#and i knew it was summer and after the month of may bc i had gone during the highs and lows of the austria race weekend... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chewingcyanide · 1 year ago

Text

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secrets are best kept buried, just like your tangled relationship with your best friend’s older brother.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — unrequited love ( that heart wrenching shit ), cursing? weird mentions and descriptions of blood, cursing ( lots of it ), yelling / arguing ( LOTS of it ), heavy angst with a dash of laughter, kind of OMC x reader but not too much, jealousy, kinda possessiveness ( from jack… had to do it ), emotional distress and all that good stuff

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x f!reader , OMC x f!reader (briefly), best friend!luke hughes x f!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — i’ve returned from a million year hiatus with this BIG BITCH and i’m sorry for it. may write a pt. 2 w a happy ending bc i’m a slut for them. anyway, enjoy! request if you’d like. love you guys.

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You had existed within the world of Jack Hughes since your freshman year of high school.

Existed. Not an integral part, nor a spoke on the wheel of many friends he already had. Truthfully, you were only acquainted with him because of his younger brother, Luke; your freshman biology lab partner, and eventual best friend. Years had passed since you first met Luke—no longer were you the wide-eyed fifteen-year-old crossing the threshold from child to near-adult. Now, you were an adult. Twenty, with two more years of college stretched out before you, seemingly everything had changed.

Well, except for the lead weight chained to your ankle—the fundamental and inexorable truth that you were still in love with Jack Hughes.

It started as most consuming things do: a small idea, watered by brief looks, a brush of heated fingertips against your hand, or arm, or waist—or anywhere, really. A head rush that sent you meters under waves of excitement and anticipation. Loving Jack was like having a fever that never broke; it persisted, a dull ache that squeezed your skull each time he was near. Even now, five years later, the flashing of blue eyes—never brimmed with what you knew was embarrassingly reflected in your own—was enough to make sweat bead at your palms.

It never grew into more than a hope, a wishful desire. But wishing seldom got anyone anywhere, and it surely hadn’t helped you. When the months turned warm and spring faded into summer, the overwhelming ache of freedom that came with warm weather and the end of the hockey season drew Luke and his brothers to Sanibel—a beach so wrought with memories of youth and foolish memories that the idea of going another year made dread settle like steel in your bones. They’d bought it after a vacation there a few years ago, and the rest was history.

But, of course, Luke—the youngest of three—never took no for an answer.

“You can’t miss this year,” he had insisted. The Devils had their hopes cut short once more—this time in an second round exit to Carolina. Ergo, the expected departure time had been bumped up significantly. Vancouver had missed the playoffs altogether.

You stood silent, tearing away skin from your nail-beds as Luke leaned against the kitchen counter. The cold metal of the fridge pressing into the bare strip of skin on your back was the only thing keeping you present in the conversation.

You hated how Luke did this—he’d take your silence over text as an invitation to barge his way into your apartment, destroying the barrier of safety and excuses a phone provided, and ask you face-to-face. And how could you say no? You never had before, and look where that got you. No closer to removing hooks branded with the name Jack from your heart.

“Luke…” you sighed, only dropping your hands when blood bubbled to the surface of your torn skin. Pain rippled down your fingertips, but you ignored it. The dread that quickened your pacing heart was too overwhelming a sensation. “I don’t know—maybe I should—”

“Skip out?” Luke rounded the kitchen counter and came to stand in front of you. “No way, Bells. You have to come. Otherwise I’ll be alone all summer.”

You could have scoffed if you cared more. Bells. That dumb nickname Jack had given you years ago—according to him, it was because you were such a silent walker, you required a bell to be heard. Aside from the embarrassment you got from being called a childhood nickname even now, it reminded you that your existence was always going to be tied to Jack. A piece of him carried with you, a cage keeping your heart from beating without him; the bright red ribbon tied around your wrist that screamed I Love Jack Hughes!

No matter what, it would always be him. You tried; God, did you try. Hearing stories of his hookups, the life of a single, superstar hockey player should have been enough to send your stupid childhood crush to its grave, but as if cursed by a necromancer, the mere mention of Jack brought it right back to life. It was a cruel cycle that just wouldn’t end. And you knew going to that damned beach house would only prolong the life of the indestructible feeling more.

Jack was tarnished jewelry, rubbing your skin green and raw and wrong, and yet—you could never seem to take it off, even when it made you look foolish.

Silence fell like thick fog. Luke’s eyes roved along your face, as if trying to read a book with the letters smudged. “C’mon, Bells. You have fun every year, and I don’t want to have a summer without you.”

“Jack and Quinn will be there,” you said, voice low. Pathetic anxiety swelled in your chest like the forecast of a hurricane. Even saying his name tightened your veins. “Trevor, Alex, and Cole, too—I don’t need to go, Luke. Won’t it be weird?”

An unamused look graced Luke’s face. “You go with us every year. Why would it be different now?”

You wanted to curse Luke for being so persistent. Part of you wished you could just scream that you loved his brother, but couldn’t. You never could. Loving Jack ensured you lost someone—Luke, who would never get over the thought of you potentially sleeping with Jack; and well, if that failed, you also fully lost Jack. Unrequited love confessions made fools of ghosts.

To Jack, you were a ghost. Haunting his life, disrupting some times, but never there long enough to be seen. And even if he did, he convinced himself you weren’t there, that you didn’t even exist. Maybe it were best if you moved on and let yourself rest. Ghosts haunt their murderers, but Jack hadn’t killed you, you’d killed yourself—hoping, wishing, praying he would take a moment to believe and see you. But he never did. So you floated through his life until the moment you were no longer confined by unfinished business.

And maybe that was what you needed. Closure, the severing of a tie that was only hurting you to hold on to. And maybe, closure would come this summer. To look on Jack and not feel your heart race, but settle into a quiet murmur, a healthy pace—to free yourself from the confines of this painful love and finally move on. Haunt the graveyard no longer; sitting by and hoping he would place flowers by the grave.

“Okay,” you said quietly, glancing down at your sweater. Crimson marks stained the white fabric. You’d accidentally wiped your fingers on the cloth. “You win.”

Maybe this would be the summer you let go of Jack Hughes.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

The cry of gulls and gentle breeze of salt-bitter air welcomed you back as the car breezed past the Welcome to Sanibel Island! sign. It felt like a taunt, as if you were passing into the circus, the main star of a show you never signed up for. With Sanibel came Jack, and the potential end to a love you’d clawed onto for dear life for the last half-decade. It felt strange, almost wrong, to imagine a world where Jack Hughes didn’t exist as the basis for all romantic interests. To hold someone’s hand and not compare the texture to his. To lose the anticipated blush that warmed your face each time he glanced at you. Because losing Jack was like losing a piece of yourself—all your life you’d associated love with him, and what would there be afterwards?

Sandy beaches rolled endless at the horizon, dotted with the figures of vacationers and locals alike. You glanced to Luke, his hand working the steering wheel as he drove the long-winded path to the beach house. Strands of your hair were roused by the invisible hand of the wind, no doubt knotting it, but you were too enraptured in what ifs and a potential future to much care.

“Are you excited?” Luke asked, looking to you. Elbow leaned against the doorframe, you managed to work your mouth into a smile. Even if it was twinged with apprehension.

“Of course. I love it here. I’m glad you guys were rich enough to buy it.”

Luke laughed.

And that was true. Summer here felt endless. Nights spent on the beach, the tickle of warmth from a stick-lit fire cradling you against the rush of cold blowing off the ocean. The bitter rush of alcohol that stung your veins. Hair made wet by the sea, drying beneath the warm fingertips of sunlight. Skin richening into a burn, soothed only by aloe vera and a cold shower. Laughter between friends and the restless nights talking. All of it was perfect. For you, summer was Jack. Brief and sweet, the thing you looked forward to seeing each year. But it never lasted long enough to truly feel, something you could never touch.

You wondered if you made it obvious. If Luke suspected, or Quinn; the eldest Hughes was always the most perceptive. Any time Jack said something that made your teeth clench with hurt, Quinn glanced at you. A reassuring smile. The extended hand in the dark. But if he knew, he never commented on it.

“Who’s already here?” you asked, eyes catching on the brightly colored houses lining the beach. Blue, pink, the odd green, melding together as the car breezed into the strip of land the beach house rested on.

You almost dreaded the answer. “Quinn and Jack,” Luke responded, voice a little distant—his eyes scanned for the house, too focused on his task to much care for the cringe you gave at the mention of Jack’s name.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. It was his house. Yet you found yourself hoping you’d at least beaten him here so you could mentally prepare for his arrival. As it were, you had about five minutes to do that.

Tires crunched against sand as Luke pulled into the driveway. Lead solidified in your bones until you felt as though you were going to sink straight into the earth. A deep breath expanded your chest, and you watched as Luke took out his phone—presumably to text that he’d arrived. Escaping the car, Luke stared at you expectantly. Your body pressed against the doorframe, eyes glanced out at the horizon. Smeared like a painting across the sky, a myriad of colors—oranges, pinks, yellows—foretold the coming of night. Maybe you could stay in here until everyone was asleep, to sneak past Jack and not have to—

The door to the passenger side opened, and there stood Luke, a hand on his hip. Making grabby hands like a toddler, he motioned for you to come. “What’s up with you, Bells? You’re so… quiet.”

You snorted. “That’s not news.”

“You know what I meant,” retorted Luke, grabbing your elbow with a gentle grip. “What’s got your head off to sea?”

Your brother! you wanted to scream, but found your tongue bolted to the bottom of your mouth. Offering instead a smile, you allowed Luke to help you out of the Jeep. Soft sand caught your feet, cushioning the drop. It felt strange to be back here again, but somehow, you knew it wouldn’t be the same. A rueful feeling ached your bones. This would maybe be the last time you’d ever come to the beach house. If your closure went as you intended… there would be no more summers in Sanibel. No more late beach nights. No more salt air creating a stick sheen on your skin. No more Jack Hughes.

“Just thinking about summer,” was all you said.

Like everything, its temporariness was what made it special.

Together, you and Luke began to unpack the bags from the trunk of the Jeep. “Any fun activities planned this summer?” you asked, hoping to alleviate the tension making your head pound.

Luke gave you a backwards glance as he practically leaned his whole body into the trunk. “New bar opened on the strip,” he told you. “I think we have to go.”

Your eyebrows crinkled. “We’re twenty, Luke. And this is a tourist town, they’re going to ID.”

Luke only smiled, clearly not thwarted by your pessimism. “Lucky then that you don’t have to worry. I’ve got it all figured out.”

You didn’t want to ask how, so instead you sighed, hauling your bag onto your shoulder. “Whatever. But I am not ending up in jail because you want to underage drink in public, Luke.”

There was no response to that. Slinking past you with elegance you thought his large frame incapable of, Luke began walking up the driveway and towards the beach house. It looked exactly the same as it had last summer—a gentle gray exterior, like the storm clouds that sometimes brewed over the sea, and a darker roof. White wood bordered the many windows, some with their own balconies. Rust spotted the metal of the garage, slowly encroaching from the outside. A simple wood fence enclosed the sides of the house, leading to the back where you knew a pool hid. Everything was exactly the same, yet so different. Last time you were here, it all felt so unknown, like the end of the summer would make or break the rest of your year. You’d hoped then that maybe Jack would notice, that it would finally be the year he looked at you as more than Luke’s best friend. You’d packed your cutest outfits, the bikinis your friends said would make any man double-take, yet nothing worked. It had been the same as every year before. Jack was nice, but indifferent. Friendly, but inattentive.

However, this year wasn’t like every other year. You didn’t come here with starry eyes and a child-like hope that Jack would pick you after years of oblivion. You came here to finally let go of him, to move on, to bury a love you’d kept on life support for years and years, in the hopes it would come back to life.

Feet making indents in the sand as you walked up the driveway, you saw Jack’s car—a silver Mercedes-Benz—parked a bit ahead. You hated the stutter in your step when you saw it, and you hated more the stoppage in your heart when you heard laughter rounding the side of the house. There was two voices, interwoven and nearly indistinguishable, but you’d know his laugh anywhere, know it blind. All the feelings you’d shoved aside in favor of an aloof disposition crawled their way out of shallow graves. A shaky breath, the fluttering of your eyes, and suddenly—there he was.

Trailing behind Quinn, soaked black swim shorts clinging to wide thighs, a bare chest coated in droplets of water, tousled hair styled by the unconscious hand of water. He smiled, maybe at something Quinn had said, you weren’t sure, and it all came back. How could you get closure when he incited such a deep, profound longing in your soul? When he tugged you towards him the the moon to the tide?

You’d stopped walking. When, you weren’t sure. Time became an endless thing as Jack’s eyes flickered to you. Those blue eyes shot through with something you weren’t sure how to describe, but he grinned—at you—and then he was walking towards you. All at once you wanted to lob a rock at Luke’s head for making you come, and then kill yourself for even thinking for one moment closure would be remotely possible when you still were in love with Jack.

His presence was all-consuming, like stepping to close to the fire. Fingers worn by years of use brushed your own when he took your luggage, carrying it with ease. Even older than you, Jack never lost that youthful sense of delight you’d seen on kids when they got a new toy. He’d always been the sun. For you, and for everyone around him.

You’d never deluded yourself into thinking you were the only one who loved Jack, or wanted him. But it didn’t stop you from wishing you were the one he’d choose.

“Bells,” Jack greeted, warmth oozing from his words, so much that you wanted to yell at him that he wasn’t being fair. How could he expect you not to want him? How, when he was so nice to you, yet so indifferent? “How was the trip?”

Blinking, you allowed him to gathering your luggage and begin walking back to the house. Water transferred from his body to your tote bag, but you found yourself not caring. He could ruin everything you’d brought and it wouldn’t matter. They’d at least be stained with his touch.

“Good,” you managed, trying to keep your feet even on the lumpy sand. Why they’d decided not to install an actual drive way would never make sense to you. “Not a lot of traffic. Luke didn’t kill us, so that’s a plus.”

Jack laughed. It rumbled through his chest and echoed like a victory trumpet in the air. “He’s a shit driver,” he said. “Shoulda convinced him to let you drive with me.”

Tar filled your lungs. Words failed you, and so stupidity, you said: “But you drove with Quinn.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow. Readjusted your bag on his shoulder. “Quinn’s a big boy. He can travel alone.”

Before you could stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth, “So you think I’m a little girl?”

Jack paused. Glanced over at you. The meeting of two sets of eyes holding extremely different emotions. After a moment, he cut the tension with another laugh. “You are two years younger than me.”

“So is Luke, and last I checked, he was the tallest,” you retorted, offering up a chuckle yourself. You didn’t want to give more, to give in. You had to keep that wall, even if there was already so many holes in it.

With his free hand, Jack tussled your hair, wiggling your head around. You batted him off, feigning annoyance, when really, you wanted him to keep touching you. You could have groaned. God, you were pathetic.

Entering the beach house was like entering freedom. It was typically decorated, that seaside aesthetic Ellen had done herself the first year the boys bought the house. Fishing net and shells in jars, accompanied by hanging hammocks and white coral displays hadn’t moved, and you felt the air greet you, blowing in from the open back door that looked over the pool—and the beach. Salty air snaked up your airway, a welcome sting. A missed one. You weren’t sure if you’d miss Jack or the beach house more.

Luke disappeared with Quinn, the latter offering a gentle smile—perhaps a little pity twinged in. That left only you and Jack, standing in the wide mouth of the living room, the sunset sky bathing your skin in those candle-light oranges you so loved. Beside you, the gentle pat, pat, pat of water dripping off of Jack’s shorts was all that was heard. You took a moment more to enjoy the feeling of peace you got from being here, before Jack snapped you back to the current with a throat clear.

“Want me to bring your stuff to your room?” Your room. The one you’d claimed all those years ago. A room that—after this summer, perhaps—would bo longer be yours. You’d spent hours decorating it, little trinkets imposed with sentiment covering the room. The sea blue sheets. The balcony overlooking the ocean. All of it would be gone.

You had to inhale to stave off the melancholia crawling up your throat like bile. “Yeah, thanks.”

It was hard not to look at Jack. He was always the center of attention—on the ice, off the ice; in his personal life, in the eye of the public. He just was. Never asked for it, always had it. Girls wanted him, boys wanted to be him. You imagined it got tedious after so many years, but at the same time, you wondered what it would be like to be that loved. So adored you could have anything and anyone. You found you’d trade it all for him, for Jack, if he simply asked. You knew he wouldn’t do the same. Why give up freedom for a small-town girl that his brother had dragged around for longer than he probably should?

Up the stairs, through a hallway, and there your room was. You tried to revel in it, in the finality of it all. Convinced you were never coming back here. That Jack would never carry your luggage for you again, making a mess of the floors just to help you out. Inside, you saw the bed was made just like how you left it. A small whale plush—affectionately named Hershey for the chocolate it had been holding when it was won at the arcade—was sat just before the pillows. You hadn’t left him there. Hershey was a cherish piece of history; Jack had won him for you, two years back. Whales were your favorite animal, a gentle giant, the crown of the sea. He knew it, and he had gotten him for you. Maybe that was what kept your hope alive, the little things, the moments where he was more than just an unreachable deity you prayed to repeatedly just for him to notice you.

You glanced over your shoulder as Jack placed your luggage down with a thud. He rubbed his hands together. “Found him downstairs,” he said, gesturing to Hershey, “figured I’d bring him home.”

Home. A word that made your gut turn. His home, but never yours.

“Oh, yeah,” you said lamely. “Wouldn’t want to lose Hershey. You tried so hard to win him.”

Jack scoffed. “I was playing against Trevor. I’d be embarrassed if I didn’t win.”

“Don’t talk about Trevor like that,” you teased with a smile. Finding yourself slipping back into the dynamic. You’d try to make him laugh, just to make him smile. Just to make him see you could make him happy.

Jack only rolled his eyes. You attempted to side-step him, only for your foot to catch his own. A hand immediately came to your rescue, steadying you. A hot flush pinkened your cheeks and slid down your spine. His breath fanned over your temple, a catalyst for every single one of your nerves fraying. You hated that he could do this to you, without trying, without caring, when you tried so hard to avoid falling back into him like a fool. It wasn’t fair—but when was love?

Jack pulled his hand away, the phantom of his fingers imprinted on your skin. Marked. Just like you’d always been. “Sorry,” you muttered, embarrassment eating at you.

His laugh was a reward. “It’s fine,” he responded. It was always fine with Jack. Never hard feelings. You didn’t think he had a aggressive bone in his body, even after years and years of playing physical hockey. “Even after all the years, you still can’t stay on your feet.”

A reference to your clumsiness. Which wasn’t clumsiness. It was just Jack. You never stumbled around anyone but him. “Yeah,” you bit out, probably harsher than intended. “Guess I haven’t changed.”

But you had. And you needed to find a way out of the hole that was Jack Hughes before you were buried alive.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Letting go of things has never been easy. Marked with scratches and tears, everything you’d ever relinquished never left the same. How could it, when you’d spent so much time loving it, cherishing it, only for it to be cruelly ripped from your grasp? Letting go had never been easy, because you’d never been ready to lose what was taken, because it was never ready to leave you either. That’s why it was so easy to reason with yourself about finally moving on from Jack Hughes.

It wasn’t mutually assured destruction. There would be no blowing out of stars and creation of supernovas when you finally put the love to rest. Because it was you. It was never him. He didn’t love you—hell, he didn’t even know you loved him. Perhaps there laid the foundation for burial, a tomb within the dunes, marked with a single shell. When the time came, no claw marks would mar Jack’s skin. He was never yours to mark.

Two weeks had since passed. Settling in had always been easy, but this time, it felt like a final meal before execution. A good thing before the inevitable end. Nights spent by the pool, the reflection of the water a perfect mirror of Jack’s eyes. Drinking and laughing and talking—a chosen family, but one you’d soon depart. You’d always have Luke, the last cord of the fraying rope, unbreakable and timeless. But never again would you tug on that rope, just to see the other end. To move on from Jack would be to forget him, as much as you could.

The summer sun blistered overhead, biting your skin until red bloomed. Splayed out on a beach towel, you opted to suntan while the boys enjoyed the water. You’d get in, eventually, preferably when Jack was not in. You didn’t want the distraction of his body to further make you doubt your ability to handle change. Back facing the sun, you remained entranced by the book in front of you, instead imagining your love life was as explosive and beautiful as the story written for you. When you went to flip the page, something hit your back—a ball, you guessed, from the feeling of impact—making your already sunburnt skin sting like hell.

“Shit,” you cursed, placing your book face down in order to stand. Glancing to the side you figured the ball bounced off to, there sat the culprit: a black-and-white soccer ball, covered in patches of sand.

You heard some shouting, and opted to be a good samaritan and grab it. As you bent down to pick up the sandy ball, another pair of hands invaded your vision and brushed your own. Rightening, you saw a tall man—your age, presumably—who immediately began spewing apologies of all kinds.

He had that youthful look to him, the same as Jack. Golden curls fell around his eyes, slightly sandy, a bit wet, but gleaming like rays of sunlight. Familiar eyes, the blue of the sky after a storm, peered at you with a mixture of concern and apology. He was beautiful, in an artful way—a hand-sculpted effigy, lain in the town square to be worshiped. You figured with age and maturity he presently lacked, he’d be all the more beautiful.

But he wasn’t Jack.

“I am—so sorry!” he spewed words like bullets, hoping one apology landed. You bit down a laugh at the desperation leaking into his voice. “I wasn’t watching where I was kicking. Sorta shanked it—scratch that, really shanked it. Are you okay—I meant to ask—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off, sparing him. As endearing as his apology was, you could see red rising to his face—you knew what it felt like. “Although I don’t recommend you shoot for the Premier League.”

Upon realizing you weren’t angry, the boy relaxed. “Yeah, as if,” he laughed, tossing the balls back and forth between his hands. “You are okay, right?”

Your eyebrow quirked. “Unless you’re secretly the Hulk, I don’t think you kicking a ball at me could do any serious damage.” Your fingers grazed the spot the ball struck. “Might have a weird mark on my back, ‘s all.”

Goldie Locks, as you’d taken to calling in him your head, circled around you and bent at his knees. His fingertips grazed the small of your back, rattling your spine into a shiver. You heard a subdued sound—something between a giggle and a sharp exhale of air through his noise—and twisted to look down at him.

“It looks dumb, huh?” you said, trying to feel the patter marked on your back with your fingers.

Goldie Locks shook his head. “You wear it well.”

“I better, or I’ll give you a matching mark,” you teased. He stood up, imposing. “Really, though, I’m fine…”

He caught on swiftly. “Jackson. Or Jack.”

You could have cursed the Gods and Fate and her trifling ways. Of course the first cute guy you find has to be him, but not be him. The great irony of life, you supposed it was. Finally ready to move on, and your tugged right back to square one.

A tight smile made its way onto your face. “Jackson.”

Jackson opened his mouth to say something, but the voice of the man you quite literally could not escape interrupted him. “Bells? You okay?”

You thought briefly of faking fainting.

“I’m fine,” you responded, without looking at Jack. You couldn’t. But you wanted to. “He just hit me with a soccer ball and was apologizing.”

Jack imposed into your vision anyway. Jaw working, the rapid flex of his muscles that told he ran to you. Suddenly, the sweltering heat was no longer the cause for your sweating. “Hit you?” he repeated, glancing to Jackson with a raised brow.

Shoved into an unwanted spotlight, Jackson immediately backpedaled. “Accident. Didn’t mean to hit your girl.”

Your girl.

Those two simple words repeated like a scratched vinyl in your mind. Jack’s girl. His. It was something that would have made past you puff your chest. It made present you feel sick. Another pull towards him. Another lock trapping you inside of the room. In the past, you wouldn’t have said anything—wouldn’t have fought it. You’d have waited to see if Jack would deny it; he always did. Another nail in the coffin. How many were needed until you finally understood?

But you were now actively trying to fight the feeling seemingly hardwired into your blood. The instinct that told you to love Jack. “Oh, we’re not dating,” you told Jackson. Blue eyes flittered to you—was he surprised? For once you denied, distanced. Was he confused? “He’s my best friend’s older brother.”

You didn’t know why you added that part. It wasn’t necessary—Jackson didn’t care about your relationships to Jack past the words not dating. But here you were, petty pride swelling in your chest at finally getting to stick it to Jack. Finally being the denier instead of the denied.

“Oh,” Jackson quirked his brow. Glanced at Jack; he said nothing. “Is it okay if I have your number?”

That shocked you. And it clearly shocked Jack, as well. His shoulders tensed, eyes darting to you. Gauging your response. You would have said no before. Would have made some dumb excuse. If you accepted, you distanced yourself from Jack, showed indifference. Past you couldn’t have that.

Present you could.

“Sure,” you said.

This summer would be different.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a date. Michael Neely in eleventh grade, but that was in major part because he looked entirely too similar to Jack—didn’t act like him, however. Didn’t smile like the sun’s envy. He just wasn’t Jack. For as long as you could remember, no one had been. Isolating yourself for years because of the off chance Jack would finally admit it, as if he’d been pulling a big joke on you and had actually wanted you back. But he never did. And you couldn’t wait around forever hoping he would. He never asked you to.

You went through your hair with a brush one final time before deeming yourself presentable. A knit green tank-top paired with denim shorts, warm vanilla perfume—one you’d used since Jack had offered a compliment on the scent—and a smile that you hoped appeared genuine. For once you were excited, not thinking of Jack, measuring Jackson up to him. You let Jackson be himself, undeterred by the ghost of your unrequited love.

The downstairs of the beach house was alive with loud laughter and conversation—you hated you could still pick out Jack’s laugh, could imagine his face when he did; the gentle scrunch of his nose, the squint of his eyes. You wondered if it would ever go away, that sixth sense. If you’d ever be truly and unapologetically free.

Rounding the corner, you were met with the sight of the three brothers playing what looked to be Chel, their eyes fixated on the large TV in front of the couch they were splayed on. You debated slinking out of the house, silent as they’d always teased you for being, just to avoid the awkward conversation you knew would come from the knowledge you—Bells, infatuated devotee of Jack Hughes—were going on a date with a boy you’d known a week.

Fiddling with your fingers, you stood at the back of the couch. Not wanting to interrupt their game, you went to simply tap Luke on the shoulder, hoping he’d eventually pause it. He wasn’t the one to do it, however. Luke and Queen groaned in annoyance when the screen paused, glancing over to the only person who could have done it. Jack didn’t spare them a glance. His homely blue eyes were on you, eyebrows furrowed. Following his gaze, Luke and Quinn gave you a once-over.

“Hell are you going all dolled up like that, Bells?” Luke asked, flicking you on the wrist.

You didn’t really think you were dolled up. “I have a thing called a date, Luke.”

That incited the expected awkward silence. As if drawn by a unbeatable force, you found yourself glancing to Jack. White-knuckled, he gripped the controller with such force you were surprised it didn’t break on him entirely. You briefly wondered what his issue was before Quinn spoke.

“With who?” Surprise laced his question, and you hated it. Hated that he thought you were incapable of moving on from Jack—or maybe he didn’t think you incapable, just averse.

“That guy from the beach, right, Bells?” Luke piped up, turning his body on the couch to face you. “What was his name? Jack?”

You ground your jaw. “Jackson.”

Luke shrugged. “Same thing.”

It wasn’t. You really hoped it wasn’t.

You turned to leave, intent on scurrying out like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, when a voice called you back. Always calling you back, just when you tried to leave.

“Bells,” Jack spoke, voice drawled. You didn’t turn. “Where are you going?”

You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “On a date…?”

“Where?” You figured it could have been a growl if he were less careful. Luke and Quinn glanced at each other. You fought back a scream.

Why do you care? Why now? When I’m about to move on? I spent so much time waiting for you. I’m done.

You wanted to scream those words at him, but of course, like most confessions, they went unsaid.

“The cove,” you humored him, eyes flicking to your fingers. When had they started bleeding? The cove, of course, was as it sounded: a small chunk of land past the rock barrier at the beach, cornered in by mangroves and hidden away from sight, Jackson claimed it the perfect place for a seaside picnic. You weren’t one to argue.

When Jack made no effort to respond, you finally left. Jackson wasn’t even there yet, but you couldn’t stay inside anymore. Indecision and confusion were eating away at your gut, turning your mind into a war zone. You didn’t understand—couldn’t understand. Years spent in the shadow of Jack Hughes had taught you to fear the light, that if you even for a second let the rays touch you, came the consequence of losing the shade forever. And you’d tossed those fears aside, let yourself into the light, and that only made the dark come back in full force.

It wasn’t fair. Why weren’t you allowed to move on? To finally break the bonds that you yourself had made? Jack had never kept you near, and yet now he didn’t seem to want to let you go. Like a child unwilling to relinquish a toy just because it was theirs.

You tried not to dwell on it. Not when Jackson pulled up, his 4Runner breaking the noise of gulls calls and rumbling cars. Not when he led you out to the cove, picnic basket in hand, like an old-timey romance your mother used to watch. You tried, but just like everything concerning not thinking about Jack, miserably failed. Jackson was attentive, sweet, he did it all right. And as much as you hated yourself for thinking it, it was true: he wasn’t Jack.

“Are you a local?” Jackson asked you. Your mouth closed around a strawberry, staining your fingertips red—better than blood, you supposed.

The tide lapped gently at the sand before your feet, spanning out from beneath the quilt laid beneath you and Jackson. Always coming close, but never quite enough to wet your feet. Gnarled roots of mangrove trees split the sand, boxing the little cove in. You remembered coming here with Jack once, when he was trying to make up for throwing you in the pool with your phone in your back pocket. He hadn’t set up a picnic, only sat beside you in the sand and offered you Hershey. A silent apology. One you never forgot.

Trying to build over that memory was like trying to filter the salt out of the sea. There was too much to ever fully get rid of it.

A breeze tickled your legs. Sand parted between your toes. Everything felt normal; normal, you realized, wasn’t always right.

“No,” you responded after some time, tossing the strawberry head to the sea. “I come here every year with my best friend, his brothers, and their friends.”

Jackson nodded. “The guy from the beach, the one I thought you were dating—” You fought the urge to cringe, “—that was Jack Hughes, right?”

Always the icon. Beloved, beautiful Jack Hughes.

You glanced at Jackson. He smiled. “Yeah, I’ve known him for years. His brother is my best friend.”

“Yeah, I remember you saying that,” he laughed, a whimsical sound. Off-key; pitched too high. You didn’t think you’d be able to differentiate it in a room of others. “How’d that even happen?”

You grinned. Memories of freshman year. Restless nights spent studying in Luke’s room. False trips to the bathroom just for a chance at a glance of his brother. “Luke and I met in our freshman year biology class. He absolutely sucked. Had to tutor the poor kid so he wouldn’t fail.”

Jackson shook his head, the mess of golden curls crowning him danced with the movement. Raising a finger, he wagged it at you as if apprehending a naughty dog. “Hold on now. Biology is damn hard, cut him some slack.”

You giggled. Almost cringed. You felt like a schoolgirl again, trying to slow time as a cute boy walked past. “Maybe if you’re a loser.”

More time passed, the sun’s rays dulled to a warm orange instead of a blinding yellow. The sea calmed. Unseen birds chirped and sung their tunes, never to be understood. Jackson asked questions, answered some. He indulged, dug deep, hoping for treasure. It was strange, to fix your hair and bat your lashes in the hopes of impressing a boy who wasn’t Jack Hughes. Stranger yet you were enjoying Jackson, even fantasizing about a second date. The cold fingers of the wind rose gooseflesh in its wake; your arms rose to combat it, folding against your body in hopes to retain heat. Jackson peered over.

“Cold?” he asked, presumptuous and forward and hoping; one arm already out of his cardigan.

You nodded, murmuring a thanks as Jackson draped his sweater over your shoulders. At once the smell of salt and secondhand smoke snaked up your nose, invaded your airways. It was so different from the warm amber you imagined your skin would faintly smell of if Jack made you his—he smelled like heartbreak and sleepless nights and longing, something you feared was permanently smeared on your flesh. You found yourself heating at the scent, blushing, a slight twinge of excitement at the thought of being claimed by another boy. Foolishly, maybe, you thought it could purge Jack from you, draw over the marks he’d made all over your flesh.

You’d had boys like you before, liked them back—felt the head rush that accompanied youthful yearning. None had ever compared to Jack. Like a stain on your favorite shirt, he’d never come out of your heart, a scar that pulsed every so often, a reminder that he was still there. That he’d never go away. You realized now, looking at Jackson—the soft lines that sprouted next to his eyes when he smiled, a mess of curly blond hair that seemed to fall perfectly in front of his eyes, catered specifically to his beauty—that the memories of wounds weren’t always bad. They weren’t just reminders that you’d been hurt, but that you survived.

Before your mind could conjure any wishful images of you and Jackson, he spoke, “Tomorrow night, there’s a beach bonfire.” His finger extended, curled a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. “Something the locals do every year to kick off summer.”

You smiled—genuinely smiled, not just a flash of teeth forced in order to hide a grimace. Not the smiles you got so used to giving Jack. “And you’re telling me this because…”

Banter. He could tell you knew where he was getting, yet wanted him to spell it out anyway. “Go with me? I think you’d enjoy it,” he said, voice gentle over the lap of waves against the shore. You could almost feel the world hold its breath, awaiting your answer. Would you cling to a hope and dream, or go with what was sitting in front of you? “Plus, having a pretty girl with a perfect personality on my arm wouldn’t hurt too bad.”

“Hmm…” You faked contemplation, tapping your chin. When Jackson flicked your forehead, you scoffed, batting at his hand. “Well now I’m reconsidering my answer, ass.”

Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, caught it midair, a fish hooked on a line. Feverish, a heat you’d only associated with one person your whole life rose to your head as Jackson’s eyes met yours. Not blue, green. Your mind didn’t even attempt to paint over them, to erase his color, to make him him. Lips wet by eager tongues, a mutual desire. When had you last even considered another man romantically, sexually?

The answer was: not since Jack Hughes barged his way into your life and trapped your heart behind a wall, tossing away the key.

Before anything could be realized, before you could experience your first kiss in what felt like forever, a dull vibrating ripped the moment to shreds. Annoyance flashed in your heart, and a part of you told you to ignore it—but you couldn’t. What if something had gone wrong? Apologetically, you tore your eyes away from Jackson and dug your phone out of your back pocket.

The name flashing on the screen had your heart clenching.

Jack.

“Yes?” Confused, clipped. Why was Jack calling you?

“Oh, uh, hey,” came Jack’s voice—you frowned at his tone. He sounded as if he didn’t even know why he was calling. “I was just… calling to see when you’d be home tonight.”

A scream bubbled in your throat. This is why he was calling you? “This could have been a text.”

Jack laughed dryly. “Guess so. Figured you wouldn’t have seen it.”

You didn’t want to admit he was right. “It’s what…” You took your phone away from your face to look at the time. 8:43. “8:43? I’m not sure, Jack. We’re still at the cove.”

Shuffling on the other end. Your eyes darted to Jackson; he seemed intrigued at who was calling you. “Right, well… Luke wanted to know, so…”

You frowned. “Then why didn’t Luke call me?”

“Playing Chel,” was all you got in response.

Pettiness whirled in your chest like a maelstrom. For once you had the upper hand; cards hidden against your chest, not splayed out for all to see. Maybe with the right move, Jack would fold after so many years of winning. It was childish, you knew that, but the child in you who’d hoped and hoped and hoped only to get turned down every single time awoke—wanted Jack to feel the burn she’d felt when he’d sunk his hooks into her heart.

“I may not come home tonight,” you told him, relished in the pause. Jackson’s eyes flickered to you, curious.

“What?” Jack asked, voice darkened with knowing and other terrible emotions. “What do you mean?”

He knew very well what you meant.

“Absolutely fucking not.” You resisted the urge to recoil at the scorching flame simmering in Jack’s tone; he rarely ever spoke to anyone like that, least of all you. “You met him this week, Bells. If you aren’t home by 10:30 I’m coming to find you.”

Rage flared. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because you could pretend like he cared. As if he had any right to tell you when you had to be home. “So what? Now I have a curfew?” You didn’t want Jackson to overhear the spat, but it’s clear he was watching, listening, picking apart the conversation. “Forgot the part where you were my mother, Jack.”

“You’re staying in my house,” he retorted sharply. “10:30. I’m not kidding.”

After that, the line went dead.

Fire lashed in your veins, threatening to burn your being to ash. How dare he? Just as you inched out of the cage, he tries to drag you back in. Why did he care now? Why couldn’t he have before?

Why?

Tears taunted you. Tried to slip past your eyes. You had given so many tears to Jack, expected him to bottle them and place them on a shelf, a reminder to never hurt you again. He never did. The moon’s rays were a solace, an extended comfort from who knew loneliness better than anything. Soft fingers touched your arm, didn’t push—only rested there, a reminder of consolation.

“He’s like an older brother, huh?” Jackson tried to alleviate your melancholy, revive your playful spirit like a necromancer.

It only made you sadder. If only Jack were like an older brother, if only your heart hadn’t chosen him to beat for.

“Yeah,” you chuckled dryly. “Let’s be glad he won’t be there tomorrow.”

A bright grin tugged on Jackson’s lips. “So you’re coming?”

You smiled.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

10:15.

The bright light of your phone screen cut through the darkness as you walked up the sandy driveway to the beach house. The departing rumble of Jackson’s 4Runner interrupted the ballad sung by the cicadas and crickets, a sound that followed you all the way to the front door. Sliding your sunflower-adorned key out of your pocket, you fiddled with the lock before finally managing your way into the house. The biting cold of the summer night was promptly chased away by the inviting warmth, but you found yourself unwilling to remove Jackson’s green cardigan. Plastic buttons twirled between your fingers, a few stitches unraveled. Well-worn, loved—smelled like summer nights and escape. You smiled to yourself.

The hum of the TV, along with its vibrant glow startled you as you crossed into the living room area. Despite the somewhat early time, you hadn’t expected anyone to be awake. But there Luke was, curled up on the couch, watching Grease. You could have laughed if you weren’t more aware; Luke had always had a major small crush on Sandy, his guilty pleasure movie, one that came with summer nights and hours talking into the AM. Rounding the foot of the couch, you plopped down next to Luke, startling him out of what appeared to be oncoming sleep.

“Back already?” he asked groggily, clearing the gravel out of his throat. He straightened, blinked a few times. “I take it you didn’t get laid.”

You glared at Luke, silently cursed his teenage-boyishness. “Not everyone fucks on the first date, dick,” you retorted, smiling. “Someone here gave me a curfew. Said he’d come looking for me if I didn’t come back in time; I wasn’t too keen on testing him.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Cockblock,” he muttered. “Which of them was it? Quinn? He seems like the type.”

“The other one,” you corrected, earning a confused look from Luke. “Exactly! That’s what I thought. Also, did you ask Jack to ask me when I’d be home?”

“No,” Luke drawled, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I?”

That son of a bitch.

Was he just dead set on denying you happiness? Why couldn’t he just admit to caring even a little about you? Why dress up good deeds as the requests of others? Nothing about Jack made sense; it never had. You supposed that was part of the appeal, the mystery of it all. A puzzle gathering dust on the shelf, tried and forgotten for its difficulty. You’d always had a knack for choosing the hardest games.

You waved Luke off, not wanting to hear his conspiracies tonight. Maybe tomorrow, when you didn’t have the weight of a thousand unanswered questions close to caving in your chest. “Nothing,” you said. “Are Quinn and Jack awake?”

Luke eyed you. He saw through you—always had. Yet, for the sake of your dwindling sanity, chose silence. “Quinn isn’t, no,” he told you. “Went to bed like an hour ago.”

“Old man,” you commented, earning a laugh. “And Jack?”

Luke’s eyes flickered to the door leading to the back porch. A warm orange glow was visible through the drawn curtains. “He’s in the pool, I think.”

You nodded. Came to a resolution in your withering heart. “Right,” you murmured, standing. Before departing, you pressed a kiss to Luke’s cheek. “Night, Luke. Go up to your room, if you fall asleep here, I won’t be able to carry you to your bed.”

Luke rolled his eyes, nudged your leg with his knee. “How unfortunate.” Then, he stood, and disappeared up the stairs.

Dread swarmed in your stomach like a tornado, wrecking every defense you’d built up these past weeks to keep out a certain boy. You feared damage control wouldn’t be enough this time, that you couldn’t rebuild if Jack shut you down now. But you had to confront him, had to at least tell him to stop controlling you if nothing else. This summer was meant to be your closure, the final chapter in a book you never thought would end. It felt more like the procession to the grave, not the closing of a door.

What if losing your love for Jack lost you him?

The back door swung open with a squeal, piercing the once thick silence. With your presence swiftly outed, you forewent attempting discreetness, and eased out onto the pool deck. Fingers of frost grabbed for your exposed skin, only combated by Jackson’s cardigan. Bones rattling, you wondered why on earth Jack was going for a swim right now of all times.

You heard the lapping of water, roused by movement, before you saw him. The fluorescent underwater lightning cut through the darkness and reflected on your face, a myriad of whites and blues that was distinctly Jack. When you came to the pools edge, your eyes focused on him—clad in nothing but a pair of blue swim shorts—floating ok his back, eyes closed, as if imagining himself in a different place. You almost felt sorry to ruin the fabrication of his mind. Remembering your anger, you pushed aside the feeling. Why should he be given peace when he’d never given you any?

Before you could even open your mouth, his eyes opened, as if sensing you. He adjusted, treading water, as you merely assessed each other. Waiting. Who would draw first? You. It had always been you.

“I’m home now,” you bit out, your leash gone; Jackson wasn’t here to judge you. “Happy?”

Water lapped at Jack’s collarbones. You almost envied it for being able to touch him so freely. His eyes darted around you, then stopped on the cardigan. Forest green, like Jackson’s eyes. You knew he knew; you hadn’t been wearing it when you left.

“Cute,” he commented, sarcastic and dripping with cruelty you’d never heard from him before. He parted the water with ease, as if he expected everything to bend to his will.

Jack stopped where you stood at the edge. You looked down on him for once, a prick of pride stinging you as for once you had the high ground. For once, he wasn’t able to confine you with his overwhelming presence and being. Fingers curled around the edge of the pool, his hair dripping tears of chlorine-tainted water down his face, Jack merely watched you, waiting a scolding, the tantrum of a child who had what she wanted torn away.

You thought if unfair someone could be so beautiful, especially when he could never be yours.

“What is your issue?” you snapped finally, folding your arms, protecting your glass heart from his insults he’d fire like arrows. “I asked Luke, he said he never asked you what time I’d be home. Was it fun for you? To ruin my date?”

Jack scoffed. Arms corded with muscle flexed, rose from the water; a heave and he was on his feet in front of you, your leverage lost. Water bled off his body like a torrent, soaking your shoes. Droplets flicked on Jackson’s cardigan, the water staining through. You stepped back instinctively, throat tight. You hated how, even now, he had an effect on you.

“Ruin?” he echoed, eyebrows creased. “Don’t be dramatic. It wasn’t like you were planing on staying out with him past 10:30. I was doing you a favor, giving you an out.”

Classic Jack; thinking he knew better than everyone else. “You weren’t, actually,” you hissed. “I didn’t need an out, Jack; I was enjoying myself. So much so I’m going out with him again tomorrow night.”

That was unnecessary to say, you knew. A bite only given to wound him, to prove you were capable of rising from your knees and tearing down the shrine you’d devoted to him for years. Because if Jack Hughes was no longer your sun, you didn’t need to revolve around him—shine only when he was near. Pathetic and driven by childish need to probe yourself, you wanted Jack to hurt—even if you knew he never would, that he couldn’t care less about who you loved and who you were with.

You just wished that he did.

A flicker of confusion. A frown, and then, “What?”

“Jackson invited me to the beginning of summer beach bonfire,” you told him, watching Jack’s jaw tense. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t—he’d always been so encapsulating. “It’s tomorrow night.”

His presence invaded every defense you’d placed up. Chin tipped to look at him, you felt suddenly claustrophobic, as if boxed in—everywhere you looked was him. Deep breaths made each muscle of his chest flex and tense, well-sculpted from years of punishing activity. You hated the flush that almost burned your face. You hated the thunder of your pulse that drowned out any noise but your racing heart. You hated the effect he had on you.

“You aren’t going,” he said simply, as if he had any say.

You frowned. “Yes, I am.”

Jack’s lip wrinkled. Condescension dripped from his voice. “No, you aren’t.”

You could have strangled him. You really could have. “You aren’t my father, Jack. You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m going.”

He smiled at you. Smiled like he thought you opposition was funny. “You met this guy this week, Bells,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Not only that, you have no idea who’s going to be at this bonfire. What if something goes wrong? You think Golden Boy is going to play the white knight?”

Ignoring what Jack had called Jackson, you turned to leave. You were absolutely not having this argument with him. Not when it was ultimately your decision and your life. Before you could even make it a step, a wet hand clamped around your arm, fingers closing around you like a vice—Jack spun you, unsteadying you. In an effort to save yourself a trip straight down, you threw up your hands, connecting palms with the rigid plane of Jack’s chest. Heat rose to your face, a feverish high sinking the logic of your brain. All of a sudden, you were sixteen again hoping Jack would come out of his room while you were in the hallway.

Breath deepened, you searched for an out—a way to defend yourself. The sword lying at your palms was cheap, but effective, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

But you did know better. And you knew he wasn’t; you just wished he was.

Jack smiled. Predatory. “Of Jackson?” Fingers loosened—you took the chance to escape, pulling yourself free of Jack’s hold. “If you’re going to try and make me jealous, maybe do it with someone who doesn’t have my fucking name.”

He breezed past you, disappearing inside like a shadow.

You looked down. Eyes grazing the cardigan. A wet handprint stained the arm. Jack’s handprint.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Smoke thickened the air into a husky, palpable haze. Dozens of conversations overlapped into one massive dissonance, drowning out the harsh crash of waves upon the shoreline. Bathed in an amber glow provided by a massive fire housed upon a hearth of triangularly-laid sticks, the beach was alive with drinking and laughing and dancing. Sand cushioned your feet, sandals dangling in your hands. Jackson haunted your side, keeping close. He led you in deeper, parting throngs of people like the Red Sea. Greeting a few of them, introducing you.

Excitement turned your blood hot. Rebellion made it all the sweeter. Despite Jack’s vehement opposition against your coming here, you’d done it anyway. When the boys had decided to get a few drinks at the new bar that opened up, you feigned sun sickness as a result of a day at the beach. Whether or not they believed you didn’t matter much—they’d left, which allowed you the chance to be here.

All you had to do was be home before them, which shouldn’t have been difficult. They’d be home in the early hours of the morning.

Mingling with Jackson was simple enough—people didn’t much care who you were. Just that you existed. Beers were handed to you, drank quickly. You wanted to have fun, to let yourself exist without the shackle that was Jack Hughes dragging you back from any romantic venture. A heated hand slipped in your own; Jackson smiled at you. Stomach knotted in a ball, you downed the rest of your White Claw and grinned back.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asked, bending down to better carry his voice to you. The proximity of his face warmed your chest.

“Mhm,” you hummed, relishing in the head rush. Being drunk wasn’t something you did often, what with being underage. There were parts you hated, parts you sought. Like the current buzz of warmth that whispered false confidence through your bloodstream.

The confidence that made you lead Jackson to the water’s edge, hidden from the glow of the fire, shadows outlined by the light of the moon. Rosy-cheeked, you tossed your arms around Jackson’s neck and peered up at him. Although his countenance was lost in the darkness, you could make out blown pupils overtaking his eyes, parted lips lightly doused in alcohol. Water lapped at your feet, danced around your ankles. You didn’t care. Everything in your mind was screaming at you to just do it—kiss him and get it over with, get over with Jack.

Jack.

You hated that even in a moment like this, your mind went to Jack.

It was then—arms tossed around Jackson’s neck, the waves kissing your bare legs—that you realized you’d never let go of Jack. You couldn’t. He was too well in your heart, the patchwork of two souls. If you could, you would turn tail and run, find happiness on the road of abandonment. You wouldn’t have to worry about being alone, isolated simply because people found a piece of your life more interesting than the whole. You wouldn’t have to rebuild your shattered heart when another summer passed by without Jack loving you. You wouldn’t need to remind your heart not to give in to his toothy smile and infectious laugh.

But then, you wouldn’t have Jack. His smile, the devil’s disguise, a shot of oxytocin to the system. Touching of skin, unintentional yet entirely wanted, setting ablaze the wildfire that burned down your castle of wood. Nights spent by the pool, his face illuminated by the glow of underwater lights. The way he made your heart break and mend all at once, the high of a drug that you could never quit. Every time, you relapsed, reminded yourself why you loved Jack—why he was your favorite love, your only one. He didn’t want you for anything, he didn’t even want you.

And maybe it was that; the hypothetical, the possibility. The construct you’d built inside your head, trying to fit into the narrative every summer, but never getting the part.

“Jackson?”

He looked down at you. Green, not blue. Never blue. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think—”

All at once, your arms were falling, cradling empty space as Jackson was ripped away from your touch. A splash of water sent droplets launching into your skin and clothes. You shrieked, stumbled, looked for the culprit. And of course—there Jack stood, huffing, as if he’d run to you. You could barely make out his face, but you didn’t need to; you’d know him blind, by touch alone. Your eyes went down to Jackson, body engulfed in the shallow water. You pieced it together, came into the frantic understanding that Jack had pushed Jackson.

Immediately, you went to help Jackson, only to be tugged back by your elbow. “Jack! What the hell?”

He didn’t grace you with an answer—didn’t even look at you, actually. Those stormy blue eyes were on Jackson, murderous and heated. He shoved you behind him. “What are you doing, huh?” he barked. “Did you know you were giving a minor alcohol? She’s twenty, you fucking idiot!”

Tears of frustration turned your eyes wet, and air became scarce. You wanted to do something, but what could you even do? Jack was accustomed to ignoring you. Stares nipped at the back of your head. Conversation dulled into a lapse.

“Jack, enough,” you begged, the sheer desperation in your voice normally something you’d hate—you couldn’t be bothered to care now. “Please. I’m fine. It wasn’t Jackson’s fault. He didn’t do anything.”

“Stop,” Jack interrupted, eyes flashing to you, a warning. “I told you not to come. Stay out of this, Bells.”

“I had no idea, dude, I swear!” Jackson responded, pulling himself up from the water. Soaked head-to-toe, and dully embarrassed. “She did it herself, I didn’t offer her anything!”

It soured your mouth he was trying to shift the blame to you, even if he was being honest. Your eyes flicked to Jack, and all at once you were reminded why you chose to love him.

His hair was tousled, worked one too many times by frustrated fingers. Eyes wild and concerned, so raw that you could’ve convinced yourself he was that cut by your situation. You knew it wasn’t you; he was just a good person, an empathetic one. But still, you liked to imagine. You’d spent your life imagining what it would be like for him to love you.

“Jack, please, just—”

“Don’t you dare blame her,” Jack’s voice was strangled, as if barely bypassing a wall of fury. “What the fuck do you think this is? The blame game? I don’t care who gave her the alcohol. You brought her here.”

“Please, Jack, let’s just go,” you pleaded, voice tight—embarrassment crawled up your spine like the cold. Everyone was looking, observing the screaming match you’d unfortunately found yourself a part of. “People are looking.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he hissed, advancing on Jackson. Chest-to-chest. A size up; one you hoped wouldn’t result in traded blows. You’d never seen Jack so angry, so wrought with violence. He’d always been docile—kind.

“Why do you care?” Jackson finally snapped, shoving Jack backwards. You tried to intercede, only to be shut down. “She said she wasn’t your girlfriend. Stop acting like a jealous dick.”

Jack laughed. He turned around, facing you as he spoke. “She may not be mine,” he conceded, “but she sure as hell will never be yours.”

Everything was happening to quickly. Your mind struggled to process the entire interaction, how quickly it had all gone sour. Before you could question Jack, scold him, consider the root of his rage, you were being lifted by the middle, and promptly tossed over Jack’s shoulder.

Air fled your lungs, your head pulsed—both from the swift movement and your consumption of what was likely too much alcohol. Jack’s hand stayed on you, keeping you steady as he carried you through the crowd, cutting through blots of people who all looked just as confused as you felt. Anger sparked then, fanned by embarrassment and anger and frustration.

Slamming your fists into Jack’s well-muscled back, you spewed profanities at him. “Put me down, asshole!” He didn’t. Kept walking, over the boardwalk and into the parking lot. Jackson’s 4Runner taunted you. “Jack, let me go! Jack!”

And he did. Your feet felt unfamiliar as he placed you down with little preempt. He steadied you before you could fall, kept a hand on your arm even after. Your heart felt pulled in a million directions, throat filling up with sand—fossilizing in your own skin, mortification sawing pieces off of your soul. Jack looked furious, pacing in front of you. His silver Mercedes gleamed in the moonlight.

“Bells—” He cut himself off. His throat bobbed, ran a hand through his already messed hair. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Your teeth bared. “Me? And what about you, barging into my night and accusing my date of being a criminal? The fuck is wrong with you, Jack?”

Jack laughed. Mocking, mean. You half-wanted to punch him, felt the itch in your fingers. “Oh, forgive me for trying to help you,” he hissed. “What if cops had busted the bonfire, huh? If they’d got you? Do I have to remind you that you’re twenty, Bells? That’s a felony.”

He was right, and you hated it. “But did you have to do all that? Jackson didn’t even give me the alcohol, why did you push him into the water?”

“I already said I don’t care who gave it to you,” Jack grunted, closing in on you. A step back, and you felt your back press into the cold metal of his car. “He was with you. He let you drink.”

You rolled your eyes, tried to muster up a semblance of control. “He doesn’t know my age, Jack.”

“Then he’s a fucking idiot.”

Scoffing, you shoved him away from you. “Oh, is he? Or were we just on a second date, one that you completely ruined! He’s never going to speak to me again, Jack, so thank you for that!”

Faintly, you wondered how you went from adoring Jack to despising him. Maybe it was always meant to be like this. There was a fine line between love and hate.

Eyes flashing, Jack rounded on you. “A second date you shouldn’t have been on,” he snapped. “I told you not to go.”

“New flash: you’re not my keeper,” you said, feeling the anger wane into something worse—fatigue. You didn’t want to fight. Fighting with Jack felt like fighting a part of yourself. “How’d you even find me? You guys were at the bar.”

Jack paused; he noticed your deflated shoulders, sullen face. “SnapMap,” is what he said. He didn’t expand, and you didn’t ask him to.

Silence felt like the worse fog—thick and impenetrable, falling over you like a suffocating blanket. You didn’t know what to say. What could you even say? Jack would never tell you why he was so upset, you didn’t want to ask—didn’t want to hear another made up story he’d spew just to tear apart the hope in your heart.

It hit you then that maybe Jack did love you—or care about you in some capacity, but he’d never admit it. Dancing in circles, a choreography that never ended, you’d never know what Jack truly wanted; didn’t know if he even did. Probably figured you’d screw it up, would ruin a friendship—his and yours, yours and Luke’s. It was a losing battle either way. Every word he uttered cut to the bone, because it was meant to. When the shift started, you didn’t know. Maybe when he realized you were not always going to kneel at his alter, when you tried to escape.

Maybe then he understood, and still avoided—lied, all to protect himself and his brother. He knew, you knew. One wanted, the other avoided. None of it ended well. Heaven was breakable, and he couldn’t dare threaten his own peace. Not even to have you.

You knew then where you stood.

“Why?”

He shook his head, chewed on his lip. “Don’t.”

“Please, Jack,” you whispered. “You owe me an explanation.”

Did he not believe in love? Had a girl hurt him? Was it really Luke, or something else? Why wouldn’t he just try?

“Bells, don’t.”

Your hand reached out. Hoping, praying—it brushed his shirt-clad chest. He didn’t move back, finally looked at you. “You owe it to me, at least. I’ll drop it, I’ll never ask again.”

“We’d just… we’d screw it up,” he managed out, the blue of his eyes richening into a navy. His eyes darted around your face. “I can’t…”

What did it matter anymore? Everything was being bared. All of it. Your fear disappeared into dust; the yearning for a conclusion to this twisted knot of a love died. Just like it always did with Jack—you’d want him, try to forget him, and fail. A never ending loop. But before there had been no chance, now—now you weren’t sure.

“Can’t what?”

Jack didn’t respond. He dug into his pocket. Grabbed his key. “Get in the car.”

The stark change of situation caught you cold. “What—?” You shook your head. You weren’t going to lose this opportunity. “Jack, no. Talk to me. Please.”

“Get in the fucking car.”

You didn’t budge for a moment, then finally, “Okay.”

The drive was silent, thick with awkwardness. What could you say? You’d been so close to coming clean, to finally—after five years—admitting everything. It seemed like Jack had too, but something stopped him. Something always stopped him. You wished you could pick his brain, lay it all out to see the moment he’d stopped seeing you as a ghost, as Luke’s high school best friend. All because you’d tried to move on, because you’d hoped for happiness beyond his black hole persona. But of course, he always managed to drag you back in.

“It’s not fair,” you muttered aloud, semi-an accident. Jack’s eyes snapped to you, the dark road rolling out in front of you.

He worked his jaw. Adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “What isn’t?”

“You,” you grunted, looking out the window. “I try to be happy, move on. You’ve never wanted me before, I didn’t think it would matter. But when I try, you turn it into World War III.”

Jack didn’t say anything. Barely even moved. You wanted to scream, to leap out of the car, if only to see if he’d care enough to come back for you.

“Why now, Jack? Why not before?” you whimpered. Alcohol made you pathetic, even more so than usual. “What changed?”

“Bells,” he warned, nostrils flaring.

“No,” you protested, swiveling your body his way. “I deserve an answer, Jack. Please.”

Silence still.

“Stop the car.”

Jack looked at you. Up and down, before his focus returned to the road. “No. Stop having a tantrum.”

That nearly sent you into a murderous rage. “Stop the car or I’m jumping out.”

Jack scoffed. “You’re not going to jump out of a moving car.”

You clicked off the lock. Fingers tested the handle. When you tore the door open, the alarm blared; wind whipped your arm as you gripped the door, the darkened road greeting your eyes. Thankfully, no one else was out this late. Jack grabbed you with his free hand, slammed on the breaks and veered off onto the side of the road, just beyond the dunes. Beachgrass surrounded the car, the distant buzz of crickets the only thing you could hear as Jack cursed at you. Unbuckling his seatbelt and slamming the door shut, Jack glared at you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped. You felt something akin to pride; he finally had a reaction to something. Cared enough to stop you.

“You won’t answer me,” you said, eyes darting around his face. The emergency interior lights of the car blinked into existence, lighting up your bodies. Jack’s face was flushed, eyes wild. “Please, just—”

“Fuck, stop saying that,” came Jack’s strangled plead, his head dropping.

You blinked at him. Confusion welled like a storm in your eyes. “What? Please?”

Silence. Jack’s head raised lazily, he looked distressed, mouth parted ever so slightly. A hand ran through his hair, mussed it more. “Fuck,” he cursed, low and gravely. “Luke is going to kill me.”

What was he on about? He looked like he was struggling, his hand gripping the steering wheel which such force his knuckles blanched. “What?”

“You’re his best friend,” Jack said. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “If I… Bells, please…”

You had no idea what to do. What to say. “Jack, what do you mean? You aren’t making any sense.”

“I want to fuck you,” he bit out, leveling you with a furious look, as if he hated himself for that very fact. “But I can’t. If Luke found out, he’d hate you, or me, or us both. I can’t risk that, Bells, I can’t.”

He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you. The very fact that he wanted to sleep with you sent you into a dizzy spell; normally, you would’ve wept with happiness at the sheer fact that Jack Hughes wanted you, in any capacity, but all you felt now was a resounding emptiness. He wanted to fuck you, to have you carnally, without anything attached. You loved him; not because he could give you brief pleasure, but because you knew how many freckles were on his back, how he drove with his left hand predominantly, how he quoted Camus but never actually read him.

It occurred to you then that this summer was different. Not because you were getting closure, or because Jack Hughes finally loved you back, but because you finally understood that the devotion you’d put in him for years should have been put in yourself.

You looked at Jack, and for once, didn’t feel that biting desire to touch him, to be wanted by him; now you knew you were, but for what? For once night, just to fade into obscurity? Either you had Jack entirely or not at all. You couldn’t tease yourself with a taste only to never be given the full experience. You didn’t think you’d survive the memory of it.

“I love you,” you said. Watched his reaction. The confession felt like the greatest heartbreak and the biggest relief.

He said nothing back.

And you weren’t heartbroken that he didn’t. You were relieved. Free.

#jack hughes #nj devils #nhl smut #nhl #hockey imagine #hockey smut #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fanfic #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes #quinn hughes #jack hughes smut #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey

2K notes · View notes

javierpena-inatacvest · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 7- For The First Time

Summary: Eight days ago, you kissed Frankie Morales for the first time. Eight days later, you want to do more than just kiss him.

Word count: 8.6K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) protected p in v sex, loss of virginity/first sexual experience for Frankie and Reader (some brief mentions of momentary discomfort bc of it) oral (f receiving- building the lore for Pussy Eating King Francisco Morales brick by brick), vaginal fingering, Frankie's got a big dick (it's also part of the lore, don't @ me) sweet and awkward teenage love, Frankie being everything and more, lots and lots and lots of consent, a four letter word that starts with an L, please don't yell at me, they're both 18 at this point in the story!!!

A/N: Soooooo all of a sudden I blinked a this was 8K plus words WHOOPS 🤠 I ain't gonna lie with y'all, this may be one of my favorite things I've ever written and have cried the whole way through it 😭 My plan was to have Frankie picking up MacKenzie from work in this chapter too, but obviously things got away from me very quickly, so that will be next chapter's problem!! Your kind words about this story mean so much to me, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it!!! 🥺💕

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Summer of 2007, Age 18

123 days.

That night Frankie told you he had made up his mind to join the Army after he finished with high school, you counted out every square on your calendar from April 15th to August 16th. You had 123 days left together before you left for college and Frankie left for boot camp.

But April 15th was 2 months ago. 67 days ago, to be exact. Each day you crossed off your calendar filled you with a little more dread than the last. You tried not to think about the dwindling number, or the impending doom of August hanging behind July and June on the wall above your desk, but it was hard to not let the thought constantly nag in the back of your mind that the carefree summer days of spending practically every waking minute with Frankie were coming to an end.

The only thing that seemed to put you at ease was just that- after the hurt and sadness of Frankie’s departure had subsided enough, you had promised each other that the last bit of time you had together, you’d do everything in your power to make the most of it.

If there was anything you knew the other was good for, it was keeping a promise.

There was no denying that the past 67 days spent with Frankie had been nothing short of magical. It seemed like for once in your life, everything was falling into place exactly how you wanted it to.

Your soccer team had won the state championship, Frankie being the first to rush onto the field to congratulate you on your victory after cheering for you at the top of his lungs the whole game. The stress of school seemed to become irrelevant, your teachers easing up as you came to the close of your Senior year, you and Frankie’s after school hangouts now focused less on homework and more on goofing around. Graduation had come and gone, you and Frankie both walking across the stage of your high school gym, diplomas in hand, teasing the other relentlessly about how awful the other looked in the stupid, tasseled caps they had forced you to wear.

Then, there was prom.

It had been no question that you and Frankie were going to prom together- it was an unspoken, standing agreement that the both of you had since the start of your senior year. For as much as homecomings or school dances had never been your (or Frankie’s) preferred way to spend a Saturday night, there was an undeniable excitement you had about it you couldn’t really quite describe. You kept chalking it up to the fact it was the biggest night of your senior year, or that all your best friends were gathering together to have an incredible party filled with dancing and fun.

But neither of those things could account for the butterflies in your stomach when Frankie showed up at your front door, tuxedo on and flowers in hand, watching his jaw drop and heart stop when he laid eyes on you.

“You look beautiful, MacKenzie.”

From that moment on, those 4 words hadn’t stopped ringing in your ears.

They rang in your ears as he held your hand the entire night, refusing to unlock his fingers from yours.

They rang in your ears as you felt him grab your waist while you danced.

They rang in your ears as he lovinging teased you about your drunken hiccups off sips of stolen beer cans in Santi’s basement where the party had traveled to long after prom had finished.

They rang in your ears in the middle of your moonlit street as Frankie walked you home, making it no less than ten steps past Santi’s porch before he froze, staring at you like a trembling deer in headlights.

“What’s wrong, weirdo?”

“There’s something I wanna do. I’m terrified you’ll hate me forever if I do it, but I’ve wanted to for so long and I don’t think I can wait anymore.”

“Frankie, what are you-”

“Can I kiss you, MacKenzie? Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“F-Frankie, I-”

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget that I-”

“I was scared you would never ask.”

It wasn’t until then you realized just how badly you wanted to kiss Frankie Morales.

Now, you’re absolutely sure that you never want to stop kissing him.

There’s something about the warmed, welcomed June air that makes you want to throw every caution you’ve ever had to the wind, finally understanding what all of those books and movies had meant about falling victim to a summer fling.

Ever since that night at prom, Frankie Morales was the only thing in the world that mattered. It had only been eight days since his lips had met yours under the midnight moon, but every day since, neither of you had passed up a chance to sneak away for stolen kisses and bodies tangled in messy dances of limbs, finding any excuse to spend a moment alone together.

Maybe your pink cheeks and goofy grins were enough to let the world know how hard you had fallen for your best friend- even if they weren’t, you wouldn’t care. Right now, consequences don't exist.

Right now, the only thing that does is you, Frankie, and a four letter word that lingers in the back of your mind.

They especially don’t exist when you’re wide awake at one in the morning for the third night in a row, unable to sleep as butterflies rumble in your stomach and fly up to your chest after another day spent with the boy four doors down.

You toss and turn under your sheets, unable to stand staring hopelessly at your ceiling another minute. You reach across your bed, plucking your phone off your nightstand, finding Frankie’s name in your messages.

You:

Hey, are you still up? I can’t sleep

It’s barely ten seconds before his contact is lighting up your screen, making your heartbeat just a little faster.

Frankie :) <3

Im up 2. I cant sleep either

Cant stop thinking about u

You:

Me either, even though we literally spent all day together haha

You smile at your screen as you wait for Frankie’s response, fingers anxiously tapping on your keyboard until your phone lights up again.

Frankie :) <3

Do u wanna come over?

I wanna see u

Your face scrunches in confusion, sitting up in your bed to peer out your window, like Frankie would be able to see your puzzled expression from down the street as you type back.

You:

I mean, yeah, but it’s 1 AM Frankie??? What about your mom?

Frankie :) <3

Shes working overnight at the hospital

She wont be back until like 9 tomorrow

Its just me

You’re unsure of how to describe the feeling that’s beginning to brew in your stomach as you read his last three texts. A strange mix of excitement and anticipation washes through you at the idea of letting yourself indulge in the teenage rebellion of sneaking out of your house in the middle of the night. An even stranger mix of nerves and something else you can’t quite explain floods your veins at the idea of sneaking out of your house to find Frankie, alone in his bedroom.

The feeling you quite can’t explain churns faster in your gut and travels down your lower half when you realize if you’re alone with Frankie in his bedroom, you want to do more than just kiss him.

You:

Are you sure??

