood, here, and there's not a lot of ways for the smoke to get out of this cabin, and -."

High alert has a very specific sound and feel to it.

Eddie's cursing, something is shuffling, he's snapping his fingers in the distance. God, they're probably at work. "Where are you?"

Tommy rattles off his last known coordinates. "I already told dispatch, Eddie. I'm just. They're not gonna make it in time, and I need you to promise me you won't let him be alone when -."

It'd been a trip he would have been riding shotgun for, if Tommy hadn't made sure he wasn't. He's grateful for that, at least.

He's really not expecting much, he thinks. Eddie doesn't have to go far out of his way to support Buck. It'll hurt him, true. But Tommy's gotten pretty used to being the cause of that. And. He'll be dead, anyway, so he won't have to carry that guilt for long.

And then Eddie betrays whatever vestige of friendship they had left, because it's not Eddie's voice that responds.

"Hey asshole. Do you have enough leverage to break the window?"

He's got a good voice. A little gruff, a little heavy.

Tommy doesn't want this.

"No."

"Actually no, or are you just accepting your fate again without even talking about alternatives."

It's not how he thought he'd go. Dramatic final hour phone call, the end of their relationship as a metaphor for the bleakness of his situation. "I'm sorry, Buck."

He's having trouble focusing his eyes. There's a beat behind his ears that keeps slowing down. He thinks he might be hearing sirens but -

"Evan," Tommy says for the first time in six months. "I'm so sorry, Evan."

He says - something. The tone of it is there, even if he can't quite make out the words.

Tommy blinks. Coughs.

There's a phone in his hands.

Why is there a phone in his hands, he's supposed to be flying a -

He'd crashed it, actually.

Well shit.

Damn.

Eddie's gonna be so pissed if he has to find out second hand that Buck's going to get a really fucking shitty call in a few hours.

He should call.

---

When he blinks open his eyes, he finds his fingers first, nearly has a panic attack when they don't move they way he wants them to, except - oh.

There are fingers interlocked with his.

Tommy follows the line of the arm, even though he knows.

"Sorry," Evan says, and there are tears unshed at the corners of his eyes but he looks mad as hell. "You only get one dramatic exit out of my life in a calendar year."

[diremoone]

it’s just a scratch! (it isn’t) | sylus.

a/n:: apparently receiving a head injury leaves plot bunnies behind too lol [ sylus fluff ;; tis mildly selfship coded ;; i whipped this drabble up in about an hour haha ]

Sylus watches you pause as you lift the mug to the cabinet. Your brows furrow and proceed to slowly spin the mug around curiously.

“Sylus?” You halfway turn to him to look from your peripheral.

He glances up and replies, “Yes?”

“What am I doing?”

“Unloading your dishwasher, I believe.”

A pause, then a small, “Oh,” escapes your lips. Then you put the mug up and close the dishwasher. He’d finish it for you later.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks, eyes glancing up at you from the book in his hands.

“About the same… Uhm…” You space out, staring at the TV for a good ten seconds before coming back to reality. “Maybe more dumb than usual.”

Sylus chuckles. “You’re not dumb. You just sustained a head injury.”

“Which has made me feel dumber,” you point out.

“Which is why I’m here,” he adds.

“To tell me I’m dumb?”

He scoffs in disbelief and closes his book as he remarks, “To make sure you don’t smack your head into anything else while you’re recovering and on leave, sweetheart.”

You feel the fluster creep to your shoulders and your cheeks at the nickname, ducking your head down bashfully.

Sweetie, when he’s teasing. Sweetheart, when he’s being soft and caring. You often hear more of the latter nowadays.

“It’s just for a few days. My symptoms should clear up come the day I go back for a checkup,” you grumble. “And it wasn’t even that bad. My elbow took the brunt of it.”

“I’m aware of all that. And until then, I’ll be sticking around to make sure you’re okay, kitten.”

But the cute moment ends when you cuss profusely, hands flying to your head in the spot where you’d gotten hit. Sharp pains crawl down from the spot, nearly debilitating and making you hunch over.

You faintly register something hitting the couch, followed by large hands guiding you by your shoulder and waist to sit down.

Sylus doesn’t like the way your body rocks in his hold, head bobbing up and down while your eyes are screwed shut from the pain, hissing when it flares. He takes his hand and gently cradles the back of your head, pulling you to his shoulder to find rest. If you had been standing, he’s sure he would’ve had to catch you before you hit the ground.

Thirty seconds in total pass before the pain in your head finally dies down. You still feel a tingle, but don’t mention it.

You inhale, then speak softly, “It passed.”

It takes a few seconds for Sylus to reply. “That was the worst one yet.”

“That you’ve seen,” you try and joke. But the grumble of dissatisfaction tells you he’s anything but amused. In fact, you might’ve just put him in a worse mood.

“I guess that means I’ll be staying over for quite some time, even after your next doctor’s visit.”

You lift your head from his shoulder and stare pointedly. “Sylus, no.”

“What? You don’t like my company?”

“It’s just not necessary for you to stay and watch me. I’m a big girl,” you argue.

“A big girl with a head injury,” he “corrects” you with a grin. “And don’t worry about your little friends. I’ll disappear for awhile when they decide to come over.”

You sigh in defeat. “You’re making my head hurt.”

“Then stop arguing, kitten.” And then Sylus’s voice drops an octave, expression changing from cheeky to concerned. “Let me take care of you. Your head meeting that table after that giant Wanderer tossed you wasn’t pretty to watch, you know.”

This time, you finally hear him, and he sees it.

You know where this is coming from. You know this comes from whatever past you two had together that you can’t remember (but apparently Sylus does) for the life of you. His concern for you is always genuine, you know this. Underneath every layer of teasing and cheekiness, you know Sylus means it when he says he wants to take care of you. And you can only imagine what you must’ve looked like getting tossed like a ragdoll by that Wanderer you’d fought.

You sure as hell know what your head feels like.

“Alright, you win.” You shift yourself onto his lap, getting cozy and laying your head back on his shoulder and closing your eyes. “Just make sure to jet when my friends come over. The last thing I need is a tremendous headache about how the leader of Onychinus is in my living room tending to me.”

He chuckles, then presses a long, sweet kiss to the top of your head. “Deal.”

[impactrueno]

let's talk about shoes (stick with me here for a sec)

beetleboots beetleboots beetleboots.

what's up with the three of them wearing combat boots? they go well with each of their character designs so it's not like they look out of place with the rest of their outfits, but knowing this is tim burton and colleen atwood, these things are not mere coincidence.

(spoilers for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice below)

a common complaint i've seen people mention about Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is that "there's too many villains," but today i'm here to talk about why each of them matter in the narrative tim wanted to present here. yes the boots are related we'll get to that in a minute

delores, rory and jeremy all have one thing in common: the use of romantic betrayal in order to achieve their own selfish goals, destroying their victims in the process.

this, in turn, makes beetlejuice, lydia and astrid have another thing in common: they were the victims of these romantic betrayals.

you may think "okay but why is that necessary?"

this sequel made the interesting choice of nudging beetlejuice out of the villain role. he's now just a weird ally/deuteragonist...or perhaps even...a protagonist? but that's not enough! why should we as an audience care about him or sympathize with him?

that's where delores comes in. delores is less of a character and more of a plot device. her purpose (besides serving cunt) is to give beetlejuice backstory and be to beetlejuice what beetlejuice was to lydia, only worse. i talked a bit more about it in this post. thanks to her, we now learn that beetlejuice was a victim. not just that, she's also the looming threat beetlejuice needs to justify his marriage to lydia (he seems to be under the impression that this would help him escape delores more easily, but personally i'm not so sure, i think she's more powerful than that.) her return in combination with lydia's return to winter river is what sets his plan in motion.

rory is a pretty self-explanatory villain so i don't think we have to go into that. he wasn't out to kill lydia...but he's a golddigger, so i don't doubt he would've set something up to lead her into having a fatal accident and claim insurance benefits.

jeremy's role in the plot was to make astrid realize that she was wrong about the supernatural, as well as put her in danger in the afterlife, which is the drive lydia needs to turn to beetlejuice for help.

the role of an antagonist is to oppose or be an obstacle to the protagonist's goal. these three are the three obstacles beetlejuice needs to overcome in order to marry lydia.

first, he needs to save astrid as part of the deal with lydia. so he gets rid of jeremy to give astrid her life back. he knows exactly what it's like to be romanced into a death trap. you can tell this was satisfying for him. later, fucker.

then, he needs her fiancé rory out of the picture if he intends to marry lydia. since he knows this guy is a total piece of shit and is lying to her to lead her into the same trap he himself fell into with delores, he simply gives lydia the tools she needs to kick his ass herself. teamwork!

third comes delores. he just needs to survive delores, basically. he tries to pair her off with rory to try and kill two birds with one stone, but the stone that ends up killing them both is the sandworm that astrid summoned, which beetlejuice then guided straight to them. teamwork once again! (beetlejuice and astrid got rid of each other's problems, that's kind of cool)

these three things being taken care of means that beetlejuice can finally marry lydia.............

............except he doesn't. why? because he helped lydia. by bringing her into the afterlife to look for her daughter, he violated code 699. and he did it immediately after signing that contract. hoist by his own petard, this dumbass.

sorry i got sidetracked again. we were talking about boots, right? right right.

beetlejuice, lydia and astrid all walked in each other's shoes.

everything in this movie comes in threes. names, villains, victims, obstacles and pairs of combat boots.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Medical Emergency

Summary: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Fe!Reader -> When Jake gets a call asking to pick you up from the hospital, it's safe to say he's confused. Especially considering neither of you were known for getting along with the other.

Disclaimer: Enemies to lovers, brother's best friend, descriptions of being ill (nothing fully specified, just fainting a lot, low blood sugar and hormones), swearing, fluff, steamy moments, he takes care of you. This has been in my w.i.p for a while now so it's kinda a long one. Not Proof Read.

It was safe to say Jake was confused to find out he was your emergency contact. 

It was known to most people in the town that you and Jake weren’t exactly the best of friends. The hatred started all back when he was brought into Top Gun the first time round. Before he suddenly became the best, of the best of the best. And each year he came back, it only got worse. 

Neither of you would be surprised if everyone in San Diego knew about how much you and Jake didn’t get along. 

So, yeah. Getting a call from a Nurse called Emma telling him he needed to come and pick you up from the hospital…he was confused. 

He’d spent most of the day training the new recruits at Top Gun. He was on base when he got the call, but twenty minutes later, he was parked outside the hospital and was being shown to your room. 

“She’s to take two of these every six hours for the next three days. If she has any drastic changes; dizziness, nausea, vomiting, etc. Bring her back. But she should be okay.”

He hadn’t even been told what had happened. 

Then he saw you. 

On a typical day, your hair was either up or down. You typically wore bright colours since the kids in your class like to point them out and name them. And even at the end of the week when you’d walk into the Hard Deck, Penny already having your drink waiting for you, and you’d look tired and ready to go to bed, you were still…bright. Put together. 

But from where he was standing, you were dressed in grey sweats and a Top-Gun hoodie. Most likely, you thought it was your brother’s. But from the worn hole around the edge of it let Jake know it was his. One your brother had never returned to him. 

You looked…like you needed to be comforted. 

Your hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of your skull. Any hints of make-up had been long washed away. Your nail polish was chipped, if not already peeled from your nails. 

Finally slipping your shoes on, you stood slowly. You looked like you needed to sleep for a year, and maybe take another nap for eight months. 

“Just sign here and here and then you’re free to go.”

Jake watched as the nurse’s words just about registered in your ears before you slowly picked the pen up from her hand and signed your name at the bottom of the paper. 

Reaching to grab the rest of your stuff, Jake almost swooped forwards. “I’ve got it.”

You just nodded. “Thanks.”

Any other day, you would have told him you could do it yourself and tell him to fuck off. 

He picked up your overnight bag and, with a hand at the bottom of your back, led you out of the hospital. 

“This way.”

You followed him back to his car and once he knew you were safe inside the passenger seat, he rounded the car and got into his seat. 

“I did tell them just to call me a cab. You can just drop me off down the road. You don’t need to-”

“I’m not letting you walk home.” He told you. “What’s your address?”

Part of Jake wished you’d fight him more about walking home. At least that way he’d know you were actually okay. He still would have driven you home, but…he wanted you back. 

Typing your address into his phone, he followed the sat-nav. 

By the time he pulled up outside your house, you were asleep. He waited for five minutes, letting you sleep whilst he researched and read the prescription you’d been given. 

Then he looked up at your house. You had to have a spare key. 

Carefully, he left his car and walked up your path. He looked in all the typical places until he found a small patch of wood from your porch coming loose. Inside was your key. 

So, opening your door and carrying your things inside, he came back for you. 

Unbuckling your seatbelt, he placed one of your arms around his neck before placing his own arms around your back and under your legs. 

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

And you did. 

Shutting the door to his car with his back, he carried you into your house, shutting your front door with his foot before taking you into your bedroom and laying you on top of your sheets. Looking around, he found a basket of blankets just under your window. 

However, as he covered you up, he checked your temp with the back of his hand. You seemed okay. 

Then you reached for him. 

It was only for a few seconds, but you held his hand before your body fell back to sleep. 

Before he left your room, Jake got you a glass of water and left your window on a latch. And then he stayed. 

Kicking off his boots by the door, he locked everything up around your home before laying down on top of the guest bed with a million and one questions circling around his head. 

Why was he your emergency contact? What had happened? Why didn’t anyone else tell him you were in the hospital for, clearly, more than a couple of hours? 

You spent the next two days in and out of consciousness. The hospital told Jake not to worry and that it was a good sign you were sleeping. He’d wake you every couple of hours and give you your tablets. 

And each time, you’d wake up with the same confusion of how and why he was in your house. And then you’d remember. And apologise. And thank him. Before he’d tell you to lay back down and get some rest. 

By the time you came round, you woke up to texts pinging on your phone. 

How could you not tell me you were dating someone?

We SERIOUSLY need to catch up about this when you’re back in. 

Your boyfriend called the school. Why is this how I’m finding out you’re sick?

Get better soon, honey xoxo

Also, don’t worry about the kids. I’ve got your class covered. 

One of your fellow-teacher best friends. You and her had joined the school as teachers in the same year. She had been away on a cruise for the last two weeks. 

Slowly, everything that had happened over the last two days came flooding back to you. They had called Jake. He had come to get you at the hospital. He kept waking you up. Had he stayed that whole time? Was he the one to call your school?

Pulling yourself from your bed and heading to the bathroom, you caught a look of yourself in the mirror. You looked…rough. And also the exact same as you had when you’d left the hospital. Maybe there was a little more colour in your cheeks. 

And you did feel better. 

The room felt still and you didn’t feel like throwing up all your insides out, despite being unable to do so. 

Drying your hands on the towel, you made your way through your home. Things were…tidy. Militarily so. The last time your place, although tidy, had looked militarily tidy had been when your brother had visited you before he got deployed again. 

So, either, he was here now. Jake was still here. Or you had a ghost haunting your house that just so happened to be in the Navy. 

Walking down the stairs, you found a pair of boots at the bottom of your stairs. They definitely weren’t yours. 

Then you heard someone in the kitchen. The smell of fresh bread and chicken noodle soup wafted through your home. 

It was a minute or two before Jake spotted you. It felt like a fever dream, watching him in your kitchen, dressed normally, a towel slung over his shoulder as he slid the bread buns from the tray to a cooling rack. 

“Oh, hey. You’re awake.”

You nodded. “Did you cook?”

“How are you feeling?” Jake made his way over to you, his hand coming to touch your forehead and cheeks. You swatted his hands away. You could have sworn you saw him smile after you did it. 

“Get off me, I’m fine.”

Jake smiled as he watched you make your way to sit down on the opposite side of the kitchen island. You looked way better than you had done when he saw you in the hospital. 

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.” He told you, continuing to slide all but one of the bread buns onto the cooling back. The final one, he dropped onto a plate before dishing out a bowl of the soup. 

“Eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”

You looked at the food in front of you. “You made this?”

“I made it.”

You looked at him sceptically. “Is this how you plan to kill me? She was weak, your honour. I just wanted to help her.”

“Why would I take care of you for three days and then kill you? It’d be easier if I did it in three days.”

“So you did think about it.”

Jake rolled his eyes and handed you a fork. “Just eat.”

You couldn’t lie, it was one of the best meal’s you’d had in a long time. And as you ate, you looked around your home. Your books had been tidied away and back onto your shelves. All except two. One you were part way through reading and one that was…almost finished. But not by you. 

You didn’t notice as Jake watched you take everything in. Your books, your pots of pens. You dish towels, your spices and other baking ingredients. Some had even been put into the jars you had been meaning to fill back up. Then you noticed the smaller things. Like how he’d put up the wooden signs in your kitchen you’d been planning to do for months, and how he’d cleaned…everything. 

It looked like he’d done a complete renovation of your place whilst you’d been knocked out. 

Then you noticed the pile of papers on your kitchen counter. 

The English and maths tests you’d given to your class a few weeks ago. You hadn’t finished marking them. 

But Jake had. 

You took the top paper and looked it over. 

“Did you mark these?” You flipped through the pages. Not only were they marked, but they were marked correctly. They even had a sticker on each of “well done” or “great stuff”. 

You heard Jake chuckle. “I am a teacher, too, you know.”

“You’re a…Top Gun instructor. Not a third-grade teacher.”

“I do suppose I am over qualified to help but-”

You shook your head. You hadn’t meant for it to sound so insulting.

“No, I-I mean, thank you. But you didn’t have to do this. Any of this.” You gestured around your home. “You already did enough bringing me home.”

“I wanted to ask you about that. Why was it me that brought you home? Surely you have people who you actually like, to be your emergency contact?”

Tyler watched as you fell silent and searched for the words to tell him. 

“You’re…not.” Taking a breath, you looked up at him. “They…they tried a couple of people. They couldn’t make it. One of the nurses knows Penny so called and asked if she had anyone’s number who I knew. I did try and tell them to just call me a cab.”

He let your words settle over him. 

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who else did you call? Who didn’t pick up?”

You listed them off. Most were people in your family and a couple of friends. 

“I would have fought them on it but-”

“I’m glad you called me.” Jake admitted you. And it struck you. “Give me your phone.”

You slid it over to him. And he called his number from your phone. 

“If anything like that happens again, I want you to call me.”

“Jake-”

He shook his head. “You’re not fighting me on this. Fight me on everything else. Anything else. But not this. Call me.”

So you just nodded. “Okay.”

“Good. And eat up, too.”

You did. “You say that as if we’ve got some place to be.”

“We do.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later he practically shoved you into your bathroom en-suit telling you to shower and get changed. 

“I thought my nurse was meant to be kind.”

“I am kind!” He said. “And I’m not a nurse. And I’m a friend.”

You laughed a little at that one. 

“I’ve seen the inside of your junk drawer. I’m your friend. I have to be, or else I don’t have a word for it.”

He did have a point on that. Your junk drawer…even you hadn’t seen the inside of that thing in at least a year. 

So, after getting dressed, taking the last of your antibiotic and forcing some kind of health smoothie Hangman had made you with the blender he found at the back of your cupboard, you found yourself back in the passenger seat of his car. 

“Where are we going?”

He said nothing, just smiled and pulled the aviators from his collar and put them on before starting his engine and for a moment you wondered if that was what he did when he got into his jet. Flash his million-dollar smile before starting his jet engine and taking off into the sky. For a moment you wondered what it would be like to watch him land and look over at you just like he did. 

But then you forced yourself back to reality. 

This was Jake Seresin, aka Hangman. Given that name because he hangs his team out to dry. 

But he didn’t leave you. 

In fact, he was the only one to show up. 

And the first to stay. 

You read the road signs as best as you could until you realised where he was taking you. 

“You know there is a beach like ten minutes from my house.”

He nodded. “I know. But you’re there all the time. You’ve seen that patch a thousand times. This is different.”

“How? Isn’t all sand the same?”

He shrugged, still smiling. “Maybe. But they always say the beach can work a thousand miracles. Come on.”

It was a five minute walk to the bottom. 

“Is it usually this empty?”

He looked around. “There’s usually a couple more people, but yeah. This is usually it. Not many people drive this far down. They think it’s not the best but to me…couldn’t be more perfect.”

“Huh.”

“What?” Jake asked, looking at you. 

You continued looking out to the water. You shook your head. “No, nothing. Just…never thought you’d be the sentimental type.”

“Well…I’m not.” 

You looked at him. 

“To most people.”

It was at that moment you felt a small crackle. Either in your chest or your gut, something crackled. And you felt the blanket of hatred you had for Jake Seresin start to fade. 

His call sign might be ‘Hangman’, but you had a strong feeling that when it came to those he cared about…he tried his best to stick around. And even if he couldn’t, he’d make a memory of them to last a lifetime. 

 For the rest of the day, you spent most of your time lying on the beach watching the waves or reading your book, which he had packed. And it was…one of the best days you’d had in a long time. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?” Moving the book from his face, Jake looked at you from beneath his shades as you lay on your stomach beside him. 

“This? Less than a week ago I’m pretty sure people would have made money on you and I killing each other. Why are you helping me?”

“Because you need it. And I’m pretty sure anyone else would believe you when you say that you don’t.”

“And you don’t believe me?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know you.”

You scoffed. “What do you mean you know me?”

You watched as he smiled and tried to kill the butterflies in your stomach. 

“Y/n.”

You were still getting used to the fact he was using your first name. Usually it was your last, or some sweet nickname like ‘Sweetheart’ that would grate through your entire body. 

“You spend most of your time making sure everyone feels okay and is doing okay. The only time you actually let your feelings know is when you’re taking shit to me. You deserve a break. You deserve to take one before your body forces you to have one.”

Hearing his words as he spoke, you slowly sat up until your back was to the water and you were fully facing him. 

“Plus, your brother asked me to look out for you. And I’d rather not suffer his wrath again.”

Okay, that had to be complete bull. Your brother’s wrath when it came to protecting you, that was true. But why ask Jake of all people given he knew your history and track record with him. 

And what did he mean by again?

You barely had time to ask all of your questions before you watched him stand up, throwing his book closed to the ground. You mentally scolded yourself for letting your eyes wander all over him. 

You weren’t blind to the fact Hangman looked, well, like him. A daring smile, enough charm to charm even the most sourest of people and the body to go with it. But before today, you had been immune. At least, you considered yourself immune since the blanket of hatred that you held for him seemed to block plenty out. 

Worst of all, he caught you. 

You knew he caught you because of the smirk on his face and the chuckle that escaped his broad chest. 

“Shut up.” You groaned, forcing yourself to stand. “I’ve been in the hospital. My immune system is temporarily weakened.”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve caught you, Sweetheart.” Seresin drawled just as you looked at him both annoyed and confused. And maybe slightly offended that he thought you had, before today, purposefully checked him out. 

But he just laughed. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

“But what about our stuff?”

“It’ll be safe. I know most of the people on this beach, they’ll make sure nothing happens to it.”

Taking your hand in his, he led you down the beach, under a small cove and through to the otherside where some rocks were covered in seaweed and sand. 

And for a while, you and Jake explored the place. You’d never been this far down the beach so finding out it existed was a bonus. Finding seaweed to pop and watching the crabs crawl across some of the rocks was fun. 

You’d never stop to take a break. Straight out of college, you’d begun teaching. It had been in your home town until your brother got accepted into Top Gun. And, with an internalised fear of losing him, you moved out to San Diego. You knew after a while he’d be stationed somewhere else, but you’d managed to find a home there. And when your brother was stationed not too far from his Top Gun base, the rest of your family moved closer. 

Since then, it has been helping them get settled, tutoring their children after spending all day teaching. It was sleepless nights spent alone at home, living off the quickest food you could make because you simply didn’t have time to cook. It was running yourself so far into the ground that the one person who you never thought would even step foot into your home was the only one to show up and give you enough space to actually relax. 

So watching crabs walk along the rocks was fun. 

And hearing your name, and calling out his name above the waves, without hatred or malice behind it, was fun, too. 

“Come and look at this.”

Carefully, you made your way over the rocks, trying your best not to slip and hit your head. And you did so, until the last rock before you joined him. 

Letting out a small yell as you reached out to try and catch yourself, he threw out his hand and caught you. 

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Can you stand?”

You lowered yourself to a lower rock, still holding onto his arms before letting go and allowing yourself to take his hand and help you up the rest of the way. 

“What am I looking at?”

It was a starfish. 

The rest of the day, you and Jake explored the shore, skipped rocks on the calming water, sunbathed and even took a swim in the water. 

By the time the sun had set, you found yourself sitting with him on the hood of his car, a pizza box between you both, watching the planes fly from the airport. 

A week ago, if anyone had told you that you would have done any of this, especially with Hangman, you would never have believed them. 

“Thank you, for your help.” You blurted out as you watched another plane fly into the sky. 

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yes, I do.” You wanted him to listen to you. “Given our track record for being nice to each other, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you didn’t turn up at the hospital to bring me home. But you did. And you made sure I didn’t fall into some kind of coma after it. And today you gave me the first day, I think, ever, where I’ve not done a thousand things for somebody else and enjoyed what I was doing. So, I do need to thank you for that.”

“Are you saying…you…like me?”

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face, but you tried to force it away. “Okay.”

“No, no. I mean, this is a miracle.”

“You’re tolerable.” You corrected him. 

Smiling, he took another slice of pizza. “You like me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You like me. I am now your friend. We are now friends.”

You shook your head, holding in a laugh. “Just shut up and eat your pizza.”

It was safe to say after that, that everyone was shocked at the dynamic between both you and Hangman. 

They had all gotten so used to the insults and borderline flirty comments you’d both sling each other's way, it had become like white noise. So, when it was gone and replaced with laughter and smiling, it gave everyone a terrified feeling. 

“I’m guessing they’re not here yet.”

Penny shook her head as she poured another pint. With a smile, she nodded over to the other end of the bar. “They’re over there.”

Twenty minutes later, it had become like a social study for everyone in the bar to watch you and Jake. 

“Do you think they fucked? Got all that pent up energy out?”

Coyote shook his head. “No, he would have told me. How long have they been like this? Maybe they’ve been hypnotised into liking each other?”

Rooster shook his head. “The hypnotist left like three months ago. Maybe they’re…faking it. Do you think they heard us talking about them last week? About who would kill who first? Maybe they’re teaming up so nobody wins?”

Penny shook her head as she wiped down the bar. “Well, whatever it is, it’s a nice change. She looks a lot happier. They both do. Who knows, maybe next we’ll be holding a wedding here.”

“Not their wedding?” Rooster seemed shocked. “Penny, they were about three insults away from killing each other three weeks ago.”

“Love is blind, as they say.”

For the rest of the night, people watched you and Jake sat together. Seresin and Y/l/n. Hangman and Sweetheart. 

And then they watched as you walked home. 

Together. 

It was safe to say everyone was shocked to their core. For the first time ever, there had been a night where both you and Jake had not only been in the bar at the same time but had also sat together for the whole night, and not once killed each other. 