Frankie :) <3

Promise

I really wanna see u Kenz

At this point, the strange feeling that’s seeped through every inch of your body must have made it to your brain, because you’re convinced it’s the reason you don’t know how to breathe anymore.

You:

Okay

I’ll be over in 10 :)

Frankie :) <3

Ok :)

Come in thru the back door

Txt me when ur there and ill let u in

You’ve never been up and out of your bed so quickly, fumbling with your comforter and pillows just enough to resemble something close to a body under your sheets if god forbid either one of your parents wakes up and decides to check on you for the first time since you were a toddler.

Your breath trembles, inhaling and exhaling in long and deep rises of your chest, carefully tiptoeing across your bedroom floor. You’d give anything to be in something cuter than your pajamas, but opening your closet seems like too risky of a move in your plot to escape.

You grab Frankie’s sweatshirt hanging over your desk chair, quietly shuffling it over your head before attempting to use the moonlight spilling in through your window as enough illumination to comb your fingers through your messy hair and wrangle it into a quick braid. It’s hard to tell from the half lit reflection staring back at you in the mirror, but you pray the once over you give yourself is enough to keep you from looking like a complete mess when you show up at Frankie’s door.

The adrenaline of it all seems to kick your nerves to the curb as you stuff your phone in Frankie’s sweatshirt pocket before your fingers gently wrap around the curve of your doorknob. As soon as you open the door, you’re well aware of the ramifications that could await you on the other side.

You’re also well aware that consequences are temporary, and no amount of fear of future punishment is keeping you from making it to Frankie’s bedroom tonight.

It’s a James Bond worthy performance, the way you sneak down your staircase, avoiding every crack and creak with expertise, stealthily sliding past your parents bedroom and across the family room until you’ve crept through your kitchen to find your back patio.

You flinch with every squeal of the sliding glass door as you nudge it open, just enough to squeeze your body through. You grimace your face in fear as you pause, back to the bricks of your house, waiting for someone to catch you in the act.

A few moments pass and the silence of your home stays stagnant, giving you the all clear to bolt across your backyard, dashing through your neighbors lawns until you find yourself at Frankie’s, hands shaking as your fingers punch at your keyboard.

You:

I’m here! Let me in!

As your thumb presses send, your adrenaline has waived just enough to let the anxious tension take hold of your body, palms sweating and heart racing so fast it just may beat out of your chest. Your teeth gnaw at your fingernails, waiting for his response to text you that he’ll be right there, or he’s about to let you in, but this is Frankie- It should be no surprise when he opens the back door immediately. There’s not a chance in hell he hasn’t been waiting for you down here since the moment you texted him you were coming.

“Hi.” You whisper, biting down your lip to contain the smile that’s spread across your face as he’s opened the door.

“Hi.” He whispers back, tongue darting between his lips as his eyes wander up and down your frame before locking with yours.

His palm grazes your cheek, cradling your jaw as he steps into you, chest to chest while your lips lock in a gentle, electric kiss, the kind that makes you want the taste of him to linger on your tongue forever.

“You wanna go up to my room?” He asks, the hot breath of his words dancing across your skin as his mouth still hovers over yours.

Before, you would have quipped him with some sort of witty, sarcastic response, teasing him that you’d rather stay out in the pitch black and get eaten by mosquitos until he dragged you inside, eyes rolling at your sass. Now, the best you can manage are shaky breaths while you nod your head in agreement, praying your brain will let you form some sort of coherent thought before you speak.

Frankie grabs your hand as he pulls you into his house, taking the familiar path through his kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom, the pounding in both your chests filling the silence for the words you seem to lack.

He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him as you make it to his room, your bodies tangling and intertwining in a frantic dance, stumbling across the floor until the backs of Frankie’s knees collide with the bed, the two of you toppling over in soft giggles onto the mattress.

“Fuck, I missed you.” Frankie sighs, one arm wrapped around your hip and the other resting on your face as he leans back in for another kiss, your smiles pressed against each other.

“It’s only been like, three hours since I saw you last, dummy,” You quietly snicker, letting your hands wander up his chest, “You really missed me that much?”

“Yeah, really.” He replies in between kisses, fingers digging just a little bit deeper into your side, “I can’t stop thinking about you, Kenzie. You’re all I think about. You’re all I ever wanna think about.”

You try to swallow the lump that’s lingering in your throat, but with each second that passes, it seems to grow, trapping the words your brain is fighting to get out. The simple bliss you’ve found in pressing your mouth to Frankie’s has become overshadowed by the looming tension spreading through you as you imagine the soft plush of his lips across your skin, or the way you want his hands to creep down the waistband of your shorts and ease the ache that’s been building between your legs.

Your body freezes at the realization that you want to tell him that you can’t stop thinking about him either, that you can’t stop thinking about the fact you want more than just his lips pressed against yours, how you want him to be the first one you feel inside you, that he’s the only one you ever want.

That there’s nothing more than you want to be his.

It doesn’t take long for Frankie to realize he’s making out with a half open mouth, pulling away with concern as he studies the pained expression across your face.

“Kenz, a-are, are you okay? D-did I do something wrong?” Frankie stammers, gulping as he shifts himself to follow your lead and sit up on the bed.

“N-no, no, it’s just that- fuck- I just- fuck, I don’t know how to say this.” You stutter, face growing hotter and hotter as you furrow your brow, eyes peeled to Frankie’s blue and green plaid sheets as you try to find the words you want so desperately for him to hear.

Frankie reaches out his hand, gently resting it on the bare skin of your thigh, just below the hem of your pajama shorts. You glance down at the way his fingers carefully rub back and forth, trying to calm your nerves enough to look at him.

“It’s okay, Kenzie. Whatever it is, I’m- I’m here to listen.” He responds, trying his best to be the anchor in your storm, despite his own nearly shot nerves.

“I- I- I really like you, Frankie.”

“I really like you too, Kenz.” He smiles softly, just enough teasing inflection in his tone to get you to giggle, just a little.

“I just- I- um, do you- Frankie, do you- do you ever think about doing more than just kissing me?”

A stark silence fills the room, quiet enough that each breath through your nose and thump in your chest amplifies and echoes in the space between you. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek watching Frankie’s face go blank, eyes widening with every second he lets your question process. His Adam’s Apple bobs in sync with the trembling exhale he takes before he looks back at you, praying that your word vomit hasn’t led to a detrimental mistake.

“Do um, holy shit- you mean like, l-like what? Like, like, h-having sex? W-w-with you?”

He’s panting like he’s just finished a marathon, his eyes darting wildly between you and his sheets, terrified to answer your question with anything else but his own question to make sure he’s really just heard what you said.

The tops of your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you nod your head just enough, the subtle shake just enough to let him confirm his suspicions that you’re asking as a way of letting him know how often it’s crossed your mind.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I think about it.” He stammers, feeling his fingers tremble against your skin, hand still resting on your thigh, “D-do- do you? Um, think about it?”

“Yeah.” You whisper, voice shaking as you reach down to lay your hand over his, letting your fingers slide between the gaps between his knuckles until they intertwine, gripping each other tightly, there was no chance the other could float away.

The silence shifts to a different type of tension, a thickness in the air so palpable, it makes it just as hard to move as it does to breathe. The two of you stare at the interlocked hand resting on your thigh, stuck in a game of chicken of who dares to make the first move into the uncharted territory you’ve entered.

“I- I’ve never-”

“Me either.” Frankie interjects, cutting off the end of your statement.

It’s almost humorous to admit it out loud, like the both of you didn’t already share every detail of your lives with one another, and had somehow managed to let this fact fall between the cracks.

The two of you let out quiet laughs to yourselves, finding comfort in the comradery to work up enough courage to let your gazes meet again, wondering if Frankie can see the same yearning in your eyes as you see reflected in the soft brown his.

“MacKenzie, I- I-” he mutters, scrunching his face with his swallow, trying to compose himself, “I only wanna do what you wanna do. I don’t- um, I don’t want you to think that if- if you don’t want to, o-or whatever, that I would be mad. I promise I would never, ever be mad at you because of that. Y-you know that, right?”

“I know.”

There’s not a part of you that doubts it. Not for a second. You know that there’s no one else on the face of this earth you trust more than him.

There could be no one else but him.

“You know I would never be mad at you either, right?” You ask, relieved as you watch Frankie gently nod his head.

You’re not sure if it’s instinct or the weight of the tension that makes you lean into him, foreheads pressing together so that the messy curls of his sleepy hair are tickling your skin. You can hear how hard his heart is beating, waiting on your every breath as he leans back into you.

“I want to. I want you, Frankie.”

“F-fuck- Are you sure?” He asks, his free hand creeping across the sheets, carefully sliding up your thigh and under his sweatshirt you’re wearing, letting his fingers toy at the softness of your stomach and the waistband of your shorts.

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, your own hand traveling up his leg and towards the tented fabric of his pajama bottoms.

“I-if it’s too much, t-tell me to stop, okay? I promise I’ll take care of you, MacKenzie.”

“I know you will. I trust you, Frankie.”

“O-okay.”

“Okay.”

It’s then your mouths crash together in a messy dance of tounges and teeth, an instant electricity igniting in your core with anticipation and want. It’s frantic yet sensual, the way there’s nothing more you want than him, but can’t bear to miss a moment to take it all in, savoring every second you melt into him.

As your hands wander across each other’s bodies, Frankie shifts you to lay on your back so he can cage his frame over yours, the ends of his fingers barely daring to roam any farther than just below your hips or too far above your stomach.

“C-can I take off your shirt?” He asks, already breathless at just the sight of you underneath him.

“Technically your shirt, Morales.” You smirk, making his cheeks turn even more pink at the way you giggle when you say his name.

“It’s yours now, looks way better on you than it does on me. Drives me fucking crazy seeing you in my clothes, Kenz.” He grins, carefully tugging your sweatshirt and the shirt underneath it above your head as you lift up your arms, helping him wriggle it free.

As you pop out from under the fabric, the first thing you notice is the way Frankie’s jaw is hanging open, eyes wide as can be as they stay glued to your bare chest.

“Holy shit.” Frankie whispers to himself, tongue darting between his lips, staring at the way your nipples have hardened from being exposed and aroused. “Um, w-wow.”

Seeing you topless sparks something in him to do the same, reaching over his shoulder to tug his t-shirt off his back and over his head, leaving nowhere for the heave of each heavy rise and fall of your chests to hide.

Slowly, Frankie lets his hands slide up your stomach until he’s palming your breasts, grouping each one in his hands, making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as his fingers brush against your sensitive buds.

He leans down to kiss you, starting at your lips before trailing down your neck and collarbone, until he reaches your chest, carefully kissing each handful he has in his grasp.

You’ve never felt your core ache the way it does now, throbbing with want and need for more, just from the way Frankie’s groping you. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling- you’ve touched yourself before with this exact scenario playing in your mind, but never has it made you feel like this.

“Y-you can take off my shorts, i-if you want.”

“O-kay.”

The gentleness of Frankie’s gaze makes your heart skip a beat, the chocolate brown of his eyes locked on yours as he scoots himself down the bed until he finds himself settled between your legs, now parted open for him.

It’s then you’re overtly aware that Frankie is about to see you completely naked, a new wave of anxiety crashing through you as heat rises in your cheeks and makes you fidget the fabric of his sheets between your fingers.

“I- I- I’m not wearing cute underwear. S-sorry.” You stammer, wincing as Frankie’s thumbs begin to dip below your waistband.

“Seriously, Kenz?” He chuckles, pausing in his tracks to shake his head in disbelief, “Do you really think I care what underwear you have on right now?”

“Well, n-no, but-”

“You really think I’m about to turn down having sex with you because you’re not in the right underwear? That you won’t even have on in like, three seconds?” Frankie snickers, trying to help ease your clearly visible nerves.

“Shut up.” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you playfully swat at him, forgetting about the fact you were topless and immediately clamming up again as you felt your breasts sway against your chest. “S-sorry, I- I’m just kinda nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” Frankie questions gently, wrapping his hand around your calf, thumb softly circling your skin.

“Well you’re about to see me naked for the first time, Frankie. I think that’s a pretty fair reason to be nervous.” You force the stifled laugh stuck in your throat, attempting to uphold any confidence you have left in your facade.

“You’re about to see me naked too, Kenz. Would it make you feel better if you saw me pantless first?”

He says it like he’s teasing, but you know there’s a part of him that’s serious- that he’d do anything to make you feel better, even something as simple as being the first to forgo any clothes on his bottom half.

“No, I know, Frankie, it’s just-”

“Do you know how beautiful I think you are?”

It catches you off guard, how quick he is to stifle your protest, the warmth of his words flushing your cheeks, now shifting to fit the delicate grin that’s growing between them.

“You’re so beautiful, MacKenzie. Everything about you, I swear.”

He must feel the butterflies churning in your stomach, his hands sliding down your thighs to grab your sides, leaning over to press soft kisses just above your waistband. He stares up at you once more, giving each other subtle nods of reassurance as his fingers play with the elastic, carefully helping you to lift your hips just enough to shuffle your bottoms down your legs until they’re a crumpled pile on the floor.

It eases the tension that’s built throughout your body as you watch in real time how Frankie’s brain short circuits, mesmerized by the view that’s revealed itself between your legs. You timidly squirm your lower half against the sheets, just enough to feel the sticky warmth of your arousal that’s been pooling since the minute you stepped foot in Frankie’s bedroom.

“H-holy- holy fuck. O-oh my god.” Frankie murmurs to himself, eyes locked on the puffy, wet mess of your pussy, “MacKenzie, I- wow. C-can, um, can I touch you?”

“Mmhmm. Y-you can touch me, Frankie. F-fuck, I want you to. Please.” You whisper, letting your legs part for him more, clit pulsing with anticipation to feel Frankie’s fingers.

“I-if it doesn’t feel good o-or, you know, you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?”

“Okay, Frankie.”

You didn’t even know it was possible to feel this wound up, every throb of your core pulsing through your body with so much intensity you’re convinced you may explode if Frankie doesn’t touch you this second.

The pads his fingers gently slide over your swollen lips, collecting the slick that clings to them before he brings them to your clit, his precise and delicate touch still making you gasp the moment he starts to circle around your sensitive nub. He swirls his fingers with the lightest touch like you’re made of glass, scared he’ll break you if he dares to push too hard.

“You can, fuck- you can press more if you want.”

“Okay. I just- I didn’t wanna hurt you, or anything.”

The corner of your lips curl with a soft smile, the stiffness in your muscles relaxing with how warm and safe he makes you feel.

“I-in the same place, though? Same circles, just like, more pressure?” He asks, quietly calculating his next move as you shake your head in response.

Frankie begins to circle again, slowly increasing the weight of his fingers against your clit, brushing against it in just the right way to make you whimper in delight.

“Oh my god-” You sigh, breath hitching in the back of your throat.

“Good oh my god, or bad oh my god?” Frankie questions, terrified he’s done something to upset you.

“No- no, good oh my god. K-keep doing that.” You stammer, pulse quickening as a familiar tingle of pleasure begins to build in your stomach.

Your reassurance gives Frankie the boost of confidence he needs, drawing tight circles around your nub with the pads of his fingers for a few moments, until his thumb takes over, leaving his middle two fingers free, ghosting over your entrance.

There’s a louder moan as Frankie barely slips his middle finger inside of you, lightly prodding in and out of your hole, welcoming the new fullness in the warmth and wet of your walls.

He pumps a few more times, letting his finger sink deeper with each stroke until he’s knuckle deep, reaching further than any spot you’ve been able to feel yourself. It’s when a second digit joins his first that you feel nearly breathless, the stretch and sting making you wince for a moment as you adjust, realising how much thicker and stronger his fingers are than your own when you touch yourself.

Frankie immediately notices your tense expression, quickly pulling back, raising his hands like he’s been caught in the act, guilt ridden look painted across his face.

“Fuck, Kenzie, are you okay? Did I hurt you? Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay, Frankie! It feels good, I promise, your fingers are just a lot bigger than mine.”

He tilts his head in confusion for a second until the lightbulb clicks with him that he’s not the only one in the room who's ever been horny and taken care of themself to help solve their problem.

“Wh-what do you think about? Wh-when, when you touch yourself?” He asks with a quiet caution.

“I- I think about you, Frankie.”

You answer without hesitation. Not to appease him, not to convince yourself, but because it’s the truth. You’ve thought about him more times than you can count.

Your answer ignites another spark of self-assurance in him, carefully letting his thumb swirl against your clit as his middle finger gently slides back into your entrance, working up to the same tempo he was at a few moments ago.

“I think about you, too. All the time.” He confesses, a willing admittance now that you’re laying your cards out on the table for him.

“Well, there was one time, a long time ago, I thought about Orlando Bloom after I watched Pirates of the Caribbean.”

You’re not sure what spurs on your unnecessary addition to your comment, but it makes you and Frankie both snort, needing a moment to compose yourself from your fit of giggles.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re really into pirates?” Frankie laughs, biting down on his lip.

“No, you dork! That’s not- Jesus, you know what, forget I ever said anything, okay?” You sigh, rolling your eyes at Frankie, trying to will away the reds and pinks that plague your cheeks.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Kenz, don’t worry.” He teases, his smile slowly shifting to a stoic sort of concentration as he stares down at his fingers pressed against your pussy. “I- I wanna try something.”

“What?”

“Can I um, can I go down on you?”

“Wait, really?”

Despite your own inexperience, you weren’t naive enough to ignore the rumblings from friends of friends, or stories of girls on your soccer team, constantly complaining about how all their boyfriends wanted them to suck their dicks with nothing in return. They’d claim it was gross, or weird, or that it would taste disgusting, so you’d be hard pressed to not believe that every boy under the sun mostly likely found themselves in the same school of thought.

“Do you not want me to?” Frankie questions, trying to hide the small pang of disappointment you’re sure he feels in his chest at your puzzled reaction.

“N-no, it’s just that- I didn’t think that- I thought guys thought that was gross.”

“What? Who said that?” Frankie scoffs.

“I don’t know, like, Sarah and Morgan from the soccer team always complained about how their boyfriends never wanted to because they said it was gross or whatever.”

“Well Sarah and Morgan’s boyfriends have a single brain cell left between them after all the hits they’ve taken during football this season.”

The two of you laugh again, finding relief in the way your friendship prevails through the discomfort.

“You really don’t think it’s gross?”

“No. I- I think it’s kinda hot.”

It’s now Frankie’s cheeks that are flushed with crimson, trying his best to hide his embarrassment. You can tell he has more he wants to say from the way his eyes dart between yours and the bed, forcing you to tilt your head with that little nod he knows means that you’ll keep pestering him until he breaks. Lucky for you, it won’t take much.

“Santi stole this DVD from his cousin's house, and honestly most of it was so stupid because obviously it's all fake. Like, no one’s that excited to get fucked at a doctor’s office. But anyways, there was this one part at the beginning where uh- where the guy goes down on the girl and I- um, I don’t know. I- I wanted to try it, I guess.”

“Really didn’t think I was gonna have to worry about not picturing Santi in my head tonight.”

You and Frankie giggle as you pretend to gag at the thought of Santi becoming a part of you losing your virginity, praying there never comes a day he finds out he’s in part to thank for Frankie’s peaked curiosity.

“I- I want you to. If you want to.”

“I want to. Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.”

The pace of your pulse begins to quicken again, watching the way Frankie’s face lights up as he races to position himself between your legs, laying flat against the mattress with his face hovering above your heat, his hot, trembling breath tickling your folds.

You swear he licks his lips before his mouth meets you, but the slow, long drag of his tongue across your clit already has your head thrown back against his pillow, the warmth and wetness lighting you up from the inside out with jolts of electric pleasure.

He repeats it a few more times, languidly lapping in smooth and steady strokes, each with just a little more pressure than the last. It’s instinctual, how you buck your hips towards his face, like your body knows it wants more before your brain can process it, signaling to Frankie you’ve given him the okay to keep going, to give you more.

Little gasps escape your parted lips as his tongue moves faster, circling your clit the same way he had with his thumb, making your body melt into the mattress. It’s almost unearthly, how good it feels, little fires igniting in your stomach with every flick of his tongue.

You don’t mean to startle him with how loudly you whimper as he intensifies the pressure, mouth still latched around your clit while his brown eyes peek up at you, breathlessly nodding to him that he shouldn’t dare to stop now.

He takes it as a sign to test the waters even further, letting his middle finger be sucked into the warmth of your velvety walls before ever so carefully sliding in another. The stretch is still there but the sting has faded, his fingers a welcomed addition to ease the way you realize you’ve been clenching around nothing, subconsciously desperate to fill the empty ache in your core.

Inch by inch, he sinks them deeper until you feel him bump against a soft spot inside you that makes you scream in a way you’ve never felt before, fireworks exploding everywhere in your body as his tongue and fingers work in tandem.

A familiar tingle rapidly begins to build at the base of your spine, except the same type of tingle you’ve experienced alone has never multiplied and compounded in the same way this one does.

Desperate for something to grab on to, one hand fists at Frankie’s sheets, the other, shooting down to the messy curls of his hair, burying your fingers until they disappear under his unkempt locks.

You’re not sure if you’re so pleasure drunk you can’t think straight, but you swear you can feel that stupid, smug smirk pressed against your pussy as you hold onto him for dear life.

He keeps the same pace with his tongue, fingers prodding in just the right spot to make you feel like you’re losing control, limbs numb and shaking like jello as you feel the tingle creep down your legs and up through your chest.

“F-Frankie, I- oh fuck- fuck, oh my god, fuck, I- I- oh my go-ahhhhhhhhhh-”

It’s all consuming, the way the pleasure washes over you, like waves crashing into the shoreline- relentless and never ending. There’s a moment you’re convinced your body’s left this planet, floating off in space in a cloud of endless ecstasy.

You’re not sure how long you’re lost in the electricity of it all- Minutes? Hours? Years? You’d believe any and all of the above. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as you come to, greeted with the image of Frankie still settled between your legs, wild haired and goofy grinned.

“Frankie…. Holy fuck.”

A beaming, boyish smile lights up across his face at the way you’re panting, wiping the shiny slick stained around his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah? D-did it feel good? Did you um- did you-”

“Yeah. Holy shit. Remind me to thank Santi’s cousin if I ever meet him.”

“Jesus Christ…” Frankie sighs, rolling his eyes at your giggles, heart melting at the way he can’t hide his rosy cheeks and curled lips every time he looks at you, “It felt good though? Like, Actually?”

“Yeah, it felt really good, Frankie.” You coo, watching Frankie prop himself up to sit back on his haunches, letting your gaze wander down his bare chest until you reach the clearly tented fabric of his pajama pants, lingering just long enough for him to notice where you’re staring.

Silent tension fills the room again, the both of you realizing that you’ve only conquered one part of the journey you’ve embarked on together, and that the second half of your travels pose many more risks than the first. Frankie is the only one you want by your side as you brave your adventure together.

With a little push, your back parts with his mattress, sitting up to close the gap between you. You’re close enough now that your hands can roam up his thighs, softly palming at the stiff bulge straining under his pants.

“Oh f-fuck-” Frankie stutters, jaw going slack with ever pass your hand makes over his erection.

“Can I take off your pants, Frankie?” You whisper, burying your head in the crook of his neck, craning your head just enough so that the hot words of your breath dance in his ear.

You can barely finish your sentence before Frankie’s scrambling off the edge of the bed, standing up straight to give you the easiest access to shuffle his pajamas down while you kneel on the mattress.

You pray Frankie can’t feel the way your fingers shake as they sink under his waistband and brush against his stomach, pulling his bottoms down just slow enough to memorize the subtle V that sinks between his hips, or the soft trail of barely there brown hair under his belly button that thickens with every tug.

With one final breath, you slide them down enough to finally free what’s been hiding underneath, his length fully hard, bobbing as it springs free. This must have been what it felt like for Frankie, understanding the way his eyes went wide and brain went blank after he saw you for the first time.

It’s not like it’s a surprise to you, the concept of what he’s had tucked away in his pants.

What does, is how the sight of it nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“F-Frankie… Holy shit.”

“What? I-is something wrong?” He winces, immediately bracing himself for the worst.

“No, it’s just- just like, Holy shit, Frankie.” You reiterate, making it very clear you’re more than impressed as you gesture at what’s hanging in front of you.

“O-oh, t-thanks.” He stutters, a sweet shyness overtaking him as a result of your admiration.

You scoot yourself closer, a boldness overcoming you as you delicately wrap your hand around his length, slowly sliding it up and down his shaft. You pray that whatever you’re doing feels okay, but from the way Frankie’s whimpers and moans escape from his parted lips, you take it as a sign you’re safe to take another step further.

“Since you went down on me, do you want me to go down on-”

“N-no!” He pauses, drowning his face in his palm for the way he’s panicking, making you drop him from your grasp, “No, I- uh- shit- sorry, sorry, no it’s just- No, not because I don’t want you to- b-believe me, I really want you to. Like, really want you to.”

“O-okay, so?”

He must feel awful for the puzzled and pained expression on your face, reaching with both hands to cradle your jaw, making sure your gaze is fixated on him.

“I’m sorry, I promise nothing’s wrong, I just- fuck- I don’t wanna cum yet and I know if you go down on me, I will in like two seconds, and I wanna cum when we’re having sex. I-if you still wanna, ya know, have sex. Jesus, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I freaked out like that. I think I’m- I’m nervous, too. ”

The top of your teeth graze your lower lip, batting your lashes in heavy, long blinks, your lips curling in a sympathetic smile that you’re not alone in your uneasiness. Finding comfort in the uncomfortability, together. Knowing how easy it would be for him to play it all off like no big deal, or pretend to mask the confidence he lacks, and yet, he doesn’t, makes you want him even more.

“Do you still want to? I- I’m nervous too, but I want to. It makes me feel less nervous that it’s with you.”

The tender kiss he plants on your lips as your bodies move in sync down the bed is the only answer you need, shuffling backwards towards the pillows while Frankie hovers his body over you, mouths only parting to let you settle into the mattress.

Each kiss becomes more frantic and desperate than the last, mouths melting together as your tongues wrestle. The way he kisses you is all consuming, enough to make you feel like the only people in the world that exist in this moment are you and him.

“You sure you want to?” He gasps, fighting for his words to escape his parted lips.

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, barely soft enough for him to hear.

The two of you nod, Frankie shifting his weight to reach across you, shuffling through the drawer of his nightstand until he fishes out the box of condoms he has hidden away. He sits back on his knees, carefully ripping a square from the line of packages, tossing the rest over the side of the bed. He’s even more delicate as he tears the edge of the foil he’s holding in his hands, removing the rubber and methodically rolling it down over his shaft.

“It’s on right... Right?”

“Yeah. I practiced putting them on earlier this week so I didn’t look like a complete idiot when I tried to do it the first time. Although I think telling you that probably makes me look like an even bigger idiot.”

“No it doesn’t,” You softly reassure him, “I’d rather have you do that than put it on wrong. I don’t want any of your babies yet, Morales.”

Yet.

You’re not sure what makes your brain decide to add those three letters into your sentence. You’re also not sure why you don’t hate that it did. There’s a part of you that thinks there’s a chance that maybe Frankie didn't hear it, but you know that boy would die before he stopped hanging onto every word that fell from your lips.

There’s a part of you that also swears he’s trying with everything in him to keep from smiling.

Your attention shifts with Frankie’s body, hovering back over yours with his fist wrapped around the base of his shaft, sinking his hips to line himself up with your entrance. His tip brushes against your clit, a familiar jolt of pleasure swirling in your stomach at how you clench around nothing, anxious and aching to feel him inside you.

“I-if it’s too much, or it doesn’t feel good, or you wanna stop, just-”

“I know, Frankie. I’ll tell you, I promise.”

Your low exhale syncs with Frankie’s gulp, each of you bracing yourselves as you finally feel his tip breach inside you. You try your best to relax, squirming your bottom half with each inch Frankie sinks himself deeper. You’re sure there’s a wince as he pushes past the halfway point- not painful, but a sting and stretch in a way you’ve never felt. Frankie freezes, gently grabbing your hip.

“You good, Kenzie? You want me to stop?”

“No, I’m okay, just kind of stings a little, but it still feels good. Maybe if you didn’t have such a big dick, it wouldn’t be a problem.” You tease, letting out a little huff of laughter.

It’s now Frankie’s turn to scrunch the muscles of his face, cocking your head at the grit of his teeth.

“Frankie, are you okay?”

“Yup. Yup, I’m good. When you laughed it squeezed my dick and it felt really good and I’m trying not to make a fucking fool of myself right now.”

“Sorry, no more laughing, got it.” You grimace, desperately trying not to giggle at Frankie’s pained concentration as he shakes his head at you. “Y- you can keep going, though.”

“F-fuck, o-okay.”

There’s another deep breath before he’s pushing his hips towards you, taking his time as you feel the pain start to shift to indescribable pleasure, the feeling of how full he is inside of you making every wire in your brain short circuit.

“Holy fucking shit.” Frankie whispers under his breath, “Fuck, you feel so good, MacKenzie.”

You wish you had the words to tell him how you feel the same, but the best you can muster is a muffled moan that escapes from your unhinged jaw, brain empty at the sweet stretch of his fullness, stagnant inside you.

F-fuck Frankie. Oh my god.” You murmur, letting the muscles of your face untense so the weight of your eyelids can flutter open, soaking in the image of Frankie above you. The rest of your body follows, slowly beginning to relax as you adjust, yearning for more than just his hips flushed against yours. “Y-you can move, Frankie.”

He lets his arms sink from the plank he’s holding, letting your chests flush together so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck, groaning into your skin with the first thrust of his hips, steadily sliding in and out of your heat, savoring every second of the sensation.

“You still okay, baby?” Frankie coos into your ear, the new nickname only adding to the way you want to clench down around his length as he keeps his languid pace, dragging his cock along the warmth and wetness of your walls.

“Mhmmm. You can go faster, i-if you want. F-fuck, it feels so good, Frankie.”

The way you whimper and whine his name sets off a low rumble deep in his chest, lips locking with yours as you feel him pump just a little harder, his length nudging the same, savory spot he had found before with his fingers. Your hand shoots up to wrap around his bicep, nails marking crescent moons in his skin.

Every move he makes is solely based on your reaction, reading the way your body responds to him before daring to take a step further. Your iron grip and sweet moans are enough to spur him on further, a steady rhythm now working through each thrust of his hips.

There’s a new knot in your stomach that starts to tighten, building in your gut and slowly creeping its way to spread throughout your body. The coarse hairs curling at the base of his shaft brush against your clit just enough to spark a jolt of electricity to your core, bucking your hips into his with each thrust. You’re desperate to reach the same high he had given you before, eager to ease the ache of your sensitive bud.

Frankie picks up on the way you rut back into him, snaking his hand down your front, making just enough space between your bodies to let the pads of his fingers find your clit. The pressure he adds with the circles and swirls makes your breath hitch in the back of your throat, overwhelmed with arousal by how all encompassing Frankie is.

It’s hard to believe how quickly you find yourself becoming addicted to him, your body yearning to become one with his and never separate. You want your heart, your soul, for all of it to be his, and only his, to be unable to find where you end and he begins.

The only thing you want is to be his.

With each stroke, your pussy flutters faster around his length, the tingle that had formed at the base of your spine now seeping through your veins, teetering on the brink of collapse.

“F-fuck- fuck, Frankie, don’t stop. Fuck, I- I think I’m- I’m close.”

If it was anyone else, there would be no words to describe the embarrassment from the pathetic whimper you let out at the way Frankie groans while he punches into you. A look of pained concentration splays across his face, focusing with every brain cell he has left to make sure you finish first.

“Shit- I- I- fuck, I’m close, too.” He stutters, chest heaving in between each word.

He presses his forehead into yours, meeting you with the tacky sheet of sweat that now clings to his skin and dampens his curls. His scent, his warmth, the weight of his body laid across yours- you almost dare to wish that this moment, this feeling, would never end.

But the way he whispers your name, each letter warm and tickling your skin, a sweet symphony only he can sing is what sends you over the edge, pushing you past the point of no return.

“M-MacKenzie… f-fuck, MacKenzie-”

Each syllable is an explosion inside you, lighting you up to send sparks through every last limb until you’re sobbing his name, singing his own sweet song back to him.

“Frankie, Frankie, Frankiefrankiefrankie-ahhhhh-”

The dam inside you finally breaks, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through you as you squeeze around him, swallowed whole by the electricity of it all.

There’s not much your mind can process after you snap, but there’s enough strength left to keep your gaze locked on Frankie and the way he gasps as his jaw drops after you’ve finished. He’s just as lost as you, relishing in your afterglow as he chases his own high, each thrust more sloppy and erratic than the last.

“Fuck, fuck, holy shit MacKenzie, fuck, I’m gonna cum so ha-aaaaahhh-”

There’s only one last shift of his hips before he’s spilling into the condom, a final moan that follows his release as he collapses into you. Your chests rise and fall in sync, breaths heavy as you pant in the soft silence that fills the room.

The quiet brings a gentle comfort, basking in the bliss that radiates off each of you as you let yourselves drift back to earth, praying it gives you enough time to remember how to speak.

It’s Frankie who arrives back first, too consumed with your own journey back to hear the way his voice breaks as he carefully whispers your name.

“MacKenzie?”

“Yeah, Frankie?”

“C-can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

His sweet call brings you back, thumb brushing against the warmth of his cheek, waiting on every word he's working himself up to say.

“MacKenzie, I- MacKenzie, I- I think I love you.”

It's then you're sure your heart stops- four little letters forcing a smile so wide across your face, your positive your cheeks may hurt for days after.

Maybe, if you're lucky, they'll keep hurting like this for the rest of your life.

“Can I tell you something, Morales? I think I might just love you, too.”