Verbally or otherwise. 

“You know, you’re not as big of a dick as I thought you were Seresin. Tonight was a nice change.”

“I have been known to be kind once in a while.”

“Keep this up, you might be fit to see another day.”

“So might you.” Jake replied as he watched you climb the steps of your front porch. “I meant what I said, about taking a break. You deserve one, Y/n.”

You took in what he said with a small nod before adding. “You know, it’s still freaking me out, you even know my first name.”

“If it helps, the nurse had to tell me.” He said. “Guess I’ve called you by your last name so much, I forgot your first.”

“Is that why you keep saying it? So you don’t forget?”

He shrugged, a slight smirk on his face. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You know, it is okay if you forget it once in a while.”

Jake smiled a little at that. “How could I forget the name of the woman who once dumped three shots of tabasco sauce into my drink?”

“Hey, you can’t prove that was me.”

“Hey, the bottle was in your hand.”

You unlocked your door. “I still plead not guilty.”

“Whatever you say, Sweetheart. Sure you’re okay on your own?”

You nodded. “I’ll be fine. Besides, don’t you have an early start in the morning?”

He nodded. “Even so. Call me.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

“Night, Sweetheart.”

He waited for you to lock your doors before he got into his car and drove back home. 

The following weeks continued the same way. If anybody who was anybody saw you and Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin together, in the same room, talking. They would stop and watch. 

Never in a million years did anyone expect you and Jake to talk, never mind actually become friends. 

Each Friday, you met each other at the bar. You both have a drink. You’d both sit and talk. Maybe some of your old ways were still there with each other, but there was less “25 to life” about it and more “affection” in the words you both said. 

However, it nearly gave people an aneurysm when they thought you were both actually dating. 

Two people who were thirty seconds away from physically fighting each other every day had gone from, well, that, to…to…to dating?

It couldn’t be…could it?

And the rumours that had been spread by one of the bar regulars, after she’d spotted both of you grocery shopping together before spotting Jake’s car leave from the top of your road hours later, were only fueled when they heard about what happened at the school. 

It had been months since you fainted and you had been getting better. You felt better, you felt like you had more energy. And with Jake’s help you started to feel like a person again. A person who wasn’t wholly consumed by their work constantly, whether they were ten miles from the building or not. 

Except, one morning, you woke up and felt…off. 

Something wasn’t right. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something didn’t feel right. Maybe your period was coming early. It has been doing that lately. Surprising you when you least expected or wanted it. 

Just a few weeks ago, it had arrived early once again. And the pain you’d felt in the days before nearly floored you. And when you hadn’t showed up at the bar like you’d agreed to with Jake, he came looking for you. That night he’d taken a quick trip to the grocery store after you told him what happened. He looked after you. Made sure you were okay. The next day, he drove you back to the store and you stocked up on supplies and snacks. 

It was also later that night when he surprised you by making dinner. 

Opening up your fridge, you took one of the healthy smoothies that Jake had left you the last time he’d come round, before packing it into your bag and heading to work. 

Your queasy feelings only got worse. And then…you felt it. 

Sticking on a documentary for your class, you took your phone and slowly made your way towards the teachers bathroom, stopping off at the next class. 

“Can you keep an eye on them for a couple of minutes?” 

Your best friend nodded. “Course’ honey.” Before asking her TA to go next door. 

“You okay?”

You tried your best to look okay, despite everything you were feeling inside. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I will be.”

As the TA headed next door, you made your way towards the bathroom, then dialled his number. 

“Hey,” Jake said as he answered. “Just about to call you. They’ve got a showing of The Wizard of Oz tonight at the theatre, if you wanted to go-”

“Jake.”

“Are you okay? What’s happened? Is everything okay? Is it your brother-”

“Every…” You swallowed thickly before carefully lowering yourself onto the floor with your back against the wall, and unlocking the door. “Everything’s okay, it’s just…”

Jake had a strong feeling he knew what was happening. “I’m on my way. Where are you?”

“School bathroom. Teacher’s.”

“Okay.” You could hear him leaving his office and getting into his car. “Is the door unlocked?”

You didn’t answer. 

“Y/n.”

“I’m here.”

Jake breathed. “Y/n, Sweetheart. Is the door unlocked to the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“Does anyone else know you’re there?”

You explained what happened as best as you could. 

“Just, please get here soon?”

“I will, Sweetheart. I promise. I’m almost there.”

You didn’t know how long had passed but it wasn’t long before you heard your name being called out by Jake. 

Pulling the door open a little from the floor, Jake ran towards it and peeked inside. There you were, sat with your knees close to your chest, against the wall. 

He stepped inside before crouching down. 

“I-I’m sorry I called. I just-”

Checking you over, Jake cupped your face. “Hey, no. No. I’m glad you called me. You can always call me. How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy. It’s better now but still like the room is spinning. And I’m not harnessed in.”

“Okay. Do you think you can stand?”

You gave a small nod. “Maybe.”

Helping you up, Jake took your hands in his and you stood up. 

“Come on, we’re getting you checked out at the ER.”

You would have fought him on it but considering the last time it happened they kept you in overnight, you went willingly. 

Thankfully, you didn’t pass out even when the dizziness and the nausea felt like they were getting worse. 

By the time the doctor saw you, she did all of the routine checks before turning and looking at Jake and back to you. 

“Is there a possibility you could be pregnant? I’ve seen a lot of couples come in here with similar symptoms and-”

Oh shit. 

“Oh, no. I-I’m not. And he’s not-”

“We’re- We’re not together.”

A few more awkward moments like that filled the next couple of hours until both yourself and Jake seemed to give up on correcting people. 

By the time they discharged you, they told you your blood sugar levels had dropped and your hormones were beginning to change with your cycle. Along with the advice to try and reduce stress. 

Driving you home that night, Jake made a detour. Towards the diner and then towards the beach along The Hard Deck. 

It was quiet for a Tuesday evening, but yourself and Jake just sat and ate dinner whilst watching the water push in and pull out constantly across the sand until eventually, laying your head on his shoulder, he placed his arm around your own. 

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

“Thank you for calling me. Are you feeling any better?”

You nodded, gratefully. “Just a little tired, that's all.”

“I’ll drop you off at home, soon, if you’d like.”

You nodded then looked at him. And before you could stop yourself, you asked him; “Would you stay with me? Tonight? If you can’t- or if you don’t want to-”

“I’ll stay.”

“A-are you…sure?”

Jake nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “I’ll stay with you.”

You didn’t know what else to say other than thank you, so pressing a light kiss to his cheek, you said as much. “Thank you.”

You could have sworn you saw him blush as he smiled and looked down. “Anytime.”

It was odd really, laying beside the man you thought you’d be telling your kids about when you were older. About how much you hated him and how much he hated you, and why neither of you could sit next to each other at the Thanksgiving table every year. 

Jake had decided to stay in your guest bedroom, but the minute you heard him lay down in his bed, you felt…awake. Not wide awake. You were still tired. But you weren’t settled. Something inside of you wanted to be closer to him. 

So, after an hour of laying on your back, staring at your ceiling and listening to the distant shore line, with the odd rumble of a car’s engine running up and down the road every now and again, you got up. 

Jake had left his door open. If you shouted for him, or needed him, he would be able to hear you. Usually, he’d be out like a light, waking up at the smallest of noises. But this time, he couldn’t sleep. 

Instead, his mind was going over the fact you had called him when you were at work. And the fact that he enjoyed it when you were with him. That he was the one you chose to lean on. And the fact that he wished he was down the hall with you at that moment, then lay alone in the dark in your guest bedroom. 

Then he heard you. 

From the dim, moonlit hallway, he saw you. 

“Hey, everything-”

“Can I stay with you?”

Already half way up, Jake paused for a second. Then nodded. “‘Course. Come ‘ere.”

Walking over, Jake pulled the covers back and you climbed under them before feeling his arm wrap around you. And your arms came around him, one over his shoulder and round his neck, the other by his side. 

Instinctively, he pulled one of your legs across him and held it there whilst his other arm remained securely around your back, holding you to him. 

“Is this okay?”

He felt you nod and he nervously swallowed. 

“Are you okay, Sweetheart?”

In a quiet voice, your breath against his neck, you answered. “Better now.”

Pressing a kiss to your head, you nuzzled into each other. 

“Good.”

Not too long after that, you both fell asleep. 

And when you both woke up, neither of you wanted to move. 

If this had somehow happened six months ago, you probably would have thrown each other to the other side of the room. But it wasn’t six months ago. And you’d come to know Jake as…Jake. Who took care of his friends, and made sure everyone was okay and was kind and caring and…a lot of other things you didn’t want to think about at six o’clock in the morning. 

And the way he was looking at you at that moment made you think about other things that you didn’t want to think about. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jake asked after a few moments of watching you study him. 

“That you need to stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you…like me.”

Jake smiled. “I do like you, Sweetheart.”

“Jake.”

Then, for a moment, everything felt…serious. His tired smile dropped a little from his lips as he looked at you. 

“Do you trust me?”

You felt your heartbeat pick up in your chest and for a moment, you wondered if he could hear it. 

“Yes.”

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you felt him cup your cheek. “Y/n…”

He seemed nervous. 

“Can I kiss you?”

If you had let yourself think about it long enough, you never would have guessed Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, who went after whatever, and usually whoever he wanted, would ask if he could kiss. You’d always assumed that he was so confident in life and with women that he’d know. That he’d see the small signals. Or even the loud ones. And just…kiss a girl. 

But no. 

He asked. 

And something in your gut jumped. 

So you answered; “Yes.”

Nervously, he licked his lips before he leaned in. And kissing him felt…weird. Because it felt…normal. Unlike anything else you’d felt in your life. 

You managed to pull him closer, until he was leaning above you. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

From there, the softer, searching kisses slowly faded away and turned into something more. More wanting, more needing. Feeling his hands move down your body before he gripped your hips, and pulled you closer to him and carefully slid them back up until the fabric of your t-shirt began to bunch together. 

Feeling him press into your thigh, you let out a small noise that was only swallowed by his kiss. Swiftly, he pulled you across him, your legs straddling his lap before he sat up. Once more, he pushed the hair from your face and took you in, in the rising daylight. 

No words were spoken out loud, but everything was said. 

Leaning down, you kissed him again before letting your own hands move down his chest and towards the hem of his t-shirt. Except, just as he pulled you closer by your waist, his hips rocking into you, you both jolted at the sound of his alarm. 

“Sorry.” Jake quickly turned and switched it off. You were both going to be late for work. 

“If we don’t get ready now, we’re gonna be late.”

Looking at him, you didn’t know fully what to say. It had just been the hottest make out session of your life, with a guy six months ago people would have bet money on you killing. And you’d both been cock-blocked by his alarm. 

“I’ll meet you here, after work?”

That made you smile. “Okay.”

Then he did, too. “Okay.” Before throwing his phone to the side and pulling you down to kiss him. But as you pulled away, he groaned, trying to pull you back to continue but you walked a good three feet away from the bed. 

“Can’t be late, Hangman. You’ve got pilots to teach.”

With a coy smile, he was standing in front of you within seconds before lifting you onto the dresser behind you. This time, it was you trying to pull him back when he stopped kissing you. But he just stood back and let out a small chuckle. 

“We’ve both got students to teach, Sweetheart. We stay here any longer, they’re both gonna miss us.”

One final kiss to your lips, he stood back and practically ran away before you could grab hold of him. 

Twenty minutes later, he was showered and dressed for the day and had poured you a coffee to-go as well as packed you another smoothie and grabbed your lunch for you before you’d come downstairs, dressed and began loading the last of the exam papers into your bags. 

He dropped you back off at work, however, when you realised he was waiting in the parking lot for you to enter, you left your bags by the pillar and walked back. With his window already being down, you leaned in and kissed him, feeling his hand cup the back of your head. 

“See you tonight?”

“See you tonight.”

The day for either of you couldn’t have felt longer. And by the time Jake came walking through your back door, dropping his bag onto one of the pantry hooks, he couldn’t have been more relieved to see you. 

And for a moment, he just watched you as you sat on the sofa with crossed legs, flipping through a textbook and making notes. Softly, he approached you from behind before wrapping his arms around your shoulders. 

You smiled. 

“Hey, Sweetheart.”

“You’re back.”

You felt him relax against you. “Finally.”

“There’s some food. I made you a plate in the oven.”

He pressed a kiss to your head before walking towards the kitchen. “I would have cooked.”

“I know, but I needed the distraction.”

Waltzing back inside holding onto the warm plate, he smirked as he popped a fork-full of veg into his mouth. You could already feel your cheeks heating and from the look on his face, he could see it clear as day. 

“Distraction from what?”

“Nothing in particular.”

“Nothing, huh?”

At some point, he put down his plate and rounded back to the sofa, standing behind you before pressing soft kisses into the side of your neck. 

“Jake.”

The way you said his name went straight to his dick. 

As he moved your hair, you leaned to grant him more access. A satisfied smirk came to his lips as he watched your legs move to straighten out. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, Sweetheart.”

Eventually, you felt Jake move away but he appeared again, lowering himself in front of you. Taking the textbooks and notes from you and placing them on the coffee table behind him, he leaned forward and pulled you in to kiss him. 

“Have you been thinking about me?”

Feeling his hand move up your thigh and towards your shorts, you leaned in closer. “Have you, Sweetheart?”

“Yes,” your voice came out breathy. 

“Is this okay?”

You nodded. 

“I need words, darlin’.”

“Yes. Yes, it’s okay.”

As time passed, the small part of you that was still able to function started to ask questions. Like why you had hated him so much in the first place? And how you almost missed…him. 

And by the time you woke up in the morning, Jake practically wrapped around you like a boa constrictor, you had come to a new conclusion. 

You didn’t hate him anymore. 

You hadn’t hated him for a long time. 

All opinions you had of him, especially after a night of mindblowing sex, had been shot out of the water. 

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was no longer the man you thought he was. The man you had come to know and lo- 

The man you had come to know was a man that showed up. And stayed. He was someone that took care of the people he cared about. He was someone that would fix things in your home without you asking. He was someone that cooked meals, even if it was almost one o’clock in the morning and you were craving a grilled cheese. He was someone that, even after sex, took care of you in a way nobody had ever even thought about doing before. He was someone that you could trust and respect, and did so. 

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was a man that had proved your theories wrong and he was a man that you realised you were falling for. 

And in some ways, that scared you. And in some ways, it didn’t. 

Because, for as much as he could be so sure of himself. So bold. So confident, it bordered on cocky. You were also sure of him. Sure that, if he was feeling the same things you felt, that he wouldn’t let you hurt yourself when you fell, but rather he’d catch you. 

And it, surprisingly, didn’t take him very long. 

By the time you woke up in the morning and headed downstairs, freshly dressed in a worn Top Gun hoodie and a pair of sleep shorts, you started making breakfast. However, as you stood at the stove, flipping the bacon, you felt a newly familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind. 

Dropping his chin to your shoulder, Jake pulled you close to his chest. 

“Good morning.”

“Morning’.” He drawled. “Whatcha’ cookin’?”

“Bacon and eggs. There’s also toast in the toaster.”

With a smile, Jake pressed a kiss to your exposed collar which caused you to let out a small giggle before quickly turning the stove off. 

“You’ve gotta be careful, Hangman. You’ll make me burn breakfast.”

He hummed a response. “I had a couple other meals in mind.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

With his hands on your hips and his lips on your neck where you suspected he’d just left another hickey, he slowly turned you around. “I can think of one.”

Finally facing him, he kissed you as you fumbled with the last temperature gauge and turned it off. Picking you up, he carried you away from the counter near the stove to the one complete opposite. 

“You’re driving me insane dressed like this.” He mumbled against your kiss. “Wearing my shirt.”

“Your shirt?” You asked as his lips moved to your neck. 

Looking at you for a moment, half drunk on your kiss, he nodded. “Didn’t you know, Sweetheart? This here is mine.” Pinching some of the fabric between his fingers he shook it as he told you so. 

You laughed. “No it’s not.”

He nodded. “God's honest truth. Your brother stayed at mine one night after he’d gone out drinking. Lost his shirt, don’t ask me how. Stole one of my hoodies. Never got it back.”

“How do you know this is yours?”

With a smile, Jake showed you the small hole that you’d made a little bigger over the years from when you’d get nervous. “This right here. Loose thread got caught in a cabinet I was fixing in my room. Pulled at it too hard. And…”

Jake watched as your expression changed a little, hungry for more of his touches, as he pushed his hand slowly up the inside of your- his hoodie. 

A slight smirk, he pulled at the side tag and showed you. And it baffled you how you’d never noticed before. 

J.H.S

“See. But, I have to say, Sweetheart. It looks better on you than it ever did me.”

And as he was looking at you, he asked you something else. “Let me take you out on a date. A real one. You know, seeing you like this…I never want to see anyone else like this but you.”

“Jake…”

“I’m being serious. Sweetheart, I want you. And not just temporarily.” Then he looked away as he said the next part. “I’d get it…if you didn’t want that. God knows you and I don’t have the best history when it comes to even getting along but-”

“I want to date you.”

He looked up at you. 

“I want to date you,” you repeated. “Believe me, half of the time I don’t get it myself. How we’ve gone from one extreme to the other, but I know…I know I want you around.”

“I want you around, too.”

“So, yes.”

Jake smiled. “Yes?”

You smiled back. “Yes. Take me out on a date, Jake Seresin.”

Leaning forwards, he kissed you. And before long, your hands started to feel for the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head. 

It was safe to say, when you and Jake walked into The Hard Deck in the evening after your official first date, hand in hand before he pressed a kiss to your lips, a lot of people were shocked. 

And lost a lot of money. 

But Penny won it all. 

She knew the minute Jake saw you, and your brother scolded him, that something would happen. After all, Hangman was known for going after what he wanted. She just never expected to have to be the one to force you to be in the same room and for that room to be a hospital.

[danidrabbles]

This was so devastatingly sexy.....

First of all: LOVE the no-outbreak setting, I always enjoy reading about that softer pre-outbreak Joel getting to live his life without being so hardened by everything that happens to him in canon. Second: This taking place on and around Bill and Frank's wedding is such a stroke of genius, what a fun setting!

The tension between them is so apparent from the start, the way he calls her sweetheart, the way she's immediately wound up the moment he's in the room. (The way they're both touching themselves to the thought of the other, oof...)

The moment when she helps him with his buttons and his bowtie was SO good, I loved that they both had this sense of "Is this okay?" but couldn't help themselves.

Your fingers brush his warm skin as you smooth his shirt collar back down over the band of the tie and it’s like an electric shock that shoots through every inch of your body. You’ve stuck a fork in an outlet and you want to do it again. You’re done with your task, yet you can’t bring yourself to step away. He doesn’t either–for seconds that feel like hours, you look into those dark eyes and feel his breath against your face and you finally have the courage to do something about it. You’re going to kiss him, just lean in a little further and– The sound of the lounge door opening makes your body jolt with the force of an actual fork in an outlet.

I could just feel this 😩

You grab him before he can finish his sentence. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ is blaring on the outdoor speakers as your lips finally meet his. It’s been weeks, maybe even months, of dreaming about this moment. It’s better than you ever could’ve imagined.

She's so brave for just going for it. It's so fun and refreshing.

And your Joel kills me his, “If I can’t make you come in ten minutes I’ll eat my own fist.”, “Shit, sweetheart, she’s soakin’ for me.” and “Gotta relax, gotta lemme in–”, but ESPECIALLY

“That how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and gentle?” He presses a little firmer and a grin spreads over his face at the gasp you let out. “Oh, that’s it.”

I love the ending so much, the way he pulls her in for "one final, saccharine sweet kiss", and thanks her, and the promise of more between them... wow. Thank you so much for writing and sharing!!

every breath you take

➔ (no outbreak) Joel Miller x f!Reader

➔ 5.3k words

➔ Your dad is getting married to his soulmate and you have every intention of making it the perfect day. The only kink in your plan is your unexpected feelings for your soon-to-be stepdad’s best man.

➔ Rated MA // BILL X FRANK SUPREMACY. LONG LIVE BILL X FRANK. no outbreak, age gap (reader is early 20s, Joel is 45), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, fingering (reader receiving), references to masturbation (reader), pussy pronouns, pet names // reader has female anatomy (no body description but is generally able-bodied) and uses feminine pronouns, is Frank’s adopted daughter (written for all skin tones), wears makeup and a dress, has hair (unspecified length)

➔ Big big thank you to @sugarcoated-lame and @sunlightmurdock for this idea and letting me run with it (sorry it took 5 months 😂) this is psuedo-inspired by my own current activities as my best friend's moh which is why i haven't been super active in the past month or so, thank you to everyone for being so patient with me <33

June, 2013.

After months of planning—stress, sweat, and tears abounding—the big night is here. Well, almost here. The actual wedding is tomorrow, but tonight is the rehearsal dinner; and as your adoptive dad has spent the entire preparatory period impressing upon you, the rehearsal might be even more important than the wedding itself.

With that in mind, you arrive at the venue a few hours early to assist with the set up. Seeing the unassembled pieces and parts of the event brings a smile to your face and a determination to your soul–you want this to be perfect. 

Someone else shares your determination, too.

You would’ve sworn, when you first met him, that an elaborate wedding would be the very last thing Bill would want. And yet this has been as much his planning as it has been your dad’s. It brings so much joy to your heart that your dad has found someone who matches him so completely. You couldn’t be happier for them; and at the same time, you couldn’t be more frustrated for yourself. Because, as dedicated as you are to making this day perfect for them, Bill’s best man and long-time friend is maybe even more dedicated. He’s been turning this wedding into a ‘friendly’ competition between the two of you, trying to one-up you at every opportunity he gets. It’s infuriating—especially when he wears that smug grin that’s become his signature expression around you. It’s torture, too, because all you want to do is kiss that stupid smirk right off his handsome face.

It’s unintentional on his part, you’re sure, but the tension is palpable enough to slice with a butter knife nonetheless. Today is no exception—he’s dressed for labor in worn jeans that are just a little too tight around his thighs and a faded Iron Maiden shirt that hugs his strong biceps. His hair is ruffled like he’s been tugging and running his hands through it, and it puts all kinds of indecent thoughts into your brain.

It’s wrong. The guy’s old enough to be your dad, and that’s aside from the fact that he’s your soon-to-be-stepdad’s best man. No self-respecting young woman should be looking at a guy who’s old enough to remember the Nixon administration the way you are right now. And yet…

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he says in that drawl of his which makes you want to throw your sanity out the window and fall at his feet to worship the very ground he walks on.

You’ve never hated Joel Miller more than you do right now. 

Regardless, you greet him with the sweetest smile you can muster. “Good morning. I didn’t know you’d be here this early.”

“Well, rehearsal’s as important as the weddin’ itself,” he dutifully repeats the line that you’ve heard from your dad a million times over. “And this barn ain’t gonna decorate itself.”

“Well, that’s kinda my job,” you remind him, hoping your tone sounds more annoyed to him than it does to you. 

He flashes that boyish smile that no middle-aged man should be able to master, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

You want to grumble about it. You want to be annoyed by this goofy-ass forty-five year old man and his stupid competitive streak. Instead, your mouth betrays you by smiling. “I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He punctuates it with a wink, and you consider just falling onto the ground and perishing. Instead, you roll up your shirt sleeves and get to work.

The fruits of your labor are well worth the effort they take. You feel a heady sense of pride when you look around at all the decor–as long as this barn has been a wedding venue, you’re certain no one’s ever made it look this good before.

The tables are arranged neatly in rows, draped with luxurious white tablecloths and topped with neat arrangements of greenery in the centers. The seating chart that Bill and Frank worked so meticulously on is put into effect with hand-written placards designating each chair to an occupant. Strings of white globe lights hang from the rafters and cast a hazy, reverent glow over the entire barn. Everything is the perfect mix of modern and rustic.

Outside on the lawn, rows of neatly arranged chairs line a petal-scattered aisle. Everything leads to the focal point–an eight-foot high arch wrapped generously in green vines and white blossoms. It’s definitely the highlight of the entire thing, which irks you just the slightest bit–it was solely Joel’s vision. Apparently, he’s a lot more artistic than you’ve ever given him credit for. It tracks, you suppose; construction is an artform if you really think about it. He uses his hands to create just like a sculptor, but to a larger scale. And those hands are capable; you’ve seen exactly how much they can move or carry and you wonder if they could–

You shake off that train of thought before it can go any further. If you can’t get yourself under control you’re going to start wearing a rubberband on your wrist that you can snap every time your thoughts about Joel stray into the ‘things you shouldn’t be thinking about a middle-aged man’ category.

He certainly has aged like fine wine for a forty-five-year-old man, though…

Snap.

With a sigh, you give your head a shake in hopes of clearing your mind and take a look down at your watch. You’ve finished with perfect timing–you’ve got about two hours to go home and get cleaned up before you have to be back for the rehearsal dinner.

You look for Joel for a few moments before leaving, but he’s nowhere to be found. It puzzles you a little bit that he wouldn’t at least say goodbye before leaving, but then again he really doesn’t have to answer to you. It’s a well-needed wake up call, a reminder that your feelings–can whatever you’re going through really be called that?–your attraction, is one-sided. He’s here for Bill and Frank, not for you. You’re his best friend’s daughter and nothing more, and the realization washes over you like a bucket of ice water.

You hate the way it sends you spiraling on the drive home. You hate the way you care so much about what he might think of you. You hate the way that you have to look at yourself in the mirror and give yourself a stern talking-to about needing to let this whole stupid crush go. You hate the way that you can’t even pretend the extra layer of mascara you apply isn’t for him.

You avoid Joel the entire night, which isn’t easy to do. You have to walk down the aisle next to him during the ceremony rehearsal but you avoid his eye contact, taking a twisted little satisfaction in the way he frowns when all of your replies to his chit chat are short and clipped. Dinner is easier–both Frank and Bill sit between you and Joel, so there’s no attempted conversation to deflect from him. But you could almost swear you feel his eyes on you, as if he’s looking right through your dad and soon-to-be-stepdad.

Joel is puzzled, to put it simply. One second, he’s got you in the palm of his hand. Then a moment later, you’re looking at him like you might look at a bug you stepped on and got stuck to your shoe.

He puts it out of mind as much as he can. He’s not supposed to be looking at you like that, after all. He’s not supposed to be admiring the perfectly kissable curve of your shoulder or the biteable expanse of your neck. He’s definitely not supposed to be wondering what you’re wearing under that adorable dress of yours. You’re his best friend’s daughter, for god’s sake. You’re so far off limits that he shouldn’t even be looking in your general direction.

But he is. He’s looking, and he can’t stop looking. And most of all, he can’t stop wondering if you feel it too.

Evidently you don’t, because you won’t even take his arm as you practice walking up the aisle in preparation for the big day tomorrow. You’ve probably figured out how much he’s been thinking about you and the kinds of things he’s been thinking, and you’re disgusted. He’s just a dirty old man to you, surely.

Little does Joel know that you come on your fingers moaning his name practically as soon as you’re through the door of your hotel room that night. You fall asleep before you can feel too ashamed about it–blissfully unaware that Joel’s doing the same exact thing just a few doors down.

You wake up in the morning with much more clarity than you usually have, especially at 9AM.

No matter what, today is about Bill and Frank. You get to be part of a true love story, the kind that your dad used to read about to you in bedtime stories when you were a little girl. That knowledge steadies your mind more than anything else ever could.

You jump into the shower and try your best to tame your unruly hair before shuffling down to the dining area on the ground floor of the hotel. 

Bill and Frank really spared no expense on this place. All the food is fresh and hot, replenished every few minutes. It smells incredible–there’s overlapping waves of pastries, sausages, eggs, and fruits. It’s almost overwhelming; there’s way too many options.

After you pile up a plate with as much as your stomach can comfortably handle, you make your way over to the table your father occupies by himself.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” he says through a mouthful of cantaloupe.

“Decided to sleep in a little,” you explain. “Where’s Bill?”

“He already had breakfast, he’s getting ready,” Frank explains. “Joel made out a whole schedule for us, put us on different shifts so we don’t see each other before the wedding. It’s bad luck, after all.”

You snort through a bite of biscuits and gravy, because that’s such a characteristically Joel thing to do. From what you know of him, he thrives with routine and function–you’re surprised he doesn’t have you working off of a schedule, too.

A small, annoying part of your brain thinks it’s really adorable that Joel plays into that whole superstition. Another, more sensible part tells you that nothing Joel does is adorable and you’ve really got to stop thinking about him so much.

“How’re you feeling?” You ask, looking up at your dad through a bite of blueberry muffin.

“Relieved, honestly,” he admits with a chuckle and a twinkle in his eye. “I finally get to marry my best friend today, with my other best friend by my side.”

You hide the way the comment makes you choke up behind another bite of your breakfast.

There have been a lot of times where you’ve gone unwanted in your life; starting right at birth, continuing with unrequited crushes and lost friendships. But one person has always wanted you and been there for you through thick and thin. Frank picks you up every time no matter how hard you fall, and you feel so unbelievably lucky to be in his life. 

If anyone deserves a fairytale ending, it’s Frank. He always puts the people he cares about first, and now it’s his turn to shine. You’re not letting anything get in the way of that–especially not stupid, unrequited feelings for the best man.

With a little more resolve in your mind, it’s easier to get ready for the main event.

Every step of your preparation has been immaculately planned over the course of months. From your dress to your make-up, to your hair, not one detail has been overlooked. It takes you more than an hour to get ready–but when you’re ready, you’re a vision. Even though you’re not normally the type to enjoy looking into the mirror, you have to admit to yourself that you look stunning. 

Your traitorous brain wonders if Joel will think the same. 

With a heavy sigh, you grab your bag and your car keys. You really wish you had a way to shut those intruding little wishful thoughts off–they’re doing more harm than good at this point. 

You take a deep breath, shove as much as you can down, and resolve to have a good time celebrating your dads–then you open the door and set out towards an unforgettable night.

Whatever kind of shock and awe you were hoping to inspire in Joel, it’s surely nothing compared to the rush you feel as you find him in the bridal party lounge.

You’ve never seen him quite so put together. He’s normally a bit undone–a symptom of being a long-time bachelor–but today, he’s perfectly styled. The hair he’s been growing out is slicked back into gorgeous curls, his black tuxedo pants hug his hips like a dream. He’s in the process of fastening the last two buttons on his impeccable white dress shirt and every bone in your body screams to stop him–to keep that peek of his tanned chest on display for your hungry eyes.

You have a fearful moment of thinking you actually made the request aloud, because he does stop in his tracks when his eyes land on you. His lips part in shock and his pupils dilate and he freezes. Fingers that were once absentmindedly completing their task drop to his sides as he murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like “wow.”

“Need help?” You offer before you can think better of it.

There’s a long moment of tense silence, and then he nods silently.

Your mouth is dry as you approach him, trying desperately to keep your cool. Your clammy palms are definitely not the most qualified to complete this task for him, but you can’t back down now. With a deep breath–you’re so close now that it fills your nose with the spicy, intoxicating scent of his cologne–you will your hands to stay steady and reach for his shirt buttons.

His lead tongue finally remembers how to work as you fasten the first button. “You look… incredible.”

“So do you,” you whisper. Just when you think you’re out of the woods, ready to step back and breathe properly again, his hand comes up to offer you a bow tie.

“This too?” His warm brown eyes search yours–how could he ever expect you to say no?

“Y-yeah. Sure.” You turn the collar of his shirt up, then carefully fasten the tie around his neck. The band is perfectly configured to his neck, the bow already tied–all you have to do is secure a hook through a loop. He could’ve easily done this himself; and yet he didn’t. He wanted you to do this, and that particular bit of knowledge sends a rush of heat burning through your veins. 

Maybe this whole song and dance isn’t quite as unrequited as you originally thought.

Your fingers brush his warm skin as you smooth his shirt collar back down over the band of the tie and it’s like an electric shock that shoots through every inch of your body. You’ve stuck a fork in an outlet and you want to do it again.

You’re done with your task, yet you can’t bring yourself to step away. He doesn’t either–for seconds that feel like hours, you look into those dark eyes and feel his breath against your face and you finally have the courage to do something about it. You’re going to kiss him, just lean in a little further and–

The sound of the lounge door opening makes your body jolt with the force of an actual fork in an outlet.

“There you are!” Frank’s got an untamable smile on his face–his hair is impeccably gelled back, his white tuxedo tailored to fit like a glove. The sight of him, so close to everything he’s ever wanted, brings tears to your eyes. “Wow, you two look amazing.”

“Hey. Thanks.” You’re fighting with all your strength to keep your voice even and calm despite the compliment. The reality of your father’s happily ever after comes crashing in and you’ve never felt so proud. “First look time?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a nod. “Is Bill–?”

“Dressin’,” Joel answers after clearing his throat. “I’ll bring ’im out when he’s done.”

“Perfect, thank you.” Frank takes your hand to lead you outside, but not before you look over your shoulder at Joel. He looks thoroughly disheveled despite his sharp appearance–you’ve gotten under his skin. Good.

Thank god for waterproof make-up because you nearly lose your whole face during the first look. Not that you’re wearing much, but it’s enough that it’s jeopardized by the tears your treacherous eyes shed despite trying in vain to will them away.

You’ve never been so happy for two people before. You’ve never seen two people more in love. In their matching white tuxes, with their matching watery eyes, as they turn to greet each other for the first time today, you know that Bill and Frank are a forever thing. It brings you a sense of peace that you never knew was possible.

At some point, you become conscious of the fact that you’re holding Joel’s hand. You know you probably shouldn’t, that you could get both of you in serious trouble–but he’s not pulling away, so neither do you.

The true test of your mascara comes during the ceremony–it passes the test with flying colors, which is truly impressive considering the tsunami it has to hold up against. You’ve never really been a wedding cryer, although you suppose no one would blame you for this one. You’re hardly the only person walking away with tissues to their eyes. Bill and Frank have loved so hard and fought for so long in order to obtain this day–it’s nothing short of incredible to see them finally seal their union with vows.

Before the reception, you pop into the bridal lounge to make sure you’re still presentable. A couple tissues later and you’re good to go, but the sound of the door opening and the lock clicking into place stops you in your tracks.

Joel’s standing there, looking like a dream. Curls slightly disheveled from the wind, top two buttons of his shirt undone with his bowtie hanging out of his jacket pocket. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, albeit not as bad as yours.

His breath seems to catch when he sees you–he clears his throat before whispering, “Hey.”

For a long moment, your tongue is too heavy to speak. Every ounce of desire from earlier comes rushing back in a flash flood of emotion. It’s just you and him and tension so palpable you could grab ahold of it.

“H-hey,” you breathe. Earlier, you were ready to do something drastic. Now, all the familiar doubts come crashing back in. Are all these feelings one-sided? Were you just seeing what you wanted to see? The feeling of his hand in yours is burned into your palm. Does he feel it too?

“I think it went pretty well,” he hums. His hands are tucked into his pockets, thumbs twitching unconsciously as if he’s nervous.

“It was perfect,” you agree.

For a moment that seems to last a lifetime, you both stand toeing the line. It’s right there, unseen but waiting to be crossed. You don’t know if either of you have the courage it takes to step over it.

And then he moves; he breaks the tenuous balance of platonic and something more by closing the distance between you.

“You really do look amazin’,” he breathes, hands clenching indecisively at his sides. “I mean, you always do, but–”

You grab him before he can finish his sentence. ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ is blaring on the outdoor speakers as your lips finally meet his. It’s been weeks, maybe even months, of dreaming about this moment. It’s better than you ever could’ve imagined.

The world fades away as his breath becomes yours. There’s nothing but the feeling of his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip and his hands gripping your waist and his curls tickling your forehead. Nothing but the sound of his deep groan and the desperate thrum of his heartbeat underneath your palm as it slides up his chest. Nothing but finally feeling complete.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, but he doesn’t dare pull away. His steps sound like cannonfire as he backs you up against the wall, a march towards something deliciously irreversible as his tight grip on your waist bunches the fabric of your dress up. Nothing has ever felt as right as his entire body surrounding and swallowing you this way.

“I want to,” you breathe against his lips. “Do you?”

“God, yes.”

Your arms come up to wrap around his neck and tug him closer, desperately wanting every inch of his body pressed up against you. Just as he’s starting to pull the skirt of your dress up, the song outside changes to ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me’, strangely apt but also a reminder that you don’t have time. You made this playlist yourself–you know that there’s only three more songs after this one before you’re supposed to be ready for the bridal party entrance to the reception.

“Joel…” you moan out. “Joel, we have to be quick.”

“How quick?” He questions between searing kisses down the length of your neck.

“Ten minutes at the very most.”

“Shit,” he grumbles. He doesn’t pull away though–if anything, he pushes you back harder against the wall. “You still wanna do this?”

As much as you want to say yes, as much as you want to say fuck the reception, you can’t do that to Frank and Bill. “You think ten minutes is enough time?”

“If I can’t make you come in ten minutes I’ll eat my own fist.”

It makes you shiver in conjunction with the way his hand slides feather-light up your thigh.

Even the ghosting touch of his calloused fingertips on your sensitive skin has you aching for more. “Jesus Christ, you’re gonna drive me crazy.”

The cocky bastard has the audacity to actually wink at you. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

You drag his lips back to yours with a renewed sense of desperation, relishing the gentle scratch of his trimmed beard against your chin and under your palms. “It’s definitely working.”

“Good.”

You know this is territory that you probably shouldn’t be crossing into, not when he’s twenty years older than you and he’s your new step-dad's best friend, but you can’t be brought to care when those deliciously rough fingertips are slipping under the hem of your panties.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grumbles against your lips. “She’s soakin’ for me.”

“A-always is,” you gasp out. 

His fingers sweep through your folds, gathering as much slick as he can to swirl around your sensitive clit. He smirks at the way your hands tighten on him even at the lightest of touches.

“That how you like it, sweetheart? Nice and gentle?” He presses a little firmer and a grin spreads over his face at the gasp you let out. “Oh, that’s it.”

“Joel, please…” Your hands move to his arms, squeezing tighter than you probably should but you can’t help it when he’s touching you like this. It’s exactly what you need and he knows it–he watches your face for every little indication that he’s doing a good job.

“Please what?” He purrs quietly. “What do you need?”

You could go on like this for hours, you’re sure–and you’re sure he’d be more than willing. You could stay here in his arms forever and let him work you over until there’s nothing left in your head but his name.

The song outside changes again, and you know forever will have to wait.

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Need you.”

“It’s gonna be tight, sweetheart.” You’d think he was being overly confident if you couldn’t feel the size of the bulge pressing against your thigh.

“That’s okay. Please.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” In a flash he’s got his belt undone and your greedy hands are more than happy to assist in shoving those perfectly pressed pants down his sturdy thighs.

You can’t help the gasp that bubbles out with the sight of him. He’s big. There’s no debate. The flushed tip of him is peeking through mouth-watering foreskin, red and flushed as if angry it’s not inside you already. You’re devastated you don’t have time to take that thick length into your mouth, to make him shudder and shake until he’s begging to fill you.

Later, you remind yourself.

“Still sure about this?” He asks, tone no longer brimming with the urgency and arrogance from just a few moments prior. He searches your eyes intimately for any hint of hesitation–the last thing he wants to do is to push you.

You’ve never wanted anyone more.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

“Easy, honey. I’ve gotcha.” The hand between your thighs moves to coat him in your slick–for a moment, you’re mesmerized at the sight of his big hand working over his cock. “Gotta tell me if anythin’ doesn’t feel good, ‘kay?”

“I will, I swear, just please–”

The rest of your sentence gets lost in a breathless moan with the first gentle thrust of his hips. Even just the tip is a stretch–one that has your nails digging into his shirt-clad back and your thighs tightening around his waist.

“Shit, sweetie,” he purrs, voice liquid gold. “Gotta relax, gotta lemme in–”

You manage to loosen your thighs a little and it gives him the space he needs to press all the way in to the hilt–the feeling of him filling you completely is nothing but breathtaking. A broken groan tumbles from his lips–you can feel the way his breath hitches from how his forehead is pressed against yours. It’s nothing short of heady, to know that you have such a profound effect on a man you thought might be immune to you.

“Good?” He questions in a whisper. One of his hands is hooked under your left knee to keep your leg up around his waist; the other strokes absentminded patterns over your right hip, as if unconsciously soothing you.

You give him a shaky nod in response. “Good.”

The pace he sets is the most delicious kind of torture. You both know you’re in a time crunch, so Joel is more than happy to employ the most toe-curlingly relentless speed. Every slick thrust of his cock makes your eyes flutter–little breathy moans escape your lips with fervor as he pounds deep. He's hitting every single spot all at once and then some. All the while his lips trace around your neck and jaw, careful not to leave marks but whining quietly as if he’s tempted. As if he wants nothing more than to claim you in a way that everyone can see.

You moan out his name and the hand on your waist comes to help, settling between your bodies and finding that perfect rhythm from before. You’re finding out that he’s a very intuitive and quick learner–you would certainly praise him for it if you could find the breath to do so. 

The way his hips work–driving him deeper than anyone’s ever been; the way his fingers swirl–bringing you to the brink in mere minutes with the most thigh-shaking friction; the way his mouth works, sucking just light enough on the sweet spot behind your ear so as not to leave a mark… it all builds and builds and builds, leaving you breathless and trembling and teetering on the edge of pure oblivion.

“Y’feel like fuckin’ heaven,” he gasps out against your cheek. “Never gonna get enough.”

The words alone send white-hot pleasure shooting down your spine–you’ve wanted him so badly for so long, and now you know he’s wanted you too. It feels even better with that satisfaction, with the fact of winning the prize you’ve been coveting so deeply.

“Joel…” You want to tell him the million thoughts that are rushing through your head, but your lungs aren’t cooperating. 

“I know baby,” he murmurs with a particularly devastating thrust. “I know. S’okay.”

It’s too much and simultaneously not enough. You dig your nails into his shirt to tug him closer, a silent plea to get him working against that spot again. He complies without words, hitching your leg a little higher around his waist and angling his hips in a way that makes you cry out his name again.

“I’m gonna–”

“Yeah, go ‘head,” he purrs breathlessly. “Lemme feel it, come all over my cock.”

His fingers press a little firmer against your clit and that’s all you need for the knot in your stomach to unravel with blinding force. It travels through every nerve like some delicious form of spontaneous combustion, making your body shiver with the energy of it. It’s the best you’ve ever felt–you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it, either.

“That’s it honey, holy shit…” He murmurs before finally meeting your lips again for a breathless and panting kiss. “W-where?”

For a moment, you have no clue what he could possibly be talking about. His thrusts are losing rhythm with each moment, as if he’s about to–

“Inside,” you whine out after your moment of clarity. “Please–”

“Shit,” he spits even as he drives himself impossibly deeper. “Y’sure?”

You’re not even conscious of nodding your head–all you know is that you need him completely. “It’s safe. Promise.”

“Atta girl,” he whispers. “Gonna leave you fuckin’ drippin’, won’t be able to stop feelin’ it all night–”

His head tips back as the first wave crashes over him, eyes squeezed shut and mouth dropped open as his hips grind into yours. There’s nothing short of pure ecstasy on his face with the first few ropes of cum that fill you. You’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful as the pleasure washing over this gorgeous man’s gorgeous face. Knowing that you’re the cause of all this nearly sends you over the edge all over again.

He grunts as he shoves himself a little deeper, eager to feel every inch of you as he unwinds. “Christ, honey… squeezin’ me so goddamn tight.”

“Not my fault you’re huge.”

He chuckles at that, staying seated deep within your walls for a moment longer so he can kiss you again. It’s lost its edge of desperation, but it makes up for it with an overwhelming note of sweetness. His hand cups your jaw to guide the angle and once again you’re struck by that overwhelming sense of rightness. It’s like you were meant to be here, meant to take everything he gives you and more, meant to love him.

The song outside changes to ‘Every Breath You Take’, the song before the entrance song, and you spring to action.

“Shit, Joel, we’ve got to go.”

He pulls out with an overdramatic groan, as if it hurts him to be separated now that he knows what it feels like to be joined. You can feel the drip start even before his hand comes to fix your panties, but there’s hardly enough time to worry about that.

“How’s my make-up?”

“Perfect, darlin’. Not a thing outta place.”

“Thank god for waterproof,” you chuckle as you straighten your dress.

His dark eyes meet yours as your hands smooth out his rumpled shirt–there’s still so much swirling behind them, so much promise of things to come.

“We’ve gotta go,” you repeat when he halts by the door.

“Just a sec,” he murmurs. And then he pulls you in for one final, saccharine sweet kiss. “Come to my room w’me tonight.”

“Okay,” you promise–you’re surprised you can keep your voice even when just the question makes your heart skip a beat.

“Thank you.” It’s genuine, earnest. It makes your heart skip another beat.

He takes your hand before unlocking and opening the door, and he doesn’t let it go until he absolutely has to.

➔ beta: @schnarfer and @futuraa-free thank you my darlings <3 ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[capseycartwright]

you're my sun, my moon, my guiding star

“Fine, let’s have it your way then,” Eddie slammed his phone down on the kitchen table. “You set me up a dating profile then – Hinge, Grindr, whatever you fucking want, Buck. Set me up a dating profile, and you pick which random man I need to sleep with to make it so you feel okay about wanting me.” 

in which evan buckley gets dumped, gets drunk with his best friend, realises he's in love with said best friend, and lets his abandonment issues get the best of him. because your first is never your last, right? so buck can't be eddie's first: he needs to be his last.

ao3 link

Buck was driving himself to Eddie’s before he could really even think about it, the autopilot of his brain engaging and getting him behind the wheel, and on the road to his best friend’s house without needing much thought at all. Eddie was who he needed, in that moment – not Maddie, and her sage advice, not Hen, who’d be clever, and logical about it all. No, he needed Eddie. Eddie, who inexplicably opened the front door in his underwear and a pink shirt. Eddie, who let them sit in silence, a playlist churning out eighties rock for a full twenty-three minutes (Buck checked) before Eddie said anything at all. 

“So,” Eddie set his empty drink down, gesturing to Buck for a second. Buck twisted the cap off before he handed it over, adding to the pile on the coffee table. “What happened? You said that you and Tommy were going to the movies tonight.” 

Buck groaned, the sound loud in the quiet of Eddie’s house. “I was supposed to be,” he slumped back onto the couch. “But then he dumped me.” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “He dumped you?”

“He dumped me,” Buck confirmed. “Because I am a deeply unlovable individual who is going to die alone.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I think you might be being dramatic there.”

“I’m not!” Buck protested. “Eddie, everyone I date dumps me – or leaves me. That apparently doesn’t even change when I’m dating a man. It’s not – I thought it would be different, with Tommy.” 

“Because he’s a man?” Eddie’s confusion wasn’t judgemental – no, Eddie never judged him, Buck was sure of that much. It was sincere confusion, his best friend wanting to understand where Buck was coming from.

“Yeah? No? I mean – maybe,” Buck huffed. He wasn’t entirely sure how to articulate himself. “I guess – I guess I just thought that now I know who I am, that I’m like – consciously aware I’m bisexual – it might be different. That maybe it didn’t work out before because there was this part of me that I didn’t know, or understand, and that had affected my relationships because I wasn’t bringing my like, whole self to the table. But if it didn’t work with Tommy, then that’s not why. Right? Then the problem is me.” 

Eddie’s expression softened. “I don’t think the problem is you, Buck.”

“It has to me! I’m the only common denominator here.”

Buck wanted to cry. He wanted to lie down on Eddie’s couch and cry until he had nothing left – and it wasn’t about Tommy, really, because Buck had liked Tommy, but the end of their relationship wasn’t what was making him feel so devastated. It was the idea of Tommy, more than anything else – what Tommy represented. A happily ever after that Buck was falling short of all over again. 

“What did Tommy say, exactly? Maybe – maybe you’re spiralling, and he gave you a good reason that you’re not seeing.” 

“He – I asked him to move in with me.” 

“Buck.”

Eddie sounded long-suffering. Buck had earned that. He knew that much. “I know,” he knew it had been the wrong move. The words were barely out of his mouth, and Buck knew it had been the wrong move – but that was sort of his thing, to cling desperately to relationships that didn’t work because he was so terrified of being alone. “I just – I felt comfortable with him, and the whole Abby thing was weird.”

“Really weird,” Eddie agreed, wincing. 

“But not the kind of weird I couldn’t get past. Right? He came over tonight, and I told him – why be apart when we could be together. Then, he said he couldn’t move in with me, because if he did, I would only break his heart,” Buck sighed. He wouldn’t intend to. That’s what Tommy had said – but who ever planned to break someone’s heart? No one was that cruel. Maybe they were – but Buck wasn’t. He’d never wanted to break anyone’s heart, even if that had been the end result sometimes. 

Eddie was quiet for a second. “Did he say why he thought you’d break his heart?”

Buck’s beer burned his throat as he took another gulp, the sour taste lingering. “He said that he was my first, but he wasn’t my last.” 

read the rest on ao3

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 8

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

“I can’t believe you let me fall asleep!” Chrissy complains, crowding into Steve’s space to desperately try to fix her hair in the mirror.

Steve snorts, unbelievably fond at the way her bangs are going every direction but down. “What am I, your mother?” he asks, fixing his own hair by standing on his tippy toes and looking over her head.

“No, but she will be killing me for this!” Chrissy cries, finally giving up on finger-combing her bangs to dunk the strands into the sink and get them wet. “Thanks for reminding me!”

“You’re bitchy in the morning,” he mutters, grimacing when she pulls her head out of the sink abruptly enough that water droplets fling from her head and onto his shirt. “Now, hurry up, we’re already late.”

She flips him off, ignoring him entirely to continue fixing her hair.

They’re both late; Chrissy doesn’t let him forget it for the rest of the day, as if it’s his fault.

“I remember when I thought you were nice,” Steve mutters, laughing helplessly when she elbows him in the side.

“You love it,” she says, smiling as they sit across from each other in their usual spot in the library, feet settling together beneath the table.

The thing is, he does. He’s always liked Chrissy, even back when she was all sunshine and rainbows, but even more so now that there’s some grit to her.

“Shut up.”

Chrissy beams, all sunshine again as she plunks her stack of books onto the table and shuffles her letter-drafting notebook to the top. Only once she’s opened to a blank page does she bite her lip, looking up at Steve through her lashes.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” she asks, voice hesitant.

“What do you mean?”

She breaks eye contact, fiddling with her pen anxiously. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Steve doesn’t tell her that he already is, that a part of him, the small, squirming part he keeps hidden in his heart, wishes he’d never done this. That watching Eddie kiss Chrissy’s hand and knowing without being told that she’s the kind of girl Eddie might want had broken something inside him. That Steve knows he could never be Eddie’s choice, and knowing that burns.

But, since the flirting started, Steve hasn’t written a word, and that’s worse, somehow. He only has the one tether to Eddie, and he wants to keep it, even if it’s through Chrissy’s handwriting, and Chrissy’s words, and Chrissy’s face.

He just wants.

Instead of saying all that, he reaches out, putting his hand gently on Chrissy’s hand and replies, “I’m sure,” even as the fluttering of his heart makes a liar of him.

Chrissy’s still biting her lip, not looking reassured at all. Steve’s gut churns with worry. ”Are you, though? You didn’t sign up for this, and if you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s okay.”

She smiles, her bottom lip blanched white from her teeth, as she replies, “We’re in this together, right?”

Even with the smile, she still looks worried, but Chissy puts her pen to paper and dutifully writes out the words Steve speaks, editing and revising each thought until it’s something someone might want to hear.

They keep their voices quiet because there are more people sitting in the library than usual today: a big group working on a project, a couple of freshman scowling down at what looks like a Geometry textbook, and closest of all, a girl he recognizes as a band nerd, flipping through a magazine too fast to really be reading it.

It doesn’t take them long—they’ve done this enough times that it’s become almost an art form. Chrissy pushes the completed letter across the table for his final review before it’s signed and sealed.

“It’s good,” Steve says, pushing the letter back across to her to be dropped off in Eddie’s locker.

His heart aches; Steve wants to slap himself.

Instead, he parts ways with Chrissy at their cars, Jeff already waiting beside hers to be driven home, and goes back to his house, bereft of the noise Chrissy had brought only that morning.

*** 

Eddie had worried when there wasn’t another letter after he’d started talking to Chrissy. Did she not like him anymore? Was she done writing them entirely now that she can talk to him face to face?

He worries incessantly for days about it, even as Chrissy keeps saying hi to him in the halls, keeps smiling back when they catch eyes across the cafeteria, keeps being her usual, friendly self.

It’s just, the letters are different. They’re more raw, somehow, more real. And, no matter how this thing goes with Chrissy, if they stop coming, he’ll miss them.

So, it’s a relief when he opens his locker the Monday after Chrissy’s eventful Hellfire induction to find a letter. He can’t wait to read it, the anticipation has built up over too many days of not receiving any. So, he rushes to the same, familiar bathroom and opens it in the stall he’s starting to think of as his.

       Eddie —

       How did your show go? I bet you’ve got a couple groupies already, you’ve already got the look for it. Did you figure out the riff for the song you were working on?

       I tried playing the piano again, and I’m a little rusty, but it’s like riding a bike, you know? (Do you know how to ride a bike?) It’s nice, playing music, even if it’s all songs someone else has written, and they’re still not coming out right.

       I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter. I just didn’t know what to say. You’re so patient, and nice, and I got caught up in my head you know? But I missed you.

       I slept with your letter beneath my pillow last night, hoping for dreams of you.

       Yours, Always

       Your Secret Admirer

       P.S. I haven’t read it, but maybe I will. Just to keep with the theme, put this letter in The Lord of the Rings.

He devours the words, slumping onto the toilet seat the longer he reads. It’s perfect—just what he was missing. He reads it once, twice, thrice, the same way he had when he’d received the first two, disbelieving that such lovely words were meant for him.