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland @guelyury

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

318 notes · View notes

love-belle · 2 years ago

Text

i want sweet revenge and i want him again !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which their post break-up era is them ignoring their feelings and making the worst decisions.

for when they will always be your summer love. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // pierre gasly x fem!reader

sequel - you were my summer love ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - posting this at 3am bc i have midterms from monday and it's very unlikely i'll post again this month 💔💔💔💔 i love u all so much thank u for reading <3

≡;- ꒰ °twitter ꒱

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by gracieabrams, charles_leclerc, conangray and 789,725 others

yourusername "get him back!" is finally out!!!! i wrote this song in my car after breaking down over the consequences of my own actions and getting yelled at by my twitter girlies <3 summer was fun i had fun we all had fun but the aftermath is not pretty so fuck them boys u all stay happy and thriving hydrated!!!! get ur sweet revenge and get him back!!!!! but fr pls tell his mom her son sucks ❤️

8,628 comments

username there's too much going on idk what to decipher first

username the caption omg 💀💀💀

username her captions never fail to blow me away like girl 90% of these things do not belong here 😭😭😭😭😭

username not her telling us to get our man back but also tell his mom that her son sucks

-> username top tier advice idc

username THE SONG'S A FUCKING BOP OMG

username those lyrics are so her and him coded like 💔💔💔💔💔

charles_leclerc don't call me weird

-> yourusername this is so unprovoked get out

-> username nah what the fuck is charles doing here 😭😭😭😭

-> username CHARLES????

username "bc everyone knew the guy was missing a screw" BABE LET HIM GO!!!!!!!!

username THE TEXT OH MY GOD

username i miss her and that dude ngl

-> username no bc they were so cute together 💔💔💔

-> username why do men ruin everything 😐😐😐😐😐

username "i can fix him" GIRL YOU ARE WORSE THAN HIM

-> yourusername UNCALLED FOR

username i fucking love her and her fans so much like the way we're all js best friends with her and she's sooooo in touch with her fans ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

-> yourusername not true u all js bully me

-> username bc u make stupid decisions

-> yourusername ://

username y/n having beef with 80% of her fans will never not be funny to me like wdym ur FANS bully u

-> yourusername i have proof and im not afraid to use it

-> username "proof" and it's literally just her being a dumbass and us having NORMAL reactions to it

-> yourusername FURTHER PROOF UR HONOUR

username so MUCH for summer LOVE and saying US cause u weren't mine to LOSEEEE

username this is sooo 2000s romcom coded idc

landonorris WEIRD??? ME???

-> yourusername GET OUT OF MY COMMENTS SECTION THIS ISN'T ABT Y'ALL

-> username what the fuck is doing on

-> username im so out of loop wtfff

username "i want sweet revenge and i want him again" unhinged behaviour fr

username every time we think she's healing she comes back and writes a song that's basically a BIG cry for help like girl pls we're getting tired 💔

≡;- ꒰ °twitter ꒱

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by pierregasly, formulaone44, lec1ercc and 79,728 others

paddock.club rumours have been swirling around pierre gasly and his anonymous girlfriend, who's affectionately called 'augustine' by his fans, and their alleged break-up for weeks now. the said rumours were confirmed as gasly was seen out in monaco and he certainly wasn't alone — or with just one consistent company. "this may confuse some people but they were very different from each other," sources close to the couple claimed. "after summer break ended, it felt like so did whatever they had going on." this comes as a shock as despite knowing almost nothing about augustine, fans adored her and they're devasted about the end of their summer love. click on the link in our bio for everything that we know about their relationship.

comments are disabled for this post

≡;- ꒰ °twitter ꒱

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, carlossainz55, landonorris and 825,527 others

pierregasly you're trippin'

9,638 comments

username NAH THE AUDACITY OF M*N SOMETIMES

username BROTHER IM STILL RECOVERING FROM THE AUGUSTINE REVEAL SLOW DOWN

username HELLO???????? HE'S SEEING SOMEONE???????

-> username "he said i was the only girl but that js wasn't the truth"

username the fact that he used HER lyrics for his caption like..........im SICK rn

username when 😭 i 😭 told 😭 him 😭 how 😭 he 😭 hurt 😭 me 😭 he 😭 told 😭 me 😭 i 😭 was 😭 trippin 😭

username im actually in shock rn like my jaw is on the FLOOR

landonorris caption 😬

username no bc im here thinking like she called his friends weird 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 that's why charles and lando were so offended in the comments 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

username boy she's over there listening to summer love by one direction WHAT R U DOING

username that's not y/n in the last slide and im throwing up rn i need them BACK

username need this all to be a nightmare bc i cannot fucking do this anymore 💔💔💔💔

username it's on SIGHT when i see u on streets

username im so 💔💔💔💔💔

username y'all i feel bad for bullying y/n bc if i were her i too wouldn't move on from this man

-> username fr like we gave her sm shit for being in love with him and im like "girlypop same omg"

-> username real like i see what she saw

charles_leclerc nice choice for caption 👍 very strong words 👍

username here for charles and lando calling him out for the caption like yasss kings ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ do ur work ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username y/n needs to be more cunty rn bc this is so wtf

username L caption 🤣🤣🤣🤣🫵🫵🫵🫵

username im gonna miss their summer love era so much like we were FED ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username "and when he said something wrong he'd just fly me to france" WOW OKAYYYY

username something about his last post before this being all about augustine and their summer and now this one is basically shading her like 💔💔💔💔💔

username everyday we stray further away from good

username ripping my hair out why cant bitches be happy ffs

#f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #f1 imagines #social media au #fake instagram imagines #pierre gasly blurb #pierre gasly au #pierre gasly imagines #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly instagram au #pierre gasly angst #pierre gasly x ex!reader

2K notes · View notes

andreilslovechild · 2 months ago

Text

Aaron and Nicky

Okay so I vaguely discussed this on my previous post about Aaron and hatred, but I needed to say more on the topic bc it kinda just recently popped up in my head again and it's just...ugh so good.

When Aaron moved to SC, he was 13, and Nicky was like 17ish. So, depending on what year he was in, he would have been either in his junior or senior year of high school. Assuming he was in his senior year, Aaron would have only had around, let's say... around 7-8 months with him assuming they moved during the summer.

Aaron would probably have talked to Nicky a few times a year before this. Maybe once every month or two when Luther talked to Tilda, but not really anything special. They probably saw each other a few times for holidays when Luther would pay for their plane tickets. You know the classic long-distance cousins. You don't talk much, but you still know things about each other.

Then, once Aaron moved to SC after finding out about Andrew, he would have been reeling from that discovery, alone, and in a new city he'd probably only been in once or twice before. And even then, he'd probably only been to nickys house, church, and back again. So he would have clung to whatever familiarity he could find.

Him and Nicky would hang out or talk on the phone when Tilda was too high to care, and Aaron used him as an excuse to get out of the house and away from her heavy hands and the crushing silence that echoed in the new house that was already falling apart. He would have picked up on the type of language older kids used, even kids his own age really, would have tried to fit in by using it, and at the time homophobic or vaguely offensive language would have been the norm. Aaron himself may not have used them against Nicky specifically, but Nicky would have heard Aaron using things like "fag" or "gay" as an insult.

Whether Aaron knew Nicky was gay is up for debate, but it's probably likely he knew that Nicky had "strayed from the path of god" or so Luther would have put it. He'd probably heard about the conversion camp in passing, though he likely didn't know what it really was. I think it was mentioned too that Nicky tried to act straight after his experience at conversion camp somewhere in the EC, so Aaron was probably under the impression that Nicky was "cured" like Luther and Maria were.

But long story short, during those 7-8 months, nicky was Aaron's closest friend. I doubt Aaron was very social, so even after school started, he probably didn't make friends that easily, so he hung out with nicky most days, and they did their homework together or whatever. Very sibling like. I think Nicky was the one to convince Aaron to reach out to Andrew against Tilda wishes, and probably the one to comfort him when he recieved a big fuck you back. He was the closest thing Aaron had to real family.

He probably noticed nicky wasn't as happy as he liked to seem, but he was a kid and the most he could do about it was spend lots of time with him and try and get him to genuinely smile now and then.

And then there was the Germany trip.

Aaron wasn't happy Nicky was going on the trip, and Nicky was probably a bit guilty for leaving Aaron behind, but Aaron wouldn't have stopped him from going when Nicky so clearly wanted to. He thought it'd be 5 months or so, and then he'd be back. Just 5 months of crushing loneliness, and he'd have his cousin back.

I think Aaron started using properly for the first time while Nicky was gone on that exchange trip. He'd used a few times here and there before, but not regularly. And certainly not enough to crave them. But with nicky gone, he didn't have any other way to escape. He told himself he'd stop when Nicky came back, except Nicky didn't come back. Not really. He was back for maybe 2 weeks total to officially graduate and pack up his things, and then he was back to Germany because he'd found some perfect gay lovestory there. So he kept using.

I think Aaron resented Nicky leaving him for a long time. He left him alone to suffer his mother and their crazy family by himself. He may not actively realize it, but it also makes him resent nickys sexuality a bit too because if Nicky wasn't gay this wouldn't have happened, and he'd never have left him.

Then three years has come and gone, and andrew is there, Aaron's no longer alone, but Tilda dead. And then Nicky comes back to take care of them. Fights for them. Makes sure they stay with him. And he's nothing like the Nicky Aaron remembers. Well, he kind of is, but not really. He's more flamboyant and bubbly and waaay to talkative and sexual and Aaron isn't sure what to do about it. The first few times were an accident, tired and hurt, and going through withdrawal as he screamed insults at the locked bathroom door. He heard nickys voice and begged him to let him out and then insulted him when he didn't.

But he also notices afterward how they make nickys smile turn a little bit tight. And then the insults become a test. A way to push even more to see if Nicky would break. If he would hit and scream like Tilda or glare and use the stick like Luther. But he didn't. Not even a little bit. Not even once. And slowly, Aaron forgets that that's what the words were supposed to be. He just uses them casually, the insults at the tip of his tongue whenever nicky does something he can comment on. It just becomes normal. And he sees the way nicky brushes them off, but not really. He can see through the mask. But he just can't stop.

It takes years of practice and therapy and more than a few seriously uncomfortable conversations for Aaron to properly get his tongue under control. But he tries. And trying is enough for nicky when it comes to them. After all, nicky had dealt with Andrew, too, who was arguably worse in some ways.

Nicky and Aaron's relationship is infinitely complicated in so many ways. They went from distant family to friends, to strangers, guardians, and children, to finally being just cousins. It takes a long time and probably isn't until after both of them have graduated and Nicky is back in Germany, but they get there in the end, and that's the important part.

(Credit to creamka_ on ig for the art love them)

#aftg #all for the game #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #nicholas hemmick #aaron and nicky #aaron and nicky are complicated #neither of them know what to do #of whats going on #this post got a little out of hand whoops #sorry #hope you enjoy it ig?#character study #aaron and nickys complicated relationship

91 notes · View notes

queer-n-here · 1 year ago

Note

UHM-UHM-

Yeah I have no shame to just not ask anonymously- anyways!

May I please request a 6'1 reader who is stoic, bold, also handsome as Dazai but ain't a womaniser, and is VERY quiet. With Dazai. He works at the ADA with him. He follows Dazai around like literally, he acts and opens up more to Dazai than he does with others, he literally doesn't care if Dazai was In the pm (they met at 14) or abt his crimes, he can read Dazai's emotions And can see through him, they R lovers, he is loyal asf to Dazai. He Also is rich asf and has better fashion tastes! Pls make both a oneshot or hc or ANYTHING ABT THEMMMMM

(I'm very desperate BC of a certain fantasy of mine)

Ah, I gotchu you bruv.

[ Also, let's do a little quiz. What country do y'all think I originate from? Like, based on my language and writing and just... Yeah.]

And yep, I'm double posting today!

Canonically, there are no mentions of Dazai's past before the Port Mafia, so I made stuff up. Hope you like it!

Contents: Uhh...a lot. I got... *winces* I got carried away.

Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of death, suicide and violence, Dazai's life is sad and so are these hcs.

You and Dazai met when you two were 14 each. It was a chance encounter, really. Both of you were orphans, and both of you were ability users, even though Dazai knew more about his ability than you did yours.

Both of you currently had no one in the world. That was the key factor that brought you two together. Struggling to get by and find a place of your own in the world, you met.

Neither of you opened up at first, cautious and calloused as you both were. It just happened; it didn't happen one particular day, and before you two had realized, you'd become each other's sole support.

You turned fifteen, and three months later Dazai met Mori.

He told you about it later, describing in the sort of detail no one else would get to hear how he'd rescued the Port Mafia leader from an enemy gang, unintentionally impressing him and securing Dazai a place in the Mafia.

You didn't like it. The job was dangerous, and you didn't want Dazai's hands to get stained with blood. When you told him this, he laughed it off, and said that he could handle it. You dropped the matter.

He was wrong.

You watched as Dazai changed, despite his promises and assurances. He grew ruthless, cruel in a way that made you ache as you watched him, silent. He started hating everything, even himself, and sometimes you thought he hated you, too.

He had a beautiful heart, you knew. But Mori was destroying it.

You talked to Mori about it, too. You might not have anything on him, yes, he was richer and way more powerful, but you had your ability, and you were ready to fight to death. Before you could, however, Dazai intervened.

That was the first time you two fought. After that, you went to him and told him you wouldn't care if he didn't want you to. If he wanted to keep going down the path that he'd chosen, you wouldn't stop him.

Sometimes, you look back and wonder if there was something you could have done for him other than what you did. You still can't think of anything.

You opened up a small business after that, and it slowly grew to a scale larger than you had expected.

Then you two turned eighteen. Finally, you were able to register your enterprises under your own name, being a legal adult. You and Dazai got wasted that night, and you watched fondly as he tried and failed to put his coat on so you two could go and meet Ango and Odasaku.

They had probably begun then, your feelings for Dazai. You were only comfortable enough with him to actually talk, and not just say what was absolutely required and then shut up.

He knew you in a way no else did. No one else knew what it looked like when you smiled, or threw your head back and laughed freely. No one else knew what it was like when you cared, when you brought over Dazai's favorite refreshing drink every time you visited him in summer. Or when you helped him change his bandages, touch gentle and careful against his soft skin.

And you knew him the way no else did. No one else knew what it was like when he was genuine, when he'd look up at you with earnest eyes. No one else knew what it was like when he flushed slightly, the red of his skin always starting from the tips of his ears and descending to his cheeks. No one else knew what it was like when Dazai protected, when he offered to use his contacts in the Mafia to get rid of your competitors, even though you declined every time. He had enough blood on his hands without you pitching in.

Eight months after that, he left the Port Mafia. He came to your apartment crying that day. His face was ashen, his shirt was covered in blood and his lips were trembling. The tears that had been collecting in his eyes for who knows how long finally spilled when he saw you, and the only thing you could do for him in that situation was open your arms and let him cling onto you. He kept saying 'Oda's dead... He's dead...'

That night, Dazai changed. Thankfully for the better. That flame in his eyes was gone now, the one that made you worry if he would burn himself and the world.

Dazai slowly stopped hating after that. You and Ango were the only two he trusted, the only two he would be genuine with. He didn't close up in a way that hid his smile, or in a way that made him withdraw from people. Quiet the opposite. He pushed himself outward, adopting a cheery persona that joked around and bewitched everyone.

The only smiles that weren't created but slid across his face on their own were ones that he smiled with you, and Ango.

You couldn't help but feel slightly bittersweet. Dazai was out of that hellhole, that cursed gang that was making his heart black. But Odasaku was dead.

After that, as your twenties arrived, Dazai joined the Armed Detective Agency. You were happy, then.

You two celebrated at a lavish restaurant. Your business had grown to be Japan's No. 1, and the money that spilled in with it was something neither Dazai nor you had expected.

But your hopes for the ADA were too high. Sometimes, Dazai still wanted to leave. He said he wanted to kill himself, and even though he would always laugh it off, you couldn't help but notice that his eyes would always grow hollow when he spoke of it.

And so the only thing you could do was love him. You loved him and tried your best to let him know, buying him unnecessary gifts and putting him on top of your mental priority list. Even your staff knew you loved him; it was apparent and obvious.

Dazai was probably the only one that didn't notice it, that genius dumbass.

And so you tried harder. You had never been good with words, but you tried to be vocal about your feelings, telling him he was cute when you thought so, and saying that he looked good when he did.

Dazai still didn't notice. The day he found out was when you got drunk and blurted it out.

You still don't have a lot of memories from that night, and Dazai says that you passed out soon after confessing. He finds it funny now, even though he didn't back then.

Your confession made Dazai pull up a wall against you. This surprised you, hurt you, and you tried apologizing, tried to get him to just talk to you. You told him that it didn't matter if he didn't return your feelings.

Something was hurting Dazai, you could tell. But he just wouldn't talk to you, going so far as to changing his phone number without telling you.

So you showed up at his workplace. Kunukida knew you by sight; you often came to pick Dazai up from work. You two had a big fight, shouting in one hallway of the agency building, making such a ruckus that Ranpo and the others came over to watch.

It ended with Dazai turning around to leave, and you were planning to let him go. But then you saw a tear glisten at his cheek last moment, and hence gave chase.

You chased him down all the way from Yokohoma to Kawasaki, only stopping when Dazai collapsed in the middle of a street, his frame shaking with sobs as he started hyperventilating. You crouched down beside him and pulled him to your chest, rubbing his back and conducting his breathing, your voice soft as it told him to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale....

He fell asleep on your shoulder, in the middle of nowhere. You carried him back to your house, and tucked him into a warm bed. The next morning, he wouldn't meet your eye.

Usually, you would have let him; there was hardly anything that Dazai would do that you would disapprove of. But lately, you had been going against his wishes a lot, so you decided to do that one more time.

When he tried to leave, you pinned him to a wall and forced him to look at you. It wasn't difficult, Dazai had never really worked out, even as a part of the Port Mafia. His fighting style was more quick and clean moves than brute strength.

It worked well in your advantage as he tried to struggle against your hold and failed miserably, tears collecting in his eyes and threatening to fall.

"Dazai," You said. "If you want me to disappear from your life, I can do that." He looked up at you, eyes wide and blurred. "But there's one catch. You have to say it. Say it to my face, tell me to leave, and I swear on my own life, I'll vanish. You won't ever see me again." And then the tear that had been collecting in his eye all this time fell, sliding down his cheek and onto the collar of his shirt. His arms went limp in your hold, and he wobbled forwards. You caught him as he fell, and he sobbed into your shoulder again. His hands were clutching at your shirt as if for dear life, and even as you rubbed his back, more tears fell from his eyes. You held Dazai through his breakdown. The next time he spoke to you, he said the words, "I like you too much." It was a silent confession, almost muffled into your shoulder as the post-crying exhaustion overtook. You pulled him closer and pressed a kiss into his temple.

It was alright after that. You asked Dazai why he tried to run away, and the only thing he said was that he got scared. He chose not to explain, and you chose not to push him.

Now, everything is good. Dazai's job at the ADA does worry you sometimes, even if it's for the good, it's dangerous, but you know he loves his job, no matter how many jokes he makes about Fukuzawa's violation of the Labor Laws. And he loves you, that's all you've ever needed.

Being in a relationship with him is not always easy. He still speaks of dying, and the thought of him leaving you makes you panic. Sometimes, you still don't know what to do to make him feel better. But you manage to work through it.

You love Dazai, after all. You have ever since you two were kids.

#dom male reader #top male reader #dom reader #bungou stray dogs #sub bsd x you #sub bsd #bsd x you #sub bungou stray dog x you #sub bungou stray dogs #sub character #sub character x you #sub dazai #sub dazai x you #sub osamu dazai x you #sub osamu dazai

284 notes · View notes

show-your-fangs · 2 years ago

Text

Swimming Pool ✿ Aaron Hotchner

We Shouldn't (And Yet We Do) - Part One

Pairing: DBF!Hotch x f!Reader

Words: 12.6k

CW: 18+, NSFW, mdni, smut, a little angst and so much fluff.

Summary: You return home for the summer because of your parents’ drama but luckily for you, your father’s friend, Mr. Hotchner, is there to bring you some much needed comfort.

Tags/warnings: shitty family life, age gap relationship (reader is 20, Hotch is 40), teasing, groping, perv!hotch, inappropriate thoughts and behavior, grinding, daddy kink bc fuck you, fingering (f receiving), protected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!).

a/n: Thank you so much to @canuck-eh for writing Loose Morals and reigniting my passion to write this series, and to @xladyxdreamer for putting up with my Moments angst to the point where this series is now my penance for it. Finally, to whoever started the DBF!Hotch train, you are a god and I love you.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

Coming back home in the middle of summer was…a lot. You’d just finished your second year away at college and you weren’t supposed to come back home until Christmas six months later, a compromise you’d agreed to only for your mother. But then she’d called out of the blue, sobbing, hysterical, and you had booked a flight back home to Virginia before she’d even hung up.

When you did finally arrive the morning after, she was much calmer, but the edge in her voice remained and you knew something was wrong. The only problem was that she refused to tell you what it was. It wasn’t until your high school friend took you out to lunch later that she finally clued you in as to what was going on.

Your father had apparently been caught getting busy with another one of the professors at the college he taught at. Someone had taken a…suggestive picture and now everything was in shambles. Well, not everything, mostly just his own marriage. From the little bits of information you were able to string together from your mother, it was clear that he was gaslighting her into believing that the picture was taken out of context and he wasn’t actually having an affair.

It had all blown up in your face about twenty minutes ago. Your house was packed with people, mostly your father’s close friends, colleagues, and their wives. He had decided to host an end of term/start of summer cocktail party to quell whatever doubts lingered amongst his social circles that whatever had or had not been taken didn’t mean anything and his marriage was still going strong. What he hadn’t accounted for, however, was you coming back to make sure your mother was alright.

You’d been holding onto the anger all afternoon as you followed your mother around, yelling and complaining and just desperately trying to reason with her. You’d never been a huge fan of your father. Sure, he’d done the bare minimum to give you life and was now paying for the part of your tuition that wasn’t covered by all the scholarships you’d gotten so that you didn’t have to graduate with massive loans. But aside from the small kindnesses he awarded you every so often, your relationship was nonexistent.

It was almost as if he’d predicted your mood because he didn’t arrive at the house until the party was minutes from starting. You had thought about leaving, about going out and getting wasted with your high school friends, but before you could even tell your mother you were going out, you found her crying in the master bedroom. And just like that you were back to seeing red.

The door swung open and you practically stormed towards it like a woman possessed.

“We need to talk,” you started. “No, let me rephrase, I need to scream at you and you’re going to listen—”

“Honey,” your father said sternly, opening the door fully. “Do not be rude to Aaron, say hello.”

Shame hit you like a bus as Mr. Hotchner came into focus behind your father. Fuck, he was good. It was eerie how clever your father could be when he didn’t want to be told off, when he knew that he’d done something wrong and instead of owning up to it he’d do everything in his power to avoid talking about it.

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner,” you managed through gritted teeth as your father walked past you and into the kitchen.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he replied, an amused smile on his lips. “I didn’t know you were coming back for summer break.”

“I’m not,” you tried to keep your voice steady. He must’ve known why you were angry, why the sudden outburst, but he didn’t reply, he simply nodded, lips in a thin line, trying to look anywhere but you.

“Well,” he broke the short silence. “I better put this on ice.”

He held out a bottle of Scotch he’d presumably brought over from his own house next door and walked after your father. You stood alone at the open door, the freedom of the night away from the exhaustion of fighting against your parents alluring. And yet you couldn’t seem to walk out, couldn’t seem to will your legs to move you in the direction of the rational choice.

Your heart was beating unbearably fast, and it wasn’t because of whatever was happening between your parents. No, it had everything to do with the FBI agent that had just walked into your home and the way he had clearly glanced down at your exposed cleavage before he had to immediately shift his gaze to anything else.

Aaron didn’t want to leave you there but he truly didn’t have a choice. You were wearing a tight black dress, so tight in fact that he could’ve sworn he saw every curve of your body. What had made it even worse was the way your breasts were practically spilling out of the garment, the trim of your lacy bra peeking around the edges. He’d felt like a teenager all over again, his crotch tightening uncomfortably as he tried his hardest to listen to the words coming out of your mouth to make sure that he responded eloquently.

Your mother had already put out ice buckets and he practically slammed the bottle into an empty one. Was it stupid to chill Scotch? He honestly couldn’t even remember anymore as he desperately wished he could’ve dunk his already hardening erection on the ice as well. He needed to get a grip, needed to calm down, needed to pretend like he hadn’t already seen your body in the many pictures you had posted online in the two years that you’d been gone.

He served himself a double, watching as you left the door wide open and retreated back upstairs. He lingered by the table for a moment, finishing his drink and calming himself down. He’d known you for a little over two years, at least on a first name, dinner at your house every month, type of way. You had just graduated high school when he started teaching part time at the college where your father also taught. The two of them had become fast friends and in the months that followed while you waited out the summer to start classes you had babysat Jack while Aaron was away on cases.

It was wrong and he definitely knew it. But there was something so captivating about you, about your kindness and curiosity and interest in not only his work but in him as a person. You loved getting to know people, getting to share secrets and discuss the root of existence and emotion and life. It was easy to forget that you were this young, your eloquence far higher than most of the adults that had just started shuffling into your home.

He’d filled his glass up once more as your father’s friends and his colleagues arrived. He plastered on a polite smile and greeted everyone as they made their way through the house. The repetitive nature of small talk for the next twenty minutes allowed him to forget about you, calm his body down enough to appear normal, collected.

He had migrated to the backyard with the rest of his colleagues after a while, the men around him engaged in mindless conversation about the break ahead, their vacation plans, and anything that wasn’t about the elephant in the room, because he knew, they all knew, that your father had clearly been caught redhanded and if they didn’t get their wives to agree that he was nothing more than a victim, they could be taken down next.

You waited until the backyard was packed with people before you emerged from your room. If your father didn’t want his friends gossiping about his affair tonight then you’d give them something else to talk about. And what better thing to gossip about than your father’s college age daughter practically displaying her body for all of his married friends and their wives.

Wearing that skimpy thing that did nothing to cover you up could only mean one thing – you were trying to get back at your father. Aaron couldn’t help but almost choke on his drink as he watched you saunter back out of the house. His ears began ringing loudly as you swayed your hips, clearly asking for attention. You walked right up to the edge of the pool and dove in without so much as a single word, the stark contrast between the cocktail party and your rebellious, summer blowout attitude jarring.

He couldn’t help but notice your father’s absence back out in the courtyard, your mother also conveniently nowhere to be seen. He could only assume that she was either consoling his poor, broken ego or sucking him off inside. Either outcome made him feel incredibly bad for you, bad that you had to come back home to rumors of your father’s infidelity and your mother’s complete denial of it.

While she was working overtime trying to fix a one sided relationship, you were determined to lash out against it in the most childish way you could possibly think of, and that unfortunately meant parading around your backyard filled with middle aged men in practically nothing.

Well, fortunate for him because he got to see the way your nipples hardened against the sheer fabric the second you stepped out into the cold night air, got to marvel at way your waist dipped into your full hips, the plush muscle begging to be squeezed tightly, got to catch the faintest glance at the outline of your pussy against the red material. It was unfortunate because he knew he wasn’t the only one staring at you and he had to bite his tongue as he began to hear the men around him murmur about your body.

He wanted to step up and use his own frame to shield you from them, to hide you away from their practically salivating stares. But instead he simply took a sip of his drink and allowed himself to watch you like a hawk, to silently guard, determined to step in if any of them actually decided to turn their thoughts into action. Because even then he couldn’t help but feel protective of you.

Your father came barrelling out of the house mere minutes later, your mother practically running to catch up and stop him. He was about to blow up, about to make a scene, one that you were eagerly waiting for when her hand landed on his chest and he seemingly remembered where he was and who he was surrounded by. He instantly relaxed his face and Aaron couldn’t help but take a step forward, tense and ready to fight him.

“Honey,” your mother spoke instead, layering the guilt on thick. “Please get out of the pool, I don’t want you catching a cold.”

Aaron set his glass down and walked over to the little hamper by the grill, expertly fishing out a large towel. He could feel everyone else start to notice that he’d moved, that he was inserting himself into something that clearly had nothing to do with him. But it didn’t matter the second that your round, hurt, expressive eyes met his. His gaze softened, just for you, to let you know that you didn’t want to make this any worse than it already was. And for the first time ever, you listened to him.

Your mother thanked him as he walked around them, towel extended in his hands for you to simply curl yourself into it. He could tell your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and when he draped the fabric over your shivering body, he could smell the faint, lingering scent of alcohol on your breath. He sighed deeply, just for himself and you followed suit, taking the moment to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” you whispered, delicate fingers taking the towel from him and wrapping it around yourself, terrified of what your reaction would be if you’d let him do it for you. You were back inside the house in seconds, the party resuming quickly as your parents started their rounds of greetings and small talk. He lingered by the pool for a few minutes, not wanting to be incredibly obvious about following you inside.

He told himself that he only wanted to make sure you were alright, that there was nothing wrong with being concerned for you after what had just happened. And so when the waiters began to pass out hors d'oeuvres, he took advantage of the distraction and slipped back into the house.

“Sweetheart?” he whispered loudly as he willed the wood beneath his feet not to creak loudly against the final step of the staircase. “Are you alright?”

The second floor was deserted, terrifyingly quiet and dark. He noticed the light was on in your bathroom across the hall from your room and he approached. The second his shadow landed over the wood, the door swung wide open, greedy hands grabbing a hold of his shirt and pulling him into the small room.

“I need you,” you slurred, your hands sliding down towards his belt, trembling fingers struggling with the silver buckle. He couldn’t stop the groan that erupted from his throat, the sounds spurring you on.

He was so distracted by the thrill, the shock and surprise of your neediness, of your clear desire for him that his brain short circuited for a second, lost to the sensations he’d been craving from you for years.

You’d never done anything like this before, never even flirted with each other as far as he was concerned since he made sure to watch his words around you, only allowing himself one thing, to call you sweetheart. Which could only indicate that your sudden boldness meant that you’d thought about this just as much as he had, that you’d caught him staring at you with hunger in his eyes just like he’d caught you staring at him with danger in yours.

“Sweetheart,” he said bluntly, trying to use his words before he was forced to use his hands to stop you. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” you scoffed. “You’re upset,” your hand squeezed over the outline of his cock and it took everything in him to not let out a single sound. That seemed to do the trick as your confident demeanor slipped away and the terrified girl desperately trying to hide resurfaced.

Tears laced your eyes, your chest began to shake, your hands trembled, slowly slipping away from his body. He scooped them both up in his warm, large palms, bending your arms over your chest before pressing you tightly to his. You began to sob then and it broke Aaron’s heart. Your face landed over his frantically beating heart. If you noticed through your tears you made no effort to comment on it. He held you like that for a while, not caring at all that his clothes were definitely wet now.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, arms crossing over your chest in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up now that you were clearly not going to get what you’d wanted only seconds before. He crouched down and picked up the towel off the floor, this time making it a point to drape it over you and wrap you tightly in it. You felt like a child, a dumb, stupid child that had just thrown a tantrum and had been scolded. It was humiliating.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he assured you, allowing himself to talk down to you just a little. His heart was still racing, his mind even more so now as he realized that the barrier that he’d put up between the two of you all those years ago had just been shattered into a million pieces. “Why don’t you take a shower and get some sleep?”

You nodded, refusing to look him in the eyes. But he would not have it. He hooked a finger under your chin, gently yet forcefully, pulling your gaze up to meet his. His thumb ghosted over your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly without him doing anything to you.

“Good girl,” he hummed and you practically whimpered, your thighs pressing together. The side of his mouth curled into the tiniest of smirks before he removed his hand from your body completely and walked out the door, leaving you alone in your bathroom with a fire burning in your chest.

You were unsure when the decision had been made, but you’d awoken the next day to a letter from your mother on the kitchen counter, the house spotless as the cleaning crew she’d hired probably went through it the night before. Your parents were gone for the rest of the summer, apparently one of your father’s friends had a timeshare at some resort in Italy and they were able to squeeze your parents into their trip last minute.

You released a sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The memories of the events of the night before had been washing over you in powerful, drowning waves ever since you opened your eyes fifteen minutes ago. You regretted at least ninety percent of your actions, having been so wrapped up in getting back at your father that you had completely forgotten that your actions would also affect your mother. The look of disappointment, of complete and utter shame and embarrassment that had taken over her face as she spoke to you haunting, especially now in the brightness of the day.

And then there was Mr. Hotchner. Fuck, you cringed every time you remembered what you’d done, how you’d come onto him so pathetically. You couldn’t deny the rejection didn’t hurt but he had been right. You were upset, unbelievably so, and it would’ve stung even more to think of your first time with him to have been because you were trying to make your father angry, not because you actually wanted to sleep with him.

And oh boy did you want to.

As much as Freud was an idiot, you were very aware after two years of your psychology degree that your attraction to older men had everything to do with your need to seek the approval your father denied you from your romantic partners.

You’d had a very childish crush on Mr. Hotchner for years. It was silly, something that kept your pussy wet at night and made your friends giggle whenever you told them about the hot neighbor that you used to babysit for. But you knew he was unattainable. You could never have him, and sadly, that only made you want him even more.

In an act of defiance you hadn’t done what he’d told you to do the night before. Instead you took off the remaining pieces of clothing you still had on and tossed them into your shower before you walked across the hall to your room, pulled out the shitty bullet vibrator you’d left behind two years ago, and desperately tried to get yourself off. To say you’d been unsuccessful, your fingers and the weak device never even coming close to what you truly desired, what you needed.