Eddie skips his second period, first already long gone by the time he’d trundled into the school’s parking lot, and pens a response, then and there.

He goes to the library immediately, nervous that if he doesn’t drop it off right away, she’ll assume Eddie isn’t going to write back at all. 

He waffles over which book to put it in before finally tucking it into The Fellowship of the ring–it’s the first in the trilogy, and Chrissy’s probably too cool to even know it’s a trilogy. 

There’s no response in his locker before Hellfire on Thursday, but that’s okay because true to her word, Chrissy shows up again. She’s smiling as she bounces through the doorway, all springy curls and happy cheer.

“Hi!” Chrissy says, waving as she beams her blinding smile around the room,  all that cheerleader enthusiasm on display.

Doug looks struck dumb, staring at her with his mouth open. Gareth’s gaze is darting back and forth from the door to Eddie, eyes growing wider and wider with each pass. Only Jeff smiles and waves back.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” Chrissy says, elbowing Harrington in the side until he finally looks up and gives his own half-hearted wave.

Because Harrington is slumped in the doorway behind her, looking like he’s trying to hide the entire bulk of his body behind Chrissy’s petite frame.

“Uh, hey,” he says, ears strangely pink as his eyes dart around the room.

He never looks Eddie’s way at all.

“Hey, man,” Jeff replies, the only person aside from Chrissy that is currently functioning.

“Steve, can come, right?” Chrissy asks, like he’s not already in the doorway behind her.

Eddie’s gut sinks then swoops. Harrington’s a jock—what will he do locked in a room with a bunch of nerds? But, the chipped nail polish.

Eddie’s mind is full of screaming, thoughts flip flopping over each other as he tries to articulate all the things wrong with Harrington coming to Hellfire, but all that comes out of his mouth is a chipper, “sure!”

Chrissy’s smile grows teeth—is she going to bite him?

Eddie resists the urge to take a step back.

Jeff pulls out the vacant seat beside him, still looking cool as a cucumber while the rest of them scramble. “Come sit down.”

And that’s how he finds himself with a jock in Hellfire. Should they call an exterminator?

It’s Chrissy who takes the seat beside Jeff which leaves the only other empty chair next to Eddie’s throne. Eddie glares at Gareth, gesturing wildly for his friend to move up a seat, but Gareth’s too busy staring at Harrington like he’s a cobra about to strike.

Harrington is looking at the only empty seat with the exact same expression.

“Steve,” Chrissy hisses, and Harrington jumps. “Go sit down.

The pink on his ears travels down to his cheeks—it’s unfair, really, how pretty and even his blush is. When Eddie blushes, he blotches bright red from forehead to chest.

Steve’s embarrassment suits him.

Eddie waits until he’s seated before clapping loud enough that everyone startles as they turn to him. “Now!” he starts in the grand voice he uses when he’s performing his Dungeon Master duties. “Are you two playing?”

“No,” Harrington rushes out, the pink of his blush deepening to a red as he finally meets Eddie’s eyes. “I mean, Chrissy said she just watched last time?”

“We didn’t want to slow you down,” Chrissy cuts in.

Eddie nods, looking between the couple as awkwardness stews in the stilted silence.

“Alright,” he replies. “Gird your loins, lords and lady.”

Knowing a cue when they hear one, the Hellfire boys scramble to pull out character sheets and dice.

And they’re off!

It takes a minute to fall into the familiar minutiae of telling a story with not one but two interlopers, but Eddie manages it. This is where he thrives: a captive audience and all the power to fuck with them in the palm of his hand.

He only stumbles once, words jumbling together when he looks up and catches Harrington staring at him, eyes wide, cheeks still flushed from his earlier embarrassment as he bites his lip, ass literally on the edge of his seat as Eddie cobbles together the climactic finish to their latest encounter.

Harrington looks away quickly, but Eddie knows what he saw: Harrington is into this nerd shit. He’d tease him if he wasn’t worried that it would end in a swirlie.

Still, Eddie can feel his head puffing up like an overfilled balloon. He’s on the top of his game, painting grand adventures with grander words, all gestures and enthusiasm. He feels electric, the way he always does when there’s a new sheep in his flock to impress. His skin’s almost buzzing with it.

After all, even if his audience member is a jock, Eddie’s always been great at putting on a show. 

Neither of the interlopers say anything until they’re busy packing up. Eddie lounges back in his throne, watching Chrissy help Jeff with his dice. She’s smiling up at him, clearly just as interested in their nerd shit as Harrington.

Eddie turns his eyes back to Harrington to see how he’s taking his girl talking to a guy that isn’t him only to find Harrington staring at him again.  When Eddie meets his eyes, he ducks his head, cheeks tinting that familiar pink.

Is Steve Harrington fucking awkward?

“You’re good at that,” Harrington says quietly.

Eddie hums, confused. He’s shuffling his papers back together, not looking down at what he’s doing. What’s happening in front of him is far more interesting.

“At what, big boy?”

“Uh,” Harrington starts, darting his eyes back up to Eddie’s for a second before looking back down at his fiddling hands. “Telling a story.”

Eddie smiles, something warm and amorphous filling his stomach. “Thanks,” he says, lightly kicking Harrington’s ankle.

Harrington twitches, lets out a quick, “mmhmm,” and then turns away from Eddie to go find his girlfriend, dismissing Eddie without another word.

“Ready to go, babe?” Steve asks, settling his arm around her waist and damn-near frog marching her out of the room.

“Bye, Jeff! Bye, Eddie!” Chrissy calls, still cheerful even as her boyfriend controls her every move. Maybe she’s used to it—first Carver and now Harrington. “See you next week?”

Neither of them wait for a reply.

The silence is stifling in their wake. Only Jeff seems unbothered as he stuffs all of his supplies into his backpack. Doug hasn’t even touched his dice.

“What the hell was that?” Gareth asks, whipping around to Eddie.

“How the hell should I know?”

Jeff snorts. “You invited them,” he says.

“I invited Chrissy,” Eddie whines. “She invited Harrington.”

That catches Jeff’s attention. He glares at Eddie like he’s the one that had invaded their sacred space. “You’re not this stupid,” he says, swinging his backpack onto his back and striding toward the door. “I’ve got a ride home, don’t wait for me.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie demands.

The only answer is the door swinging shut.

*** 

Once he’s walked Chrissy to her car and watched her pull out of the parking lot safe from Carver’s creepy hands, Steve collapses into his own car. He presses his face into the steering wheel and groans, long and loud, assured in his safe isolation. 

When the passenger door opens, he jumps, neck cracking with the speed at which he turns his head, ready to fight off the trespasser.

“Oh, it’s you,” Steve says, dropping his head back to the steering wheel.

“He knows,” Jeff says, voice serious enough that Steve raises his head back up immediately, heartbeat ratcheting up.

It takes a second for the words to connect, and when they do, his heartbeat quickens further, sweat pooling on the back of his neck, hands clenched hard enough on the steering wheel to hurt as fight or flight hits him.

“What?” he asks, the word cracking around his suddenly parched throat.

“Shit,” Jeff mutters, reaching out to pat Steve’s shoulder. “Not about you!”

Steve’s shoulders slump, breath shuddering out of him as Jeff continues to pat his shoulder, too awkward to be all that comforting. “Then, what—”

“He knows Chrissy is putting the notes in his locker.”

Steve sighs, slumping into his seat, uncaring of the way it crushes Jeff’s hand against the backrest. “Yeah, we figured,” he says, suddenly exhausted. “Do you know how?”

Jeff’s biting his lip when Steve looks his way. “He didn’t tell me,” he mutters. “But I know my best friend.”

It’s Steve’s turn to reach across the car and clasp Jeff’s shoulder. “I’m sure he has a reason for not telling you,” Steve replies, trying to smile past all that exhaustion.

Jeff snorts. “A stupid one, maybe.”

Steve hums, squeezing once more before dropping his hold on Jeff, suddenly realizing how stupid they must look, leaning toward each other, hands on each other’s shoulders like they’re having some sort of bro moment.

Steve turns back to the front of his car, cranks the engine, and smiles across at Jeff as the other boy takes the hint and drops his own hold. “Want a ride home?”

Instead of answering, Jeff puts on his seatbelt.

Jeff’s house is surprisingly close to Steve’s own. It’s a bit smaller than his, but there’s already a car in the driveway, and the shadows of silhouettes moving behind the pulled curtains, warm yellow light filtering through the fabric and onto the street.

Steve wishes he could go in with a fierce sort of longing that surprises him.

Jeff’s already got his seatbelt off and the passenger door open when he sighs, turning back around and settling back in his seat.

“You should come next week,” he says, all earnest in that way that seems to come so naturally to him and must have gotten him eaten alive in middle school.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve replies. There’s a tension headache growing, exasperated by the incredulous scrunching of his eyebrows. “That was a disaster.”

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad,” Jeff says, but he’s grinning like he’s remembering something funny. Steve’s got a few guesses what.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, man.” Jeff clasps his shoulder again—maybe that’s just something he does?

Steve scoffs, the roll of his eyes making his head pound. He opens his mouth to retort, something about Eddie’s reaction to Steve sitting beside him, but Jeff beats him to the punch.

“I know Eddie. And that in there?” He points back the way they’d come, like if Steve just strains his eyes, he’ll be able to catch sight of Eddie’s stupid fancy chair, and the stupid musty drama room, and the stupid look on Eddie’s face. “—is him interested.”

Steve closes his mouth, swallowing all the spit in his mouth, hoping it’s not audible to Jeff no matter how quiet the car is. “In me?” he asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Jeff doesn’t break eye contact, but his mouth twists uncomfortably. “Like you’re interested in him?” Jeff asks, continuing before Steve can reply. “I don’t know, man.”

Steve droops, the hope blooming in his chest curdling and sinking down into his stomach like old milk. He wants, desperately, to go home, turn out all the lights, and curl up alone in his bed to sleep away the rest of the day. But, Jeff’s still in his car, so he clenches the wheel between his fingers and says, “okay.”

“But, he doesn’t get you,” Jeff continues, voice gentling further. “And that intrigues him.”

Jeff’s still smiling like that should be some sort of boon to Steve’s ego, but it’s not. It lands like a brick. No one ever gets him, and whether he intrigues them or not, it always ends the same: him, alone in his big, empty house, waiting for a phone call that will never come, a doorbell that will never ring, a window that will never be snuck through.

He’d been through it before, with Donna in sixth grade, Nancy in tenth, hell, even Carol and Tommy for more years than he can count.

Intrigue has never gotten him anywhere. But, Jeff’s smiling, small and real, so Steve replies, “thanks, man,” smiling back until the other boy gets out of the car and he can safely drive away.

He’s got a dark house and a chilled bed waiting for him.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Steve writes the first draft of one of his secret admirer letters alone.

PART 9

[gothcsz]

West Side | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 5 of Unscripted Desire | ~15k wc | Series Masterlist | gif cred | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: A lot of firsts with Javi.

Tags: smut, slight angst, nipple play, dry humping, lots of making out, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, jealousy, edging, overstimulation, use of sex toys (vibrator), oral (f receiving), cum eating, unprotected p in v sex (finally), javi is clipped (not mentioned), babe wake up pornstar!javi lore just dropped, no use of y/n, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

A/N: i attempted to make this chapter a little longer, definitely filthier, and above all: satisfying. shoutout to my bestie hermosa @persephone-girl for reading over part of this and quelling all the second thoughts i had in the middle of writing it out 🖤 love you guys, enjoyyyy ✨

You purse your lips at your reflection, tilting your head as if a new angle will make everything click. The phone is wedged between your shoulder and ear, and Connie’s voice crackles over the line, keeping you company. 

“Since when do you care so much about getting dolled up?” she teases, picking up on the way you’re fussing.

You tug the hem of the dress down a bit, “That’s not even the issue here,” you counter, a little more defensively than you meant. “It’s just… what do you even wear on a date with someone like Javier?”

Connie lets out a sly laugh. “Well, if I knew more about him, maybe I’d be able to help you out here.”

You huff, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it, leaning closer to the mirror as you swipe at the mascara wand. “You’re still on that?”

“It’s not every day that my friend leaves with a man like that at the end of her shift, only to find out he’s some annoyingly hot coworker she didn’t even bother mentioning—”

“There was nothing to mention,” you cut in quickly.

“Nothing to mention?” she repeats, scandalized. “He ate you out in an elevator, you talked an orgasm out of him, and you let him slip the tip of his dick inside—”

“Okay!” You cut her off again, voice a bit higher than intended. “Shouldn’t you be out saving lives or something?”

“Currently on day two, hour nine, of my three-twelves.” Her sigh fills your ear. “I’m exhausted. Let me live through your smokin’ sex life so I don’t tear my hair out.”

“Steve not doing it for you anymore?” you tease, rubbing away a bit of lipstick that smudged onto your teeth.

“Oh, he is, but after three overnight shifts? Even the thought of sex is exhausting,” she admits, a laugh edging her words. 

You get it; distinctively thinking about the last spring break week where you worked non-stop, running from shoots all day to the bar all night on three hours of sleep.

That was definitely the week you aged five years in one go.

“Now, back to you,” she snaps you out of your memories. “What did you finally decide on?”

“The black dress.” You say it like it’s the only logical choice.

She groans, dragging it out for dramatic effect. “No. You wear that thing out all the time.”

“I bought it for a reason. To wear it.”

“Oh, come on. I think you should switch it up a little. Make it more fun.”

“Fun?” you echo, skeptical, glancing over at your closet.

“Fun,” she confirms, “like that mini skirt with the flowy fabric. Makes your ass look so good and shows just enough cheek to leave him hanging,” she says all playfully, “Just throw on a top that shows the girls off and you’ll be set. It’s flirty and hot… exactly like your little boy toy and way fresher than a black dress.”

You snort, feeling a little flutter at the mention of Javier being your boy toy. “A classic date-night outfit is classic for a reason, you know?”

“Mhmm, so classic I’m falling asleep. Go grab the skirt and thank me later,” she presses.

You grumble out a fine, deciding to humor her. Maybe you will like it better than the dress.

Rummaging through your closet is a little difficult with the corded phone in your hand but you manage, finally spotting the garment under the mountain of clothes that you’ve just thrown in here and pretended weren’t your problem.

“Where’s he taking you, anyways?”

“No idea, which makes the getting ready process even more difficult. I’m putting you down,” you warn her, setting down the receiver on your dresser.

You toss aside a few ‘not quite’ options before finding a top cute enough for this flirty and hot vision she’s painting. The deep color of it has your skin glowing, the cut of the neckline making your tits look enticing.

The snug skirt teases just enough at your thighs and you do a half turn, glancing back at the mirror to check your own ass out—and damn if she wasn’t on the money.

“Okay, I’m back.”

“And?”

You pause, smiling as you take in your reflection. “I look hot.”

There’s a sharp, delighted squeal on her end. “See? I told you! That’s what friends are for—giving you advice you don’t listen to until you’re basically forced to.”

Her laugh makes you grin, but then you hear a muffle as she talks to someone else in the background. She comes back, tone rushed but still playful. “Alright, I’m being called back onto the floor. But seriously, have fun. Don’t put out unless you want to, and please, please, don’t wait months to fill me in, okay?”

“I won’t,” you chuckle, her instructions making you feel like you’re back in high school. “Thanks, Con.”

“Go get him, you vixen,” she teases, and the line goes dead, leaving you with your thoughts.

You’ve been doing everything possible not to spiral into overthinking, trying to act normal about this date. Part of you still can’t believe it’s actually happening.

You’ve fought him, resisted him, silently judged others for falling for his charms—yet somehow still managed to give in.

If someone had told you months ago that you’d be in this position, you would’ve straight up laughed in their face.

The whole trajectory of it feels warped. You can’t help but wonder if this is all some elaborate game, a long con to get you in his bed.

But then, the doubts don’t quite hold up, not with how much effort he’s put into just getting your attention. If it were about sex, he wouldn’t need all this—he could walk outside, flash that lazy, dimpled grin, and probably have someone falling for him within seconds.

Hell, he could call one of his co-stars and make it that much easier on himself.

Yet, he keeps choosing you, showing up with this sincerity that’s completely messed with your head, confessing feelings and sticking around like he’s actually serious. He’s taken over your mind, lingering there like a sexy, infuriating ghost.

At least you’ve given yourself an ultimatum: if this goes south, you’ll walk away and he’ll leave you alone.

You still remember how low you felt after things with Frankie, and that was amicably ended. 

With Javier, it would sting worse if he turned out to be the arrogant womanizer you’d pegged him as after all the shit that’s transpired between the two of you.

You finish getting ready and head into the kitchenette, grabbing a shot glass. You pour yourself a quick splash of Fireball, hoping it’ll help you feel a little more mellow, maybe a little less wound-up. You toss it back, letting the burn calm the nerves that won’t stop buzzing as the minutes drag by.

Then, you hear the familiar creak of the stairs, the soft shuffle of footsteps, followed by a knock at the door. Your heart skips a beat.

With a deep breath, you slip on a light jacket and grab your purse before unlocking the door and swinging it open.

The sight that greets you could knock the air right from your lungs.

His typical black leather jacket stretches across his broad shoulders, a flushed blue shirt underneath, his neck on full display while the top of his chest teases you beneath the few undone buttons.

His jeans fit him perfectly, hugging his narrow waist and leading down to a pair of well-worn leather boots. But what really catches your attention is the single peony he holds delicately in his hand.

“Hey,” you greet, trying to keep it casual, as if your heart isn’t pounding just from seeing him stand there. He is so damn handsome, it almost feels unfair.

His gaze roams over you, like he doesn’t know where to look, definitely lingering on your legs then your cleavage before his warm, brown eyes meet yours. “You look good, nena.” He leaves you feeling like he’s undressing you with just that look.

You bite back a smile and raise an eyebrow, opting to tease him. “Thanks, Javi. You look… exactly how you always do.”

He chuckles, a lazy smile spreading across his face, and you catch a little dimple on his cheek. “Damn. And here I thought I put in more effort tonight.” He licks his lips, then holds out the flower. “This is for you. I might’ve mentioned our night out to my neighbor, and she clipped this from her garden. Thought it was less on the nose than a red rose.”

You take it from him, its soft petals brushing against your fingers, and bring it to your nose. The sweet, fresh scent makes you sigh a little.

He’s doing the bare minimum, bringing you a fucking flower, and you’re already feeling all warm and mushy. You’ll just blame the one shot of whisky for that. “Talking me up already?”

He chuckles, his eyes appreciating the way your makeup highlights each feature.

“Let’s just say I bum cigarettes off her in exchange for a little company. You just happened to come up.”

“Well now I have to know what you said.”

“Maybe one day.”

This moment already feels charged for no reason.

“I’m going to hold you to that” you warn him playfully. “Thank her for me. And tell her she’s got good taste in flowers.”

He gives you a nod, eyes softening. “I will. You ready?”

“Mhm,” you hum, stepping out to lock the door behind you.

As you turn, you realize how close he’s standing, and the scent of mint and cologne hits you in an instant, making your head spin. He smells fucking incredible.

“So,” you start, trying to ignore the fact that you can practically feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Where are we going?”

He falls into step beside you as you both head down the stairs. “To the best food truck in the city.”

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow, both amused and a little charmed by the casual choice.

He nods, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s by Lake Hollywood Park, which is convenient ‘cause we’ll end our night around there.”

It seems like he has an actual plan for this date, which surprises you, but then again he’s been full of fucking surprises since the moment you met him. “Sounds like fun. Better not be shit though,” you say, adjusting your bag strap on your shoulder, twirling the flower between your fingers.

“I think I’ve lived in L.A. long enough now to know what’s good and what isn’t.”

So he’s not native to this city, which was kind of obvious with the slight twang some of his words seem to have. You wonder where he’s actually from.

As you reach the sidewalk, Javier surprises you by sliding his hand into yours, smooth and confident. The gesture catches you off guard, and you can feel heat pooling at your cheeks. He’s annoyingly charming, and he knows it.

His hand is so much bigger than yours, rough skin brushing against your softer palm in a way that feels—well, it feels like it fits.

Your mind doesn’t miss a beat, leaping straight to the memory of his fingers pressed inside you, knuckle deep, his tongue flicking at your clit as you unraveled for him.

You bite the inside of your lip, willing yourself to stay cool, but damn, those hands could do a lot of things.

How you even fit two of his fingers remains a mystery, but it’s one you’re more than willing to solve again.

“This okay?” he asks, glancing down with a glint of mischief in his eyes, catching you right in the middle of your little lustful trance.

“Perfectly fine,” you reply, squeezing his hand, that glint pulling you in deeper, and you let it.

“Okay, I think I have a little more faith in your spot now that we’re here.” You settle across from Javier at the picnic table you managed to snag nearby, eyeing the food as he sets it out between you.

He smirks, raising an eyebrow. “You doubted me?”

“Just a little.” You pinch your thumb and finger together with a playful grin, scrunching your nose as you laugh. His lopsided smile makes an appearance, sending your heart into a flutter.

“Then I’ll let the food do the talking. Let that be my ‘I told you so.’”

“Oh, please, I don’t need to hear that twice in one day.”

As you stick your straw into your cup of hibiscus agua fresca, the sweet flavor hits you instantly, and you let out a delighted little hum without even thinking.

His gaze snaps to you, amusement lighting up his eyes. “Someone’s already beaten me to it?”

“Connie,” you confess, dragging your tray of tacos closer and inhaling the smell that makes your stomach practically growl. “She helped me pick this outfit, you know, since someone here was pretty vague on the details.” 

He chuckles, reaching for the salsa verde and giving his tacos a generous drizzle before handing the bottle over. “I told you we’d be outside. I thought that’d be enough.” 

You take it from him, fingers brushing together, and damn if your skin doesn’t actually tingle. “Honestly, I was expecting more of a steakhouse vibe.”

He gives a soft scoff, looking amused. “That’s not really my style. I’d feel like a total fraud…” he pauses, studying your expression, “unless that’s what you wanted. I could do it if that’s what you’re into.”

Your tongue darts over your lower lip as you take in his thoughtfulness. “Nah. This is...perfect, actually.”

A light sparks in his eyes at your word choice. “Perfect, huh?”

You playfully roll your eyes, “Uh huh, don’t get a big head over it.”

“So, I owe Connie for getting you in that skirt?” His voice is smooth, that teasing lilt unmistakable.

Heat climbs up your neck, pooling at your cheeks. “You like it?”

His eyes narrow slightly, that look dark and appreciative. “I think it’s sexy as hell, yeah. But in an effort to be more...gentlemanly—Te ves hermosa. Like always.”

Normally, you’d roll your eyes at him laying it on thick, but right now? You don’t mind it at all.

The attention feels genuine, his words dipping straight between your legs rather than floating on his usual bravado.

“Sweet talk me all you want,” you say, trying to rein yourself in, “but the real test of this date’s success? It all lies in this meal.”

He chuckles, and you’re grateful for the little shift, picking up a taco and clinking it with his, like a toast. The first bite is practically life-changing—the smoky, spicy flavors somehow better than you’d even anticipated.

“Oh wow,” you say, chewing slowly with a hand hovering over your mouth. “Not bad, Peña. This is actually delicious.”

His grin is smug, triumphant, and as he takes another bite, you’re momentarily distracted by the way his jaw flexes, muscles taut as he chews. And damn, if you don’t notice every bit of him in that damn leather jacket, his dark hair slightly tousled and looking as if he were some walking sex deity. 

You mentally curse yourself for already feeling way too into him. 

You chat lightly, going over the usual first-date questions. Somehow, even the simple stuff feels easy and natural with him—there’s something in the way he responds that keeps you drawn in, even if the questions themselves aren’t all that thrilling.

What’s your favorite color? When’s your birthday? Where are you from?

“Texas. And you?” he answers, swiping the napkin over his lips before balling it up, tossing it into his now empty tray.

So he’s a southern boy. That detail definitely adds to his charm. You tell him the name of your hometown, and then, after a beat, add, “Bit far from home, huh? Got family here?”

He shakes his head, reaching into his jacket for a pack of gum. He pulls out two pieces, offering you one.

Okay, another bare minimum act that’s got you all fucking blushy.

“Nah,” he says, chewing his own piece of gum. “It’s just me out here.”

“Your family must be thrilled about what you do…wait, do they know?” you ask, unwrapping the stick and glancing at him.

He sighs, scratching at his jaw. “My pops knows. My mom…” He pauses, a shadow of something crosses his face. “She passed when I was in high school.”

Your heart squeezes, a flicker of guilt making you wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t sweat it,” he interrupts gently, waving it off casually. “It gets tiring hearing it. But yeah, my pops and the rest of them…they don’t exactly jump for joy when it comes to my job. Guess it’s a good thing I stopped giving a fuck about what they think.”

The reality of it sinks in as you watch him across the table, his eyes distant for a moment. You’d never really thought about how it all might affect him (or any of the other stars, honestly) outside of sets and studios.

The world sees sex work as some kind of sordid choice, casting assumptions.

Sure, it’s got its problematic aspects just like any other industry, but with the puritan culture that’s plagued society since the beginning of time, really, it’s seen as such a devious thing when in reality; it could be something so beautiful. A celebration of the human body, of the unity between two people.

Whether you’re a woman or a man—you bear the weight of every stereotype, every judgment, and, especially, the stigma that comes with it.

You hesitate, but your curiosity gets the best of you. “Are you close with them?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he absently smooths his mustache with his thumb and forefinger, eyes thoughtful. “Yes and no.”

Something in his tone tells you this isn’t a thread to pull on right now. So, you pivot the conversation, deciding to leave that part of him for another night.

You glance at your tray, grinning. “This might actually be the best meal I’ve had in a long time. And I’m not bullshitting you.”

His eyes light up, that charming, lazy smile sliding back into place. “I’ll refrain from saying I told you so.”

You laugh, throwing a crumpled napkin at him, which he catches without missing a beat.

He leans in, his voice low. “So, now that I’ve won your approval in the food department, I’ve gotta finish on a strong note so I don’t mess it all up, right?”

You feel your pulse quicken “Sure do. Got anything up your sleeve, or is this where the gentlemanly plan ends?”

“I’ve got plans.” His voice dips, his eyes tracing over you, wetting his lips and that thudding begins to thrum faintly between your thighs. “Thought we’d take a walk, keep getting to know each other…” The suggestive way in which he’s speaking definitely gives his words a double meaning, “Then head to my favorite lookout spot. Best view in the city, hands down.Whatever happens to feel right can unfold after that.”

“Sounds like you’re anticipating something unfolding.”

“Can you blame me? You’re walkin’ around lookin’ good enough to eat.”

You feel a thrill dancing up your spine at his bluntness, “Boundaries still stand, Javi. I’m not sleeping with you.”

He chuckles, a low, knowing sound that sends your stomach into a twist. “That’s fine. I think I’ve shown we can have plenty of fun without crossing that line.”

Every electrifying sexual encounter hits you all at once, and as much as you’d hate to admit it, he’s right. 