That had only made you angrier, angrier at yourself, angrier at him. By the time you had drank your first cup of coffee all of your embarrassment had washed away into cold, seething irritation. He clearly wanted you just as much as you wanted him. You definitely hadn’t imagined the way he responded to your touch, the way he’d groaned in response. And that was the problem. He’d been holding himself back, whatever friendly relationship the two of you had built, one that you regarded as honest and sincere nothing more than a facade he’d concocted to keep you at arm’s length.

You grabbed a pair of sunglasses that your mother must’ve left on the kitchen counter and placed them over your eyes before walking back out to your backward. You were aware that there was a specific spot in front of the sliding doors that he could see from his house next door. You’d noticed it when you were babysitting one time, the thrill that he could’ve seen you in your bikini at some point that summer driving you insane.

You didn’t want to be at arm’s length anymore. You refused to let whatever fears you were holding onto because of his relationship with your father to stop you from going after what you’d wanted for so long.

You dragged a lounge chair over to that exact spot, the blaring sun perfectly over it as the excuse you needed in case he brought up your pathetic ploy. Once you were satisfied with your placement you shrugged off the robe you’d been wearing, the fabric falling off your shoulders and pooling around your feet in an instant to reveal absolutely nothing covering your body.

You’d fallen asleep at some point, completely naked and aggravated. You made sure to take your time getting into a comfortable position over the chair, chest out, legs curled suggestively, putting all of your assets on display. With the bait set, it was now a matter of waiting for him to bite.

You heard him yell your name across your house about ten minutes later. It didn’t surprise you that he had his own set of keys, your stomach already twisting in anticipation and excitement at just how easy it had been to get him exactly where you wanted him.

“Are you decent?” he asked with a smirk in his voice. He knew you weren’t. “Jack is here with me.”

You practically leapt off the chair, frantically picking up the robe and putting it on as the two of them walked out onto the backyard. Jack said your name then, chipper and excited, immediately melting away any ice left behind. You turned around just in time for the boy to wrap himself around your legs, squeezing you into a tight hug which you reciprocated, pulling him up to sit on your hip.

“Hi, angel,” you greeted the boy. “How’s summer treating you?”

“Hot,” he replied, trying to push himself away from you. You couldn’t help but laugh, setting him back down in the shade. “Can we swim in your pool?”

“Of course you can!” you replied. “Do you mind if I join you?”

The boy’s eyes practically widened out of his head in joy, turning back to his dad with just an unbelievable amount of energy.

“Not at all,” Mr. Hotchner replied for him and you shot him a smile before you excused yourself to go change into something kid appropriate.

To say that he’d seen your little display was an understatement. He’d been sitting on his desk in his home office, finalizing his weekly schedule with Jessica when he saw you step out. He knew, after much trial and error, that you couldn’t see him from this angle, and so he made no effort to move to get a better look.

And then you took off your robe and he was abruptly presented with your naked body. His mouth went dry in an instant, his pupils dilated, his heart pounded against his chest. It took him a full minute to realize that Jessica was trying to get his attention before his brain reconnected with his body and he asked her to repeat herself.

Five minutes later he was hanging up the call and rushing down the hall to ask Jack if he wanted to go swimming. The boy practically leapt to his feet, running across his room to get himself ready. They didn’t have a pool at their house, so your mother had generously let them use theirs after you went away for college. She’d even gotten them key to the house and sent him the alarm code every time they changed it just in case.

Aaron changed into his swimsuit in record time, practically tripping as he ran back and forth, all over the house, looking for the many, many toys that Jack definitely needed to stay distracted for the next few hours. As much as he wanted to walk over alone, find you naked and eager for him, fuck you on the lounge chair and then probably inside the pool to cool off, he couldn’t leave Jack behind, he wouldn’t leave Jack behind because he didn’t want you to know just how much you had affected him.

This was a power move, one that he had fallen for instantly. What he needed to do was not give in, not give you what you wanted, continue to frustrate you, to tease you until you couldn’t take it anymore, all because he wanted to remind you that he held all the cards, that he was the one calling the shots, that he would be the one on top while you writhed in pleasure beneath him.

You returned a few minutes later in a plain black one piece. To say he was disappointed was an understatement, but he admired your decorum while you were around Jack. It was like a flip had switched, eyes clouded with lust and desire clearing away to joy and excitement to spend your day with a hyperactive kid instead of lazily sunbathing your troubles away.

You handed Mr. Hotchner a bottle of sunscreen, having specifically chosen the cream kind instead of the spray so that he’d be forced to touch you when you asked, “Would you mind getting my back?”

He looked up at you with the same eyes from last night and you were surprised your knees didn’t buckle. He looked at Jack then to make sure the boy was adequately engrossed in his toys, clearly deciding which ones he was going to play with first, before he opened the bottle and squirted some of the cream into his palm.

“On my lap,” he ordered, low and just for you to hear. Your eyes immediately darkened and he smirked knowingly. You rolled your eyes then, reminding yourself that today was just playful after all.

You stepped forward towards his opened legs and prettily sat yourself down on his thigh, your back to him. You’d already put your hair up so he went right in. His warm, sticky palms landed on the sides of your neck first, slowly sliding down your shoulders before they returned to the center and then slid down your exposed back. While you couldn’t wear the skimpy, barely there suit you wanted, you’d still chosen something that gave him a subtle peek of your body.

He continued his movements, unapologetically taking his time, dragging his touches, lingering over your neck and putting pressure around it. You shivered under his hands, your ass unconsciously grinding down on his leg.

“Be a good girl and stay still,” he purred in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You stilled immediately, his fingers squeezing around your neck softly in reward. “All done.”

Your brain processed the words and yet you made no effort to stand up, and he made no effort to make you. His hands grazed down your arms, the backs of his fingers practically leaving feather light kisses on your skin until they landed on your hips. He gave your love handles a squeeze before he let his hands settle over your lap, leaning down to rest his chin on the crook of your neck.

The gesture itself had been so casual yet unbearably intimate that you didn’t notice you’d stopped breathing until your lungs started to burn. You inhaled sharply, your entire body shivering as you tried to keep the panting at bay.

“You say the word and I’ll stop, sweetheart,” he whispered against your neck, gentle and kind, his tone meant to reassure you that you still had power. You nodded and he pressed a kiss below your ear, making you shudder once more. “So responsive for me.”

A whine escaped your lips, making Jack turn back to face the two of you. His hands were off you before you could even register, your own body reacting instinctively as you shot up to your feet.

“Ready to get in the water?” you managed, flashing the boy a bright smile. He nodded enthusiastically, picking up a few of his diving toys in one hand before taking your outstretched hand with his other one. He diligently led you to the shallow end of the pool and Aaron watched as you both threw the little fishes into the deep end, giggling as Jack tried to toss them farther than you.

He took a moment to compose himself, a moment to shift the material of his swim suit to try and hide the evidence of his arousal. He hated how easy it was for him to come undone around you, how you had him wrapped around your finger and could get him hard by simply existing. It made him feel young again, his libido higher than it’d been in years, and it was all because of you.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard you and Jack splash against the water. Jack resurfaced first, already panting as he worked overtime to keep himself above water. You appeared then, like a beautiful mermaid coming above water to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. And in that moment Aaron knew that he’d sink to the bottom of the ocean if it meant he could have even a taste of you.

“Daddy!” Jack yelled, getting his attention. “Come into the pool!”

“Yeah, daddy,” you teased. “What are you waiting for?”

All the playfulness drained from his face in a second, making you choke on your own saliva in response before it reappeared as if nothing had happened. Your thighs rubbed together, the knowledge of the effect your words had had on him thrilling.

“Coming buddy,” he replied to the boy, choosing to ignore you as he stood back up, kicking off his flip flops and cannonballing into the pool.

Jack’s laughter brought you back down to reality as the waves his dad had created crashed over you, cooling your overheating face. You watched him resurface at the other end of the pool, one of the fishes you’d thrown under between his fingers.

“One to zero,” he announced playfully and Jack gasped, immediately diving down to gather as many fishes as he could, giving Aaron the perfect pocket of privacy to glance back at you. His face fell into a stern look of warning, daring you to call him that again to see what you could find out.

You smirked back briefly before diving underwater, the mere mention of a challenge overshadowing whatever tension lingered between the two of you.

You grabbed three fishes, swimming across the pool towards him underwater. You made sure Jack was above water before you made your move, fingers wrapping around Mr. Hotchner’s trunks to pull yourself out of the water as you practically climbed him.

You felt him tense against your touch and that made your body flood with warmth once more. You made him feel like this, you made him react like this, you had the same effect on him that he had over you.

Your head pierced the surface and he wasted no time pulling you further out of the water, his arm hooking around your waist again and pressing your hip against his painfully hard erection.

You gasped loudly, nervously looking around and noticing that Jack had thankfully gone back underwater so at the very least he wouldn’t see the euphoric expression on your face.

“Fuck,” you moaned, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. “Mr. Hotchner,” you whined and his grip tightened.

For a second you forgot about where you were and the game you were still playing. Your eyes landed on his. They were hazy, glossed over and dangerously close to snapping.

“Address me properly,” he ordered, lifting his knee to slide between your legs and press you further into him. You swallowed a moan, your breathing ragged, your skin unbearably tight over your body.

You opened your mouth to speak but the word was screamed into existence by a voice that wasn’t yours. The two of you turned to face Jack who was eagerly swimming over to where the two of you were. You started to shift uncomfortably, trying to pull away from him, but he kept you in place as if you weren’t caught in a compromising position.

“Did you get tired of swimming?” Jack asked you like this was the most normal thing in the world and you managed a nod. “That’s okay! I get tired sometimes and daddy has to hold me too.”

Your cheeks heated up once more and you thanked every deity out there that the sun was so hot on your skin that the kid didn’t notice a change. Jack reached out and grabbed a hold of his father’s shoulder to keep himself above water before pulling out his other hand from under the water, a fistfull of the colorful fishes in his palm.

“I got six!” he told you and you finally snapped out of your daze, groaning dramatically as you showed him your own loot only being three.

“I demand a rematch!” you told the boy before tossing your fishes back into the pool. He followed your lead and held your stare, the two of you seizing the other up before he got tired of waiting and dove back into the water, his giggles getting swallowed by the water.

“Little cheater!” Aaron let you go then and you followed after the boy. You were so concerned with winning the silly game that you didn’t even notice the dopey smile across his face, one that he couldn’t hide from himself, one that almost made his heart burst with happiness.

You played with the fishies a few more times until Jack was complaining that he was starting to get hungry and the three of you got out of the pool to dry off while Mr. Hotchner ordered lunch.

You reapplied Jack’s sunscreen, placed a hat over his head and a towel over his body before you walked into the house to make a pitcher of lemonade and get some of the fruit your mother had bought a few days ago so that you could snack on it while you waited for the pizza to get there.

You’d cut the lemons and had started squeezing them into the pitcher when his hands wrapped around your waist again, his front pressing against your back forcefully. You ground your ass back into him, never once stopping your task.

“Hi,” he whispered in your ear.

“Hello,” you replied, squeezing a half of a lemon with your hand, too lazy to get something else dirty.

“Thank you for today,” he continued, his hands now slowly running up and down your sides, begging to elicit a reaction from you. “I know it’s not exactly what you planned but Jack is having a lot of fun.”

You hummed in agreement. “I’m having a lot of fun too.”

“Oh, yeah?” he stepped forward, locking you in place between the counter and his chest. “I’m having a lot of fun three.”

You snorted at the insinuation and the terrible joke, and he laughed in return, the two of you devolving into a fit of giggles like you’ve known each other intimately for years. And in a weird, almost strange way, you had. You’ve always had this rapport with him, this deep understanding of each other, mostly because you were both so into the other that you’d actually spent many nights asking questions, eager to know more.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked you once the laughter subsided and your heart started beating rapidly once more.

You immediately twisted around in his grip, holding your hands up and away from him as the juices from the lemons ran down your arms.

“Yes,” you heaved and he didn’t waste another second as he pressed his lips to yours. They were so soft and still warm from the sun still lingering over them, lulling you into a sense of safety. You opened your lips as his hands left your waist and cupped your jaw to press you further into him. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue entered, deepening the kiss into a hungry and desperate mess.

He pulled back so you could breathe after a few more laps and your eyes blinked open, the light reflecting against them and making them shine almost ethereally. He smiled, his thumbs rubbing over your cheeks. You returned the smile, somehow already feeling warm and fuzzy from just a kiss. He leaned in again, his nose playfully tickling your own, making you giggle sweetly. He truly wanted nothing more than to make you laugh all the time.

He was about to press his lips against yours again, already craving the feeling like a man that had been left to wander the desert for days, when his phone rang loudly, interrupting the tender moment. He sighed deeply, apologetically looking at you and you immediately shook your head, letting him know not to worry about it. He picked up the phone, determined to make the conversation quick so he could return to what he truly wanted to do.

In the meantime you finished the lemonade, washed your hands with soap, and brought the pitcher, some glasses, and the bowl of cubed watermelon to the table outside. You checked in on Jack, the boy having fallen asleep, making you chuckle softly. You sat yourself at the table and waited for him to come back, already missing his lips.

It was certainly an interesting turn of events, made even more interesting by how easy it was to fit into his life. Even with your parents you always felt like the odd one out, like they were their own thing and you just sort of existed around them. But with Mr. Hotchner and Jack…you felt like you just fit right in, like you’d always been a part of their family.

When he finally exited into the backyard he bore a very different expression on his face, one of remorse and stress. The playfulness from before had left his body and all that remained was the stoic FBI agent you’d sometimes get when he returned from cases or…got called into one.

You sighed deeply, knowing that was exactly what had happened and he had to stop himself from melting at the thought that you just knew what he needed before he could even ask it.

“Do you need me to look after Jack?” you asked as he sat down on the chair across from you.

“Please,” he replied, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “Jessica can pick him up at school Wednesday afternoon and take him to her place.”

You nodded, returning the squeeze and trying to alleviate his guilt with an understanding smile.

“When do you leave?” he asked you then, one of the many elephants in the room finally getting addressed.

“Friday morning,” you replied and it was his turn to sigh, defeated. As much as you understood his work and just how much he needed it, he also understood your own, your life being far away from D.C., far away from him. He just wanted you all to himself, here with him all the time, and it pained him that he couldn’t have it.

After allowing himself another moment of sitting in silence, of feeling his emotions and letting them tear his heart into pieces, he stood up, pulling you to your feet with him. He crushed his lips to yours and your hands finally tangled in his hair, his own greedily squeezing your hips.

“Pizza should be here any minute,” he mumbled against your lips.

“I got it, don’t worry,” you replied, pressing a closed kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Jack?”

He nodded, reluctantly letting you go as he knelt down beside the lounge chair and woke the boy up. You watched as they said their goodbyes, your fingers coming up to trace your lips where he’d just kissed you, all the conflicting things you were feeling crashing over you at once.

The first phone call came that same night. It was late, you were already asleep when your phone vibrated on the nightstand next to you. You were honestly surprised that you’d heard it, annoyed more so than surprised as your eyes blinked open painfully.

“Hello?” your voice was deep, hoarse and clearly exhausted.

“Hi, sweetheart,” his on the other hand was soft and awake.

“Hi,” you replied, settling back on the soft pillow and closing your eyes.

“Did I wake you?”

“Mhmm,” you whined and it broke his heart.

“I’m sorry,” to his credit, he did sound sorry.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled.

“I just wanted to say goodnight to Jack.” And to you.

“He fell asleep immediately…” You tried to stay awake, desperately, but sleep was pulling you down, the heat from spending the entire day under the sun had seeped deep into your bones, making them heavy. The current had sinked your boat and you were peacefully sinking under the waves with it. You didn’t even register him calling your name, realizing that you were probably out of it, and finally telling you that he’d call you another time.

You woke up bright and early the next morning, your senses overwhelmed by just how much his bed smelled like him.

It was honestly a stupid thought, that the things that were his carried him with them, but it didn’t matter how many times you’d slept here in the past, there was something so all consuming about them now.

Your three days with Jack went by quickly. You had forgotten how much of a perfect kid he was, how attentive and kind and easy it was to take care of him. Getting him ready for school was a breeze, breakfasts were filled with laughter and him rambling on about the dream he’d had the night before. Once you dropped him off at school, you found yourself missing him more than you ever had, and so you spent your days wandering aimlessly.

On Monday you cleaned the entire house, top to bottom. You put on one of Mr. Hotchner’s records on and drowned the house in music, your voice booming just as loudly as the singer’s, wanting nothing more than to distract yourself from the ache in your chest.

On Tuesday there was a lice outbreak and luckily, Jack was not affected. They still had to shut down the school for the day, so Jack had gotten a half day. You took him to the store to buy enough baking supplies to start your own bakery, and spent the rest of the afternoon making cookies and cupcakes.

It was around six that your phone rang. You were in the kitchen, cooking dinner for the two of you. Saucepan forgotten, you immediately crossed the room, fingers fumbling to answer the phone.

“Hey, give me one second,” you cut him off, putting him on speaker before you stepped out into the hall. “Jack! Your dad’s on the phone!”

“I don’t know if I should be touched or offended that you don’t want to speak with me,” he cracked and you couldn’t help but smile, making your way back to the device on his counter.

“I always want to talk to you,” you hummed. “But I also know you’re busy and—”

“Dad!” Jack ran into the kitchen, swiping the phone away from you and running right back down the hall. You laughed to yourself, returning to the stove before you burnt something.

You hadn’t been speaking, not really. Every so often you’d send him a picture of what you were up to and he’d do his best to reply, always short and sweet. He never sent any pictures of his own for obvious reasons, but it still made your heart constrict every time that you woke up the morning after to a missed call from him.

They were on the West Coast, in a small town somewhere in Oregon. At least that’s what you’d gathered from the messages here and there. By Wednesday you said goodbye to Jack at dropoff and told him you’d see him for Christmas. He was, understandably, very upset, since you’d just spent, what he kept calling, the best three days of his life with him. It broke your heart, shattered it into a million pieces, but you reminded him that you didn’t live there anymore and that you had other places to be. Obviously not cooler than spending time with him, but that it was still important.

Jessica called you that afternoon to let you know that she had Jack and you chatted for a bit. She was always so easy to talk to, her openness to their strange family dynamic almost overwhelmingly supportive. She always remembered your birthday, always sent you a card (one that you knew she’d been making Mr. Hotchner and Jack to sign every year), and always made sure to ask if you were coming back home for any major break.

She liked having you around, liked the extra support you had given them while Jack was out on his own break, liked that the boy clearly loved you and felt safe around you. And after the three days you had spent with him then, it only made sense to start thinking about actually coming back home next summer to help them out, to have an excuse to see him as often as you could.

You spent Wednesday and Thursday working on the tasks you'd been left with from your internship. They had graciously allowed you to go home after you informed them there was a family emergency, but you still had to meet the weekly quota, just like everyone else. Being in your house alone was...exhausting. It was too quiet, too empty, too devoid of Jack's infectious laugh and...and Mr. Hotchner's low and inviting voice.

You hadn't spoken to him since you let him know Jessica had picked his son up. You knew he was busy, knew that he probably didn't want to speak to you while his mind was not in the right place, while he was using most of his energy to do his job. He didn't text and so neither did you. And as much as you understood why, the silence had only made your heart clench in pain, your brain already overthinking all the possibilities.

He was supposed to arrive in a few hours, having received the only text he'd sent to tell you that they were about to take off and that he should be back home in a few hours.

You’d decided to get one last swim in before you returned to your concrete life that was Brooklyn. But if you were being honest with yourself, you just needed a distraction.

You’d been drowning, quite literally, as the finality of the distance that you were about to put between yourself and Mr. Hotchner loomed closer and closer. Sure, he traveled a lot for work, he was away at least sixty percent of the time…but you had moved away two years ago with the intention of cutting yourself loose of all the ties keeping you in D.C.

It had been easy to do so, the only one that truly hurt you every day being your mother. But now, after sitting with your overwhelming crush that has snowballed into catching actual feelings for him…was hell.

You needed to talk to him about it, needed to ask him to tell you that everything was going to be okay, that you could make this work, whatever this was. But you also didn’t want to pressure him, didn’t want to pressure yourself to get tied down to something that could very easily not work out.

You were floating on your back, simply allowing the water to gently rock you around the pool when you saw a pair of slacked legs walking towards the edge of the pool.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he hummed. “I’ve been calling for a whole minute and you didn’t answer.”

You stood yourself up, shooting him an apologetic smile as you walked towards him.

“'m sorry,” you murmured, the tightening on your heart only squeezing harder now that he was really here. He shot you a smile in response but he looked tired, defeated almost. You could only imagine what it must feel like to walk around with all of that weight, with the burden of the atrocious things they dealt with every day.

He squatted down next to the edge and you propped yourself up on the space between his legs to pull yourself high enough for his lips to reach yours. The kiss was short and soft, domestic almost, as if you did this every time he came back home from a long case.

You slid back into the water, unable to hold yourself up any longer as an excuse to put some distance between the two of you. You were certain that if he stared at you for even a second longer, he would definitely know there was something wrong, that somehow he’d be able to see into your body and realize just how contorted your heart was.

“Join me?” you asked, trying to change the subject before it was even brought up.

He sighed, conflicted. “I don’t think we should, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whined. “I promise I’ll behave.”

He chuckled at that, knowing fully well that you most definitely would not, because he would most certainly not. But he found himself standing back up, quickly shrugging off his button down, the white wife pleaser underneath, his shoes, socks, and pants. You watched him in awe, mouth hanging slightly open as you began to salivate, your desire quickly making you forget all about your painful feelings.

He smirked at you as he sat down on the edge of the pool and slowly lowered himself into it. You hadn’t realized until he stretched his hand out to you that you’d drifted away to the other side of the pool. You took a small, steadying breath, trying to appear as normal as possible before you walked back to him.

His hands wrapped around you instantly, bringing you into him tightly. It was almost as if he relaxed into you, his breathing deep and steady, a drastic contrast to your rapidly beating heart. You tried so hard to copy his rhythm, to blend into it in a feeble attempt to not raise suspicion, to show him that you were happy he was back.

And it worked...for almost a second.

“Thank you for taking care of Jack,” he said.

“It was my pleasure,” you replied almost too quickly.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he pulled back, his gaze desperately trying to meet yours.

You hated him so much, hated how good he was at his job, hated how he could read you like it was the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, you were having to use all of your knowledge to just guess how he was feeling.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you lied, your fingers subconsciously fiddling with his hair. He sighed, shifting your core away from his as his hand snaked down to pull your swimsuit bottoms out of the way. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, finally snapping up to meet his but his attention was no longer on your face.

Before you could question the sudden advance, he plunged his middle finger into you, making you moan loudly, your walls clenching around him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he ordered, his finger curling upwards to hook against the spot that he somehow knew instinctively would make you come undone.

You whined, holding onto him tighter. “I’m scared!”

“Of what?”

“This–” he curled his finger again, another moan erupting. “Us– fuck, I’m scared that I won’t be able to see you every day and it’ll mess up whatever this is,” you practically screamed.

His movements stilled and you decided to foolishly allow yourself to meet his eyes. He was staring at you with what you could only describe as relief?

You blinked, realizing that he was allowing you to read him like he could read you. You’d said exactly what he was thinking, what he was also holding in, what the heaviness that he carried had been about.

He pressed further into you. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “I want to be yours, all yours.”

“That’s good,” he groaned. “Because I want to be all yours too, sweetheart.”

You whined at his words, the tight grip fear had on your heart releasing just enough to let you breathe again.

“I thought…” you trailed off, afraid that if you said what you’d thought aloud that he’d hate you. Instead he just waited patiently for you to muster the courage to say what you’d been holding in. “I thought you might only want to fuck me and nothing else.”

He shoved another finger into you at that, as if you say how dare you think that. You moaned again, your body tensing up, your walls pulsing around his fingers, practically keeping them hostage inside of you.

“So tight,” he mumbled, clearly needing a moment to regain his composure before he spoke again. “I’ve wanted you– to be with you for a while, sweetheart. I was just…afraid of how it could destroy your relationship with your parents.”

The second elephant in the room reappeared and you couldn’t help but get another one of your fears off your chest.

“Did you know he was…” you trail off before you can finish your sentence but Aaron knew exactly what you wanted to ask him.

“No, I didn’t,” he shook his head, intensely observing your reaction. When you tensed under his touch he wasted no time to press a soft kiss to your temple. If you didn’t know but now you do then why are you still hanging around with him? That was the second part of your question, of your uneasiness, of your tensing body.

“To see you,” he murmured against your skin and you pulled back from his touch, far enough to look him in the eyes. “I kept coming back to see you.”

The confession made your stomach flip. You didn’t know how to respond, how to tell him that you’d felt the same way in a way that didn’t make you come across as insane or clingy or immature. So instead you smiled softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his once more. His grip on your body tightened, his lips on yours opened, pulling you further into him. You may not have tomorrow, but you definitely had tonight.

“I am more than happy and willing to take this slow, to just see where it goes,” he makes it crystal clear, no way to misinterpret his words, no way for you to twist them until you’ve convinced yourself that you’re crazy. Instead you just let your mind free.

“Please fuck me,” you begged and a groan loudly erupted from his throat. His fingers resumed their fast pace but you whined in response, trying to stop him. “No, I need your cock in me, please.”

He shushed you then, kissing your temple gently as he only doubled down in his forcefulness.

“Let me make you cum first,” he replied. “I gotta stretch you out, you’re so tight.”

You whimpered then, a symphony of breathy moans as you remembered just how big he’d felt through his pants. If he was telling you he needed to work you up before he could slide inside of you then you would obey. Fuck, the anticipation alone was going to be the death of you.

The water began to splash over the edge, the constant crashing of waves somehow in perfect synchronicity to the pace he’d set. It quickly became overwhelming, as if your pleasure was so intense it was actually transcending your body and manipulating the world around you.

You moaned into his ear, your hands desperately digging into his back, trying to anchor yourself to him, afraid that you could slip away at any moment. He began peppering kisses along your jaw, each one lower and lower until he was physically unable to reach any more of your skin due to the water level.

You were so close, so, so, close and he could feel it. Your body had tensed, your toes curled against his lower back, pulling him closer to you. And with one final thrust against the spot inside of you that made you see stars, the band snapped and you were screaming, not caring if the neighbors could hear you.

He worked you through your orgasm, his fingers slowing down to a bearable pace as you rested your forehead against his chest.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, clearly concerned that you hadn’t said something for a couple of minutes. You nodded against his body, slowly pushing against his chest to face him.

“Never better,” you replied and his eyebrows shot up in provocation.

“Do you want to make them a little better?” he teased and you couldn’t help the smile that took over.

“Yes.”

He pulled his hand out of you and you whined at the loss of contact.

“Such a greedy girl,” he mocked. “You’re about to be stuffed with my cock and you’re whining about missing my fingers.”

You shivered, eyes darkening as he grabbed a hold of your hand and led you back to the shallow end of the pool. He helped you out of the water, his hands attentive, possessive, never once letting you take a step without being on you.

Once you were out of the water he pulled you into him swiftly, lips back on yours with abandon. You practically melted into his touch, into his embrace, into him. Every thought in your brain was about him, about how soft his lips were, about how he smelled like a warm fire in a forest, about how his rough hands felt on your body, about how desperate he was for you.

You didn’t even register as he undid the knots of your bathing suit, only felt the cold air against your nipples, making them immediately perk up. The back of his hands accidentally brushed one as he shuffled to discard your top and you moaned into his mouth. The noise that reverberated from him in response was addictive. His eyes snapped open and he pulled back, your own lips chasing his in protest.

But he didn’t give you a second to figure him out as he arched your back with his hands, his mouth latching onto the nipple he’d just touched. It was your turn to mewl, eyes glossy and hands hungry to dig into him.

“Aaron,” you whimpered and he froze, ice cold, fully stopping his movements. His mouth softly unlatched from your breast, a thin string of saliva connecting him to you. Your face heated up immediately, the mere thought that you did something to upset him filled your eyes with tears.

“What did you say?” he asked, softly, as if he knew you were feeling like a small little animal and he needed to be careful not to spook you.

“A-Aaron?” you mumble, not even once fully comprehending what you had just done.

“You’ve never called me Aaron before,” he explained, taking pity on how much your brain was clearly not working at the moment.

You blinked in confusion, a tear accidentally falling down your cheek. He immediately wiped it away, looking down at you with eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

“I’m sorry—” you started, unsure exactly what you’re apologizing for. And he shuts you up with a kiss immediately.

“Say it again,” he groaned against your lips.

“Aaron,” you repeated, his name finally feeling heavy and important on your tongue.

He places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Again.”

“Aaron.”

Another kiss, this one on your neck. “Again.”

“Aaron,” he licked down to the base of your neck, his teeth greedily sinking into your soft skin as his lips suck. “Fuck, Aaron, please.”

You whined again, the sting of his mouth marking your body absolutely making you lose it. Whatever wits remained evaporated in an instant. When he pulled back, eyes practically raven, face flushed, lips plump and swollen, you couldn’t help the need to reward him.

Your hands landed on the pronounced outline of his cock against his still wet, black boxers. He wasn’t quick enough to stop you as you wasted no time pulling the fabric off him. Your eyes widened, your breathing hitched in your throat, your hand trembled slightly as you abandoned your efforts to get his boxers down his thighs and instead tentatively returned your hand to hover over his length.

He was so hard, the vein running along the underside practically pulsating. You tentatively traced it with your nail and he hissed. You smiled to yourself, your full palm replacing your finger as you wrapped your hand around him, slowly pumping him.

His own hand curled around your wrist, demanding you to stop. Your eyes shot up to finally see him, to see just how clenched his jaw was, just how deep his breathing had become.

“No, sweetheart,” he huffed. “I need you.”

As if you could both finally read each other’s minds, you untangled yourselves from each other, discarding the clothing that remained on your bodies and tossed it away before his eyes landed on you, on your naked frame, now right in front of him and not far away, separated from him by the haziness of glass.

His eyes raked lower to your pussy and his brows knitted in surprise.

“You have a tattoo,” the question blended into a statement as his hand gripped your hip, pulling you forward so that he could see it better. You bit your lip, amused by just how mesmerized he looked.

“A friend of mine gave it to me first semester,” you explained, omitting the many health code violations, how you’d been high and couldn’t remember actually getting it, or the fact that you had been sleeping with your friend when he did.

He traced his thumb over it, the placement was lower than your hip, easily hidden by your underwear and small enough that he’d never been able to make it out at a distance. His thumb dug into the center of the shitty heart then, anchoring his grip as he pulled you back to him. You moaned at the sting and it only spurred him on, the realization that you liked it when he hurt you igniting a fire in him.

His other arm hooked under your ass, lifting you over his shoulder. You gasped loudly, your confusion quickly turning into a fit of giggles as he moved you both towards the lounge chair that you had rearranged earlier that week to face his house.

He made sure to hook his foot around the pants he’d discarded earlier, kicking them forward with his foot, making sure that they landed right against the chair. He then unlatched the backrest and quickly set you down on it, your entire body over the comfortable foam cushion your mother had bought last year just for the Hotchners.

He knelt between your legs, hands running down your body to pry them open for him. It didn’t take much as you opened yourself up to him eagerly. He grinned, the smile that graced you one that you’d never seen from him before, one that even he couldn’t remember when he’d smiled like that last.

Before he forgot, he reached over to where he’d thrown his pants, growing impatient as he struggled to pull out his wallet and procure a single silver wrapper from it. You’d been so consumed by the moment that you hadn’t even thought about protection.

You thought about telling him not to, that you were on birth control and that as far as you were concerned you were clean. But you had no idea where he’d been, not that talking about his sexual partners bothered you, but bringing it up now did not seem like the right time.

“Someone was sure of himself,” you teased, watching him roll on the sheer latex over himself with more concentration than you’d ever seen from him before, and that was saying a lot.

He retaliated by slamming his tip into you without warning. Your head fell back, a moan rocking through you and down to your core, the waves reverberating against him, causing him to take a sharp, steadying breath.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he panted, a little condescending and you swallowed the urge to fight back, to resume the game you’d started when you called him daddy. He didn’t know just how deep you were willing to go, how much fun the two of you would have.

But tonight wasn’t the night for it. You needed him, craved him, desperately demanded that he fill the ache between your legs. You nodded, your hands gripping the cushion below you.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your need to anchor yourself, his ego boosted so high he had no idea how he was supposed to come back down. But he didn’t care, he couldn’t care, not when you were laid out in front of him like a buffet, what he’d been starving for the only thing on the menu now.

His left hand wrapped around your thigh, opening you further. You propped your other leg over the armrest, and he pushed forward. He had not been lying, fortunately for you. He stretched you painfully, practically stuffing you full.

He made it halfway into you when you hissed, one of your hands shooting up to wrap around his bicep, urging him to stop. He stilled immediately, slowly rocking his hips back to slide out of you before slowly pushing himself back in.

That’s when you fell, your arms giving out under you. An accomplished grin lit up his features. He sat himself back up on his heels to tower over you. Your hand sliding down to the one he’d wrapped around your leg, your fingers lacing with his, almost like a pinky promise as he continued his slow rhythm, never giving you too much, never forcing your body to take anything it wasn’t ready for.

You could practically feel the wetness dripping out of you, coating him more and more with every thrust. He could clearly feel it too, the slick making it easier for him to slide in and out of you each time.

He took it as an indication to keep going. He thrust back into you, pushing himself just an inch further than before. You were a mess of whines and whimpers, your back arching in response, needing him fully in you.

“Please, Aaron,” you slurred. “More.”

He pulled out of you completely, the desire to see himself slam back into you fully overwhelming. His hips pushed forward, easily sliding himself inside to the hilt, your ass slapping against his hips beautifully. He moaned then, his hands flying to your hips, locking you in place. You whimpered, your head craning up enough to see there was no space left between the two of you.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, your walls clenching around him unconsciously.