No one has ever gotten under your skin or tangled your senses like he does. With Javier, the tension builds until it’s all-consuming—whether it’s the way his hands map every inch of your skin or his mouth works you over. It’s maddening, how easily he pulls you apart and leaves you craving more.

“And If I remember correctly, I wasn’t the one begging for more.”

A hot flash sweeps through you. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

He grins, not missing a beat. “Admit it, you like it.”

And as you share an amused glance, you can’t help but think… yeah, maybe you do.

The two of you walk side by side under the soft glow of the street lights lining the park. He flicks open his lighter, cigarette wedged between his lips, and you watch the quick flame as it lights up his face for a second before fading out.

You would usually mind the smoke, but somehow, with him, it’s just… fitting. A small indulgence that somehow suits his edges.

“Favorite music genre?” you ask, breaking the quiet.

“Would it be a cop-out to say a little bit of everything?”

“Oh absolutely.”

Javier pauses, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Alright, alright. Probably rap. Used to be all about rock—my pops had me hooked young. But out here? My taste has gotten a little West Coast.”

“A Texan boy gone Cali,” you say, feigning surprise. “You love to see it.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling as he glances at you, then flips the question back. “What about you?”

“R&B. Lauryn Hill and Destiny’s Child have provided the soundtracks to some very pivotal moments in my life.”

He nods, and for a while, the conversation flows smoothly from one topic to another—favorite childhood memories, the dumb stuff you did as teenagers, and random things you never imagined you’d share with him.

Javi raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I bet you were a teacher’s pet.”

“Teacher’s pet? No way. I was a bit of a know-it-all, but I had this rebellious streak,” you admit, “Got in trouble more than once for talking back. I just couldn’t help it.”

“Figures. You’ve got that fire.” 

Eventually, he flicks his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out before looking at you with a curious glint in his eye. “I gotta ask you something,” he says, his voice dipping just a bit. “And be honest. Why didn’t you like me?”

It’s not the first time he’s asked you this, but now that you’re seeing him in a different light, the answer comes easily, less defensive. “Okay,” you start, meeting his gaze. “I wasn’t a fan of how you... got around. And the way you’d micromanage every move during shoots, like your way was always best. Or how you’d just use your dick to get whatever you wanted.”

His silence stretches, and he takes out another piece of gum, nodding slowly as he listens. “And when we met, you were already trying to charm your way into my pants like I was one of your groupies,” you add, “Made it feel like you were always angling for something. I guess I just didn’t want to be another name on your list.”

He exhales, scratching at his jaw. “Fair enough,” he declares. “I didn’t always used to be like this. The whole showboating thing, it’s sort of… a front, I guess. When I started, I had to become a different version of myself. This cocky asshole who had his shit together because… fuck, I didn’t know what else to do. After the bullshit back home, I needed the distance. I needed to prove something.”

There’s something in his tone that pulls at you, but you don’t press. You’re surprised he’s even sharing this much.

“The women, the confidence—all of it. Figured that’s who I had to be to make it. And it worked up until you left… when I realized just how fucked things had gotten for me. After walkin’ out on Robbie, I’ve been trying to be more careful with the jobs I take but fuck, it’s hard.”

This man—this smooth, confident guy you thought you had all figured out—carries more than his rugged allure and that killer smile.

Sympathy blossoms, the kind that grows for someone who’s managed to build walls without even meaning to.

The details remain unsaid, and though curiosity simmers, you let the silence hang.

“You’ll figure it out, Javi. Life has a funny way of kicking you when you’re down, but somehow, things start falling into place eventually. Might sound like a bad fortune cookie, but it’s true.”

His gaze intense and warm under the park lights, brown eyes looking softer, shadows dancing across his face. The way he looks at you makes your legs shake.

You can’t help the small, vulnerable smile that plays at your lips as you wonder if maybe, just maybe, this moment is worth disregarding your own rules for.

His eyes flicker down to your mouth almost on instinct, and you’re caught in a breath, almost tempted to close the space and feel those lips on yours.

But instead, you let the moment breathe between you, keeping the tension electric, and he’s the one who finally breaks the silence. “Thanks nena. Here’s to hopin’ I don’t have to make a trip down to the unemployment office.” He jokes with a laugh that pulls one out of you too, “Let’s head back. Got one more thing to show you.”

As you both turn back towards his truck, he reaches for your hand again, his fingers curling around yours, gentle and reassuring. You lean into him, resting your head on his arm as you walk. It feels natural, like you’re both finally seeing each other, piece by piece, without all the defenses.

A gentle breeze passes through as you lean against the hood of Javier’s truck, taking in the iconic view.

The twinkling city lights are sprawled out in front of you, while the Hollywood sign looms large and proud in the background. You’ve avoided tourist traps since you moved to LA. Dealing with the general public and pornstars on sets on a daily basis already felt like a big enough dose of Hollywood.

Tonight, though, there’s some kind of magic in being here and you can see why people find themselves drawn to it. Maybe it has something to do with the handsome man beside you.

“You bring all your dates here?” you ask, teasingly.

Javier rubs his lips together, a quiet smile flickering at the edges. “I don’t go on many dates, believe it or not.” He inches a little closer, draping his arm around your shoulder.

“Oh wow, Peña. So smooth.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the steady, intoxicating scent of him, the one that’s been teasing you all night, and how it engulfs you entirely.

There’s a warmth that reaches from his body to yours, one you can’t help but lean into as your hand finds his, fingers lacing loosely.

Resting your head just near his chest, you feel the gentle rise and fall of his breath, solid and steady.

“Can’t let this night end without you knowin’ what my intentions are.” He pauses, then adds, “I want to keep seeing you.” His words melt into the night as he dips his head to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his face nuzzling softly into your hair.

Your breath catches for just a moment, and he feels it too, the faint hesitation creeping in.

Because the truth is, you’re not sure exactly what you want from this. A relationship? A fling? Could you handle being with someone whose job meant fucking other people—even if emotions are fully detatched?

You draw away slightly, positioning yourself to stand between his legs now as he leans against the truck, watching you, a question in his eyes.

“Tonight was wonderful. Better than a lot of first dates I’ve been on…” you trail off, and he quirks an eyebrow, a hint of concern already flashing in his eyes.

“But…?” he prompts, his voice soft but wary.

“Look, I have the utmost respect for what you do. I know what it takes, if anyone can understand what you actors go through, it’s me and all the other crews out there. I’ve seen shit hit the fan more times than I can count.” You twist your fingers, feeling the tension between wanting him and feeling hesitant. “But dating someone in the industry… I don’t know if I’m cut out for that.”

His shoulders drop a little, and he sighs. “Yeah… I figured.” He lets out a rough laugh, though it’s clear he’s disappointed. “Not the first time this has happened, or the last, probably. I just… I guess I was hopin’ this would be different.”

“It’s not about you, or… or the work. I don’t care that you’re in porn.” you say gently. “It’s just the idea of dating someone who—well, you know.”

He lets out a sigh, a heavy, defeated sound, and his eyes meet yours. “I know, nena, trust me. It’s a lot. I’m not holding it against you.” His hand runs over his face, frustration tightening his jaw. “It’s just…disappointing as fuck, but I get it.”

Before he can sink too deeply into the regret, of thinking he’s wasted a night taking you out, you reach out, catching his wrists and gently pulling his hands down. You’re close enough now to feel his breath brush across your cheek, and you hold his gaze, fierce and a little daring.

You’d be fucking stupid to walk away from all this without knowing what it feels like to kiss him, the man who’s wound you up so tight and left you as breathless as he has conflicted.

Slowly, you place his hands on your waist, leaning in until your lips barely touch his, your breath mingling together. You can practically feel his heart beating against his chest.

“Kiss me, Javi,” you murmur.

There’s no hesitation. His mouth meets yours, warm and certain, sending a spark through every nerve. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, and you lose yourself in him.

Javier’s mouth moves against yours like he’s savoring every second, his lips plush and gentle, taking his time. 

It’s all so new, so beautifully unhurried.

You meet his pace, moving your lips softly, feeling the slight press and release. When he parts from you slightly, you’re already missing the taste of his mouth, chasing after him.

Then he tilts his head and leans in again, deepening the kiss, his lips fitting against yours with more purpose. He presses closer, his body warm and solid, and you feel his tongue swipe slowly across your lower lip.

A shiver runs through you as you part your lips for him, and the moment his tongue dips into your mouth, a soft moan escapes you, helpless against the sensation.

The sound seems to set something off inside him. Suddenly, the kiss grows hot and urgent, his hands gripping your hips as if he’s afraid to let go, kneading the flesh there while his mouth moves against yours with a new hunger.

Your own hands find their way to his jaw, your fingers sliding up to frame his face, desperate to bring him closer, needing the taste of him to linger.

The feel of his mustache brushes against your sensitive skin adds an edge that only heightens every sensation he’s bestowing on you.

Your tongue meets his, every glide and stroke of it fueling an ache that spreads through you, heat pooling as your teeth clash slightly, both of you pouring months of pent-up desire and frustration into this kiss.

His hold on your waist tightens as your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, tugging at it, and he lets out a low, guttural grunt that gets your bones vibrating.

In one swift movement, Javier maneuvers you, switching positions so that your back is pressed against the hood of his truck.

The cool metal beneath you contrasts with the heat of his body, and one of his hands slides from your waist, strong and possessive, until it grips the plushness of your thigh, hitching it over his hip and pulling your core against his.

The friction, the way his body aligns so perfectly with yours, ignites every nerve in your body.

You gasp against his mouth when his hard length presses against your clothed cunt, right where you need him most. The pressure sends a surge of arousal pooling low in your belly, and you arch into him, craving his intensity.

Your own hands roam, sliding to his jaw, feeling the scratch of his stubble against your palm, then his back, his shoulders, reveling in the feel of him. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, tracing a slow, wet line down to your neck, where he leaves a trail of heated kisses that have you gasping for air. 

The burn in your lungs is nothing compared to the ache building between your legs, an ache that only grows sharper every time he ruts his hips against yours.

“Gonna make me cum in my pants kissin’ me like that,” he mumbles against your neck..

He drags his lips back up, brushing his nose against yours, coaxing you into another kiss—this one softer, more controlled, yet no less potent.

You’re breathless when you part again, but it’s as though your body doesn’t care, desperate to keep feeling him against you.

When he reaches the curve of your breasts, he pauses, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses over the swells, grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth just enough to make you shiver.

“Please, Javi,” you murmur, though you’re not even sure what you’re asking for. All you know is that you’re floating in this thick haze of desire, utterly lost in him, the feel of his lips, the intoxicating drag of his teeth against your skin.

His mouth curls into a smirk against your collarbone, and he lifts his head slightly, his hand sliding over the fabric of your top, shifting it down until your breasts are bared to the cool night air.

You gasp, eyes widening, instinctively sitting up straighter, a half-laugh, half-nervous glance flicking around your surroundings, instinctively pulling him closer to shield you.

His dark eyes meet your gaze, a flicker of mischief swirling with the lust there.

“Here? What if someone sees us?” you breathe, heart thudding in your chest as the chill hardens your nipples to sensitive peaks.

“No one’s gonna bother us, nena, te lo prometo.” Before you can respond, his mouth is on your neck, placing a soft, slow kiss there, licking a stripe and tasting your perfume.

His hands find your breasts, fingers curling around the supple skin, his thumbs brushing your nipples in languid circles that have you melting against him, your breath catching with each teasing stroke.

It’s impossible to focus on anything when Javier’s so in tune with every inch of your body, instinctively reading each gasp and shiver.

His hands are so skilled, cupping, squeezing, until one trails along your waist, playing with your pretty skirt with a firm, claiming touch.

It's the perfect push and pull that floods your senses with him, until you’re completely lost.

His scent fills your lungs, his taste lingers on your tongue, feeling his perfect fucking body against you, hearing his subtle grunts, your vision glazed over with tears of pleasure from how he’s making you feel. 

He watches your reactions, eyes dark and filled with a simmering hunger as you lean flat against the hood of the truck, giving him access.

His mouth descends again, and he looks up at you when he’s reached your breasts. “Not gonna fuck you, since I’m bein’ a gentleman and all,” he murmurs, the words hot against your skin, “but I am gonna get you off just by playin’ with your tits.”

The whimper you let out is animalistic, your legs wrapping around his waist, pressing him closer.

Javier’s mouth is unrelenting, lips wrapping around your nipple with a hot, wet pressure that sends electric jolts straight to your cunt.

His tongue swirls over the sensitive peak, teasing it, as his teeth scrape the aching bud ever so lightly, making you gasp. Then he shifts, sinking his mouth lower to nip, to suck harder, his fingers coming up to twist your other nipple roughly, pinching and tugging at it, making you cry and writhe beneath him.

“Oh fuck that feels so good.” You can’t help but be so vocal and he loves it, the sound of your voice doing just as much to get him off in the same way that his mouth doesn’t let up on your tits.

His other hand is no less demanding, gripping your thigh and ass with rough squeezes, the heat of his touch spreading through the thin barrier of your skirt. When he smacks your flesh, the jolt arches your back off the hood of the truck, pulling a breathy moan from your lips that has him smirking against your chest.

You’re soaked, and he can feel it, his cock pressing insistently against the heat of your clothed pussy as your hips grind down onto him, building a rhythm that he matches with his mouth.

His tongue circles, flicks, and finally he pulls at the hard peak with his teeth, sending another shockwave through your body that has you rolling your hips, more wildly against him.

He pulls back just enough, a string of saliva still connecting him to you as he murmurs, “Baby, just with the way you’re movin’ your hips, I can tell you ride cock like a fuckin’ champ.”

His praise lights you up, fueling your need. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you pull him back to your chest. 

He groans, his mouth latching onto your other breast with fervor, tongue flicking over your nipple rapidly before he pulls it into his mouth, the wet sounds of his lips smacking against your flesh, working your sensitive and pert nipples is filthy and obscene in the best way possible.

“So good, Javi… I’m so close,” you manage, the words spilling out unbidden.

He lets out a low groan as he adjusts the angle of your hips, pressing you firmly against his erection. The new angle grinds perfectly against your clit, drawing you deeper into the pleasure until it’s all-consuming, each nerve tuned only to him.

“Oh, god… Javi,” you gasp, feeling the familiar coil of pleasure tighten, your orgasm creeping closer with every pull, every flick, every grind.

Your body is on fire, trembling as you near the edge, your breaths coming in gasps as you hump him, completely lost to the intensity building.

Javier’s mouth alternates between your breasts, each suck and bite tugging moans out of you until you feel like you might lose it.

When his lips finally find yours again, his fingers replace his mouth on your chest, rough and insistent as they pinch and twist your sensitive nipples.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, deepening the kiss while your body trembles, your jaw slack as you melt into him, moaning his name into his mouth as your orgasm breaks over you in a helpless wave of bliss.

Your body locks up, head canting back and hitting the material beneath you with a gentle thump as you wail his name out into the night. 

“That's right, baby, just like that,” he murmurs, his praise and gentle kisses softening the overstimulation into something even more intoxicating.

His mouth trails over your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, every kiss pressing into your flushed skin while spots of pleasure blur your vision.

As you go limp against the cool hood, Javier’s touch softens on your chest, his fingers now gently kneading the sensitive flesh while he eases you back down, his lips trailing tender kisses over each swell before pulling your top back into place.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his deep inhale followed by warm, nipping kisses, his mustache scratching your skin just enough to bring out a fresh shiver from you.

“Javi,” you whimper, barely catching your breath, utterly wrecked and starstruck, amazed that he brought you so much pleasure by just teasing your breasts and rutting against you.

“Yeah?” His voice is a husky rasp, a hint of satisfaction at his lips.

You giggle, breathless, “I… don’t even know…” You laugh again, and he joins in, that low laugh rumbling in his chest as he cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“You enjoy that?” He tilts his head to the side, smugly grinning down at you.

“What do you think?” you tease back, still panting, eyes half-lidded.

You can’t help but admire how sexy he looks with his swollen lips and mussed hair. 

“Wait you didn't finish—” You murmur, beginning to reach down to toy with his belt, but he catches your hand gently.

“Don’t worry about me, nena.” His gravelly voice reassures you. “Seein’ you like this is enough for me.” 

You frown, feeling like you should do something for him, but before you can argue, he’s leaning down to kiss you again, over and over, until you’re both sinking into another slow, heated makeout session under the open sky, everything else fading away.

You’re standing in front of your door, the glow of your porch light casting soft shadows over the two of you. “Thanks for tonight; I had a great time,” you say, though your legs still feel shaky from what happened earlier. 

Javier’s eyes linger on you, “Thank you for letting me take you out,” he says, his tone soft. “Even if… things aren’t ending the way I’d hoped.”

A frown flickers on your face, but you keep your tone light, forcing a gentle laugh.“We can still be friends, you know? That’s one hell of an improvement from where we started.”

But your attempt to ease the tension doesn’t reach him; his expression remains fixed, serious.

“I don’t think I can just be friends with you.”

Then he goes and says something stupid like that. 

“So, what now?” you ask, voice sharper than you meant, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “We just… go our separate ways? Pretend none of this ever happened?”

He looks down, his jaw tense, and the silence that follows is thick, each second feeling like an eternity. His eyes meet yours and he sighs.

“I guess so.”

You release a bitter huff, shaking your head as you turn away, rummaging in your purse for your keys.

Fine. Fine. If that’s the way he wants it, you’ll let it be.

He calls your name, his voice slipping through your defenses like a last-ditch plea, making your shoulders tense. You ignore him, wrestling down the tide of frustration and vulnerability clawing its way back up.

You’d told yourself you didn’t want to get involved with him from the start, and now it feels like you should have stuck to your guns. Would have been easier to just tell him to kiss your ass that day he came into the bar, seducing you in your apartment, then asking you out on a date that ultimately meant nothing.

You find your keys and jam them into the lock, refusing to look back.

The second time he says your name, it’s firmer, and you whirl around to face him.

“Javier, listen—before tonight, I didn’t think there was a chance in hell I’d ever be into you. But I gave you a shot, and turns out, you’re not that bad. You’re actually pretty fucking sweet,” you confess, half-laughing, but it’s tinged with the bitterness that you feel. “And maybe if things were different, I could see us together. But things aren’t different. They’re the same as they always have been, and I won’t make you choose between me and your job.”

“I could quit—”

You let out a laugh, loud and unfiltered. “And do what? You’re damn good at what you do, Javi. I’ve seen it firsthand, and yeah, most of the time it’s some pretty raunchy shit, but there’s something almost… artistic in it, and I’d feel selfish as hell if I was the reason you gave that up.”

He places his hands on his hips, shifting his weight, exasperation written in every taut line of his body. “Do I need to remind you that I’m a grown-ass man who can make his own decisions? I’m starting to hate this job, and I want you.  I don’t care if I have to work a hundred side gigs. If that’s what it takes for you to be mine, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

The weight of his confession makes your grip on the doorknob tighten, his words sinking deeper than you want them to.

“Javi, please, think this through—”

“You sound like my agent,” he interrupts with a dry laugh, flexing his jaw. “I’ve thought about it. It’s all I can think about. I can’t even keep my cock hard enough to fuck the girls on set anymore, and like I told you before—I’m not taking pills for that shit.”

He steps closer, and you feel a pang in your chest as his hand brushes yours, his gaze desperate, pleading with you to see him the way he sees you.

But it’s messy and it’s hard, and even if it’s everything you didn’t know you wanted, you’re terrified it might be everything you don’t know how to hold onto.

His hands slide up, fingers splaying gently over your cheeks, holding you as if he’s anchoring himself. “Please stop fighting me on this,” he murmurs insistently. “I know what I want, and it’s you.”

The intensity in his eyes roots you in place, brown and warm and so damn certain it’s almost overwhelming. You’re taken aback by the softness in his touch, by how steady his hands feel against your face.

He’s usually much braver in action than in words, and yet here he is, unwavering.

“And you’re sure?” you whisper, not sure you can even trust yourself to hold up your guard.

“Si, nena.” There’s no hesitation, no doubt, just a rock-solid conviction that somehow soothes your racing heart. 

“You’re not gonna regret this down the line? Not even a little?”

“Absolutely not.” His answer is quick and firm, like he’s spent every minute leading up to this one, getting ready to say it.

Oh, fuck. With him looking at you like that, you know you don’t really have any other choice but to give Javier Peña a shot at being your boyfriend.

“Okay… okay, Javi, fine. We’ll see where this goes, but if you start having even one doubt—”

He doesn’t let you finish, cutting you off with his mouth on yours, pulling you close in a kiss that’s somehow even more intense than you were expecting.

It’s deep and consuming, worlds away from anything you’ve ever felt, like he’s pouring everything he has into it, and you can’t help but lose yourself in him like you have been since the moment things shifted in your dynamic.

When you finally come up for air, foreheads resting against each other, you’re both a little breathless, eyes shining with adoration.

“So...we’re doing this?” he asks, a crooked smile on his face that makes him look boyish and so damn pretty.

“I guess we are.”

“Does that mean I can come inside?” And with the way his lips quirk up into a cocky smile, you know exactly what this motherfucker means.

“Nope, we’re taking things slow… and I’m not fucking you until you get tested.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “Fair enough. I can work with that.”

You kiss again, his mouth soft and so damn inviting that it takes all your willpower to pull yourself back before you’re tempted to give in right here, in the doorway. “Alright, Javi,” you murmur, feeling his breath linger against your lips as he bites playfully at your lower lip before letting you go. “Goodnight.”

He’s grinning, and it’s that smile that has a way of melting everything inside you. “Goodnight, nena. I’ll call you, set up our second date. Soon.”

The giddiness hits you hard—like back when Frankie was all about pursuing you, only it’s different this time and you don’t know why.

‘“I’ll be waiting.”

He quirks a brow. “I won’t make you wait too long.”

One last, lingering kiss and he’s gone, leaving you at the door, flushed, breathless, and completely jumbled in the best way possible.

“It feels weird being on this side of the bar,” you say, settling onto a barstool across from Connie. Javier slides into the stool next to you, immediately pulling you closer, his hand warm and possessive on your thigh.

“If you’re here to flaunt your relationship, you should start charging for it—I know I’d pay to see it,” Connie teases with a wink, already preparing your usual drink and turning to Javier. “And what about you?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” he answers, then leans into you, his voice a murmur by your ear, his hand slipping higher up your thigh, sneaking under the hem of your dress. “She does have a point, though.”

You smirk, pretending to ignore the way his fingers are trailing dangerously close to your panties. “Not sure I’d be any good on camera. Not like you, anyway.”

He chuckles and you can feel the heat between you two, that ever-present hum of lust you’ve been riding since the night he first kissed you.

It’s been blissful a month of dating Javier, and being with him is like no relationship you’ve had before.

You’ve found so much joy in the simplest moments with him—like when he fixes the little issues around your apartment that your landlord could care less about, or, the lively debates you have in the grocery store aisles, passionately debating which brand of coffee is better. 

Sure, you still haven’t officially slept with him, but that hasn’t stopped either of you from exploring each other. He’s kept his promise to make you feel amazing, finding delicious ways to learn your body without actually crossing that line.

It has only made everything feel deeper, sweeter. The way you make out like teenagers, unraveling each other in all the ways that matter, has been more than enough.

It wasn’t until a few days ago that you finally returned the favor, slipping into the shower with him and blowing his mind in every sense of the word, until he was helplessly spilling down your throat. Your jaw’s still a little sore from how eagerly you’d gone down on him, the memory of his breathless groans seared in your mind. 

Tonight, he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, officially. He’d planned this whole evening at a rooftop restaurant, it was a little too fancy, but he looked at you like he couldn’t believe his luck.

The restaurant itself was overpriced and borderline ridiculous, but you two had made a game of it, teasing and laughing over the small portions and the pretentious plating. 

He even surprised you with a beautiful pair of earrings that you immediately put on, and he looked so damn proud when you showed them off.

Now you’re here at Lucky’s, both of you a bit overdressed, not ready to call it a night yet.

You can feel Javier’s gaze on you, intense and unwavering. “Baby, you’d be a fucking sight,” he says, teeth grazing your earlobe before he bites down gently, his warm breath tickling your skin and sending a shiver through you. You can’t help but giggle, feeling breathless and flushed as he plants a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Why are you two all dressed up?” Connie asks, setting your drinks down with a raised brow.

“Went out for dinner at the most overpriced spot I’ve ever set foot in. Easily spent my entire Friday night’s tips, and I’m still hungry.”

“Not only does that sound like a waste of time, but it’s definitely not your style.”

Javier leans back, one arm draped over your barstool. “To clarify: she didn’t spend a damn dime,” he interjects, “I had to take her somewhere special to ask her to be my girl,” he says, voice dripping with smooth confidence as he raises his glass for a sip.

Connie’s eyes light up, and your cheeks flush. “Consistent dick is the ultimate antidepressant. Trust me, I’d know,” she says with a wink.

You laugh at her bluntness, and fall into an easy rhythm of conversation, her giving updates on things with Steve, then gushing over the earrings Javier had gifted you earlier.

Just as you’re leaning in to admire them together, you notice a figure approaching. A woman, older and stunningly beautiful, glides up to the bar—her gaze fixed squarely on Javier.

“Javier, is that you?” Her voice is low, sultry, every word dripping with familiarity as she slides up beside him, her gaze unmistakably hungry. “Dios mío, mira qué guapo te has puesto, mi amor.”

Your head snaps up, conversation with Connie dissolving as Javier stands, greeting her with a hug that makes you do a double take.

You share a look with Connie, her expression mirroring the curious frown you feel. She raises her brows, silently mouthing, Who is that?

I don’t know, you mouth back, jealousy twisting in your stomach as you glance back at them.

They part, but her hands linger a moment too long on his chest, her manicured fingers trailing down. Javier very politely but firmly moves them away, a small frown creeping onto her face.

“Judy, long time no see.” His tone is courteous but distant. “This is my girlfriend,” he says, his voice warm as he makes the introduction, stepping back to your side, positioning you squarely in her line of sight.

You’re about to revel in the term girlfriend rolling so easily off his tongue, but her eyes lock onto you with a chill that runs down your spine. Standing your ground, you straighten, meeting her gaze head-on.

She’s stunning, her hair tastefully graying in elegant streaks against her rich brunette, her makeup precise and expensive. The smile lines around her mouth only enhance her aging beauty and if it weren’t for the absolute diabolical vibes you’re getting from her, you would have complimented how good she looks.

The tailored outfit, chunky gold bracelets, diamond-studded earrings and matching necklace leave no question—she has money.

What she’s doing at a dive bar like Lucky’s is beyond you, but maybe LA has its fill of pretentious types everywhere.

“Encantada,” she purrs, a fake smile flashing across her face before her focus shifts back to Javier. “¿Tienes novia? No lo puedo creer, Javiercito. Nunca me lo imaginé de ti.¿Sigues actuando?”

Her words drip with disbelief, her eyes giving you a nasty once over, and you catch enough Spanish to know she’s making a point to speak only to him. It’s like you’re just a side note, something to size up and dismiss.

Javier shifts, catching the tension in your posture, but she’s unrelenting. He responds curtly, “No, not with others. More solo work now.”

She scoffs, a haughty tsk of disapproval as she tilts her head.“No me digas que tu noviecita no te deja.” A mocking pout twists her lips. “Mija, if you’re going to date a pornstar, you’re going to have to deal with the baggage that comes with it. You don’t just get to benefit from him, from what I taught him.”

A flush of fury burns through you, and you’re on the verge of standing up, ready to beat her ass for her audacity. But Javier senses it and steps in, fingers pressing gently but firmly against your thigh, silently calming you down before you do something that’ll make him have to bail you out.

“It was my choice. Gig isn’t fun anymore,” he says firmly, a hint of irritation finally creeping into his tone. “We’re actually in the middle of a date, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving us to it…”

She glances between the two of you, clearly displeased at being dismissed but not quite willing to push her luck. Her smile turns syrupy, and you roll your eyes, signaling Connie for another drink. She’s failing miserably at pretending like she’s not listening in. 

“Of course,” she says in a sugary tone, eyes lingering on him.“Provecho. Si cambias tu mente, sabes donde encontrarme, Javi. We used to have so much fun together.” Her fingers trace down his arm a little too slowly, and she practically purrs, “Enjoy your date, sweetheart,” as she struts off, hips swinging with exaggerated flair.

But his eyes don’t follow, they turn to you.

Once she’s out of earshot, you raise a brow, waiting for some explanation. “So… who was that?” you ask as he sits back beside you, tossing back the last of his drink.

“An old colleague,” he says flatly.

You feel another surge of jealousy, and the second your drink arrives, you’re downing it in one go.

“Woah, nena, take it easy—”

“Is that normal for you?” you ask, unable to hide the irritation bubbling up. “Having fans… ‘colleagues��� just approach you out of nowhere, all of them ready to fuck?” You know your tone’s more annoyed than you intended, but the image of her hands all over him pisses you off.

He studies you, cautious, as if measuring his words. “Honestly? Yes. I’m very popular, baby,” he says with a crooked smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “I thought you knew that.”

You let out a sigh, guilt creeping in for directing your irritation at him. “I know… I do. There’s just a difference between knowing and actually experiencing it.” You try to keep the bite out of your tone. “It’s not like she was being subtle either. Looked like she was two seconds away from spreading herself out for you right here.”

There’s definitely an adjustment that still needs to be made in terms of dating a pornstar.

“I’ll be better about shutting them down,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even if you do look hot when you’re jealous.”

You try to suppress a smile, rolling your eyes as he leans closer, brushing his lips along your bare shoulder, then trailing up to your neck, melting your frustration just a bit. He’s too good at this.

“I wasn’t jealous,” you lie, glancing sideways at him. “Also didn’t peg you as an ‘older women’ guy. I’ve only ever seen you with the younger girls.” Saying it even makes you cringe.

As if on cue, Connie, ever the observant bartender, swoops in with replacement drinks, eyebrows raised knowingly. “Everything good over here? I don’t need to call an ambulance or anything, right?”

You snort out a laugh, shaking your head. “No, Con, we’re fine.”

“Even though I wouldn’t mind seeing her kick some ass.” Javier teases.

She laughs, nodding at you. “Oh, you want to see her fight? Be here during a major sports event. Last year during March Madness, she gave this guy a black eye ‘cause he called her a cunt when she accidentally changed the channel, then ended up going toe-to-toe with his girlfriend.”

Javier raises his brows at you. “Seriously?”

You shrug, unfazed. “They asked for it.”

As Connie gets pulled away by some patrons at the other end of the bar, Javier turns to you, his expression shadowed and a bit more serious than before.

“When I first started, my confidence was shot. I’m talkin’ nonexistent,” he admits, his voice low.

You arch a brow, struggling to picture a less-than-assured Javier Peña. “Really? I’m having a hard time imagining that.”

“Yeah, well…” He lets out a rough sigh, “When your fiancée gets knocked up and leaves you at the altar for the guy she’s been cheating on you with, that tends to happen.”

You choke on your drink, and your hand flies to your chest, eyes wide. He glances at you, his concern slipping past his own discomfort for a second. You wave him off as you try to get it together, the words still rattling around in your mind.

“Sorry—what?” you finally manage, hardly believing what you just heard.

“Didn’t mean to dump it on you like that,” he says, leaning on the bar, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat on the counter, his gaze cast downward.

“Hold up. You were engaged?” You can’t help but lean in, your curiosity clawing to the surface. “And she left you?” You’re struggling to piece it all together, mind spinning through images of the man sitting next to you, younger and heartbroken.

“Yeah,” his jaw twitches. “Her name was Lorraine. We were high school sweethearts—whole ‘marry your first love’ thing.” There’s a hard edge in his voice now, his fingers gripping the glass a bit tighter. “Thought I’d have the life, fill a house with kids, do the whole all-American family bullshit.” His words are bitter, the resentment so clear you almost feel it yourself. 

He takes a breath, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing. “Wedding day comes around and she’s gone. Left some half-assed note saying she ‘couldn’t do it,’ and her sister finally broke down and told me what was really going on. She’d been screwing her boss. He got her pregnant.”

There’s a crash behind the bar as a glass shatters. You glance over to see Connie, her face red, scrambling to clean it up with an embarrassed apology. You can’t blame her for listening in—you’re feeling a similar gut punch. 

You knew there was something that happened that made him jump the gun and move to California, now, you know what it is. An ain’t shit ex.

“Javi, that’s fucked. I can’t even begin to imagine how much that must have hurt.”

He gives a small nod, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip.

From where you’re sitting, you can see his profile in the low light—his strong nose, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, those lips that naturally form a pout when he’s deep in thought.

"I tried to keep it together, but that town became… suffocating. The looks I got…” Javier’s voice trails off as he shakes his head. “So I packed my shit, said goodbye to my pops, and just started driving. Stopped in all sorts of places, did some sightseeing, trying to figure things out.” A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Ended up here, and Steve was the first friend I made. That asshole’s the one who got me into porn.”

Your brows shoot up, surprised yet again by his story’s unexpected turns. “Steve? Oh god, don’t tell me he used to do it too.”

Javier smirks, amusement dancing in his eyes. “He did a few flicks. Nothing groundbreaking like me.” He says all cheekily, and you can’t help but nudge him. “So, yeah, I started out for a few bucks. Wasn’t so hot in the beginning—and then I met Judy.”

At the mention of her, your face twists involuntarily, and he notices but ignores your reaction. 

“She taught me most of what I know, and we shot a lot of projects together. People liked what they saw, and after a while, I started getting paired with older co-stars. That kinda became my thing. MILFs and cougars,” he says, his gaze tracing your features to gauge your response. 

You’re still reeling from everything he’s told you so far, marveling at the many lives this man has lived before finding his way to you. “That explains a lot, actually,” you say, your thoughts slipping out with your words.

It now makes sense why he’s so damn good at foreplay. Skills like his? They’re honed under women who know exactly what the fuck they’re talking about, who aren’t shy to take what they need.

Suddenly, your own insecurities begin to simmer and you wonder if you’ll ever amount to the women before you.

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Yeah? Like what?”

You glance up, unflinching. “Like the fact that you can fuck.” Your bluntness pulls a laugh out of both of you—his full of mischief, yours tinged with nerves.

“Not a problem, is it?” he asks, that signature smirk softened, yet curious.

It’s a loaded question, so you take a sip, buying a little time before answering. “What, that you can fuck?”

He laughs again, more genuine this time, a sound that melts some of the tension inside you.

“No, nena,” he replies, still grinning. “Everything else.”

The laughter fades, and for a moment, you sit in the quiet, watching tiny droplets slide down the condensation on your glass.

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for honesty. “It’s not a problem, Javi. But… if I’m being real with you, I don’t feel up to par with what you’re used to.”

You can tell from the way his face falls into a scowl that he doesn’t like how you’ve phrased it. “What I have with you is different, cariño. Not something scripted for a camera.” 

“I know that, but still. You’re used to professionals—people who know exactly what to do, how to look, how to please. Me?” You let out a shaky laugh, grimacing at your self deprecation, and your gaze falls to the drink in your hand. “You’re lucky if I even get on top.”

As the last word falls, your cheeks flush with embarrassment, feeling raw and exposed at a fucking dive bar.

Before you can turn further away, Javier leans in close, gently catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His expression is nothing but tender, his dark eyes soft.

“Hey, stop that,” he murmurs, his voice so gentle it’s almost a whisper. “You’re more than enough. Trust me.” His fingers stroke softly along your jaw, lingering. “I wasn’t looking for a waxed-up, camera-ready professional. I wanted something real and I found you.”

Your heart stirs at the depth in his voice. He lets out a small breath, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheek. “I know you’ve got your hang-ups, and I get it. I’ve been there. It’s… hard to feel like you’re enough when you’re constantly comparing yourself to people who don’t even matter. But I’m tellin’ you, baby, it shouldn’t be like that with us.”

He shifts a little closer, his gaze earnest. “I’ll help you feel more confident the way someone once did for me. But the difference? I’m givin’ you everything. Not just sex, not just some half-hearted attempt. I’m here—all in.”

You swallow the mix of emotions he’s just poured into you—gratitude, desire, and a newfound trust that fills the spaces where your insecurities had settled.

Your eyes search his, words catching in your throat as you try to express everything you’re feeling. But instead of speaking, you reach for the hand at your face, your stare steady as you quietly murmur, “Let’s go upstairs.”

You stumble through the door, bodies pressed close as you and Javier crash into the walls of your apartment, lips never parting for more than a heartbeat.

Your hands roam each other’s bodies, his fingers tracing down your spine, your own tugging eagerly at his shirt, popping buttons until it falls open, greedily feeling up on his warm and toned chest.

His belt follows, clinking to the floor, and as you kick off your heels, you barely register the sound of them hitting the ground—lost in the heavy rhythm of your pulse, the taste of his mouth, the roughness of his scruff.

He sinks down onto the edge of your bed, and you move to straddle him, but he catches you just in time, leaning back a bit with a smirk. “Take your dress off…” he orders, his voice gravelly as his eyes travel hungrily over you, biting his lower lip.

Your heart races as you take a few steps back, antsy fingers reaching for the zipper at your side.

“Slowly,” he adds, and you slow down, teasing him as you draw the zipper down until your dress is loose against your skin.

Holding it to your chest with one hand, you turn around, letting it slip and fall in a gentle whisper to the floor, leaving you standing in just your underwear.

His satisfied hum makes you shiver, and you feel his gaze burn down your back, over the curve of your hips, your thighs.

Looking over your shoulder with a flirty smile, you catch his eye, and he grins in return.

“Turn around, baby, let me see you.”

You turn to face him, nerves quieted by the way he’s looking at you—as if he’s seeing you naked for the first time.

He lets out a soft, almost reverent groan, then extends his hands, urging you closer. You step forward, your hands finding his shoulders as you finally straddle his lap, his warmth searing through you. 

His mouth captures yours, rough hands sliding up to cup your breasts, teasing your nipples until you’re trembling, gasping against his lips as you remember what happened the last time he toyed with you like this.

“Javi…” you whisper his name, your voice barely a breath as you pull away just enough to speak, eyes meeting his. “I want you. All of you.” You lean in to kiss him again, fervent, moving to trail your lips along his jaw, nipping lightly.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say it firmly, leaving no room for doubt, wanting him to understand exactly what you need.

He groans deeply, his hands dropping to grip your ass and pull you closer. “Are you sure?” his nose brushes along your neck, his breath hot against your skin as you continue kissing along his jaw.

“Yes, Javi,” you breathe out, voice thick with need, “I need you so bad.”

With practiced ease, Javier shifts you onto your back, stretching out beneath him as he hovers close, his touch claiming every inch of exposed skin. His hands trail over you, hot and lingering, and you feel like you’re melting beneath him, completely under his control.

When he finally pulls away to slip out of his remaining clothes, you see his gaze wander, fixated on something by your bedside table.

Following his line of sight, you realize he’s locked onto the purple vibrator you’d left out after using it the other night when he wasn’t around, leaving you to fend for yourself.

A sly smile tugs at his lips as he reaches over, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. “This little thing gets you off?” he teases, holding it up as though he’s sizing up the competition.

You roll your eyes, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer, but he resists, firmly planted just out of reach.“When I’m in a pinch, yes. Haven’t exactly needed it much lately, thanks to you.”

A thoughtful hum escapes him as he glances between you and the toy, as if weighing his options. Then, moving back over you, he kneels between your thighs, one hand gripping your hip possessively, teasing the band of your panties, while the other holds the vibrator with a wicked gleam. “I think we could put this to good use tonight.”

The spark of excitement floods through you, making your thighs tense instinctively, hips lifting slightly in response. Javier notices, his smirk widening as he lets the band of your panties snap back against your skin, making you gasp.

His eyes darken as he watches you writhe, clearly savoring your every little movement.

“Oh, yeah?” you manage to ask, your voice breathy with anticipation. “How?”

Instead of answering, he switches the toy on, and the low, steady hum fills the room. His eyes never leave you as he drags it lightly over your pelvis, nowhere close to where you ache for him, but enough to make your breath hitch, a soft moan slipping out as you arch into his touch.

His grip on your hip tightens. “Stay still,” he commands, using that sexy bedroom voice of his that’s even more gravelly and deeper than his usual cadence.

Obediently, you settle back, watching him with bated breath. He keeps the toy hovering just above your soaked panties, tantalizingly close to where you need him most.

When he finally presses it down on your clothed pussy, just enough to tease, you let out a low, pleading whimper, your hands gripping the sheets as he works you over in slow, cruel strokes.

His stare holds yours, a silent promise that tonight, he’s going to take his time, making sure you feel every single second of it.

Your breaths come out heavy and uneven, your whole body tensing as you fight the urge to grind up against it, trying to maintain some composure while he has you pinned down beneath that slow, teasing rhythm.

Javier moves the toy in tight, deliberate circles, dragging it excruciatingly slow over your needy clit, the first setting absolute torture.

He’s in no hurry, watching with intense focus as you tremble, his eyes tracing every twitch, every bead of arousal that weeps from your cunt, dampening the thin fabric even more.

He keeps that maddening pace, and as the vibrations ripple through you, you feel the familiar tightening in your belly, an orgasm coiling dangerously tight, ready to snap.

Your nails dig into the duvet, a strangled moan spilling from your lips. “Oh, fuck, Javi—I’m… I’m gonna come—”

But just as you reach that edge, he pulls the toy away and turns it off, leaving you gasping, the sensation dissipating as quickly as it built. Your eyes snap open and you sit up slightly, desperate and hazy, locking onto him. “What the fuck?”

“Shh,” he hushes you, though there’s no denying the look of satisfaction on his face. Javi brushes his lips over the corner of your mouth, calming you with a soft, feather-light kiss. “Just trust me, okay? You know I always take care of you.”

You do know. This man has pulled so many orgasms right out of your body without even fucking you with his dick. That reassurance melts away your frustration from being pulled back from the precipice. You nod, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

Your lips meet in a kiss that’s so intoxicating, tongues sliding against each other, his hand skipping down your side to the band of your panties.

Slowly, he drags the fabric down, his fingers gliding over your skin, leaving a blazing trail as they go.

When he finally discards your underwear, you’re left bare beneath him, exposed and aching, while he still wears that unbuttoned dress shirt, his slacks riding low on his hips, half undone.

It’s annoying how good he looks—just dressed enough to drive you wild with impatience.

He taps your knee, urging you to spread wider, his gaze fixed on you with unrestrained desire. And the way he looks at you—like you’re all he’s ever wanted—banishes every flicker of self-doubt, every whisper of insecurity.

You let yourself open up to him completely, your sticky, swollen pussy on full display, pulsing in anticipation, needing him more than words can say.

His eyes rake over you with reverence, dark and smoldering as he drinks in every inch of yourself that you’re offering to him, his chest rising and falling a little heavier. 

“Always so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your knee before settling back between your legs.

The vibrator flicks on again, and he traces it up your inner thighs, letting you tremble beneath his touch. You bite down hard on your lip, trying to hold back the urge to shout at him to stop playing around, to just give it to you.

Javier trails the toy along your slick lips, his gaze dark and hungry as your arousal drips out of your cunt, every inch of your body clenching with need. When he finally presses the vibrator to your clit, a shudder ripples through you, your back arching off the bed.

He groans low and deep, clearly savoring your reaction.

“Javi,” you moan, hips already grinding against the pressure as he keeps the vibrator in place, turning up the intensity to make you gasp, your body moving to meet it, demanding more.

“Feel good, baby?” he murmurs, his voice like smoke.

“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out, nodding feverishly, your eyes squeezed shut as you let the pleasure wash over you, helplessly rocking against him.

But just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls it away.

Over and over, he teases, edging you with that relentless, maddening rhythm, each denial more tortuous than the last.

He alternates between fucking the toy inside you, pressing it against the fleshy cleft of your clit, and peppering soft, almost loving kisses down your body: your neck, your jaw, the valley between your breasts. His tongue traces your nipple in slow circles, flicking it just enough to drive you wild, until you’re a trembling, teary mess beneath him, desperate for release.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” he coos, stroking your cheek as he sets the vibrator to its highest setting, plunging it inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of your pussy crying around it only fuel his hunger as he watches your face.

You feel his fingers cup your jaw, firm and unyielding, his eyes blazing into yours as you cling to his touch, mascara running down your cheeks, feeling so utterly wrecked.

“Please, Javi… please let me come,” you beg, your voice ragged. But he just tightens his hold, fingers digging into the skin of your cheeks, pressing the toy in deep as his thumb circles your clit, leaving you breathless. 

“Just when you think you can let go… it’s snatched from you,” he whispers, ignoring your pleas, dragging you to the brink only to pull the vibrator away once again, leaving you a shaking, furious mess.

A strangled sound escapes your throat, torn between anger and need, barely feeling like yourself.

Javier chuckles, bending down to nip at your chin, his teeth grazing your skin before his tongue traces a line up your jaw. “That’s how you’ve been making me feel for months now, nena,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Driving me fuckin’ crazy. It’s only fair that I make you feel even a fraction of it.”

“Y-You’re an asshole,” you try to retort, but your voice comes out barely above a whisper, your tone more a helpless whine than any real protest.

He grins, mocking your pout with one of his own, voice dripping with feigned sympathy. “Don’t say that, baby. You’re breakin’ my heart.” He brushes one last kiss against your lips, pulling back just as you lean into him, already aching to feel him close again, his warmth a cruel tease.

He undresses fully, and your mouth literally waters as your gaze traces the sculpted lines of his stomach, following the trail of hair that leads down to his thick, throbbing cock.

The head is swollen and red, already dripping with precome, and you can’t help the moan that slips from your lips, your hips shifting instinctively, every nerve ending primed and desperate for him. You’ve been dreaming about this moment for so long, craving it with every fiber of your being. 

You need to fuck this man.

As he climbs back over you, his hands reach to pull you closer, your legs wrapping around his waist as if they belong there, your hands clutching at the solid warmth of his shoulders.

You pull him down to you, your bare breasts pressed to the hard plane of his chest, as he balances himself with both hands planted beside your head, his eyes burning into yours. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft, and you nod, kissing the corner of his mouth before tangling your fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Mhm,” you breathe, staring up at him, completely wrecked and totally ready. “I’m just ready to take you, Javi. Need it so bad.”

He groans, the heat in his eyes darkening as he adjusts his hips, hovering right there, just out of reach. “Go ahead, baby, take it. Put it in.”

His words are like gasoline to a fire, and a shiver runs through you at the sheer, visceral need in his command.

Reaching down, your fingers wrap around his length, both of you gasping as you feel the heat and hardness of him pulsing in your hand. You squeeze gently, stroking him slowly, and he hisses, rolling his hips into your grip.

You swirl your thumb over the head, spreading the bead of precome across his skin, the silky-slick texture making you dizzy with anticipation.

Drunk on him, on everything he evokes in you, you guide the head of his cock to your soaked, swollen entrance, rubbing it slowly against your aching slit.

The sensation has you trembling, but when he finally pushes forward, easing himself into you, you let out a loud, breathless whine. The stretch of him is so perfect, so utterly fulfilling that your back arches, your toes curling as your head falls back into the sheets. 

“Oh, fuck—Javier, you feel so good,” you gasp, your walls clenching around him, holding him deep as your body adjusts to every thick, pulsing inch. It’s even better than you ever imagined.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and uneven as he thrusts forward, filling you to the hilt. “Nena,” he grunts, voice ragged, “I’m not gonna last—shit.” He sounds as wrecked as you feel, his hips pressing flush against yours as he sinks in deep, your inner walls gripping him as if you’ll never let him go.

“Please,” you whimper, grinding your hips up to meet him, urging him on. He sinks his teeth into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking until he’s left a mark, his mouth hot and relentless as he peppers kisses and bites along your throat.

He’s holding himself back, giving you a second to catch up, but every inch of you craves him.

“Give me, fuck, gimme a second,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your collarbone. He starts to move, his thrusts slow and controlled, his mouth capturing yours in a heated kiss, your bodies locked together as he builds a rhythm, deeper and more intense with every movement.

Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in as he grinds just right, the coarse hairs of his cock rubbing against your swollen clit, making you babble helplessly against his parted lips, your own pleasure climbing higher with each thrust. “Right there, Javi, right there—I’m so close, please…”

He speeds up, his strokes hard and unrestrained, driving you to the edge. But even as he tries to keep his control, you feel him faltering, his body tensing as the pleasure becomes too much.

“Fuck—puta madre, nenita—you feel so good—” His voice breaks, and he gives one, two, three hard thrusts, burying himself deep as his release finally takes over, his warm, pulsing release spilling into you as he groans loudly, hips grinding as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm.

Your chest heaves with every breath, your body still humming with tension. As much as you’re flattered by his performance, you’re left tingling, unfinished, after all the edging and teasing he put you through.

“Javi…” You murmur softly, your hands sliding from his tousled hair down his shoulders, the heat radiating off his skin. 

He responds with a low grunt, still draped over you, his weight grounding you.

“Javier,” you say again, a bit more insistently this time, and he lifts his head, eyes heavy and glazed, looking at you as if you’ve just broken him in the best way possible.

You’ve never seen him look this wrecked, his breath still uneven and his face flushed—all because of you. Fighting the urge to smirk, you can’t help but revel in the sight of him.

Men can be sensitive about finishing quickly, but he looks nothing but smug.

“Pussy’s too damn good, baby. Fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, a grin tugging at his lips, his words breathy and awed.

Now you let yourself smirk, feeling the flush of satisfaction. He nuzzles his nose against yours, murmuring, “Gotta make up for that.”

You raise a brow, intrigued. And then he’s moving, slowly pulling out of you, making you hum as the absence of him sends a small flutter through your sensitive cunt, his warm, milky cum trickling out and coating your thighs. 

With determination in his gaze, he begins his descent, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum, his breath a delicious tease against your skin until he’s nestled between your legs.

His broad shoulders press your thighs open, and then he throws them over his shoulders, eyes locked on yours, his look nothing short of ravenous.

Javi nips and kisses along your inner thighs, each bite and lick sending sparks straight to your core. When he finally reaches your swollen, aching pussy, his thumbs slide over your folds, parting them to reveal the slick mess he left behind.

Then, you feel the first swipe of his tongue, warm and slow, tasting you both. His groan is deep and low, the sound vibrating against you as he begins to devour you, licking and slurping at your mixed arousal with a hunger that’s overwhelming. 

You can’t hold back—you’re too wound up, too sensitive, and you grab at his hair, your fingers twisting and tugging as your release crashes through you, every wave building on all the ones denied before. 

You’re left gasping, body arched and taut, thighs clamping around his head as you scream his name, mindlessly babbling through the pleasure.

“Javi! Fuck—fuck, yes, oh god—” 

He growls against you, mouth working as he drinks in every pulse, his tongue relentless as he wrings every last aftershock from your shaking body.

It’s beyond anything you’ve felt before, overwhelming and intense, leaving you utterly spent as you finally start to come down, your body melting beneath him, weak and utterly satisfied.

As he finishes devouring you between your thighs, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before he’s thrusting into you again, harder and deeper this time, with a fierce intensity that rips a loud, shameless cry from you.

Right, he’s got that pornstar stamina.

His hands grip your hips, pulling you up with him as he sits up, his brows knitted in concentration, his tongue peeking out as he watches you completely unravel around him.

“That’s right, baby,” he growls, “Gonna give me one more on my cock, show me how bad you wanted it.”

You used to roll your eyes at the exaggerated moans you’d hear on set, doubting anyone could actually be that good.

But he is that good. Beyond that good. He’s better.

Now here you are, body trembling, head thrown back, moaning his name so loudly it might echo through the whole building. Every hard thrust feels like it’s driving into the core of you, filling you so perfectly that the room spins. 

His grip tightens, hands splayed across your hips as he finds a rhythm that sends shocks of pleasure coursing through you. The thick drag of his cock hits every spot, and he knows just how to read every gasp, every shudder, adjusting his pace and angle to push you higher and higher. 

He pulls your legs up, folding them against your chest, his hips angled to grind against that one perfect spot that has stars dancing across your vision. You’re lost to him, mimicking those moans you used to scoff at, now higher and even more desperate as he laughs, deep and husky.

“Got you singin’ like a fuckin’ bird, nenita,” he teases, his laugh tapering off into a low groan. “And to think you didn’t want this. Now look at you—all fucked out and creamin’ on my cock”

Your bed creaks with every hard thrust, the scent of sex thick in the air, but all you can focus on is him—his rough hands, the way he looks down at you, utterly in control.

He’s all you can feel, all you can breathe, and as he digs his nails into the plush skin of your thighs, you know you’re on the edge, your pussy clenching tightly around him. 

Your gaze meets his, and somehow you manage a blissful, shaky smile, a small act of defiance just before he pushes you over.

“There she is,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Come on, baby—let me feel it.”

“Javi… oh my fuck, I’m coming!” The words are a gasp, strangled and desperate, as your body locks around him, your orgasm crashing through you in waves that leave you breathless, gushing around his cock as every muscle in your body clenches tight.

It feels like you’ve drifted to the heavens, like he’s drawn out every last ounce of strength from you. 

You’re dazed, floating, but he’s still there, whispering to you, “Good girl, that’s it. I’ve got you,” his voice a warm balm as he slows his movements, matching the rhythm of your aftershocks, soothing you with each gentle thrust as he holds you close.

Your body shudders, tiny jolts of overstimulation sparking through you as he stays with you, coaxing you back down from the edge, until you’re nothing but a soft, sated mess in his arms.

He gently eases your legs down, pulling out of you with a slow, tender touch before settling by your side. 

His arms wrap around you, drawing you in close as you both lie there, utterly spent, skin warm and sticky from sweat and the lingering traces of your wild fucking.

His lips press a soft kiss to your forehead, and you let out a contented sigh, burrowing into his chest. You crave the solid weight of his body, the grounding warmth of him as you slowly come back to reality.