His eyes shut close in pleasure at your movement, jaw clenching, fingers digging into your skin deeper. You took him in, on the verge of coming undone, on the verge of cumming in seconds like a teenage boy that didn’t know how to stop himself.

You giggled, your warm laughter bringing him back to you as he realized what you were laughing about. He scoffed, blush creeping over his cheeks in the most adorable way. You clenched around him again, deliberate and mean. He almost screamed then, the moan that left his lips guttural and raw.

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me,” he huffed. “I don’t want to cum yet, give me a second, alright?”

You sighed, feigning annoyance, but respected his request, unclenching your muscles to give him a moment of respite. Your hands began to draw circles over his own, nails slowly dragging up his arms and towards his chest, gentle, curious, exploring.

You took your time, diligently running your fingers over every ridge, every dip, every single one of the scars that littered his abdomen. They were smaller now and faded from what they had been when he was first attacked, but you knew they were there.

He hadn’t told you the full story, hadn’t really mentioned it aside from briefly alluding to it when he was forced to explain a comment Jack had made in passing one time, a comment about his mother. But you’d noticed them years ago, and as much as he could act like he was over it, like he was comfortable being shirtless around you, you needed him to know that he was safe, that he could trust you.

He didn’t flinch under your touch, instead he hummed, his own hands shifting their grip on you to show you how much he appreciated your touch.

“Did you catch the bad guy?” you asked suddenly. He turned to face you with a scolding expression, this is clearly not the time for this. It only made you laugh again, embarrassed. “What? Thinking about gross things helps!”

“I don’t want to ever think about that when I’m with you, got it?” he commanded.

“Yes, sir,” you replied and his eyes darkened once more, whatever fear of bursting immediately leaving his body as lustful greed flooded back in, emboldening him.

“What you called me the other day,” he started, somehow both confident in what he wanted to ask and yet boyishly shy about it. “Are you okay with that?”

“What did I call you?” you acted dumb, so dumb indeed that it got you another powerful, forceful jam of his cock. You squealed, his tip now uncomfortably pressing deeply into you. “No, daddy, ’s too much,” you whined, your voice hitching into a sweet, high pitch that made his cock twitch inside of you. “It hurts.”

“Too deep?” he asked in his normal voice, making sure to check in with you. You nodded, desperate for him to pull back, and he immediately returned to the comfortable pain. You let out a deep breath, air filling your lungs again. He was concerned, but more than anything he was turned on, the desire to ruin you too strong. “I’m going to start moving, alright?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mumbled and he groaned loudly, his cock practically taking on a life of its own and making him react in a way he’d never experienced before.

Aaron understood what desire was, he knew what it felt like, knew what to do with it, but this? This wasn’t desire. This was debilitating, allconsuming, painful almost. His brain disconnected from his body, it was as though he was floating next to his body as well as feeling everything that was happening around him, to him, because of him.

He wanted to consume you, wanted to lose himself to the perfect sounds coming out of you, wanted to feel your tightness around him all the time, wanted to drown and stay at the bottom of your waters forever.

His moans danced with yours in a delicate choir ensemble, the slapping of your bodies coming together becoming the bass keeping the pace, the rattling of the lounge chair against the concrete floor the percussion, the scrapping of the mattress against the plastic the strings – it was all too much, too good, too perfect.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” he whined. “Rub your clit for me.”

Whatever coherent thoughts were left in you forced your body to obey immediately, your shaky hand landing in between your bodies. Your fingers were met with a lewd amount of slick, your clit puffy and screaming out to be touched. You rolled your fingers over it and the sensitivity sent you into overdrive, a snap of electricity running all the way down to your opening.

He moaned in response, your core starting to tighten with each thrust, with each touch. The pressure was tight, tighter, desperately trying to force your dam to burst.

“Daddy,” you whimpered. “Daddy, please, please, please, please–”

“Cum, sweetheart, cum all over me,” he demanded and you let it break. Waves of pleasure crashed against you, your entire body shaking, thrashing, slamming against his. Your moans turned into whines, you dug into his forearms, your legs hooked around his waist, pulling him further into you, locking him in place.

The second he felt you clench against him, the second he felt your core tighten, your slick warm his entirety, your nails digging into his arms so hard he wouldn’t be surprised you drew blood – he lost it. He managed to thrust into you two more times before he slammed himself as far as he could inside of you, not caring if it was uncomfortable for you.

He came hot and hard into the condom, his own pleasure blurring his vision, making his own body shake against yours, making his heart feel like it had skipped a beat. He stopped breathing for a few seconds, the sensations too overwhelming for his body to remember that it needed to breathe to survive.

You were panting hard, your chest rising and falling as if you’d just ran a marathon. Your nails had stopped digging into his skin but he barely registered the lack of pain. It wasn’t until you ran your fingers over the indents in his arms that he opened his eyes, seeking yours immediately.

You waited until his gaze met yours as if it was about time it did. You smiled lazily at him, completely spent, content, satisfied. He returned the smile, allowing himself to lower his body down over yours. His chest pressed against your own, softly caging you, holding you captive as his aching lips found yours.

This kiss was unlike any of the ones you’d shared, unlike any of the ones you had shared with anyone before. It was definitive, possessive, claiming you as his, and yet it was unbearably gentle, playful, wholesome.

He was the first to pull back for air, but he didn’t move away, instead he pressed his forehead to yours, his gaze unflinching, trying to communicate so much with no words at all. It was like he was making sure to savor every last drop, committing the sight and feeling of you to memory.

Aaron took much of his life for granted, the routine of it all having numbed him to most things that other people would deem as exciting or fulfilling. The only area of his life where that wasn’t the case was his son. That little boy made everything worthwhile, every battle worth fighting, every day worth living. And now, looking at you, feeling how good he’d made you feel, he knew had found something else, someone else, that made him feel excited for what the next day could bring. That made him feel fulfilled in more ways than he could yet comprehend.

Whatever doubts you’d had, whatever walls you had started to put up to protect yourself now laid crumbled all around you. He was right from the start, you were his, whatever that happened would happen, the best that you could do was ride the waves and see where they would lead you. All that did matter was that he was there and that you knew that he was also yours.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This chapter was a blast to write after all the angst that Moments has killed me with.

My requests are open! I have a few chapter ideas for Mr. Hotchner but I would love to hear what y’all would like to see. Even if it doesn’t make it into the actual series, I will try to write some cute lil blurbs.

And also, because I’m a writer that needs validation, please leave me comments or love letters if you’d like to remain anon. I need the praise and love, thank you 🩷

Ps. The next chapter is titled Guest Lecturer so you can imagine what kind of debauchery I’m about to write.

Pss. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

#dbf!hotch #dbf!hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #dbf!aaron hotchner #professor!Hotch #perv!hotch #we shouldn’t (and yet we do)

824 notes · View notes

withleeknow · 10 months ago

Text

letters i didn't send to you.

pairing: ot8 x reader (ot8 in the sense that there's no name mentioned so you can imagine whoever you want. imagine the whole kpop industry if you want lol) genre/warnings: established relationship, long distance relationship au?, angst, fluff if you squint. unedited bc i am insane word count: 0.7k note: trying something new here! dunno how people are gonna like it but i don't feel terrible about it 🤷‍♀️ a product of my emo hours and i needed an outlet and i thought oh hey why not just project this into a fic lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

3:29am, i've been dreaming about you for years. stars and moons and cotton candy clouds on fire at sundown. the whole universe resides in your eyes, it's almost unfair. sleepless nights because you're not here; restless days because i can't wait for you to be back. the clock stops ticking when you're not with me. the magnetic pull gets stronger during the witching hour somehow. i've always been drawn to you, even before i knew who you were. you're the only home i'd leave all my haunts for. it's summer solstice in most parts of the world but not in our bedroom, not when the only way i can have you is through a phone screen on your pillow. your voice is trying to lull me to sleep. it doesn't come close to replicating one tenth of your warmth. to love is to endure.

i'm halfway through the day, and you must be dreaming of where you belong, by my side on a bed that's far too big when i'm the only occupant. or at least, i hope you're dreaming of me too. 1:19pm, i'm six hours ahead but days and weeks and months and years behind, still stuck in that airport where you left me for the first time. some days, my eyes get misty at lunch when i think about your alarm going off and your irritated groan as you roll over to make your phone stop screaming. other days, i don't have an appetite at all, not with you on my mind and the reminder that there's still oceans between us. when are you coming home? i know when you're coming home, and yet i ask anyway, as if it'll shorten the distance and make the time pass more quickly. to love is to wait.

saturday morning, but i can't stay in bed past 7:12am. missing you a lot tonight, was what you had sent while i was asleep. that's a little cruel for a good morning text, don't you think? it's not your fault. i blame it on the oceans, on the time, on the distance. the coffee is still brewing, just enough for one steaming mug but it would've been nice if i got to make two. can we go back to new york? we always say we would, but can we do it now? i'll meet you halfway if you let me. there's nothing that ties me to this place. you're always on the move. my home is always on the move. we were happy on that trip, right? my fondest memories of you. skylines and the high line. to love is to risk it all, and i would risk it all for you. take me home, will you? let's go back to new york.

the clock reads 8:18am, but the date is all wrong. you should be landing any minute now, but not for another two days. two more days until you're home, ten days that i get to be in your arms. and yet, all i can think about is your departure, about coming back to an empty apartment after you're gone again. i think about you leaving before you even return. the drive back after i've sent you off, it never hurts less no matter how many times we go through it. i can already picture the scene, it's almost routine at this point. your sparkling eyes when they find me in the crowded airport, your relieved sigh when i run to you, your hands clutching me so tightly like you don't want to let go either. it's always this damn airport. we should stop meeting like this. when the buzzing of my phone snaps me out of it, i know who's on the other end of the notification. a photo of your new polaroid camera, then a promise to make more memories to keep with us when you come back to me.

to love is to willingly weather this with you a million times and more. even if it hurts. maybe especially if it hurts. you're the reason i keep going. you're the reason why the sun rises in the morning. let's talk about new york when you're here.

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids angst #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

127 notes · View notes

vinylsforaphrodite · 1 month ago

Text

tranquility

dainsleif x fem!reader | 6.7k+ words

synopsis: in a quiet moment of reflection, an old soul vividly recalls the ardent love he once shared with you from a past life, a connection that transcends time and lingers in his heart.

note: might not be completely canon bc khaenri'ah lore is crazy, (but I did my research and tried my best), also descriptions of khaenri'ah are made up and my own.

i wrote this while on holiday in the south of france, so some descriptions are reminiscent of that ;)

content: suggestive but not explicit, major character death, war & destruction, you're an artist, fluff and angst, worldbuilding, khaenri'ah+the cataclysm.

You told him about the universe and he said it scared him, the way it keeps expanding. And you said, That’s my favorite part. You said the universe is making sure that no one will ever know everything because it never stays the same long enough for a curious person to catch up.

You said that in summer at night. Very late at night, it must have been, for there was no one around but you and the waxing crescent moon that curiously gazed down bellow, content and tired grin shining brightly as if to say, Your hushed whispers fool no one! Your jumbled words and rosy cheeks and jittery hands do not hide the most obvious fact: Love… yes it is love that is drifting through the salty breeze!

The two of you had spent the day at the harbor market. Dainsleif had just gotten relieved from duty the night before, and he couldn’t wait to spend the next week with you by his side, with no work and no worries lingering in the recesses of his usually busy mind.

Clamorous and enterprising shopkeepers set up their booths along the main harbor square, their wagons wheeling carts of handmade antiques and miniature sculptures, flowers in water buckets, old family specialties made of the most decadent ingredients, and too much more for him to take it all in. Your favorite part of the market had been the flower quarter, in which florists with the help of their assistants— usually young girls and boys trying to make a small penny— laid out their arrangements in orderly pairs of the most beautiful Khaenri'ahn flora.

You favored the campanulas. Their periwinkle and deep royal purple bowl-like complexions had an aroma so sweet that they made it out to be a famous ingredient for expensive Khaenri'ahn perfume. Dainsleif bought you a campanula bouquet for half of its original price after heartwarmingly chatting up the florist. His words being: Who can deny such a beautiful young lady a matching beautiful bouquet of flowers?

“Is this how you woo all the young, beautiful ladies you bring along on these dates?” you had asked.

“No,” he chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as his hair spun of gold from the sun itself. “Just you.”

Your skillful hands knew exactly which peaches had the right, ripe vermillion and pink sunset crevices. And the watermelon! How could he forget? The watermelon was delightful that day, with its refreshing sweetness melting on his tongue and mixing wonderfully with the lemonade you bought from young Gisela at her mother’s booth. The little girl’s face lit up when she saw you approach. You were, after all, her most cherished and valued customer. In your white dress with its ruffles and lace trim, you carried your basket and greeted her with a kind smile.

Although it brings him great pain, he often finds himself picturing that smile. Your smile. The smile he would start forgetting deep into the midnight when he was abruptly woken up by a sheen of cold sweat on his forehead and down his back. Days: He stopped counting long ago. Weeks: He did not know. Months: Seven. Years: Five hundred and twenty-two. This was the time since he last saw that smile, and every day it had gotten harder and harder to draw it out perfectly in his imagination, just how he saw it under that grinning moon then.

So when he has trouble falling asleep – wherever that may be these days – under a tree, in an abandoned adventurers campground, in a cave, in an old inn if the caretaker is kind enough to let him stay, to distract himself from the sounds of horror and fire and smell of ash he imagines that day where you smiled at little Gisela and purchased her homemade sparkling lemonade for the two of you to share. But the idea that he started to forget the exact shape of your dress, the exact pair of heels you wore that day, the color of your earrings, if there were three or four freckles by the right arch of your brow, haunted him immensely.

Impending doom. It sounds positively terrifying to Dainsleif. What if one day — and it may be tomorrow or another five hundred years from now — he wakes up and this memory of you is merely gone forever? That he simply… forgets? That it is finally your time to be laid to rest in the spiritual world, in the small part of the world of his heart he had designated, had left, for you?

There are little moments, little sparks in which Dainsleif’s worries are eased. They come in waves on certain days. He might just be walking up a grassy hill, gathering wood for a fire, or sitting in Angel’s Share (though he prefers the Cat’s Tail on the occasion he decides to enjoy a more easygoing crowd). It is during these moments when an image of you suddenly tingles his consciousness, and it brings warmth, as well as ache, to his troubled heart.

The vibrato of your sweet voice.

The softness of your sunkissed skin.

You sounded like storefront windchimes.

You felt like the ocean at twilight.

You reminded him of sweet strawberry waffles and breakfast in bed.

You were like green cottage shutters and lemon slices in black tea.

You were like a rustic stone fireplace after a day out in the snow.

The taste of your heart. It is a flavor that once matched his tongue.

The smell of your hair. It reminded him of life, indefinitely.

He is glad that these memories of you are still alive and there for him to savor whenever he can. A memory, that’s all that exists of you. But everything you felt, everything you loved, everything you thought and cared for disappeared the day you did.

The sea was calm that day. You looped your arm through his bent elbow, walking side by side on the promenade after leaving the market with your campanula bouquet and a basket full of treats, your steps mirroring each other. Running parallel to the beach, the walk was lined with willow trees swaying in the gentle breeze. Both locals and tourists were sunbathing and engaging in lively conversations at beachside cafes with their bright red and yellow umbrellas. That day felt like a watercolor painting. It felt like blends of soft pigments overlapping in symphonic unity.

The sea disappeared into the sky, an indistinguishable horizon. He would only make out where the sea stopped and the sky began by the many sailboats savoring the sun that day. Crowds lined the coast. You told him you liked how the beaches of southern Khaenri'ah were pebbly instead of sandy. You said you liked the touch of the cool surfaces — that dried easily and never stuck to your skin — beneath your feet. You said you liked the waves gently lapping against the shore and the rhythmic clatter of pebbles as the water receded.

The scene would have slipped through his fingers at the touch.

You set your basket aside, the basket full of those peaches, a plump and round watermelon, slices of bread, and a new jar of jam. You took turns sipping from Gisela’s lemonade bottle. A silent agreement: Dainsleif would take two sips and then pass it to you. You would take two sips and pass it back to him. You thought it would be comical to press the cool bottle dripping with condensation to the back of his neck. Only it did not startle him to the point of your expectations. He enjoyed the rejuvenating feeling chilling him down from the hot sun. He laughed. He always enjoyed your little attempts at pranks and mischief, even if they didn’t always (almost always) manage to surprise him.

You threw pebbles into the water. A contest: who could throw it farther. And when that got tiresome, you slipped off your heels and your frilly white socks and dipped your toes in, going so far as only to the line where the teal blue surface darkened, lifting the delicate fabric of your dress so it wouldn’t get wet. With the flick of your ankles and a much devious expression, you splashed him, which sent him into a sarcastically impressed frenzy, and he returned the favor. Your efforts to keep your dress dry left fruitless.

Then, laying side by side on the picnic blanket, sipping lemonade, fingers intertwined with his left thumb drawing circles at the top of your hand, he remembers your whispered words brushing against his hair as the sun set and the grinning moon rose.

When he thinks of those times with you now, those years feel too short. He was a part of most of your life, but you were barely a sliver of his.

Why would the universe grant bad things to good people? If there were an almighty god, how could he allow this?

The castle walls of the knights’ quarters were sturdy, built out of the strongest of stones. Dainsleif liked calling it home. He had his own room, yes, but not as luxurious as the lord’s chambers— though that didn’t bother him too much. It certainly never bothered you. You had brought your life into that room.

Soon after the two of you had gotten closer, when Dainsleif finally managed the courage to invite you over for tea, his place began to fill with your tiny trinkets. A delicate china vase of your mother’s, a few books you gifted him in that purple wrapping paper, your very own creation: a watercolor painting. A precise yet somehow simultaneously free drawn sight of a pond with water lilies. They reflected on the surface. A fawn and its mother with their pointy white ears and bent necks drinking the lily water.

You were at a dinner party when you gave it to him. Its title: “Tranquility”. It said so on the back of the canvas, your name stamped by. He doesn’t remember whose party it was. Not the food you ate nor the people that were there. He spent that evening only talking to you. I pianist was there, that he remembers. He remembers your deep conversations, that look in your eyes. Longing, love, adoration. He remembers you wearing an elegant blue dress with matching blue gloves. Your hair was up to reveal dangly pearl earrings. And he remembers the keys of the piano lulling him into drunken love as he folded open that purple wrapping paper to reveal the two deers and their water lilies.

The two of you sat on a cushion by the windowsill. This he remembers because he felt the open breeze trace his cheeks and one of your legs swinging back and forth out the window. Your heels had come off and you left them somewhere. You told him your feet ached and you couldn’t care less where those damn heels were now. He called you crazy and you said thank you.

“I want you to have this,” you had said.

“What is it?”

“Go on now,” you urged him. “Open it.”

And so he did, and he had kissed you. You fluttered your lashes, your cheeks growing hot.

“It’s definitely not one of my best works, but I think something draws me to it. I… I thought you would like it.”

Dainsleif exhaled. The murmur in the room became a distant echo.

“It’s beautiful.”

You giggled. “Alright, stop it. People looking at my art makes me nervous, you know that.”

“You shouldn’t feel that way. You’re a very talented artist.” You blushed more and he continued. “I think people need to see how great you are. You haven’t given them the chance.”

Two weeks later you let your art appear at a local exhibition for the first time. Just a couple blocks away from the beach, the streets were full of old and young couples alike. Kids running around with their kites and ice cream cones.

You were a fan of curiosity, of the expanding universe. It fascinated you. But to say you weren’t nervous would be a lie. You were absolutely terrified. The night before, under many blankets, he held you and you asked, “What if they don’t like it?”

“Then they are fools.”

You settled your nose into the crook of his neck. “If they hate it… I don’t think I’ll show my face in public ever again.”

Dainsleif, who was running his fingers through your hair, urged you to look up at him.

“Art reveals your unique perspective of the world; if others fail to appreciate it, they simply miss the beauty that you perceive.”

You grinned, your eyes twinkling in the dark room. “Do you see the beauty I perceive?”

He chuckled, shaking his head and leaning down to run his fingers down your bare back. You started to giggle, writhing and desperately trying to push him away to stop him from tickling you.

“I’m not telling,” he teased. “You already know the answer to that.”

The chime that hung at the door rang when he entered the gallery. You were too busy to notice him there, busy chatting away with a couple of wealthy tourists from the north who were interested in purchasing one of your pieces. You looked more mature that day. Bright red lipstick, a long skirt, something about wanting to be taken seriously as an artist. He didn’t question it. Thinking about it now, the two of you were so young. So young and so clueless.

He took long steps around the room. It was quite busy. In fact, it had been his idea to offer guests desserts and champagne. The madeleines were a popular pick. He had helped you bake them, and in return, you perfected the recipe.

Five hundred and more years later, he yearns to taste them again.

Your watercolor paintings hung on every wall. Both rich art collectors and simple locals passed Dainsleif. It made him proud to see the room so alive.

He stopped by a less crowded painting. Its only viewer was an old man in a straw hat. The man leaned on his walking stick and took short puffs from his cigar.

Dainsleif greeted the man with a bow of his chin. The man huffed in return. “Boy,” the old man addressed him. “What do you suppose this work is supposed to mean? Titled, ‘Swimming in The Moon’...? The two figures there, how are they swimming in the moon, you say…? And what is that there?” he wiggled his pointed finger. “What do you suppose they are doing?”

Dainsleif thought about it. To him, it was obvious.

“In a figurative sense, they are swimming in the moonlight, not the moon itself. And what are they doing? Well…

… they’re drinking lemonade.”

Now, Dainsleif stares up at the wall, watching his shadow flicker in the candlelight as he bites his bottom lip, careful to hide noises of pain. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, concentrating on the racket of the spinning mill to distract himself from what was most bitterly evident. It is here where Ms. Bai, the owner of the mill in Qingce Village, lets him stay in the spare bedroom of her home sometimes. It is here where Dainsleif knows nothing can hurt him, no danger can be found. He comes here to rest, but quickly, for there is so much more still needed to be done.

When Dainsleif first arrived at Qingce Village, he was a mere passerby looking for some place to crash for the night. He headed to the Stone Gate, but the adventurers coming in the opposite direction warned him of incoming storms. He did not know it then, but those storms would last two weeks. A short time, but a longer time with soaking wet boots.

The old woman saw him out in the pouring rain. Pity, that was what she felt. A humble retirement village, what was a young gentleman of his age doing here? Out and about, so miserable in the ghastly weather?

She swung the door open on its rusty hinges and invited him in. He, of course, politely declined several times. Poor Ms. Bai had to practically drag him inside. It was not until she brought him hot soup and dry blankets that Dainsleif began to feel appreciative, that maybe some hospitality was good once in a while.

“You sweet thing, what were you doing out there? Have you gone mad? Do you want to even imagine the kind of cold you could catch? These people take their health very seriously. We’re old, but we have to make a living!”

Dainsleif could only let her scold him. She was right.

“Oh child,” she said, her eyes falling weary as she took in his condition. “You look like the Archons took you down with their spears and back up again… like you haven’t got any sleep ages!”

If only she knew.

And then she offered him to stay the night, showing him the empty bedroom. Dainsleif did not decline this time. He really was extremely fatigued. He would have offered to pay but had no mora. It is alright, she had said. I don’t need your money. But he insisted on offering almost anything and she declined again. A pattern of rejecting generosity.

The next morning, she cooked him breakfast. Rice and eggs and orange juice and muffins. Dainsleif hadn’t had a proper meal in ages. He ate it all. And though he expected them, she would not ask any questions. It was only until he came back to the village several months later with great injuries to his physique, blood covering his skin when she subtly brought it up.

“I am not going to bother you, it is not my personal business, but I can tell you need this. So I tell you, if you need to feel safe, you are always welcome here.”

A safe haven.

Years passed and Ms. Bai grew older and her children and grandchildren stopped visiting as often. If she noticed that Dainsleif had stayed the exact same, never aging, she never dared say it out loud.

“I don’t know where you are from. Not from these parts that is for sure,” she smiled, the lines in her cheeks revealing years of happiness. “But what I do know is that you are grieving. And child… grief is something we all feel. Grief is just love that has nowhere to go.”

That is what Dainsleif had learned. Ms. Bai, the old lady and owner of the mill in Qingce Village, had made him open his eyes, had made him discover something he had been blinded to for all of his years without you by his side. Had made him cut up a piece of his mind and soul into an area unbeknownst to him.

The memory of you enters his mind again and he thinks,

As long as there’s grief

I will endure it

because it means

that you were here

and that it mattered.

Dainsleif groans into his bottom lip. He tastes blood on his tongue. The rippling, sharp stabbing sensations coating his torso only seem to escalate with each passing breath. He pants into the open air, trying to steady his shaking hands, gripping the needle harder.

He was attacked in the dead of night. A demented Oceanid creature from the Sal Terrae. He had never seen something like it before. He sensed abyssal magic during the attack, perhaps an escaped exploratory subject.

It took all of his strength to defeat the cruel monster. He stood alone, watching the life drain out of it. But with victory came a price. A physical, painful one.

He bites down harder. If he isn’t careful, he could bite the whole thing off. He sets the needle down and takes his discarded shirt, ripping part of the fabric to put into his mouth. The fabric does well in muffling his torture. It certainly saves his lips from further pain. Dainsleif takes the needle again and punctures his skin. He threads it slowly. Inhale, into the skin. Exhale, out. With his other hand, he holds the skin together to ensure the stitches will stay. Blood continues to drip out, but as he stitches onward, the gash closes.

He’s been doing this for several hours. Ms. Bai is out, probably in the big city for the week. The sun starts to peak out from the horizon. Cranes with their long necks and mighty wings fly across the dawn-lit sky. They remind him of your brush strokes.

“Look,” you had said. “Use a fluffy brush or a sponge to create the clouds. Dip it in white paint and lightly dab it onto the canvas in the upper sections, like this…” You held his hand that held the brush and steered him. “Allow it to blend softly into the blue.”

It was one of the hottest days of the year, and the fan that usually cooled your studio had been broken. You opened the window shutters to let some air through. Below you heard the hustle of morning traffic, of wagons and carriages and distant calls of seagulls.

The two of you were sweating like crazy. It stuck to your skin like sweet and rich honey that no matter how many times you tried to wash off, it would still be there. He made you iced tea in a crystal glass pitcher, and then you sat down on the cool floor to paint.

Dainsleif was too busy looking at you instead of the task at hand. Your skin was tanner than it was before, your hair a little lighter. From being out in the sun too much, he figured. You had on a pair of shorts and a cotton camisole. They were matching, red with white polka dots.

“Dain…” you smiled a toothy grin, raising your eyebrows at him. “Are you paying attention?”

He cleared his throat, noting that he’d been staring for too long.

“Once the background is dry, use a small brush or even a fine-tipped paint applicator to lightly sketch the outlines of the birds.” You guided his hand and drew the shapes. He felt your breath on his bare shoulder and at the tip of his collarbone. “They can be depicted like this. Small 'V's or 'M's to represent their wings and bodies.”

You paused when you felt it too hot to breathe.

“Dain…” you said. “Are you listening?”

And then in one swift motion he tipped you backwards until your back hit the wooden floor, his arms straight and caging you in. The brush you helped him hold fell out of your hands and landed somewhere in the room. He hoped the paint on its hairs didn’t smudge on the canvas nor on the woven rug not far away.

He leaned down to kiss you but stopped just a breath away, feeling the speed of your inhales and exhales escalate with every passing second.

He could tell he was torturing you when you almost let out a whine, tracing your fingers up the nape of his neck into his hair. The sensation sent a shiver through him and he let go of a sigh into the hot air.

When he finally brushed his lips over yours, you both understood that the painting with the clouds and the birds would be forgotten about until later the next day.

The cranes had flown away now, and Dainsleif was on the last stitch. He pulls the string out and exhales deeply in relief. He snaps the excess string and ties it into place. He spits out the fabric in his mouth and looks down. The bed is stained in red. A sight he is far too familiar with.

And so he recalls a bitter winter night when things took a turn for the worse.

“Dain…?”

He hummed.

“I… I read some things in the paper this morning. Something about…”

Your breath got caught in your throat. Dainsleif knew what you were going to say. Ever since those documents came out to the public, everything was quieter. The people of Khaenri'ah were waiting for a train they knew may or may never arrive. He expected what you were going to bring up. He desperately didn’t want to face it.

He noticed that you moved your body closer to his, pressing against him tight. His hand met your temple, his fingers tucking away hair behind your ear. “Shhh… it will be alright,” he whispered.

“Those buildings covered in smog down the coast… I didn’t know they were discovering… that they were using new kinds of alchemy. Are we going to war? What’s happening?”

He kissed the crown of your head as your nose settled into his neck. “My dear, it is too early to worry about that.”

You pushed yourself away to gain some distance, his face getting a better view of your conflicted eyes.

“But Dainsleif, you knew about this. The Royal Guard, all the knights, the military, the king… everyone but the public. How could this happen? How can this art create new life? Isn’t it dangerous? Won’t there be consequences?”

Dainsleif took a deep breath. You looked like an angel above him, the candlelight casting its glow onto your back.

“Nobody wants war to happen. It will not happen.”

“But you knew. Why didn’t you say anything? This is dangerous. Why did the public have no say? Why were we blinded to this for so long?”

Dainsleif could tell you were on the brink of panic but doing your best to compose yourself. You were a calm person with a calm and caring character. Things never got too out of hand for you to run into the spinning wheels of anxiety. But with the complicated discussion of war, these feelings, for anyone for that matter, were inevitable.

“Dear,” he began, running his fingers up and down the length of your arms to ease your distress. “We, the knights, the guard, are given confidential information regularly. There were only mere discussions of pursuing the Art of Khemia, just a possibility. We did this for protection. I would never hold information from you, even in the utmost importance. What if there is going to be no war… no danger? Why would I expose you to useless worry and fear? Field Tillers have been a military weapon prototype for a long time now. Just as they are in control, Khemia will be controlled too. Things…” he paused, scanning your features with his cautious eyes… “The public’s interest became involved only because things began to escalate.” You shook your head vigorously. You got up from bed and walked over to the closed window. “So, things are escalating? Are we going to be safe?”

Dainsleif sighed and sat up to watch you. You had your back to him, staring out the window and the falling snow as you bit your nails.

“Right now… there is nothing for us to fear.”

Dainsleif, an esteemed knight and the Twilight Sword to the throne with insider knowledge of the monarchy, knew almost as much as you did. He said those words to you then because he wanted to protect you. He wanted to make you feel safe. But thinking back to it, he believed barely half of what he uttered.

If only he hadn’t been as stubborn, as young, and as stupid, he would’ve listened to your cries and fears and fled with you to any universe, nearby or not, so you could have stayed alive. But no one had fully grasped what was to come. No one had predicted a cataclysm.

“Come back to bed,” he whispered.

You turned your chin over your left shoulder. He could see tears on the rim of your eyes begging to break but you would not let them. You had always been strong, up to your very last breath.

He watched the snow fall behind you. They were gentle snowflakes fluttering down in a whimsical dance. They found their comfort on the full pine needles and thick tree branches, the same branches that reflected off that waterlily pond, now frozen. The same branches that watched over the fawn and its mother, sharing nature’s tranquility in the warmer months.

You sniffled.

“Please,” he said, reaching out his arm for you to take. “Come back to me.”

And you did because you loved him. You did because you trusted him. And you laid down on his chest and he wrapped his arms around you. He felt your heartbeat against his own. It comforted him.

Why? Because that day you did come back to him. Only one day, you didn’t.

The normally boisterous and charming citizens of Khaenri'ah who had turned into quiet and fearful creatures practically overnight, thought winter would never end.

That year it had been of greater cruelty. Literature that was later left to irrevocably burn had described it as barbaric, with never-ending blizzards and food shortages, waves that crashed into wooden ships and sailboats leaving no mercy on the poor souls within.

Those long months were spent huddled by the fireplace in his room, and the junior ranking knights were jealous, for their accommodations didn’t have such luxuries.

He had been lucky. Thinking back to it, too lucky. With his higher rank, he received much generous support from the royal family themselves. Warmth, money, food, and then salt. Yes, salt was the most important. So high in demand and with the markets shifting, the value rose exponentially. Everything…all of it had been an esteemed achievement, and he swore to be forever thankful for their protection. For him, and of course, for you.

He spent his time at his desk, filling out reports for the time being, occasionally peering out the window to watch the frozen water of the lily pond gain new cracks on its surface. There was little work to be done, just sending unlucky chosen squads to patrol the royal grounds, gardens, and streets. Even that wasn’t necessary, it was protocol, for there were no souls needed watching outside.

You would not say it out loud, but from the look in your eyes Dainsleif could tell you were struggling. Resistance movements of the dangerous alchemy operated from the peaks of the mountains in the Khaenri'ahn north to the shores in the south, ranging from non-cooperation to propaganda. The two of you were watching the world crumbling before you before it had actually happened. To predict what would happen would have been an ancient forbidden art form in itself, but what you were seeing was not far off.

Fear was evident in every street corner, every frozen well, every closed coffee shop, in every third floor apartment, in every humble bungalow. The coast was covered in an ashy, brown-like haze all of winter.

Business was slow. Dainsleif noticed you spending more time helping your family, which mosty included cooking and cleaning the house for them. Then, you would go to the corner shop, and carry whatever food it had left to the knight’s quarters at the right hill of the castle walls. They recognized you, old friends you had drinks with earlier that previous year. Let her in, they said. It’s the Twilight Sword’s fiancée. And when you opened his door and walked in, you saw him hunched over at his desk, pen in hand, staring blankly out the window.

So, it had been a miracle granted by all the gods themselves when the barbaric winter finally said goodbye. Ironic, for all the citizens had thought it overstayed its welcome. A welcome never granted in the first place.

Yes, he thought, the cruel winter had left, but the branches of trees had not conceived any leaves, nor did they show signs of new shoots ready to grow.

Spring. It was not too cold but not warm enough either. So, when the morning sun said hello to a new day, its rays shining through the iridescent white curtains and illuminating your sweet face in an angel-like glow, Dainsleif had hope.

It had been a gentle kiss, both his and of the sun’s that woke you up. You fluttered your eyelashes and tiredly smiled.

The icy pond in the garden of the knight’s quarters had melted completely, and as the curtains swayed in the breeze, he heard ducklings quack approvingly at their hardworking mother.

You groaned, stretching your limbs, then, in his ear, you whispered, “What shall we do today?”

“I have some things to attend to,” he said, his fingers drawing shapes on your stomach. “But do not worry. It shouldn’t take long. I can meet you down by the pier for lunch today. Would you like that?”

You said you’d love that, and that you would meet him there.

And with one last kiss to his cheek you sprung up from bed and put on a white dress with a long skirt and a red ribbon and matching red heels, looked over your shoulder one last time at him, waved, and left.

While recalling that moment, he screams. He internally screams at himself, for how could he be so stupid to let you walk away from him so easily? Why didn’t he beg you to stay, just for a little longer? Why hadn’t he made you his then, in the early morning hours when the grass still had fresh wet dew? Why had he waiting for so long?

And he screams at you too. How could you smile like that with everything happening in the world? A monarchy so corrupt and greedy it had no care for its people… all the while he worked for them… he was on their side? How could you leave him when he needed you most? How could you take it and sit there, sit there and take in his foolishness, his failure at being a better person, a better man, a better leader, a better partner?

Because just before the church bells would ring twelve times to mark half of the day, just before most shopkeepers and market staff would go on their break, just before he was to meet you at the pier for lunch, Dainsleif stood at a busy street, waiting for a carriage to pass when he felt the grumbling under his feet.

The next few events are a blur to Dainsleif, something his mind unintentionally wiped from his memory and he doesn’t know why. But what he can remember is the vibrations in the ground, the shrieking, the way the carriage tipped to its side and the horses leapt in horror. He remembers dust and ash falling from the sky like snow. Only the sky wasn’t white like your dress, it was red, with falling rocks too.

There was a deafening roar, rolling like thunder, that he is sure of. There were hot rivers of fire consuming everything in their path, snaking through the streets and parks and homes as women held their crying babies.

The ash obstructed his line of vision, but all he could think about as he ran for the pier was you.

He thought you’d be difficult to find, but there you were, your silhouette flat on the destroyed cobblestone road, and his feet started to move before his mind even registered it. Calling out your name in misery, he reached your side and saw the front of your dress stained the same color as your ribbon, your heels, the sun when it set as you drank lemonade, the current state of the sky, and the rivers of fire.

Dainsleif held your face in his lap, his hands finding their spot in your blood-covered hair.

It was hard to see your body clearly. All the distractions, from the beat of his racing heart to the tears in his eyes. He realized then that he was crying. Dainsleif had been known to be a strong and sensible man. He never cried.

Repeating your name in hushed whispers, he stroked your face gently, feeling the wetness of your own cheeks.

You had been crying too. Dead people don’t cry.

“Wake up,” he said. “Wake up.”

And when you groaned, he cradled your neck to his chest and lifted your limp body up, holding you like a broken bride.

He started walking, as fast as his panicking pace allowed him. Where? He did not know. Somewhere safe. Somewhere away from the smoldering heat, perhaps a way out completely.

“Dain…” you muttered so quietly that he wouldn't have heard if he hadn’t held your face so close to his own.

“You’re going to be alright. Promise to stay with me, okay?”

He held you tighter and you hissed in pain.

“Dain…”

He was crying harder.

“Dain, you’re hurting me.”

Only when he looked down did he see more red marks seeping through the several, once purely white, layers of your clothing. There, right below the right side of your ribcage, through the rapid gallop of your breathing, a sharp, heavy, terrifyingly clear shard of glass revealed itself in the auburn light.

That was the moment Dainsleif lost his first battle to the transcendence of mortality.

He was heaving. Sweat lined his forehead and he coughed up the soot that clouded around you.

“Shhh…” he stammered. “You’re going to be okay. Hold on just a little longer.”

You gripped his hand and tightly clenched it.

“Please,” you whimpered. “It hurts so much. I don’t think I can…”

“I’ll get you out of here, I promise. Just hold on to me.”

Dainsleif recalls hearing more crashing in the background as he ran, buildings and ancient structures full of love and history crumbling down as the archons acted in destruction. Though his hearing, all of his senses, were faltering as the grip you had on his hand loosened slowly.

“Dain, I want you to know that I love you. So much.”

Dainsleif’s head was spinning. He sniffled, shaking his head over and over again.

“Don’t go like this,” he said. “Come back to me.”

Only you didn’t. Your hand dropped its weight, and your eyes, once so full of life, lost their focus.

“I love you too,” he whispered endlessly into your skin. But he cursed himself as it will curse him for all of eternity…

…because you never got to hear him say it back.

Dainsleif, who had cleaned his cut and his tools, packed and stitched up his clothes, was ready to leave Qingce Village. The few escaped rays of light just barely peak out of the robust Minlin hills and mountains when he steps outside into the early Liyuen hours. He hears the wooden mill, weathered and adorned with moss, turning slowly, powered by the force of the current. A creak trickles down toward the terrace farms, where a few villagers have already started their day’s work.

He closes the door to Ms. Bai’s home, remembering to leave some mora he collected here and there on the porch rocking chair, as a way of thanks.

He doesn’t know when he’ll return. Perhaps soon. Perhaps never. Perhaps in another one hundred years. But he has trained his conscience never to get attached to a place for too long. He learned it to be a very dangerous thing.

And so he walks down the gravel path away from the village, onto the next adventure, wherever that might lead him, hearing soft clatter and kettles ringing as the villagers get ready for their day. He sees dew sparkling on the grass in the shade where the sunlight hasn’t kissed yet. He sees a ginger cat cross the path, its rounded face looking back at him peculiarly when his footsteps make a sound, only to run away further when losing interest. He sees purple flowers in a windowsill in a chipped vase, and they remind him of your campanulas. He smells roasted coffee and breakfast spices drifting in the wind.

And just like that, he hums a little song, for the new day is full of possibilities. He enjoys mornings like this the most. They are not cold and not lonely like old winter nights. They are serene. Golden. He feels radiant. He feels hopeful.

And he is like a deer drinking water from a pond of lilies.

Because in mornings like this, he feels tranquility.

♡♡♡♡♡

#genshin impact #dainsleif #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #dainsleif x you #genshin impact fluff

33 notes · View notes

gadriezmannsgirl · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! Love your work could you write a gavi × reader where reader is on vacation in Spain and gavi sees her from afar and he can't stop looking at reader like live at first sight and his friends see him watching you and tell him to make a move and he does and his friends tease him bc he finally found someone

Celebration fic for the 1K followers✨

Vacations with Love at First Sight -P.G6

Summary: At vacations the last thing you both thought was falling in love.

You were in delight when you got your vacations after studying so hard for five months and two weeks straight, Uni was kicking your calm, patience and sleep hours and now you were done, you were finally getting them back for another two weeks. And it may not be the whole time you'd like but it was what you get and you were going to take the best of it.

You and your friends wanted and decided (After a lot of begging to your parents), that you were going to spend the two vacations week in Ibiza, you have rented the house you were staying in for, you have the food, the restaurants, everything.

And now after three days of being there already, you were loving the idea of coming next summer to Ibiza, the place was so nice and quiet enough to reload your batteries and have a great time with your girls.

What you didn't know was that you had a little admirer looking at you three tables away.

Pablo Gavi, who was also in Ibiza with his friends after a hardworking season with the Barcelona and the National Team, had his eyes on you since the moment you walked through the door with a smile on your face.

"Would you stop looking like a creep?" Adbe, one of Pablo's friends said

"I'm not a creep"

"Please, you have been looking at the girl ever since she came here" Javi joined besides him as Pablo gave him a look "You're not even trying to hide anything" Pablo rolled his eyes as his friends laughed lightly "She's pretty"

"Yes, she is" Aurora nodded agreeing with her boyfriend

"C'mon, Pablito" Fermín smiled at his friend "Go talk to her"

"She's pretty but I don't like her. I can't distract myself with girls, I need to focus for the next season. Besides, she's with her friends, she won't pay attention to me or will just think I'm stupid"

"She won't" Aurora replied "You obviously like her, season is over now, you can relax yourself and have a great time Pablo. Girls won't distract you from anything"

"I won't go"

"Fine. I'll go"

"Aurora, what are you doing?"

"Making friends" And that's how the seven guys watched how Aurora walked over to your table and a few seconds later, you stood up grabbing a chair from the empty table besides you and invited her to sit, which she gladly did

"Oh fuck" Carlos said laughing "Your sister's amazing"

The guys were laughing while Pablo was shaking his head softly looking at you, wondering how easy was for his sister to engage a conversation, he couldn't believe it.

"Aurora's calling me" Javi said standing up

"You're leaving?"

"My girl calls" The guys laughed before Aurora appeared

"The girls are okay with you sitting with them, if you'd like"

"This is your chance, Pablito" Mario said smiling and standing up "It's okay to have someone, you know?"

"Yes, Pablo" Fermín nodded "Stop with those things going on your head, be free and happy"

Pablo sighed watching his friends go around your table, watched how you got two tables together for all of you and slowly let himself stand and walk towards you.

"Hello" He tight smiled and inmediately he was received with your smile and a wave "Where can I sit?"

"There's a seat next to Y/N" Javi said inmediately and it was as if he knew who you were, his eyes went to yours and you smiled moving your chair to the side leaving a seat free for him.

He instantly went to sit next to you with his nerves at the top of his head and actions

"Hello" He heard your voice and instantly fell in love with it, he smiled at you "Y/N Y/L/N" You stuck your hand out and he shook it

"Pablo Gavi" He smiled

"You're Aurora's brother, right?" He nods

"Sorry if she came out a bit too much" You shake your head

"She's lovely"

And that was the start of a conversation with Pablo. Both of you, hitting it off instantly, no one, not even your girl friends, dared to disrupt your conversation with the Sevillano.

"I'm gonna go and bring me another drink" You said standing up "Guys... You want a refill?"

A few "yes" came through the table as you picked their drinks

"I'll help you, girl" You best friend, Pamela said standing up

"Don't you worry, Pamela" Fermín said "Pablo can help her"

Looks were directed to Pablo "Yes, of course!" Pablo said standing up and helping you with the drinks.

You walked over and asked for the refill and as you waited, you and Pablo were in silence for the first time of the evening.

"Y/N" You heard your name being called and you turn to Pablo "What are you doing later?"

"Um- I don't know... Maybe later with the girls go to our room and watch some movie or go to the beach, why?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out?" He asked and you smile softly nodding

"Sure, where are we going? Are the guys coming as well?"

"I meant just you and me" Pablo said nodding while pointing to him and you

"Oh! Yes, of course!" Your nods and smile calmed him down "Where are we going?"

"Wherever you want to" You laugh nodding

"What time?"

"Does 5pm sound good?" You nod "Perfect. Make yourself prettier than you already are"

"You think I'm pretty?"

"I don't think you are pretty. You are pretty, I'm just lucky to see it"

"You're a charming one, Pablo" He smiled feeling the blush come to his cheeks "And a very shy one as well"

"Ay, cállate" (Oh, shut up) You laughed carefree as you were being watched by Javi, Aurora, Mario and Fermín

"Told you he was gonna do it" Mario said happily

"I'm happy for him" Fermín said

"So are we" Javi replied for him and for his sister. You came back with the drinks and instead of sitting, you remained up

"Seat's free to sit" One of your friends, Melisa joked as you laughed lightly

"I know it is but we won't sit right now"

"Why?"

"We are going on a walk" Pablo answered smiling softly "I'll bring her back before 9pm"

"You better" Your best friend, Pamela said with a smile "Take care guys"

With a smile, Javi opened his phone and went inside their group chat "Distracted already?🥴 You left your glasses"

And with that text a lot of teasing came through to the poor Sevillano, who couldn't care less about his phone at the moment, he was happy he followed his friends advice.

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviypedrisbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @http-isabela

#gadriezmannsgirl is writing #pablo gavi x reader #gavi x reader #pablo gavi one shot #gavi one shot #pablo gavi icons #gavi icons #fc barcelona

370 notes · View notes

sunburnhurts · 11 months ago

Note

may i request cedric diggory x f!reader comforting her in a moment of grief of her father passing away! can’t wait see the fanfics you write :)

Comforting | Cedric Diggory x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n's father passes away and Cedric helps her work through her grief. (After the tournament and ofc he doesn't die in it in this story)

Warnings: Mentions of fathers death, a lot angst in the beginning, comforting and I think thats it lol!

Words: 1,317

All My Stories

A/n: Aww thank you so much! ofc!! Thank you for being my first requester!! If anything is wrong pls tell me bc I haven't watched the movies since 2020 haha I have just been reading fanfics lolll. Also, idk what Hogwarts would do if a students parent would die or something so this is probably wrong sorry haha

Just like every other morning, Cedric walks to the Great Hall to start his day with having breakfast with his girlfriend, Y/n. They have been dating for 2 months and everything was going great. Cedric took her on dates, Y/n helped him through the stress before and after the Triwizard Tournament, and they were always there for each other.

Y/n wasn't much to show when something was wrong, during her relationship there was never a time where she would pick fights or make anything about her. She was a very selfless person and that was one of the things Cedric loved about her.

Cedric sat down in his normal seat, next to an empty spot which usually has Y/n in it. Maybe she woke up a bit late, he told himself, not thinking anything of it. A few minutes went by and he assumed that she was in bed sick, so he grabbed a piece of toast to bring up to her.

Once he got to her room, he knocked softly a few times. When he didn't hear any movement, he whispered as he reached for the handle of the door, "Y/n, its Cedric. I'm coming in, okay?"

He slowly opened the door and peeked his head through, looking around to see if there was any sign of Y/n. Her bed was messy, but empty. Cedric grew a little confused at the unusual situation, but he made sure to keep himself calm. Still being unstable from the second Triwizard task where he had to save her, he grew worried.

Wondering where his girlfriend could be, Cedric crosses his fingers in hopes everything is okay and he will see her in their first class together.

Cedric felt weird walking alone to class, usually Y/n and him would be walking hand in hand, talking to him about random things. They would talk about the next prank the Weasley twins were going to pull, or what their plans were for the upcoming summer.

When Cedric sat down to another empty seat that is supposed to be occupied by Y/n, he grew more worried. Usually if his girlfriend was sick or something she would tell him and not just disappear.

As the class went on, Cedric decided to look for Y/n again. He asked his professor if he could use the bathroom and once he was allowed, he walked out and started thinking of where she could be.

While walking through the halls, he comes across one of Y/n's friends, Angelina. "Hey, have you seen Y/n anywhere?" Cedric tried asking calmly, but Angelina could tell he was a little nervous.

"Yeah, we were walking down to breakfast together but we got stopped by Professor Mcgonagall. She asked Y/n to come with her to her office, so I'm assuming she is still in there." Angelina responded, flashing a smile in hopes to calm her best friend's boyfriend down.

Angelina thought it was so cute how the boy her best friend always wanted so bad was worried about her. Angelina knew always knew they wanted each other, so she tried helping Y/n out and told her to make a move, but stubborn Y/n didn't want to and was scared that he didn't care about her as much as she cared about him. But obviously that was wrong.

Cedric nods and walks with a little speed to Professor Mcgonagall's office. Before arriving at the door to the office, he notices a girl walk out of the office with her hand to her face. Cedric recognized it as his girlfriend and her face was red, she walk walking slow, and she looked deep in thought.

As soon as Cedric identifies the girl, he jogs over to her and calls her name. She doesn't answer until he catches up to her and puts a hand to her back. He notices her eyes have no light in them, no look of happiness on her face. "Y/n, love, whats wrong?" Cedric says as he wraps his arms around the girl.

She looks up at him, her eyes red from crying and her eyebrows slightly furrowed. She takes the hand off her mouth and sinks into her boyfriend, tears start flowing out of her again.

"My dad," Y/n starts, hugging Cedric back. She could barely get the words out of her mouth. Her head felt fuzzy, her body, numb. "he died."

Cedric's heart dropped, a dark sorrow formed in his body. "Y/n," He didn't know what to say. "I'm so sorry." He tightened his grip on the grieving girl. "Lets go to your dorm okay?" Y/n nodded.

As they made their way up to Y/n's room, Cedric never let go of his girl. He tried thinking of ways he would be able to comfort her, he just couldn't find good words to comfort her.

Y/n sat on her bed as Cedric closed the door. Once he turned around, he saw Y/n looking at the floor, staring into space. His heart ached even more at the sight, the love of his life going through something he couldn't imagine.

He walked over to her and sat next to her so he was facing her. Cedric gently cupped the side of Y/n's cheek so she would look at him. Her head turned, but her eyes delayed in moving. Once she was looking at him, Cedric asked, "What do you need me to do?"

"I don't know." The girl responds, truly not knowing what she wants. Cedric uncupped her cheek and grabbed both of Y/n's hands. Y/n turned her body to face Cedric, she sat criss-cross.

"Do you want to cuddle?" He asks, hoping to lighten the mood a little. The girls eyes shot up to his and she huffs a little laugh, she nods. Cedric moved to the top of Y/n's bed and had his arms open for Y/n to craw into.

Y/n craws up to her boyfriend and places her head and hand on his chest. Cedric starts rubbing her back in hopes to distract Y/n from whatever she was thinking of. He hears a sigh and feels her relax into him.

"I'm sorry for not going to breakfast." Y/n says quietly.

"Please don't be. When you didn't show up I assumed you were sick so I went up here to your room but you weren't here. So then I thought you went to our first class, but when you weren't there I knew something was wrong." Cedric explained.

"Sounds like you went through a lot just to find me." Y/n joked.

"I'd go through anything to find you." Cedric responded seriously. Hearing this, Y/n looked up at her boyfriend with a gleam in her eyes.

"Really?" She said smiling.

"Really." He said. Y/n leaned and connected lips with the love of her life. They kissed softly and passionately, which Y/n needed.

"Wait aren't you supposed to be in class?" Y/n said slightly moving away from the kiss.

"You're more important." Cedric said, which made Y/n smile and made her kiss him again. "I love you so much Y/n." He mumbled against her lips.

Cedric felt her smile as she responded, "I love you so much Cedric."

Over the course of months, Cedric would comfort Y/n whenever she was feeling sad or zoning out. He would take her on dates and hold her hand whenever she wasn't smiling.

Y/n's best friend, Angelina, made sure to tell her about how worried Cedric was about her when he couldn't find her. Angelina also made sure to tell Y/n how much she loved the pair together and how she hopes to find a man who loves her as much as the pair loves each other.

The End

A/N: Heyy! I feel like I wrote "Y/n" or "Cedric" too many times im so sorry lollll. I hope you love this!!! Please request if you have anything you would like to read! I want to only do Cedric but I would be open to a few other people like Fred. Again I do not do smut. I also just want to say I have no clue how it feels to lose someone so close to me so I am so sorry if I didn't depict it correctly. Thank you so much for reading!

62 notes · View notes

aita-polls · 4 months ago

Note

AITA in a falling out I had with a friend?

This is kinda heavy but has been weighing on me for years. Story happened a couple years ago but still has some effects on my friend group rn. Everyone here is early teens btw

I used to have 3 good friends, M, S, and J (all f). Out of all of them, I had known M the longest (around 2-3 yrs before this, i think), and became friends with J and S since we all shared a PE period. Also, I feel like it’s worth noting that J came up to M and I, and wanted to be friends first, not the other way around despite other events that may happen.

At first, the four of us got along fine, but problems soon started to arise after a month or so. I have self-diagnosed ADHD and anxiety (parents won’t take me to get tested), and tend to hyperfixate on a lot of different fandoms, but had almost nobody to talk to, and in my mind M was safe enough that I would be able to talk about fandom stuff with her. J didn’t like this, and used to punch me every time I talked about something that “pissed her off”-which was like literally everything I talked about- and would start talking about her fandom to all of us. With no warning.

It got to the point that I would come home with bruises on my arms from how hard J hit me (J does taekwondo, she hit me hard several times a day), and one time she pushed me into the grass when she knew I’m allergic.

Other things I would do that reportedly “pissed her off” include:

Shipping my friends together, which sometimes included her, and not even seriously. Like in a “I think A and B would be cute together” sort of way. Also worth noting J participated in shipping her friends together as well, which included me a lot of the time, but I just tried to brush it off. (I no longer participate in this behavior. It was just a thing that was normalized at my school and I didn’t think it was wrong to do so until I thought about it and realized it was really gross to do that after this school year I am describing)

Making and sending memes about things that happen at school in a group chat the 4 of us had, most of which she liked and a select few that would cause her to punch me again the next day

Drawing. Like no joke she would insult my art, saying things like “your drawings are shit” and “I could do better”, and punch me, just because my style is more cartoony and than hers and less anime-like

One time I compared her to a character from my fandom that I really liked because his character arc really resonated with me (still does today tbh) and she came up the next day, punched me, and said “I’m nothing like that character bc I’m a girl and he’s a guy”

And apparently my reactions when she insulted the fandom I liked was funny

Eventually I got fed up with it, and so did M and S, and we’d go like a couple days of not hanging out with J and going back and back and forth. During this time, S or M (I can’t remember who) mentioned we could do something to “get back at J.” I didn’t really think much of it until S came back one day with a script she came up with one day to make J jealous of S by making her think S stole her crush (J didn’t have a crush. The guy S chose was literally a random guy in our PE that we talked to sometimes.) M was completely on board with this plan while I still didn’t really take it seriously. Somehow, J found out about this thing S and M were planning, saw that they put my name there (I did not help in the formulation of this plan at all, it was just S and M), and put all the blame on me. J then stopped talking to us for the most part, but we still texted online in our aforementioned group chat. Then summer rolled around and M moved away to a different city.

A couple weeks before the new school year started, we were all texting and I was kind of freaking out that I couldn’t access the website to check my new schedule. J sent me a screenshot of her website glitching out but my WiFi was terrible that day and nothing on my phone was loading, including the image J sent me. The rest of the interaction is copy pasted except for name changes:

Me: Even your pic is giving me errors J

J: (eyeroll emoji) do I look like I care?

Me: Who asked you?

J: ur mom

J: Tbh I wish it was you that moved away and not M -.-

M: that’s so mean-

M: I wish it was u who moved away and not me

M: then I could still hang out with (anon) and not u

J: (unamused emoji) I don’t get along with (anon) at all, I can get along with u

M: then u should have moved away

The rest of the convo was M and J fighting, with M saying J literally abused me and made it look like she was the victim, and J saying if we didn’t ship her so much, she’d be nicer to us, and saying we started it (we actually didn’t, J came up to us first, started punching me before I shipped her, and even then I feel this point is irrelevant because I can’t see jokingly shipping someone compared to possibly physical abuse)

I cut J out entirely after this, but still remain friends with S and don’t talk to M as much on account of her moving away. Some of my friends outside of S are friends with J, and they know I’m not on good terms with her but still talk to her anyway. However, I feel like I might be TA because my friends apologize to me every time I see them talking with J, no matter how much I urge them that it’s fine, they can have their own friends, etc. I also am not proud of the way I handled my friendship with J, particularly when it came to the shipping thing and near the end when I started getting fed up with her, but at that point I was legit scared for my own health and safety (I still am around her sometimes).

So Tumblr, AITA?

#thank you for the submission!#polls #aita #tumblr polls #aita polls #aitah polls #poll blog #aitah #am i the asshole #reddit #tw violence #tw physical abuse #tw bullying #not the asshole #nta

8 notes · View notes

javierpena-inatacvest · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 13- There's No Place Like Home

Summary: 6 months ago, Javier Peña quite literally bumped into you and changed your life forever. 6 months later, Javi prepares to ask you to spend your forever with him.

Word Count: 13.2K (reasonable of me tbh)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (wrap before u tap), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, creampie, praise kink, massive breeding kink, one use of daddy (in reference to actually being a dad, but STILL), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mentions of food/eating, Javi being a nervous wreck, so many surprises (hehehehehe), literally so much fluff and love and happiness AHHHHHHHHH

A/N: It's here!!! The moment we've all been waiting for since these two lovebirds first met 😭😭😭💖💖💖 I have no words, only loud screams into the abyss bc of how happy and in love these idiots are!!! Thank you to everyone that has been along on this ride, your love and support means more to me than you know 🥺🫶🏻 Also literally not that anyone cares, but I picked May 27th as just a random day when I first started writing, and the way I literally SCREAMED when I found out that Thanksgiving in 1997 fell on November 27th?!?! That, and when I first started, Javi was not proposing until the spring/summer OOPS 🤷🏼‍♀️😂

Series Masterlist Next Chapter Previous Chapter

November 27th, 1997.

6 months.

6 months since the day he quite literally bumped into you.

6 months since he had first laid eyes on the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

6 months since the moment he already knew he was head over heels in love with you.

6 months of waiting to ask the most important question of his life.

Because tomorrow, exactly 6 months from the day he had met you, Javier Peña was going to ask you to marry him.

And he was a fucking nervous wreck.

It had killed Javi to wait this long. By conventional standards, 6 months wasn’t that long to know someone before you asked them to spend the rest of their life with you, but in all honesty, Javi would have proposed to you 3 months ago after he first got his mom’s ring from his dad. He had never been so sure of anything in his entire life- he wanted to spend forever with you. And now, after what felt like years of waiting, making sure that everything had fallen in place to give you the best proposal he could possibly imagine, the day was almost here.

Javi wanted everything to be perfect. He needed it to be. You were the most perfect person he had ever met, and to him, you deserved everything, and then some. He wasn’t nervous you were going to say no, or that he was second guessing his decision, Javi was a mess because there was nothing more he wanted than to give you a day you would never forget.

It was also going to now be a day Chucho Peña never forgot either. After everything had settled into place for Javi to finally start finalizing his plans, his poor dad had now become much more involved in planning a proposal than he ever thought he’d have to be. At this point, he was truly trying his best to not find it humorous how worked up his son had been over it, knowing that there was no way in the world you were going to be anything short of amazed, let alone say no.

“And you’re sure that you’ve got the-”

“Javier. This is probably the 14th time you have gone over the plan with me. Yes. I am sure I have everything you need. I have both lists you insisted I take, everyone knows where to be and what to do to help. Take a deep breath, hijo.” Chucho chuckled, taking a sip of his beer as he and Javi sat on the back porch of the Peña ranch, watching the sky slowly fade from bright yellows and pinks to faded blues as the sun dipped below the horizon.

“Okay. Sorry. I’m uh- Fuck, Pops, I’m nervous as hell.” Javi swallowed, running his thumb along the condensation of his can, anxiously drawing little circles in the water droplets.

“Really? I can’t tell.” Chucho joked, smirking to himself as he glanced over at his son, bouncing his leg against the chair he was sitting on. “Javier, what is there to be nervous about? It’s not like she’s going to say no.” Javi looked up at his Dad, the worn smile of his wrinkled face bringing him some relief from the nervous state he was in.

“No, I know. I just- I just want it to be perfect. I want it to be perfect for her. I’ve been thinking about this for so long and now it’s finally fucking here. She deserves everything, Pops. I love her so much.” Chucho reached over, patting his hand against Javi’s shoulder, gently squeezing his fingertips against the soft fabric of his flannel shirt.

“Javier, it will be perfect because you love her, and she loves you.” Chucho paused for a moment, quietly laughing to himself as he looked over at Javi. “Have I ever told you the story of how I proposed to your mamá?” A mischievous grin grew across Chucho’s face as Javi nodded, taking another swig of his drink.

“Yeah, you did it at the lake, right?”

“Yes. But that is the short version of the story, Mijo. I was so nervous when I proposed to your mother, that as we were walking up to the lake so I could get down on one knee and ask her to marry me, I tripped over my own feet and fell right to the ground, and the ring came out of my pocket. I didn’t put it in a box, because I was worried she would see, and so she had to help me find her engagement ring in the grass because I couldn’t find it. Until the day she died, she never let me live it down. But it is still one of my favorite memories of the two of us. It was still perfect. Javier, that girl would marry you if you got down on one knee and asked her in your living room. I have no doubt in my mind that tomorrow will be a day that she will never forget.”

“Fuck, guess I better add tripping over myself to the list of things I need to worry about, thanks, Dad.” The pair laughed, shaking their heads as Chucho gave Javi one last pat on the shoulder before he placed his hands on his knees, letting out a heavy grunt as he pushed himself up out of his chair.

“Cabrón (asshole). Now go, you should be spending time with your future esposa (wife) instead of your old man the night before your engagement. I promise, I have everything taken care of.” Javi followed his dad’s suit, setting down his beer before standing up, reaching out to wrap his arms around Chucho in a tight embrace.

“Thanks, Pops. For everything. Te amo.”

“Of course, mijo. Te amo mucho. I am so happy for you, Javier. She is such a wonderful woman. I am so glad she is going to be a part of our family. I know that your mamá is smiling down on you- She would have loved her so much, Javier. I love her, too. And now, I’m finally one step closer to mis nietos (my grandchildren).” Chucho playfully nudged Javi as he rolled his eyes, giving his son one last embrace as Javi headed out to his truck. As he turned over the ignition, Javi smiled to himself as he turned up the volume of the Queen’s Greatest Hits album you had picked out from your last drive.

“Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had. Been with you such a long time, You're my sunshine, and I want you to know that my feelings are true, I really love you. Oh, you're my best friend.”

Javi couldn’t help but let a stupidly wide grin spread across his cheeks as he listened to the lyrics of the track that had begun playing over the quiet crunch of the gravel under his truck tires as he backed out of the driveway to drive home. Because tomorrow? Tomorrow, Javier Peña was going to ask his best friend in the whole world, the woman he loved more than life itself, you, to be his wife.

Even though it was barely long enough for you to consider it to be a school “break”, you were glad to have today off to prep for your first Laredo Thanksgiving tomorrow. This would be the first time you would ever spend the holiday away from your childhood home, where your family had hosted every Thanksgiving for as long as you could remember. As much as you would have loved to fly back to go see everyone, plane tickets for the long weekend had been ridiculously expensive, and with just going to visit them a month ago for your cousin’s wedding, and future plans to go back to Chicago over Christmas break, your parents had been insistent on the fact that it was okay that you weren’t going to be able to make it home for Thanksgiving. While of course, you had been heartbroken you would have to miss seeing your family, from the moment Chucho found out you were Texas bound for the holiday, he was quick to make sure you felt nothing short of absolutely included in celebrating with the Peñas, even if it was just you, Javi and Chucho.

Javi still had to work on your day off, so you had spent your free time catching up on chores around the house, taking a well deserved nap and now, you were working on the apple pie you insisted to Chucho bring for the celebration tomorrow, as much as he had tried to convince you that you didn’t need to bring anything.

Somewhere along the lines of your childhood, it had become a Wednesday before Thanksgiving tradition that your family would watch The Wizard of Oz with your siblings before going to bed (although now as an adult, you had a feeling your parents put it on for you and your brothers so they could get the house ready without the four of you doing any more damage), so it only felt right that you put in on to watch as you waited for your pies to cook in the oven and Javi to get home. You shuffled through your VHS collection under the TV, rummaging around until you pulled out the worn tape, pushing it into the VHS player. After the movie had begun to play, you turned back around, letting out a defeated sigh at the current state of your kitchen.

As much as you loved baking, it always seemed to feel like a bomb had gone off by the time you were done as you looked around to see bowls, cutting boards and rolling pins in disarray on your counters. You grimaced to yourself looking around at the mess you had made, rolling up the sleeves of Javi’s oversized Texas A&M sweatshirt you had thrown on after you had woken up from your nap. With the way you had set up your apartment when you moved in, you were able to get a good view of your TV from the kitchen, cranking up the volume on your remote so you could listen and quote along to the movie as you worked on trying your best to clean up before Javi came home to your baking tornado.

At this point, you had seen the Wizard of Oz enough to quote it from front to back, especially as you and your brothers very early on in life had easily determined who got to be each part when you watched together. By default, because you were the only girl, your brothers told you that you had to be Dorthy, which you didn’t mind because you got the main part and to have Todo (Although your favorite family dog, Otis, an overweight yellow lab, wasn’t very pleased about having to be a part of you and your brothers yearly production). Charlie was always the Tin Man, being the oldest and most empathetic out of the rest of your brothers, David was Courage the Cowardly Lion, claiming lions were cool animals and that he was the bravest of your siblings, much to your disagreement, leaving Patrick as the Scarecrow, you and your brothers giving him the title of the smartest idiot you’d ever meet. After finishing washing the dishes, you had moved on to wiping down the counters, pausing and smiling to yourself as you heard the start to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” playing from the TV. You couldn’t help yourself as you began to sing along, swaying back and forth as you lazily wiped up your mess. You were so caught up in singing and dancing to yourself that you hadn’t even heard Javi open the door behind you.

Javi had quickly come to find out after moving in with you that not only coming home to you, but coming home to find you singing along to whatever CD you had playing as you meandered through the apartment, completely oblivious to his presence, was one his favorite things. There were times he could hear your voice as he went to unlock the door, making sure to open it extra quietly so he could stand in the doorway for a few moments, taking in the warmth and joy that radiated from you as you were lost in your own world. He soaked in every moment, watching every sway of your hip and shake of your head until you realized that he was home, making him just as happy for the big hug and kiss he got from you and your excited giggles as you greeted him.