“You’re not real,” you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled but laced with awe. His chuckle vibrates against your cheek, a low, comforting sound that makes you smile even wider.

“I’m very real, and very yours, nena,” Javi replies, his hand drifting lazily up and down your back in gentle strokes that make you melt even further. The warmth of his words seeps into you, and your heart flutters.

You lift your head, resting your chin on his chest, and take a moment to really admire him: the deep brown of his eyes, the dark sweep of his lashes, the fullness of his mustache, and that defined jaw you love tracing your fingers along.

Your hands wander, tracing faint shapes on his shoulders, running over the hard lines of his triceps, relishing the feel of him beneath your fingers.

“I need a shower. And to change these sheets,” you murmur, glancing around at the disheveled bed.

“Yeah, someone made quite the mess,” he teases, pinching your ass, which makes you yelp and swat his chest with a playful smack.

“Asshole,” you grumble, but he just laughs, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss that’s softer, and you melt into him all over again.

“I’ll go start the shower for you, then change the sheets while you’re in there.”

“Catering to my every whim already? I just became your girlfriend,” you tease.

“Yeah, and I’m trying to keep it that way for the foreseeable future,” he says, brushing a quick, sweet kiss on the tip of your nose before slipping away from you.

You can’t help the little pout that forms as he sits up, rolling his shoulders back, his muscles jolting, which makes you weak in the knees.

You watch him as he moves throughout your room then into your bathroom, your eyes trailing over every muscle, every line of his body, unable to resist biting your lip.

He really is gorgeous��so damn hot—and he’s all yours.

🏷️ : @almostempty . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @auteurdelabre . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @dontlookatme121 . @cherrysugarx . @half-moon16 . @dinanabuu . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

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[bisclavret]

#from a shipping lens I’ve thought that Gwaine knew Merlin wanted to be alone with Arthur & that the firewood was bullshit #and that contributes to him giving Merlin a hard time about it too #just a general resentment that he has to go out into the dark for the sake of Merlin’s feelings (again. again and again he does this!!) #and a resentment that Merlin is dancing around the thing he wants when otherwise Merlin is so honest with Gwaine bc it’s GWAINE #and that Gwaine is pushing back against it here but ultimately resigning himself to it with a smile bc well. it’s Merlin. #sorry the Merlin/Arthur/Gwaine love triangle can be deliciously angsty @lancelotofthelake

i think you're spot-on with this! every single episode that features gwaine in s3 hints that gwaine can see the devotion merlin has for arthur and seems to have opinions on the matter (the indulgent "maybe that one's worth dying for eh?" in 3x04, the knowing look he gives merlin in 3x08, and also the scene from this post). calling it a general resentment is interesting and i think you're right; this is neither the first or last time gwaine comes off resentful about having to censor and sideline himself for the sake of merlin. i definitely think this is more the case rather than straightforward romantic jealousy (he just doesn't seem the type), but it is probably a little fueled by his not-so-secret belief that arthur is simply not worth merlin's devotion.

i also agree that gwaine really doesn't seem to appreciate the air of repression that merlin (and probably camelot at large) has about him and wishes merlin could be honest about what he wants, at least in front of gwaine (about his sexuality and his magic, which are almost literally the same thing on this show, but gwaine seems to be the only character that is more overtly aware and representative of the gayer aspects of this allegory rather than the magical ones. and i love that for him). like if merlin had asked him to leave so he can be alone with arthur to a) whisper sweet nothings to him or b) heal him with magic, gwaine would likely have been surprised, yes, but ultimately relieved to be told the truth. but merlin would never admit anything of the sort in a million years, so gwaine has no choice but to ride out his annoyance in private and respect merlin's boundaries. these are the conditions under which he can stay in merlin's life/this story.

it's therefore truly a testament to how much gwaine cared for merlin and how tired he must've been of his old life that he chose to get knighted and stick around, especially since there isn't even much evidence he became more okay with the arthur/merlin relationship continuing to be so unequal and so dependent on posturing, self-deprivation, and repression. but instead of pointing this out in any way after being knighted he just continues biting his tongue and makes himself roll with absolutely everything good or bad, which used to piss me off but now i'm just fascinated by him. it's crazy how even the gayest and most freedom-loving character on the show wasn't immune to starting to repress his true self to fit into a fatally flawed system full of lovable people who are all also repressing their true selves for the exact same reason.

hi. gwaine overthinker here. i love this scene because the way eoin performed it does not sound like he's joking at all. to me. in fact he sounds like he's in a miserable mood.

mind you this is what the past few days (an optimistic estimate) have looked like for gwaine so far:

and lest we forget:

yeah.

so my interpretation of this scene is that gwaine really is being short with merlin, but it's merlin. and gwaine catches himself making him feel worse. so fuck it! ptsd and moral apprehension can wait. merlin needs firewood.

and to be fair, it's probably a relief to have someone drag you out of your doom spiral and pout at you until you run an errand for them.

in conclusion,

[mind-intheclouds342]

A new ladder - Reader x Curly

Previous - Part 2 - Next

"Those were the words of the former captain of the Tulpar ship, owned by Pony Express, Grant Curly, who miraculously was the only survivor even in his condition after going through a series of murders on the ship, completely vulnerable, by the same person who caused the crash, his co-pilot Jimmy-"

You turned off the television while they were broadcasting Curly's testimony on all channels.

"I'll go buy a few things" you mentioned, getting up from your seat and putting on a jacket to go out. "Wanna come with me?"

Curly turned to look at you curiously, thinking you were going to leave him there on his own until you returned, or that you would take him without asking to keep him close.

Curly: "Please"

He sighed and you took his chair to start pushing him to the store.

They could notice the looks of the people passing by, all recognizing the man, but none able to approach him to ask a question.

"Do you like peas? Lin told me that you could eat without any problem as long as your pieces are small." 

Curly: "I have no problem with the food... I just don't like sweets."

"Okay"

You nodded, adding things to the cart, checking the prices, and thinking about what you could cook.

He stood gazing into the distance at the chocolate aisle, remembering the boxes of chocolates he used to buy for Linda, sighing at the thought that those days were in the past.

He found it strange to think that she was already over 50, while he remained at the age of 34, now being cared for by the younger sister of the woman who had once been his fiancée, who must now be around 32.

Curly: "Your birthday... It was a few months ago, right? I remember Linda used to say that she liked spring because it was when you were born."

"...No, my birthday hasn't happened yet, there's still some time left. But I don't really celebrate it, I just treat myself and that's it."

You shrugged even while looking at the products on the shelves.

Having everything you needed, you went to the cash registers to pay. The woman had seen Curly on television and gave him a discount as if he were some kind of veteran or senior.

That didn't please the man very much.

You stopped halfway back to his home, the streets were no longer so busy, after all, you had left a bit late after all.

"Would you like to feel something different?"

You asked him while firmly holding the wheelchair, there was a slight slope on that street, the man immediately turned to look at you, you looked excited to do something, like a child about to pull a prank.

Curly: "Sure?..." he said without being very convinced

And he let out a scream when you climbed onto the chair's wheel tubes and let the slope of the street make you go down, he could only hear a mix of his screams and your laughter as you went down.

He feared crashing into something or flying off, he didn't want to experience more pain, but the chair kept moving even after the descent was over. Curly was grateful for the good quality of the chair, and that it didn't fall apart when you got on it too. He was able to breathe easy when they stopped after a few seconds.

"And we arrived! Much faster, right?"

You patted his shoulder, ready to get off and push him inside the house, the man could feel the rapid beating of his heart at that moment.

Curly: "Do you do things like this often?" he asked, trying to have a conversation to calm down.

"Didn't you feel more alive?"

He fell silent as he thought about your question, while they descended, the only thing he could feel was his heart racing, the wind on his face, and he heard your laughter close to him, but at no moment was there sadness, remorse, or any of those emotions he constantly felt.

Just adrenaline.

Curly: "You could say that... yes..."

You put the groceries in their place and left out only what you were going to use, you ended up making some fried rice with chicken, egg, onion, and peas.

You could see how the man struggled to use his prosthesis to hold his utensils and eat, everything falling onto the table several times.

You moved your chair closer to him, making him look at you.

"Do you want to keep trying or would you prefer that I help you?"

Curly: "I give up for today..." was his only response, sighing.

You took food on your fork and brought it to his face, he opened his mouth and finally managed to take a bite, enjoying the taste of that simple food, he had missed homemade meals after so much time eating the provisions on the ship and then the bland hospital food.

"And? How is it?"

Curly: "Delicious," he replied, opening his mouth, hoping you would give him more.

You couldn't help but compare it to a baby bird begging for food, but you held back your laughter to keep feeding it.

Curly: "Mm.. So, when is your birthday?"

It was a very bad idea to talk to his implant while eating, causing him to start coughing as he choked on the food. 

"Well... It's exactly in 5 weeks," you smiled, making him raise his arms and you patted his back.

He was surprised at how quickly he was able to stop coughing when you did that, you immediately handed him a glass of water.

"I'll be right back, I'm going to get a cloth to clean the food scraps off the table."

You mentioned standing up to go to the kitchen.

While you were away, he kept trying to eat on his own, managing to get a small amount of rice on his fork and being able to eat that.

While he chewed, he kept watching out the window; that orange and reddish color appearing in the trees was tinting the whole place.

Her birthday... It's in autumn...

[trendywaifus]

↳ you know you’re better than this.

featuring — anya x gn! reader (mouthwashing)

no, i don’t write for mouthwashing, there’s just not any anya content.

cw: dark themes, mentions of sexual abuse, abuse, mentions of pregnancy, vomiting, blood, implications of suicide, character deaths, controlling behavior, triggering themes, angst, panic attack, reader is fresh out of medical school, barely hurt and comfort

6 weeks before the crash.

“ guess who~? “

you croon, playfully hovering your hands over the onyx haired woman’s eyes as you snuck up behind her in the med room. anya was standing in front of the sink, quietly washing her hands. a soft giggle rolls off her smiling lips, body language relaxed,

“ hmm, daisuke?”

you snicker, “ i didn’t know i was a silly boy.”

anya hums thoughtfully while the faucet still runs and her hands soaking wet. “ captain? “

“ yes it is i, the big softie blond with curls! “ you proclaimed, goofily deepening your voice to make the voice of the captain, curly. if curly was here, he definitely would of made fun of your half-baked impression of him. anya lets out a bubbly laugh that makes the corner of your lips curl upwards even more. you fight the urge to hug her from behind and squeeze her silly from how wondrous she is. to think you get to be on a space trip with the woman you love and admire deeply makes you wanna float through the endlessly sea of stars and wonder.

“ now that I guessed you right, can i finish washing my hands and greet my lover properly? “ anya asks in a jovial tone.

“ mhmm~ “ you removed your hands away from her eyes and backed off so she can finish washing her hands. it takes a few moments for anya to finish. she turns the faucet off, grabs a paper towel from the dispenser, and wipes her hands off. after throwing the crumbled paper towel in the small bin, she turns around to finally face you. despite her hues resembling a gloomy grey, they brighten as they drink you in. anya immediately seeks for you, wrapping her arms around your frame and gently brushes up against you. you gladly reciprocate the loving gesture, running a delicate up her back and let it rest on her upper back.

“ so, how’s evaluations going three months in? “ you asked, pressing a quick kiss to her brow, “ has the others evaluations been okay? no crazy confessions yet right? “ you inquired with a teasing voice. anya is far experienced in psychology than you are so you leave the evaluations to her. and because anya’s more outgoing and hands-on, you felt like anya’s more capable of taking on medic role. you were luckily squeezed on this ship as a last minute intern similar to daisuke for the experience. six people on a four-man ship is so far quite the experience. you try not to get in the way of the others and besides anya, you mostly interact with curly and daisuke.

anya pauses, recalling her memories from the monthly evaluations.

“ hm. .—oh! daisuke. .a very bright and funny boy that really puts himself out there. he inspires me to be more optimistic. ugh, he’s also disgustingly lucky when it comes to those board games we play. “ her lips ball up in a cute pout, you laugh, “

“ stop saying he’s lucky, anya. you’re just being a sore loser. just accept that he’s better than you at board games! “

anya playfully rolls her eyes, “ oh hush. don’t tell me you’re on his side. “

you smirked, “ i’m on your side, beautiful—buttt i’m still gonna hand you the truth. lovingly. “

anya tells you about the other three evaluations, curly, swansea, and jimmy. her voice is light-hearted when she talks about curly. she describes him as being kind but a bit reserved. he never talks much about himself. everyone has their own story and perhaps even some like him chooses to not tell his as it’s locked away behind the fleshy walls of his bleeding heart. when anya got to swansea, her tone is the same but it’s dampens a bit; melancholic. she describes the crude mechanic as a man who’s been through a lot in life and still lives on despite his struggles. despite how rough he acts, there’s something about him that makes you feel sorry for him. there’s a sort of loneliness that clings to him like the fresh scent of dry balls after drying your clothes in a dryer. however, you can tell that daisuke’s light is smearing onto the much older man’s demeanor. he’s a little more livelier, although very rough on the edges—swansea expresses his care for daisuke in a tough love kinda way.

when anya finally gets to the gruff brunette man, the atmosphere shifts. her words holds a certain weight to them that makes you feel slightly uncomfortable. her voice is meek and reluctant as she talks about his recent evaluation. you pick up on anya’s careful wording and brief pauses during it. she rests her cheek against your shoulder, holding you visibly tighter as if she’s trying to ground herself through you. anya says that he doesn’t really take his evaluation seriously and makes particularly sarcastic comments at her. great. you don’t like jimmy because there’s something about him that rubs you the wrong way. was it that permanent mean look on his face? that judgmental look in his hooded, brown eyes whenever he passes by you in the hallways? what could have you possibly done to him to make him look at you like that? you don’t really talk to him and care more for curly. he is the leader and main pilot after all.

“ . .if he’s making you uncomfortable, i can do his evaluations for you. psychological evaluations require a one on one session and i can do it while you’re outside of the door.” you mutter, rubbing loose circles into anya’s back.

your lover stays silent for a moment. “ . . .no, i can handle it. but, you standing behind the door instead puts me a little more at ease though, haha. “

“ of course. anya, look at me. “ and she does, pulling her head away to peer at you with those pretty, upturned eyes of hers. a tender palm cups her cheek. anya’s skin feels warm and soft to the touch. “ if anything happens, you’ll tell me right? i may only be the intern but i will absolutely raise hell for you. “

anya smiles at you warmly at you, grayish eyes twinkling with endearment. she leans in and kisses your lips. “ i prefer that you not to because i’d hate for you to get booted into space by the crew. “ she remarks jokingly in between brief kisses.

“ hmm. “ you bring your lips to the bridge of her nose, under the tender flesh of her eye, everywhere until she’s a smiling mess. “ we’ll have to see about that. “

5 weeks before the crash.

restless, you exhale as you blankly stare at the white ceiling. due to anya’s head laying on your chest and her body nuzzled against your side, you can hardly change positions or get up, really. you don’t want to wake her up either.

“ can’t sleep? “ she whispers out gently, her hand that was intertwined with yours, lightly squeezed.

“ mmm, not really. did i wake you up with my defeated sighs, anya? “

“ . . kinda. but i’m use to this by now since this is a habit you like to do when you can’t sleep, (name).”you can hear the fond smile in her voice. after two years of dating, anya’s able to read and soak up your habits. she’s so attentive to your mannerisms, knows when you’re apprehensive by the twitching of your fingers and eyes. she knows when you’re happy, sad—it’s quite ridiculous how could someone so knowledgeable like her is struggling to get accepted to med school several times while it only took you once to get in. you’re not a registered nurse prior to getting into med school or anything like that. yes, you worked really hard—but lets admit it; you were just simply lucky to get in. lucky and currently hundred thousand dollars in debt after finishing.

“ i’ll let you sleep. i think i will just sneak into med bay to finish reading the social animal. i wanna be good at psychology as my awesome, future wife is.” you asked, pressing a chaste kiss on her temple.

anya laughs sleepily, “ oh, stop it. you’re not going to fall asleep in there, are you? “

“ of course not! i’ll come back to you once i’m feeling tired. but, if you miss me or have a nightmare, you know where to find me~ “

she removes her head off your chest and breaks away from you with a soft pout. “ i suppose so. “

you get up from the bed and dipped down to kiss the tip of her pretty roman nose. “ buh bye for now, beautiful. ” you coo, adjusting the blanket back over her body.

“ see you, hun. “

you slip on your slippers and walked out of your shared cabin. besides the sound of the low humming noise of the ship, silence fills the void of the still atmosphere. it’s surprisingly chilly as you exit the sleeping quarters and walk through the narrow-like hallways to medical. your footsteps softly bounces throughout the metal walls and your distorted shadow follows behinds you. there’s a churning feeling in your gut as you walk and walk. was it really okay to skip off to medical at the middle of “night” just to read? wouldn’t it have suffice to simply stay and talk to anya until you were able to fall asleep?

your eye twitch and your fingers curl ever so slightly.

should you just go back to her?

“ hey, you’re still “up.”

a rough voice calls out, ripping you away from your thoughts. you stop walking. your eyes wander over to the source and a shiver runs down your spine. jimmy, still in his jumpsuit, stands by the hallway leading to the cockpit. there’s a sense of uneasiness in the air as his quiet gaze lingers on you, waiting for your response.

“ yeah, can’t sleep. “ you say in a deadpan voice, “ what about you? “

jimmy runs his fingers through his tousled chocolate locks before shrugging. “ same as you. but i’m just taking a aimless stroll. where you headin’ to? “

none of your business.

“ medical. “

there’s something in his eyes that visibly changes; a taunting glint that has you side-eyeing him. a corner of his thin lips curl into a subtle, smug smirk.

“ you’re a little ways to go, dr. intern. “

you roll your eyes and start walking pass him, “ i know. at least i know where to go, mr. co pilot. “

jimmy clicks his tongue behind you, muttering something under his breath before his footsteps become distant in your ears. you turn your head, throwing a quick glance over your shoulder. you see his tall silhouette walking down the direction towards the sleeping quarters. “ smug fuck, i hope you sleep like shit tonight. “ you murmur, trying your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your tummy.

with a tired sigh, you slumped in the chair, turning one of many pages you gone through. the ticking clock in the background occasionally hits your ears as your fingers lazily drum against the pristine white surface of the desk. your droopy (e/c) eyes skim across a quote that leaves the remainder of your conscious mind wondering.

reason and emotion are not separate and opposed. reason is nestled upon emotion and dependent upon it. emotion assigns value to things, and reason can only make choices on the basis of those valuations. the human mind can be pragmatic because deep down it is romantic.

“is it wrong to use only reasoning to make a decision devoid of emotion . .? or is it actually wrong to let your emotions influence your decisions and reasoning? ” you sleepily muse to yourself.

oh, being human is so complicated.

your head perk up at the medbay door sliding open. surprise is written all over your face once you see a seemingly shaken up anya walking inside. her arms are tucked to her chest, hands clutching her elbows.“ anya? it’s only been. .two hours? you had a nightmare already? “ you asked worriedly, standing up from the desk to make your way over to her.

“ i. .y-yes, it was t-terrible. .” anya whispers in a quivering voice. her head is down, avoiding eye contact. you try to grasp her elbow and lure her into your arms but she violently flinches from your touch.

pulling away quickly, your face contorts into a look of worry. “ baby? “

teary-eyed, anya quickly lifts up her head, mustering a shaky smile. “ oh dear, i-i’m sorry. i-i’m just still quite shaken up from the nightmare, h-haha. i need a minute or so to recoup myself. can i stay here with you? “ anya sometimes get nightmares but it was only due to stress. she never had a nightmare that got her like this.

“ . .of course. you don’t even have to ask. here, you can sit on one of those beds. “ carefully, you ghost your hand over the small of her back as you guide her to a bed. she quietly sits down with a soft sniffle and you follow suit. your heart squeezes at the sound of her soft hiccups and the sight of her head down. you can hardly see her face due to her saber strands hanging down. “ can. .is it safe for me to have my arm around you? “

she meekly bobs her head and you delicately curl an arm around her, taking note of her body momentarily stiffening up before gradually relaxing. “ do you want to talk about your nightmare? “

it takes her a moment to reply. “ . . no. i don’t really remember much of it now anyways. “

you frown, leaving it at that despite wanting to push for more. anya always remember her nightmares. there’s something that’s eating away at your gut and it’s making you anxious. you gnaw at your lip and your eyes twitch. you should be focusing on her. whatever you’re feeling right now is the result of your overthinking. you should trust her. it was just a rare, horrible nightmare that gotten her like this.

things can happen unexpectedly without an explanation.

perhaps you shouldn’t push for an answer and leave it alone?

1 week before the crash.

“ hah! i win! in your face! “ daisuke laughs in triumphant, placing his pink piece over on the next move that solidifies his victory. anya groans loudly next to you, crossing her arms and pouts like a kid who gotten their toy taken away. “ this is unbelievable! i almost had it! “

you laughed, “ better luck next time, anya. it seems like the kid has a brighter future than you when it comes to board games! “

ever since that night, anya’s been uncharacteristically a little distant and jumpy. she’d always seek for your touch. but now, she seems reluctant to touch you first. whenever you try to show anya any kind of affection, it takes her a moment to reciprocate. you can’t really surprise her now or she’ll get visibly startled. anya has trouble sleeping and wakes up from the any sound or movement so you have to be still. for the past four weeks, you tried to ask her about her abnormal behavior, and she’d tell you vague reasons like, “ i just haven’t been feeling well. “ or “ that nightmare got to me more than i thought, i’m sorry. “

you’re worried about her—even her smiles are dampened with a sliver of sadness behind them. you really want to help but you don’t know how. it feels like she’s slowly putting a wall between you, her, and her true feelings. at least right now she’s like her old self again. you’re glad.

“ hey guys. having fun in here, huh? “ curly and jimmy walks inside the lounge. the blond waves at the three of you with a welcoming smile while jimmy awkwardly stood behind him.

“ yeah! i was able to beat anya this time! isn’t that right, anya? “

“ mhm, but as usual, it was luck. “ anya says softly, her voice lacking the enthusiasm as it did before. she tucks her arms into her chest. you flash her a look of concern. there it is again, the churning feeling in your belly. why did her mood sour like that? was it because of curly and jimmy’s arrival? your eyes travel back to the two men, quietly observing them. curly ruffles daisuke’s hair as he stood behind the couch daisuke is sitting on. he’s completely focused on talking to daisuke. your gaze transition over to jimmy and his eyes meet with yours.

that same glint he had in his eyes a few weeks ago, has you feeling more than uneasy. then, your mind suddenly flashes back to the subtle smirk he had and him walking back to the direction of the sleeping quarters. not too long after him going over there and you lounging in medbay, anya joins you, trembling and barely wanting you to touch her. you thought about her saying it was a bad nightmare and didn’t remember enough to tell you the details of it. like what you thought about before, anya always remembers her nightmares and only gets them due to stress.

the horrible realization starts to sink in and your heart drops to the very pits of your stomach. it drowns in a sea of dread.

oh god, did he go to her while you were. . .?

you feel sick. why did you ignore that gut feeling in your stomach during your walk to medbay back then? why didn’t you stay with anya? why did you just figure this out now?

you stand up unexpectedly, startling everyone.

“ (name)? what’s the matter? “ anya asks with clear worry. throat dry, you gathered up the strength to cast her a assuring smile that doesn’t reach your eyes in which she notices right away.

“ i. .i need to go to the restroom. i’ll be back everyone. . “

you quickly slide the bathroom door behind you. unable to hold your own weight anymore, you fall to your knees. there’s a suffocating feeling in your chest that’s causing your breathing to become uneven. your mind races back to the evaluations and how uncomfortable anya looked every time she had to do jimmy’s. yes, you stood behind the door to provide her some “security” in the recent weekly evaluations, but god, you actually let her be in the same room alone with this man? her assaulter? you did basically nothing but blindly trusted her words and ignored your intuition.

maybe anya didn’t want to tell you because she knew that you’d make a big uproar out of it, thus making the situation possibly even worse?

or maybe she was afraid you’d look at her differently?

. . .or maybe jim threatened her to not tell the crew?

t r u s t

she kept this in all this time and gave these inconsistent reasons that you knew was out of character for her to make up. . and yet. .you ignored the obvious signals and trusted her anyway. all you had to do was listen to your gut feeling and sit down with her to talk. all you had to say was that you were there for her and you’ll listen to anything she has to say if she wants to talk. you’d do anything for her—anything. even if it meant the cost of your internship which matters practically nothing to you. it’s not like the company was worth shit anyways. what fucking company doesn’t implement locks on doors in rooms where their own employees sleep in? what company just allows someone like him in?

tears bubble in your eyes as you grit your teeth, seething in frustration. you bite down on your bottom until the thin layer skin easily rips and starts to bleed. you bawl your hands into tight fists, nails dig into your palm until moon crescents dig into the flesh. you’re so horrible.

you feel so sick.

this is what she must of felt but much much worse.

you can’t even imagine how she had to process what happened all alone in the dark and walk through the long corridors in dead silence just to get to medbay, to you. you can’t imagine how it feels to hide something so traumatic from everyone while gathering up your broken shards of identity in silence. you don’t blame her—you can never blame her from hiding what happened between her and jimmy. you can only blame yourself for being ignorant and not fully realizing how dangerous he truly is.

your stomach turns upside down and you feel the sudden need to vomit. you scrambled over to the toilet and puke your guts out. series of fat tears roll down your cheeks.

“ ugh. .” you coughed hoarsely, hunched over.

you feel sick. you feel sick. you feel sick. you feel sick. you feel sick—

a few firm knocks on the bathroom door made you freeze.

anya’s concerned voice calls out behind the bathroom door. “ (name), are you alright? are you feeling well? “

you couldn’t even respond properly without hacking which gave yourself away immediately. alerted by your excessive coughing, she successfully slides the door open and rushes inside to your aid.

you never locked the door behind you, did you?

“ i’m here, (name). please, let it all out. “ anya rubs your back soothingly, not bothered by the drool and vomit spilling from your lips. you feel embarrassed under the worried, gentle gaze of anya. she whispers comforting words as you finishing vomiting. she grabs some paper towels and silently offers to wipe your face. you shake your head and gingerly take the towels from her hands and do it yourself.

anya opens her mouth to speak but you interrupt her.

“ it’s funny, “ you half laughed and sobbed, “ how you were able to come in so quickly just as i realized the door wasn’t locked. “

anya’s eyes widen with shock and looks as if she was about to burst into tears.

1 month after the crash.

“ anya, sweetheart? “ you gently call out to her before resting a hand on anya’s shoulder as stood by the sink, soaking curly’s bandages with soap and water. the fresh bandages are slowly starting to run out because of curly’s nonstop bleeding. you and anya both agreed to clean and reuse the bandages after one use to maintain the supply.

she still slightly jumps and turns her head around with a soft smile. “a-ah! s-sorry, (name). what’s wrong? “

“ let me clean the bandages and give captain his meds. you’ve been standing there for the past forty minutes. sit out in the lounge, okay? after watching you the first few times, i know what to do. “

a look of uncertainty dwells on her face as she ponders over your words. gingerly, you place a hand over her stomach. “ please, anya? i’ve seen how uncomfortable you look when you do this for him, you don’t have to hide it from me because i’m your lover. we’ve talked about this. i’ll do anything i can to shoulder your burden and make sure that you’re not pushing your body. “

anya’s grey hues flicker with appreciation and a twinge of guilt. “ okay, i’ll go sit down. if you need me, please holler out. i-i hate to make you do this after—“

“ anya. “ you interrupt her, reaching out to cradle her pale cheeks. they feel warm under your palms. your gaze pools into her own. “ anything. “ you whisper, resting your forehead against hers. anya’s lips pursue in a thin line. you know she wants to object but she swallows her words without anything to wash it down with, leaving behind a bitter taste. you lift your chin to press a lingering kiss to anya’s forehead.

tentatively, anya walks out of the medical, leaving you and a shell of a man in the room alone. a deep sigh runs past your lips and you go over to the half–foamed up desk to quietly grab a bottle of pain meds. “ captain. “ you mutter, walking over to the bed where he permanently lays. what a pitiful sight to witness. curly resembles a meat bag, his limbs left horribly mutated and amputated, his once tan skin is now all gone and long burned off. he’s stripped from his protection and only his vulnerable muscles are exposed. his only eye, wide and blue, stares up at you. you stare back blankly. through a singular sea of blue, you see a mass of fear, pain, and most of all, regret.

“ i don’t hate you, captain, “ you pop the bottle open. “ i’m sure anya doesn’t either. well, anya wouldn’t bring herself to hate you even if she wanted to anyways. “

he doesn’t respond but his permanent wide–eyed gaze continues to stare you down.

“ i’ll give you 5mg of oxycodone before i do your bandages. i’ll give you your second dose afterwards.”

you shake out two pills from the bottle. “ . . .all of this isn’t really your fault. misguided karma can be cruel. however, “ you slowly opened his jaw, the slimy sound of his muscles moving against each other makes you cringe. you see why anya can get more nauseated off of this. “ misplaced trust in a bitter person who’s undeserving of trust in the first place is what gets someone like you in a position like this. “

you hold his jaw, his exposed, irritated muscles twitch erratically against your protective layer of skin. your stomach swirls with a sinking feeling. curly starts to breath heavily, his pupil dilates. you hold one pill between your index finger and thumb. hot tears prickle at the corner of your twitching eyes as a shaky grin stretches across your face, and a bead of sweat rolls down your brow. you feel sick to the utter depths of your stomach.

“ don’t struggle , yeah? “

this wasn’t your worst moment right , curly?

0 days before the crash.

“ curly, fuck, where did he walk away to? “ you stopped curly in the middle corridors, pulling him back by his broad shoulder with a firm hand. curly, who’s face is full of panic and confusion, frantically responds back. “ i-i don’t know but i’m going to go find him to try and talk—“

“ i-i’m sorry, talk? this goes beyond talking at this fucking point! that fucking dog assaulted anya and she’s pregnant! “ you spat, heart full of frustration, “ do you think talking to her assaulter is going to fix shit? do you think doing the bare minimum is going to take back what she went through?! “

he runs a trembling hand through his blond curls. “ i-i understand but—fuck, let me just try—and—and, “

your hand drops to your side and you send him a look of utter disappointment. “ un—fucking—believable. how many times did anya tell you about jimmy? did you know about his shitty behavior even before she got pregnant? assaulted? she doesn’t want to tell me the answer so i’m fucking asking you! “

he stays slient, the guilty expression dawning on his face says it all.

“ . .what a great leader you are, captain. “ you growled, “ allowing that shitty friend of yours to ride this ship and you do barely nothing until the situation blows up in your face. this is what happens when you let your personal emotions dilute your judgment and reason as a leader. this is the outcome. the crew is my responsibility, my ass. if i had it my way, i would of shoved his ass in the cryo pod the second i’ve found out. but alas, i’m not the fucking leader but a damn intern. i held it allll in for a week for this shit? just imagine how anya felt to endure the awful trauma longer than that only for you, the captain, the only person with power, to handle it so horribly. fool.”you turn your heels and stomping back to medical for anya.

4 months after the crash.

“ daisuke. . kiddo, “ you gently call out to him as you find him somberly laying on his back next to the area leading to the cargo. his forearm rests over his eyes.

“ you okay? “

“ no, not really. .it’s just. .i wonder what my mother thinks right now. .she’s probably thinking i’m finally putting my feet into the water, finally learning and figuring out what i should to do in life during this internship. .meanwhile i’m on my back getting wasted off of. .mouthwash. ”

you sit down next to him. you thought about what to say for a prolonged moment before asking him,

“ before all of this, did you enjoy the internship? “

“ i. . .i did. .i was having fun . .with swansea, anya, you, a-and . . “

daisuke lets out a soft sniffle, you just smile solemnly.

“ don’t cry, sunshine. as long as you enjoyed yourself, that’s all that matters. even in the predicament we’re in now. .let’s have hope. once all of this is over, your mother will be proud that you got through this internship and you should tell her allll about what you did and learned with the ol’ man swansea. that man is a hot mess but i know he enjoys you as his intern.”

“ . . .really? “ he meekly asks, peeking at you from under his forearm with teary eyes. god, daisuke looks like a sad puppy.

“ of course, kiddo. “ you force out a happy laugh to appease him. you hate to lie to him but as long as jimmy is attempting to play captain, the situation will continue to spiral down into the abyss. you know with absolute certainty that jimmy was the one who caused the ship to crash. the fact that man pinned the blame on his close friend, who was trying to see good in him, for crashing the ship is beyond disgusting. judging from curly’s recent evaluation from anya before the crash, he did seem a little melancholic. but, for him to drastically make a reckless decision to sabotage the ship and everyone in it? he wouldn’t do that even if it was on his mind. jimmy on the other hand. .

“ oh. .it seems like you beat me to him. is he alright?”anya’s relieved voice rings in your ears. you draw your attention over to your partner who’s walking down the corridor towards you and daisuke. she uncrosses her arms that was once tucked to her chest and you raise a brow.

“ yeah, just a little sad but i was talking to him. how’d you know he was here? “

her gaze averts to the ground and you jump up, anger bubbles in your chest. “ jimmy, wasn’t it? what did he do? he didn’t hurt or yell at you or anything, did he? “

you pace over to her and rest your hands on her shoulders. “ no, no—seriously, i’m okay. . he sent me here to check on daisuke while he took care of some things. i was just surprised you were here. “ it had to be more then that.

sighing heavily, you turn back to daisuke who was now attempting to get back on his feet. “ daisuke, be careful. .has swansea been making you drink that mouthwash stuff again with him? “ you questioned skeptically, walking over to him to assist him back on his feet. wobbling, the brunette boy softly groans as you let him rest his arm loosely around your shoulders for support.

“. .no. .yeah. . i. .may. .kinda, totally have went overboard with it this time. b-but i gave it to jimmy because i didn’t wanna mess with it anymore. “

aggravated, you smack your teeth, “ so you’re saying that he saw you like that and didn’t even bother to help you up himself and sends anya down here instead? i’m so sick of his shit! some fuckin’ wannabe captain he is! you could of threw up and choked on your own damn vomit! that careless fucker knew that! “

“ you’re starting to sound like swansea. “ daisuke mutters through his drunken haze.

anya speaks up in a soft voice that’s mean to calm you. “ (name), you have to calm down. i understand that you’re upset. .but we need to rest daisuke down somewhere in the lounge. “

your eye twitch and your lips purse. she was right. plus, you don’t want daisuke to hear all of this while he’s struggling with his own inner conflicts. even the effects of the dire situation is dawning down on him and taking a toll on his mental health.

but fuck, you’re tired of being quiet.

d o s o m e t h i n g

? ? ¿ ! months before the ????

you can’t sleep. a soft sigh leaves your lips. anya’s body lightly stirs besides you. you don’t want to leave her but it’d be right to check up on curly to see if he needs his meds. there’s no time clock but curly’s groaning and restlessness indicates you that it’s time for his painkillers. if he is in pain, you’ll just give him his meds and come back to anya. it’s been a straight shot to the medical room ever since the crash. the foam has completely fucked up the sleeping quarters. . maybe it’s for the better or worse now. everyone is bunched together in the lounge room with extra sleeping beds from the medical. luckily, there hasn’t been any problems amongst the crew and it’s easier to keep in eye on jimmy.

“ anya, “ you whispered out to her. she lays on her left side, facing you. pieces of her shaggy hair prettily hovers over her tired eyes as they fluttered open. “ yeah? “ she responds back, you send her a small smile, reaching out to brush the strands away from her face.

“ i’m going to go check up on captain in the medical. i’ll. .be back, okay? if this dumb thing goes off, “ you gesture to the broken robot standing an inch away from you and anya’s sleeping bags. thankfully it’s able to go off, albeit broken thanks to jimmy. originally, anya suggested the idea and you couldn’t agree more with it.

“ i’ll be running to you so fast like how i did after i found out that passed my final exams. “ you whispered playfully.

recalling the joyful memory, a soft giggle leaves anya’s lips. she remembered you were so anxious and restless over the final exams that she kept having to pinch you and make you run with her to get your mind off of things. once you found out that you passed med school, you ran so fast to anya while she was waiting outside of the campus for you and nearly ran her over. she nods with a beautiful smile that you missed so much. anya was always a carefree woman who was willing to go through hardships with a cool–mind and solutions. but, after this overhaul trip going downhill and the terrible shit that’s happened and is currently happening—the light in her eyes is duller. it mirrors her reserved and almost timid-like behavior now.

that’s not who anya is—that’s not her and that’s not who she should by the damages of a terrible, insecure man who refuses to swallow down his own ever-growing problems like a hard pill and take responsibility for his self-sabotaging actions. you bet he’d choke on himself and self-destruct if he ever tried swallowing. all he ever does is vomit and project himself onto others.

“ okay. we can also clean his bandages after we’ve rested. “ anya suggests.

you shake your head, ghosting a hand over her belly. the bump has slowly been getting bigger but isn’t very noticeable to others. “ there’s no we, just me. the last time you got nauseated, you asked jimmy to give curly his meds while i was busy with daisuke and. .he. .” you trailed off and sighed with frustration. you still can’t get over anya telling you the truth about jimmy getting frustrated at her for asking him to give curly his meds because of her nausea.

absolutely horrible.

before anya can say anything, you give her a quick kiss on the forehead.

“ i’ll be back this time. “

you got up carefully to not alert the broken robot and paced towards medical. as you did, you glanced around the lounge to see who’s in their respective sleeping bags.

daisuke is laid out asleep.

swansea has been sleeping by the utility and now you know why he was does. you don’t have any objections to it. it’s only fair for the sunshine to be preserved.

jimmy is no where to be found. cockpit, maybe?

as you near the medical, alarming sounds of struggling and curly’s groans made your heart drop. frantically, you sprinted towards the door and slammed it open.

s e c o n d c h a n c e

s e c o n d c h a n c e

“ wh-what the fuck are you doing, jimmy?! g-get off of him! “ her

you ran over to the self-proclaimed captain who was hunching over the defenseless curly, shoving pills into his mouth and down his throat while beating at his stomach. with all of your strength, you shoved jimmy backwards, pulling him away from curly’s mutilated body, who helplessly laid there in the bloodied medical bed, crying and groaning in pain.

“ are you out of your fucking mind, you crazy fuck?!”you screamed at him while he has this mixed, horrid look of panic and frustration on his unshaven face. the pill bottle clutched in his hand made a loud rattling noise as he drops them on the tile floor and it rolls next to you.

“ i-i— h-he was. .m-making too much n-n—oomph! “

thanks to your adrenaline, you shoved him—hard, causing him to stumble back against the desk. pill bottles tumble and crash onto the floor.

hurried footsteps approach the medical from the loud crashes and yelling.

“ so your fucking solution was to beat up that poor man who can’t even goddamn defend himself now? let me fucking remind you since you’re too busy trying to play captain and can’t take responsibility! that man is laying there, the way he is now, because of—ugh! “

in a burst fit of blind rage, he returns the favor and presses his heavy palms against your chest, harshly shoving you backwards. you try to maintain your balance, but your foot accidentally steps on one of the pill bottles, and you fall backwards onto the solid floor, hitting your head. hard.

crack!

you almost instantly black out. not before hearing a loud gasp and anya’s frantic shouting.

“ (name)! j-jimmy. . . at . .did. . .u do?! “

¿!!! ?????????

just me and you vs the world, anya.

“ seriously? this show is so horrible, anya! even my dad who has terrible taste in tv shows, can’t watch this! “ you groaned exaggeratedly, sinking your cheek into your palm, slouching on the elbow of the couch. anya shrugs with a smug smile, placing the tv remote down on the coffee table.

“ well that’s tooo bad, hun. i need to binge this show to clear my mind out completely. all i need is my go-to-combo i usually get from wendy’s. “

you roll your eyes, “ it could of been at least mcdonald’s or something. but. .wendy’s? “

“ they have the best frosties! don’t act you dislike it because they messed up your order once. “ she giggles, leaning over to playfully hit at your ankle.

the show starts and you can barely stomach it. you don’t understand how she zeros out her mind from watching this stuff. it’s so cheesy and bad.

you peer over at anya and just as expected, she’s watching it like she’s into it. anya’s sitting up against the couch, legs crossed while she’s wearing a oversized t-shirt and pajamas. her heap of black shaggy hair that reaches just below her shoulders, was beautifully messy. usually at night, she doesn’t really bother with it. her fair skin shines pretty under the tv light. her pretty lashes fluttering and downturned eyes glistening with interest as she watch the corny reality tv show—god, she’s so breathtaking.

“ so, anya. “ you speak up as soon as the tv cuts to commercials. her undivided attention draws over to you and you cast her a goofy, suggestive smile.

“ while this commercial runs, wanna makeout? “

she blinks at you several times as if to process your question and bursts out laughing.

“ ewwww! “

“ ewwww? what the hell, baby! c’meree. “ you get off the elbow of the couch to playfully grab and pull at the laughing anya’s arm to pull her closer.

“ we’re not some bored teenager couple, you know! “

you successfully pull her into you, wrapping your arms around her body. “ feels like we are when i’m with youu~ “ you coo, puckering your lips at her with teasing intent.

anya blocks your lips with her palm and you immediately lick at it. she gasps and retracts her hand away, allowing you the opportunity to topple her over and kiss all over her pretty face and pouty lips.

“ hehe, (name)! “

once you’re done with your barrage, you bury your face into her neck.

“ marry me once me and you become doctors, anya~ ” you croon, melting into her body.

there’s a momentary pause before her smiling voice responds to you, full of adoration,

“ of course. i wouldn’t have it any other way, (name).”

??? ??¿ is it finally over ??¿!

your eyes peel open, a surge of sharp pain and confusion shoots through your body like a needle. but, once your gaze immediately locks onto the woman you love above you, your heart calms a little. she doesn’t notice that you’re now awake and stares off into somewhere with brooding eyes.

“ a-anya? “

anya’s eyes widen and she snaps her gaze down at you in surprise as your head is currently laid on her lap. tears swell in the corner of her reddened eyes.

“ y-you’re awake again! i-i thought you were finally. .”

despite not being able to move your body from the waist under and through the pain pounding in your head, you smile weakly at her.

“ f-finally what? i-i told you i’ll come back to you. although. . .“ your eyes search the dim setting around you. it’s blurred and bright. it seems like you and anya are in the medical? didn’t you come back from medical after checking up on curly?

c o n f u s i o n

“ why aren’t we in bed? we’re in medical right now. . “

anya’s lips trembles as she struggles to not cry.

“ we’ve decided to rest in here and talk like we’re a bored teenage couple. “

you let out a weak laugh. “ r-really? my br-brain is all over the place right now. everything is starting to feel and look fuzzy. “

your eyes starts to dilate and unfocus but they never leave anya. she says nothing, and quietly caresses your cheek.

your skin has become more discolored while you were unconscious.

how many hours?

how many hours has it been since she locked herself with you and captain? and how many times has her thoughts endlessly ponder and ponder over jimmy’s words he once said to her months back?

t a k e c a r e o f i t

“ a-anya. .? “

anya forces out a smile. her quivering fingers brush away the sweaty hair sticking to your forehead.

my hands are s h a k i n g.

“ . .y-yes? “ anya can barely contain the heartbreak in her voice.

“ w-we’ll take of it together. “ you slurred, “ o-once i get my l-license, i’ll support us and you don’t need to w-worry about a thing. o-once the baby is born, i’ll take care of them while you st-study to get into medical school again. i-i’ll. .even help you. .too. i st-still have my. .notes. “

dark red liquid seeps down your nose. she sees the light becoming dull in your dilated (e/c) hues that she adored so much.

the external bleeding and swelling in your head is pulling you under.

a quiet sob slips from her throat and she gently brings your head up to her chest. her body shudders as she weeps.

there’s a few broken whimpers that sounds far too strangled to be hers or yours.

“ . . d-don’t cry, an. .ya, i. .i’m just g-gonna sleep. y. .you holding. .me like this. .makes me feel at ease. .i. .can finally sleep. .without. .leaving. .ou. .”

your eyes vanish behind discolored eyelids and your head slack against her.

and there’s a gaping hole akin to a black hole that swallows everything that bounded her down, her dreams, her hopes, her love, her fear, her emotions.

what’s left is reason—a reason to the best decision that anya alone can finally act.

with a strangely calm mind and red-rimmed solemn grey eyes, she glances up at the few bottles of pills now left on the desk.

you know you’re better than this.

m a k e n o m i s t a k e , t h i s i s n ‘ t m y w o r s t m o m e n t.

far from it. this is the best decision i’ll ever make.

i’ll take care of it.

everything’s black—but you hear banging, voices, bottles rattling, pained whimpering and strangled noises that sounds similar to a heartbroken man crying.

you slip back into momentary consciousness. through blurred vision, you see a slumped figure above you. you can’t identify who it is but red smears leaves a bit of a hard contrast to your unfocused eyes. without thinking, your feeble hand reach out and you’re only able to make contact with their chin, just with the tips of your fingers.

from one small touch, you can tell the skin long since lost its warmth and now is cold to the touch.

an unknown sorrow strikes your chest and you finally pass with a heart full of confusion, leaving it in a headlock.

[elikajinnie]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･ 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙅𝙖𝙠𝙚

pairing: sim jake x f!reader ✿ warnings: fluff, kisses, suggestive content, just jake being jake ✿ synopsis: jake watching you do your makeup ✿ a/n: i was doing my makeup today while listening to daydream... and this just spawned, took me about 5 min. Like you can NOT tell me this man is not a great kisser.

Jake sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes following you as you move around the room, gathering your makeup. He’s got that look on his face—the one where he’s all soft smiles and quiet admiration, like he’s forgotten everything else just watching you. You’re focused, picking out the right shades and brushes.

You sit in front of the mirror, carefully applying the finishing touches to your makeup, with Jake lounging on the edge of your bed behind you. His gaze is a constant warmth on your back, his attention never straying as he watches you get ready. You catch his reflection in the mirror, and the intensity in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, completely engrossed in watching every move you make.

He lets out a low chuckle when you finally glance over and catch him staring. “What?” he says, smiling, feigning innocence as if he hasn’t been studying you with those warm eyes for the past few minutes.

“You’re staring,” you say, rolling your eyes with a smile. “Am I that interesting?”

“More than interesting,” he replies, his voice soft and a little rough.

The words are simple, but it makes your cheeks heat up.

When you finally lift the tube of lipstick, you notice how his gaze sharpens, honing in on the way you tilt your head slightly, how your lips part just so as you begin to apply it. You can almost feel the way his eyes follow each slow swipe of color, his head tilting a fraction as if he’s studying each detail with the precision of an artist. You notice him licking his lips, that subtle pull of his bottom lip between his teeth, as he watches you swipe the color along your own lips.

You can’t resist a smile as you meet his gaze in the mirror. “Jake,” you tease, “I’m never gonna finish if you keep staring like that.”

He grins, not even trying to pretend he’s not completely captivated. “I can’t help it. You look… well, it’s hard to look away.”

His words make your cheeks warm, but you do your best to stay focused as you finish up. “I’ll be done in a sec, and then I’ll come over. Just let me finish this, okay?”

Jake chuckles, low and easy, but you notice he doesn’t back off at all. Instead, he stands up and takes a few slow steps toward you, his hands sliding casually into his pockets as he watches you finish up. He’s close enough now that you catch the glint in his eye, the way his gaze dips to your lips every few seconds as you press them together to blend the lipstick.

“Seriously,” you murmur with a playful smile, turning to face him, “you’re worse than a distraction.”

Before you can say more, his hands find your waist, and he pulls you gently to your feet and into his arms. He’s warm, solid, and smiling in that way that tells you he’s enjoying every second of this. You gasp in surprise as he settles down in the chair himself, effortlessly guiding you onto his lap as his hands hold you close. The laughter in his eyes softens as he looks up at you, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your waist.

“Jake!” you exclaim with a halfhearted pout, though you make no move to leave his lap. “You’re gonna ruin all my hard work.”

He just grins, undeterred. “So? You can always put more on.” His tone is soft and playful, but his eyes are dark, his voice dropping to a lower register that sends a thrill through you. “But I don’t think I can wait another second without kissing you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he’s already leaning in, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as his lips find yours. The kiss is soft, but it doesn’t stay that way for long—there’s a familiar urgency to it as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, letting it linger until you forget about your makeup entirely. His thumb brushes along your cheek, and you lean into him, your fingers sliding up to curl in his hair, pulling him even closer.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you can’t help but laugh at the sight of him. There’s a distinct smear of your lipstick marking his mouth, bright against his skin.

“Now look what what happened,” you tease, tracing a finger along the faint lipstick mark left on his lips.

Jake chuckles, entirely unbothered as he shrugs. “I don’t mind if it means I get to kiss you.” He leans in again, pressing a light kiss to the corner of your mouth, his lips brushing over your cheek as he continues in a low murmur, “Besides, I think I wear this color well.”

You let out a laugh, playfully wiping at his lips even though he makes no move to stop you. “I’m holding you responsible if I have to redo all of this, you know.”

“I’ll buy you another tube,” he says easily, his arms wrapping around you a little tighter. He pulls you closer, his lips moving to your jaw, trailing kisses down to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Or… I could just keep you here with me. Not sure I’m ready to let you go anywhere yet.”

You sigh, but it’s playful, knowing full well you’re not going to resist him. “If you keep this up, I’m really going to have to start all over.”

“Fine by me,” he whispers against your skin, the soft brush of his lips sending a shiver down your spine. “Gives me more time to admire you.” He leans in, his lips meeting yours in another kiss, smearing even more of your lipstick as the kiss deepens.

You can't help but smile against his lips, the kiss is intense, a perfect blend of gentleness and urgency.

As you pull back, slightly breathless, Jake offers you the tube with a playful smile. "Here, put it on again," he says.

You take the lipstick, a little hazy from the passion of the moment, and begin to reapply it, your movements slow. Jake watches you, his eyes filled with admiration and desire.

Once you've finished, he reaches out and gently grabs the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His eyes meet yours, his lips finding yours once more.

When you pull back for a breath, Jake doesn't let you go. Instead, he trails kisses down your neck, his lips moving from your jawline to the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

Jake's hands roam over your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist and hips, as if memorizing every inch of you.

You can feel his breath against your neck, hot and heavy, as he takes the lipstick from your hand and holds it out to you once more. "One more time baby," he teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I want to make sure it's perfect."

You giggle, a little hazy from the passion of the moment, and take the lipstick, reapplying it.

When you finish, he leans in, his lips meeting yours in another kiss. This time, he whines softly against your lips, his breath warm and intoxicating. The sound of his whining sends a shiver down your spine, adding an extra layer of intensity to the kiss. You moan softly, your body responding to his every touch.

"Mhm.. I could kiss you all day," he murmurs, his voice husky.

Suddenly, he pulls back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Wait, let's fix that lipstick again," he says, pointing at your lips with a playful grin.

You giggle, and take the lipstick again, reapplying it.

Jake watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your face. He leans in, his breath warm against your neck, and whispers, "You know, I could watch you do that all day. It's like a work of art."

As you finish reapplying the lipstick, he reaches out and gently cups your face in his hands. "Now, let's continue where we left off," he said.

After reapplying your lipstick for what feels like the fifth time, you finally manage to pull yourself away from Jake, though it’s no easy feat. His hands had been gentle but persistent, holding you close each time you tried to move. Your lips are still tingling, slightly sore, and you can feel the warmth lingering on your cheeks and neck from where his hands had cupped your face.

The clock catches your eye, and you wince—realizing you’re way past the time you were supposed to leave.

Jake, on the other hand, looks anything but concerned about the time - utterly content, with a dazed, love-drunk expression on his face. His hair is tousled, and he’s still catching his breath, gazing at you through half-lidded eyes that are filled with a lazy, affectionate warmth. Smears of lipstick cover his face, dotting his cheeks, chin, and jawline in soft red marks that match the color of your lips. You even see a faint outline of your lips on his neck, just above the collar of his now slightly wrinkled white shirt. The pristine fabric is no longer spotless; your lipstick has left faded, pinkish stains around the collar and down the top button.

Jake reaches up and touches one of the lipstick smudges on his cheek, as if to savor the traces of you left behind, before letting it fall back to his side. He lets out a contented, slightly drowsy hum, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he mumbles, almost to himself, “You’re… so beautiful…”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head, feeling your own lips twitch into a smile despite your best efforts to stay focused. “Jake, I’m actually going to be so late,” you murmur, gathering your things, but even as you say it, you can’t resist glancing back at him again, taking in the mess you’ve left him in.

He looks completely kiss-drunk, staring at you with that same sleepy, adoring expression, like he’s half lost in a daydream. “Late?” he murmurs, sounding only mildly aware of what you’re saying. His voice is low, lazy, and rough around the edges, the kind of tone that makes you almost forget your hurry all over again. He reaches out a hand toward you, his fingertips brushing the air as if he can’t bear for you to leave.

“Mm-hmm,” he continues, his eyes trailing over you, taking in every little detail as if he’s memorizing it. “The most beautiful girlfriend… yeah… so beautiful…”

His words are soft, murmured almost to himself as he gazes at you, clearly more than a little love-struck. His gaze drops to your lips, and he grins as he sees the lipstick you’ve reapplied, his eyes darkening slightly with that familiar gleam. It’s enough to make you hesitate at the door, knowing exactly where that look can lead.

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as you grab your bag and finally tear yourself away, giving him a playful shake of the head as you do. His gaze never leaves you, that lazy, dreamy smile still playing on his lips, as if he’s too wrapped up in his thoughts of you to notice anything else. Just before you leave, you give him one last glance, taking in the mess of lipstick marks, the warmth in his eyes, and that soft, sleepy grin.