He couldn’t quite make out what you had been signing as he carefully turned his key in the lock, gently closing the door behind him, grinning at the image of you dressed head to toe in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, messy bun plopped on your head as you bent over the counter, resting your elbow on the hard surface with your head propped up on your chin.

“Somewhere, over the rainbow, bluebirds fly. Birds fly over the rainbow, why then oh why can’t I? If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can’t I?”

Quietly setting down his bag and keys, Javi snuck his way over to the kitchen loud enough for you not be completely startled by his presence, as the song came to an end, making you turn your head over your shoulder to see Javi coming behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist from the back he pressed his chest into your back, making you giggle as he planted quick, soft kisses along the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder.

“I could listen to you sing all day, Hermosa.” Javi rasped into your ear, playfully shaking you in his grasp. “Wizard of Oz?” He asked, gesturing towards the TV as the movie continued in the background.

“Really? You want me to sing Days of the Week for you? I didn’t get to sing it today since there was no school, I really need to get my fix.” You retorted, giving Javi a little nudge as he rolled his eyes.

“Please for the love of God, no.” The both of you laughed as you looked back at the TV, watching Todo escape from the back of Mrs. Gulch’s bike basket.

“My brothers and I would always watch it the night before Thanksgiving. Not really sure how the tradition started, but figured I’d throw it on. I can turn it off if you don’t wanna watch or put on something else.” You replied, reaching over for the remote.

“No, keep it on, Osita.” He smiled, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head, arms still resting along your hips as he held you. “I can’t fuckin’ tell you the last time I’ve seen this movie. I’m gonna be real honest with you, I never really watched it that much as a kid because the flying monkeys scared the shit outta me.”

“Seriously? They’re not even that scary. But we can fast forward through the monkey parts, if you need to, ya big bab-HEY!” You shrieked as Javi suddenly turned you around in his grasp so you were chest to chest before scooping you up and plopping you down so you were sitting on the counter. He placed his hands outside your hips, engulfing your body and making you squirm and laugh as he peppered ticklish kisses across your neck and face, trying your best to swat back at him. “Javi stop! You know that tickles!” You squealed, finally grabbing his arms, wrestling with him until he had given up, pressing a sweet, tender kiss on your lips.

“Oh yeah? Who’s the big baby now?” He smirked, running his hands along your thighs as your legs dangled over the edge of the counter.

“Still you, because I’m not irrationally afraid of poorly made monkey costumes.” You pointed your finger at him, prodding at his chest.

“They’re fucking terrifying, Osita. You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Oh really? You still gonna tell me I’m the worst when I take these apple pies out of the oven?” You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest as you nodded over to the stove.

“Fuck, I knew it smelled good in here. Does that mean I get to-”

“Don’t you dare even think about trying to sneak a piece of these pies before tomorrow, Javier Jesús Peña! These are for Thanksgiving, and even though there’s only the 3 of us, I still made two because I know if I put a pie down in front of you, you could probably eat the whole thing by yourself, and I am not making another pie after the disaster in this tiny kitchen that I just cleaned up.” You raised an eyebrow at Javi, trying to give him your best stern face, the two of you snickering at each other as you tried to scold him.

“Fine, fine. No pies.” Javi laughed, holding up his hands in defense. “Not even just a little-”

“Javi! No!” You shook your head, slapping his arm as he looked back over at the oven before looking back at you, a sly smirk spreading across his face. Grabbing at the meat of your thighs, he slotted himself in the empty space of your legs, spread open as you sat on the counter. His hands quickly slid up towards your waist, creeping under the hem of his sweatshirt you were wearing as he caged his chest against yours, nipping at your neck, his words hot and heavy on your skin. “Javi….” You moaned, tipping your head back as his kisses traveled down to your collarbone and hands tugged at the waistband of your sweatpants. “Javi, I’m gonna burn these pies, I don’t wanna have to make them again or explain to your dad that they’re burnt to a crisp because his son cannot keep his hands off me for more than 30 seconds. They only need to be in the oven for like-”

“10 more minutes?” Javi quickly cut you off, now beginning to slide your sweatpants down your thighs, firmly pressing his hands along the soft flesh of your now bare legs. “Oh, don’t worry, I saw the timer, Hermosa. Baby, you know I can take care of you in 10 minutes, now I just wanna see how many times I can get you off before the pies are done.”

“Seriously? You’re timing yourself? Are we placing bets on this too, while we’re at it? You are absolutely ridiculous, Javi, I swear.” You tried your best to roll your eyes, but as his hands crept down, palming the already wet patch that had been growing in your underwear, it was hard to pretend you were even annoyed in the slightest. Your breath hitched as he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties, shuffling them down your legs as he placed his hands on the inside of your thighs, pushing them open to reveal the slick of your arousal that had already been pooling between them. Gently, he ran his fingers through your folds, barley grazing over your clit before dropping to his knees, coming face to face with your dripping heat.

“3.” He said, carefully kissing along the inside of your legs, making his way closer and closer to your entrance.

“3 what?” You replied, trying your best to stay focused on anything Javi was saying as his nose bumped against your throbbing bundle of nerves, practically feeling his smirk against your pussy as he darted his eyes up at you.

“3 times. I bet I can make you cum 3 times before the timer goes off.”

“You’re a fucking menace, Javier Peña, you know that right?” You sighed, gripping your hands against the edge of the counter, feeling your cunt clench, desperate for him to ease the ache between your legs.

“Only for you, Hermosa. Solo para ti (Only for you).” Javi looked up at you, shooting you a quick wink before licking a broad stroke against your clit, making you gasp and your jaw go slack as you moaned breathlessly. That was all it took before he dove in, a man on a mission to make you cum as many times as he could in the few minutes he had. Your legs draped over his broad shoulders, his fingertips squeezing into the flesh of your hips as his pace became rapid and intense, licking and sucking at your clit in a way that had you writing on the counter, tugging at the dark curls of his hair for any sort of relief.

“Javi, holy shit baby, oh fuck.” You whined, bucking your hips towards his face and arching your back as he circled around your bundle of nerves, your moans and whimpers only making him press his tongue firmer against you. Even after all this time, there was a part of you that still couldn’t believe how fast Javi could make you cum. He had memorized every twitch, every tug of his hair, every breathy whisper to know what made you fall apart under his touch, loving every second of watching you come undone for him. You could feel the tingling beginning to creep up your legs and into your stomach as Javi sucked at your clit, pulling his head closer to your soaking core, desperate for more. “Please don’t stop, Javi. Fuck baby, fuck, fuck, I- ahhhhhhhhh.” That was all it took before you could feel the waves of pleasure rushing through your body, your pussy throbbing as your orgasm flooded over you, your body trembling at Javi’s relentless pace as he still worked at you as you came.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet, hermosa. Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.” Javi smirked, his mustache covered in your slick as he peeked over at the timer counting down on the stove. “7 minutes? Plenty of fucking time, Osita. You want my fingers, pretty girl?” He mewled, satisfied as he stared at the soaking wet mess between your legs, knowing you were still needy for more.

“Mhmmmmhhh. Please, Javi, please.” You whimpered, your hand still buried deep in the brown locks of his hair, pleading for relief as your cunt clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled.

“Such a good girl, asking so nicely.” He cooed, slowly pushing his two fingers into your already drenched core, making you gasp at the thickness now filling you, bumping against the soft spongy spot that made your toes curl and your jaw go slack. Already so worked up from just moments ago, as soon as Javi’s mouth was back on your throbbing clit, you could feel yourself beginning to clench around Javi’s hand, arousal pooling in your belly. His fingers slid easily in and out of your heat, his hand and mouth working at a persistent pace as he felt you squirm under him, knowing how close you were again.

Your second orgasm hit you even harder than your first, moaning and panting incoherently as you tensed around the thickness of Javi’s digits, soaking his hand as he feverishly lapped up your slick, only removing his mouth after he knew you had come down from your second high to smirk up at you with a devilishly smug grin. He ran his free hand along your leg, grasping at your thigh as his other hand still slowly pulsed inside you, his fingers curling ever so slightly to the spot he knew would get him to his goal. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t even blame him for self-satisfied smile- Javi knew just as well as you that he knew how to work you in all the right ways to get you exactly where he wanted you. “Gimme one more just like this, Osita. C’mon, sweet girl. Wanna watch that pretty face when you cum. ” You nodded, looking down at the shine of your arousal covering his smirk, knowing that at this point, you were so worked up and overstimulated that just the fingers already inside of you really were all you needed to give him your last orgasm.

Javi’s fingers had already sunk so deep into your cunt, already so overly sensitive to every push and pull of his hand, that your grasp on the counter had become so tight, you could feel your knuckles turning white. You cried out his name as it fell from your lips, babbling incoherently as the third rush of pleasure crashed over you, gushing onto Javi’s hand as awed at your blissed out state.

“That’s it, baby. Let it all go, hermosa. Fuck, you look so good like this. Can’t believe you’re all fuckin’ mine. God, you’re so perfect.” Javi carefully pulsed his fingers a few more times as he felt you clench around him, making you hiss as he withdrew his hand now soaked in your slick. Bringing his hand to his mouth, he sucked his fingers clean before rising up off his knees, taking his time to plant soft kisses along your body before grabbing your face, pressing his lips against yours the taste of you still tangy on his tongue. It wasn’t long until the beep of the oven timer was ringing through your kitchen, making Javi’s smug smirk only grow wider. “See? Told you I could do it 3 times before the pies were done.”

“Jesus Christ…” You swatted at him, trying to catch your breath, the two of you laughing and shaking your heads as he helped you slide down off the counter before pulling your sweatpants back up over your legs, walking over towards the oven. “If you think this was gonna change my mind about you getting a piece tonight, it’s not.” You raised an eyebrow at him, throwing on an oven mitt before reaching in to pull out the pies, sweet and steaming as they rested on the counter.

“Not even just a-”

You turned around, trying your best to give him your most stern look without bursting into giggles, making Javi hold his hands up in defense, stopping mid-sentence. “You can have all the pie you want tomorrow, you hungry, horny menace.” You laughed, taking off your oven mitt and pointing it at him.

Tomorrow.

He couldn’t help but smile knowing that in less than 24 hours, tomorrow meant a lot more than just getting to eat the apple pies that had just come out of the oven.

Javi felt like a little boy on Christmas morning. Sleep was an incredibly inaccurate way to describe the anticipated tossing and turning he had done all night, his heart racing excitedly as he counted down the moments until he finally got down on one knee, and asked you to be his wife. It didn’t take much to get Javi out of bed bright and early, his adrenaline pumping through his veins as he planted a soft kiss on the tangled and sleepy waves of your hair as you laid face down, snoring into your pillow, before sneaking out of your room into the kitchen.

As you shifted over in bed, reaching for Javi to pull him closer to you in your half asleep state, you scrunched your face, blinking as you looked over to find an empty space beside you, the sheets of Javi’s of the mattress left in a tangled pile in his place. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you looked up to see the sunrise creeping through the cracks of your curtains, painting your bedroom walls in golden rays and silhouettes, blowing in the soft breeze from your cracked window. Reaching your arms over your head and letting out a big yawn, you crawled out of bed, shuffling across the carpet of your bedroom to your dresser to pull out another one of Javi’s sweatshirts before opening your door to hear the sounds of sizzling and popping coming from the kitchen. Creeping down the hallway, you peeked your head around the corner to see Javi and his messy, sleepy curls cooking away, working on what seemed to be like bacon and eggs, sitting next to an already completed giant pile of pancakes.

“Are we having breakfast for 12 this morning?” You giggled, your voice still soft and sleepy as you smiled at Javi, walking into the kitchen and hugging him from behind, snaking your arms around his waist, resting your body against his broad back. “You didn’t have to do all this, Jav. I didn’t know you were getting up to make breakfast this morning, I could have gotten up and helped.”

Javi set down his spatula, turning to face you, gently cupping your jaw as placed a soft kiss on your lips and forehead, squeezing you in a tight hug. “Good morning to you too, Hermosa. I know you didn’t. I wanted to surprise you and bring you breakfast in bed, but I guess I should have known better that you would be up before then.” He chuckled as you hoisted yourself up onto the counter, sitting next to the stack of pancakes you now noticed were separated by both blueberries and chocolate chips. He reached beside him, handing you the mug of coffee he had poured, gladly taking a generous sip before watching him finish up the rest of the scrambled eggs on the stove.

“Surprise Thanksgiving breakfast?” You laughed, tilting your head in confusion as you looked over at Javi before reaching down to grab a chocolate chip pancake, taking a bite and letting out a satisfied sigh.

Javi tried his best to keep calm and nonchalant, giving a little shrug as he scraped the eggs off the pan onto one of the empty plates, handing it over to you. “It’s uh- it’s your first Thanksgiving away from home, I don’t know- I know you love breakfast, I just wanted to make it special for you, I guess.”

“Well-” You paused, taking a big fork full of eggs, nodding your head as you chewed, “Oh my god these are good-” finally swallowing before finishing the rest of your thought, “You’re very sweet, and I am very, very thankful for you, and your delicious breakfast.” You grinned, leaning over to give Javi a kiss on the cheek on his scratchy, morning stubble as he dropped the rest of the eggs on to his plate, setting it to the side as he hooked his arms under your thighs, making you squeal as you draped his arms around your neck and locked your legs around the small of your back as he spun you around, peppering ticklish kisses against your soft skin.

“I’m so thankful for you too, Osita. Fuck, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that? I love you so goddamn much.” His sweet, brown eyes locked with yours as your hands ran through the soft curls of his hair before tracing along his cheek, your thumb rubbing soft circles along his jaw.

“I love you too, Jav. Someone’s feeling sappy this morning.” You prodded, giving him one last quick peck before unwrapping your legs and setting your feet back on the ground, grabbing your plate and heading over to the couch to turn on the TV. Javi looked at the ground sheepishly, feeling the heat creep through his flushed face.

You didn’t even know the fucking half of it.

Javi had spent the rest of the morning trying his best to stay as even keeled as possible, but with how fast his heart had been beating since the moment he had gotten out of bed, he was surprised you hadn’t asked if he was having a heart attack as you pressed your head against his chest, cuddling up together on the couch to watch the rest of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade after finishing your huge breakfast.

“Awh yes!” You grasped at Javi’s shirt, shaking the fist fulls of fabric in excitement as you stared at Santa’s sleigh now making its way across the TV screen. “Christmas time is finally here!” Javi shook his head, laughing to himself at the number of times you had already broughten up how excited you were for Christmas since the day November had started. “Are you gonna hate me if I start decorating and listening to Christmas music tomorrow?” You grimaced, twisting your head to look up at Javi.

“Jesus Christ, you weren’t kidding, huh? You really wanna start setting out Christmas shit tomorrow?”

“I will hold off until December 1st if I absolutely have to, but just know, each day that passes until then will kill me slowly.”

“And I’m the ridiculous one?”

“Pendejo.” You grumbled, giving him a nudge.

“You love me. That’s fine baby, I’m honestly impressed you held out this long.”

“Honestly, it’s only because I actually really do also like Thanksgiving, it deserves it's time to shine, too. Oh, speaking of which, I wanna call my family just to say hi really quick before we start getting ready to leave, is that okay?” You asked, pushing yourself up off the couch.

“Uh, yeah- yeah of course that’s fine, Hermosa.” He replied, seeming surprisingly flustered by your question. You obviously hadn’t seemed to notice, walking over to grab your phone off the receiver before punching in your house phone number, holding it up to your ear as the dial tone rang repeatedly. A confused look spread across your face as the ringing ended in your mom’s familiar voicemail, giving Javi a puzzled shrug as you left your message.

“Hi everyone, it’s me! Just wanted to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving! I miss you guys! If you try and call and I don’t answer, we’re over at Javi’s dad’s- Javi says hi too. Okay, well if I don’t talk to you later, then tell David not to eat too much gravy so he doesn’t shit his pants again. Love you!” You pressed the red button, ending your call as you set the phone back down. “That’s so weird that no one answered, they should all be home right now.”

“I’m sure they’re fine, baby. They’re probably just busy. I’m sure you’ll talk to them later.” He smiled, giving your outstretched hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah, you’re right. We should probably start getting ready, when did your dad want us over again?”

“He said to take our time, he’ll have food ready whenever we get over there.”

“Well I feel bad that he’s there waiting all by himself. I’m good to hop in the shower if you are?” You suggested, pulling him up to stand from the couch.

“Don’t worry about me for the shower, I’ll clean up the rest of breakfast and you can start getting ready, okay?” Javi rubbed his hand along your arm, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“Jav, you made me breakfast, the least I can do is help clean-”

“Osita. I know you’d help me clean up. I want to, okay? I wanted to get up and make breakfast for you, I’m not gonna let you clean up my mess.”

“Fine, Mr. Stubborn. Thank you. You sure I can’t-”

“Go get your ass in the shower, hermosa.” Javi gestured towards the bathroom, giving your butt a quick smack before heading down the hallway into the bathroom.

In all honesty, cleaning the dishes was the last thing Javi had on his mind as he was finally able to get you into the bathroom. Once he heard the water on and the shower curtain open, he snuck his way into the bedroom, digging through his sock drawer to pull out the giant sock ball with your ring buried inside it. Pulling the velvet case out of the fabric, Javi carefully opened the box, smiling at the glimmer of the piece of shiny jewelry, picturing how perfect it would look finally wrapped around your finger. He slipped the case into one of the inside pockets of his jacket, squeezing his hand around the fabric, as if to make sure this was actually happening. Quietly, he grabbed his cell phone from his nightstand, dialing up Chucho, anxiously chewing at the inside of his lip as he waited for his dad to answer.

“Hola, hijo.” Chucho answered, his voice filled with excitement and glee.

“Hey, Pops. She just started getting ready so I’m guessing we’ll be there in like, an hour and a half?” His dad could practically hear Javi’s nerves and anxiety now beginning to build as the realization that he was hours away from proposing was finally starting to hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Perfect. Everything and everyone will be ready, don’t worry, Mijo.” Chucho chuckled, trying to ease his son’s tension.

“Okay.” Javi’s response was short and unassuring as he ran his free hand through his dark curls before resting his hand on his hip.

“Javier. Tiene planeada un día mas perfecto para ella. Así que respiremos profundamente, todo está yendo bien. A ella le encantaría. Casi tanto como elle te ama.” (Javier, you have planned the most perfect day for her. Take a deep breath, it will all be okay. She will love it. Almost as much as she loves you). Javi took a long inhale, his dad 's words comforting him as his exhale followed.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Claro, hijo (Of course, son). We will see you and your futura esposa (future wife) soon.”

“Te veré pronto. (I’ll see you soon) Bye.”

Hearing the water from your shower turn off, Javi rushed back into the kitchen, speed washing every dish and pan to make sure it looked like he had made good on his promise to clean up after himself while you were getting ready in the bathroom. With the dishwasher full and running, Javi made his way down the hall to see you standing in front of the bathroom mirror, wrapped in your towel, and starting to put on your makeup. He couldn’t help but gawk at you- Javi watching you get ready had become a staple in your relationship very early on, the two of you talking as Javi rested his hip on the counter, or sat on the lid of the toilet seat, smiling to himself, in awe of every beautiful part of you. But there was something about the way that Javi was staring at you right now as you peeked your head out of the bathroom that made your heart flutter. It wasn’t the I’d fuck you right now against the bathroom counter look that had become just as much of a staple as Javi watching you get ready, it wasn’t even the sweet, flirty look he’d give you when he just wanted to let you know how cute you were. The way Javi looked at you as you stood there in your fluffy towel, makeup half done and hair wet and tangled from the shower was a look that put butterflies in your stomach. He looked at you like you were the only person in the world. That he didn’t care if anyone else existed beside you. That you were the only person he ever wanted to look at like this.

“What’s that look for?” You blushed, setting down your mascara to stare back at him.

“You’re just- Fuck. You’re so beautiful, Osita. Everything about you. I’m so lucky.” Javi’s words were soft and gentle, his sweet brown eyes making you melt as they soaked in every inch of you.

“Does Thanksgiving always make you this sappy?” You giggled, biting down on your lip before turning back to the mirror. “Thanks, Jav. I hope you know I feel equally as lucky. Now go get your cute butt in the shower so we don’t have to make your dad wait any longer. I need to find the loosest fitting outfit I have so I can make room for when I eat my bodyweight in mashed potatoes.”

By the time Javi was finished getting ready, you were already out in the kitchen wrapping up the pies you had made last night to safely get to Chucho’s without any sneaky tampering from Javi.

“Well, you look handsome.” You smirked, watching Javi walk down the hallway in one of his dark washed pairs of tight jeans, paired with a tan button up and black jacket overtop of it. Javi’s jaw just about dropped as he watched you make your way out from around the counter, showing off the cute, burnt orange dress you had put on over your cream colored turtleneck.

“Me? Jesus Christ, look at you, Osita.” You giggled as you pressed up on your tiptoes, giving him a quick kiss as you draped your arms over his neck.

“Oh shhhh. Thank you, Jav. You ready to leave?” You smiled up at him, Javi praying you couldn’t feel how fast his heart was racing as he caged his chest against yours, thinking about the last drive he was ever about to make with you before you went from girlfriend to fiancé.

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Can I trust you to carry the other pie on the way down to the car without eating any of it?” You laughed, rolling your eyes as you reached over the counter to hand him the tin foil covered dessert.

“Yes, you can trust me. I think I left my phone in the bedroom, let me just go grab it really quick and then we can go, okay?” You nodded at him as he quickly made his way back to your room, cell phone already tucked away in his pants when he put on his jeans 15 minutes ago. He looked over his shoulder to check and make sure you hadn’t followed behind, pulling out the ring box one last time, taking a deep breath before giving it a little squeeze and stashing it back in his pocket.

It was really fucking happening.

As the two of you began your drive to what you assumed was Chucho’s, Javi turned up the volume of the CD he had picked out to play in the car, “Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac now bumping through the speakers. He reached over the center console, intertwining your fingers with his as he grabbed your hand, smiling over at you as the melodic intro began. “This song always makes me think of the first night I ever stayed over at your apartment. All you had to eat was fuckin’ mac and cheese.”

“Oh my God, I remember that. I was so embarrassed because I had nothing else to eat and I didn’t want you to think I was a crazy person who only ate like a 10 year old. God, that feels like forever ago.” Running your free hand over your face, the two of you laughed over the melodic soundtrack playing in the background, the memory of that night making your heart grow warm.

“I guess. Honestly, it still almost feels like it was yesterday. I just remember how fucking nervous I was the whole goddamn night.”

“With how many times we fucked that night, you really didn’t seem nervous.” You giggled, rubbing your thumb over the rough skin of his hand interlaced with yours.

“I was. I was so nervous I was gonna fuck something up, because I knew I was already so fucking in love with you, and it scared the shit out of me. No one else has ever made me feel like you do. I knew from that day on I never wanted to live without you.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I felt the exact same. We’ve come a long way since then, huh?” The two of you smiled at each other as you leaned your head over to rest on Javi’s shoulder, Javi pressing a tender kiss in your hair, the sweet and familiar smell of your shampoo flooding him with comfort, easing his nerves just a touch as changed course from his usual route to the ranch, making you perk back up in confusion.

“Since when do we go this way to your dad’s house? We’ve never gone this way before.” You questioned, a puzzled look spreading across your face.

“I know. Just trust me, okay?” He grinned softly, giving you a reassuring squeeze of his hand.

“Okay?” You replied wearily, giving Javi a suspicious look. “What the hell are you up to?”

“Osita. Just trust me.”

“Fine, I should know better than to ask questions at this point, I know you’re not gonna tell me anything. Do I get a hint?”

“No, you dork.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” You grumbled, resting your head back against Javi as he drove the two of you down an unfamiliar path, the sounds of Fleetwood Mac filling the comfortable silence between you.

It wasn’t long until the road you were on started to become vaguely familiar, peeking out the window of the truck to try and piece together why your surroundings felt so recognizable. It wasn’t until you saw the white “For Sale” sign, now covered with “SOLD” in bright, red letters, peeking out of the tree lined driveway that you began to put two and two together.

“Wait… Isn’t this the place that we went to go see for Steve’s friend a couple weeks ago?” You asked, looking back at Javi as he slowed the speed of the truck, beginning to turn into the driveway.

“Mmmhhmm.” Javi nodded, his fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.

“It- It looks like he must have bought it, so why are we back here? Are you sure he’s fine with us just like, showing up here?” You were absolutely stumped as to why you were back at the plot of land you had gone to check out for Steve’s friend after his Halloween party until you rounded the corner along the “For Sale” sign.

“Yeah, I think he’ll be okay with it.” Javi smirked, gazing over at you.

Then all of a sudden, it hit you like a ton of bricks.

The conversation you had overheard between Javi and Steve at the Halloween party.

The reason why he had asked you to come look at this place for Steve’s buddy.

Why “SOLD” was plastered over the for sale sign.

You could physically feel your jaw drop, hanging open so wide, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it had dropped through the floor of Javi’s truck. Your eyes grew as you looked over at Javi, your head darting back between him and the trees lining the driveway, practically frozen in shock.

“Javi…” You whispered, your breath shaky and trembling from the butterflies building in your stomach. His silence had never felt more comforting, simply smiling back at you before putting the truck into park, hopping out to make his way to the driver’s side, opening the door for you. You quickly wiped your palms against your dress, feeling how sweaty they had become from the nerves building inside you before sliding out of your seat, walking hand in hand with Javi the last few feet down the driveway before the trees opened to the open, grassy field hidden behind it, just as charming and beautiful as you remembered it.

You had been so focused on the view in front of you, you hadn’t even noticed Javi tugging your hand over towards the old oak tree on the side of the property, wrapped in twinkling string lights and pictures of the two of you. Under the tree, a big plaid blanket laid spread across the grass, covered in piles of cute pillows and surrounded by a few candles and vases of beautiful orange and red flowers resting on the ground. You felt your heart race, knots of anticipation building in your stomach as you quickly began to realize the “SOLD” sign wasn’t the only thing Javi was trying to surprise you with.

Holy fuck, he was going to propose to you, too.

You used every last brain cell in you to try and form anything close to a coherent sentence, but the best you could get out as the two of you reached the blanket under the towering tree was a jumbled mess of tangled words, spilling from your mouth. “Javi- What, are- Baby, is this- Javi, I, I- Holy shit.” Your hands trembled as you reached out for one of the pictures hung around the base of the tree- One Chucho must have taken one of the days the two of you were out on the ranch, Javi carrying you on his back as the two of you laughed at each other with stupid grins on your face. You could practically feel your heart beating out of your chest, tears already beginning to well behind your eyes as you looked up at Javi.

“That one’s always been one of my favorites. You look so happy, Osita.” He whispered, rubbing his hand along your back as the two of you stared at the photo, Javi pressing a soft kiss against your head, letting out a shaky exhale as he pulled away. Grabbing your hand, he turned towards you, the Adam’s apple of his throat bobbing as he swallowed, trying to compose himself before he spoke again. “All I ever want is for you to be happy, baby.”

You let out an audible gasp, covering your trembling hands over your mouth as you watched Javi lower himself down onto one knee, tears welling behind those sweet brown eyes as he smiled up at you with that familiar gaze you realized you would now never have to live without.

“Osita. Baby, you make me the happiest man in the world. I don’t think I ever truly understood what it felt like to be this happy until I met you. I couldn’t be more thankful that your clumsy ass bumped into me all those months ago, because there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by since I’ve met you that my life hasn’t been better, because you’re in it. You’re everything I never knew I needed, and everything I never thought I deserved. You are the most beautiful, kind, and loving woman I’ve ever met. You’re also the most stubborn, headstrong, independent woman I have ever met, and I love every perfect part of you that makes you the person I feel head over heels in love with. From the moment I met you, I couldn’t imagine how I could spend the rest of my life without you. I wanna spend forever with you, Osita. I wanna give you the world. I wanna start our lives together here. I wanna build you a house, I wanna fill it with as many kids as you want, I wanna spend the rest of my life here with you, because if I have that, that’s all I’ll ever need. You’re all I’ll ever need.”

Javi’s hands shook as he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the little velvet box that had been hidden inside, carefully opening the case to reveal the beautiful, oval cut diamond, nestled between little clusters of smaller stones, resting on top of a dainty and simple gold band. You could feel the tears streaming down your grinning cheeks, still trying to comprehend what was happening as Javi held the ring up towards you.

“Osita, I love you so much. Te amo más que a mi vida (I love you more than life itself). Baby, will you marry me?”

Javi could barely finish the question before you were jumping on him, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you could, sobbing into his shoulder as the two of you fell onto the blanket, bodies tangled in each other as you laid on top of him.

“Of course. Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. I love you so much.”

You laughed through your tears, grabbing his face, your lips meeting in an electric moment that made everything else around you stand still. You could feel each other’s grins against your parted mouths, laying back down on top of Javi squeezing him as tightly as you could to try and ground yourself in the reality of what had just happened.

“I think I’m supposed to put the ring on your finger now, you dork.” He laughed, pushing you both to sit up as he grabbed the case that had landed next to him on the blanket, cautiously taking out the ring, his thumb rubbing over the knuckles of your outstretched hand as he slipped onto your finger, the both of you staring at it in awe.

“Javi… Baby, holy shit this is beautiful. How did you- When did you-”

“It was my mom’s.” He grinned, biting down on his lip as he watched the ring sparkle on your finger before looking back up at you, the tears now building in both your eyes again. “When uh- In the end, before she passed, she always told me if I ever found someone, I could have it. I kinda wrote it off because I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone, let alone find you. I know I never really asked you what you wanted or liked, but-”

“Javi. It’s perfect.” You cupped his cheeks, your face beaming with joy as you shook your head still in absolute shock. As if the ring on your finger wasn’t enough, you looked back out at the green grass swaying in the gentle breeze, reminded of the fact that not only did Javi want you to be his wife, but this man had just told you he was about to build you a fucking house. “You really bought this? We’re gonna build a house here? This is all ours?”

“It’s all ours, Hermosa. Whatever you want, baby, I’ll build it for you.” Javi's face lit up watching the excitement radiating from you, your eyes darting back between the ring on your finger and the beautiful plot of land in front of you, trying to take everything in.

“You’re being serious? Like actually? We’re really gonna build a house here?” You asked, still trying to process.

“Yes, seriously.” Javi nodded, smiling at you as you shook your head in disbelief, burying your head in your hands and squealing before shooting up, running over to the middle of the empty plot grass, spinning in a circle, imagining the possibilities of what was to come.

“So we can have a big kitchen? And huge windows so it’s always sunny inside? And a porch on the back deck that we can watch the sunset? And a-”

“Baby, we can have whatever you want.” Javi chuckled to himself as you stood there for a moment, taking it all in before running back over to him, once again, tackling him to the ground pressing frantic kisses against his lips.

“We can finally have a bedroom big enough for a king size bed? Where we can hang out all day? And watch the sunrise? And have plenty of space to fuck my husband?” You smirked, feeling Javi’s cock twitch against the denim of his jeans as you laid on top of him. Javi let out a low groan as you hand snaked between your bodies, reaching down to palm at the bulge straining against his zipper.

“Say it again.” He rasped, planting hot, wet kisses along your neck, nipping at your skin.

“My husband. You’re gonna be my husband, Javier Peña.”

Husband.

Oh fuck, did that do something to do him hearing you say that out loud.

Grabbing you by the hips, he quickly flipped you over, your back resting on the blanket as he hovered over you, trailing kisses down every inch of your body before his palms pushed up the hem of your dress, grasping at the meat of your thighs. He cupped his hand against your core, already feeling the wetness that had begun to pool in your underwear, carefully hooking his fingers under the waistband before sliding it down your legs.

“Again, baby. Say it again.” He mewled, running his fingers between your folds, collecting your arousal as his thumb circled around your clit, making your breath shake as you spoke again.

“Husband. Fuck, Javi, I’m gonna be your wife.”

Now that, that one really did something to him.

“You’re gonna be my fucking wife.” Javi’s tongue darted between his parted lips as he sunk his two fingers deep inside you, making you moan beneath him. “I’m gonna be your fucking husband. I’m gonna take such good care of you, Osita. I’ll give you everything. Anything you want, Hermosa, I’ll give it to you.” His touch had you writing, bucking your hips against his hand as he thumbed at your sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers curved ever so slightly, pressing against the soft spongy spot that made your pussy throb even more intensely than it already was. Javi’s forehead rested against yours, your noses brushing against each other as your words escaped from the soft, smirking curve of your lips, thinking about Javi’s promise.

“Anything? You’re gonna give me a house, your last name…you gonna give me a baby, too? Make you a husband and a daddy?”

Holy shit, you were really trying to fucking kill him.

Just the thought of that alone was enough for Javi to let out an audible groan, biting down on his tongue and taking a deep breath to compose himself so that he didn’t bust right that second. “Jesus Christ…” he growled, quickly removing his fingers, already soaked with your juices, making you whimper at the rapid loss. Frantically, he undid his belt buckle, sliding his pants and boxers down his thighs to reveal his already hard cock, his tip red and leaking with precum. That was all it took before Javi was stroking himself, lining his tip up with your entrance and flushing his hips against yours, feeling his length bottom all the way out against your cervix, making you whine at his fullness inside you. You’d be lying if you said the idea alone hadn’t made you so wet and worked up, that even though Javi had barely spent any time working you open with his fingers, he still slid into your heat effortlessly.

“Fuckkkk meeee, Osita.” He grunted, already beginning to press into you at a rushed, sloppy pace. You had come to find out that while Javi had impressive stamina, there were times that the little things you said or did to him made him absolutely lose his mind. It would leave him so worked up and on edge, that his endurance flew out the window, barely standing a chance at lasting more than a few quick minutes buried inside you. Given your comment, the rate he was snapping his hips into yours, and that all too familiar lustful look in his eyes, you already knew he was a goner.

You grasped at fist fulls of his jacket, digging your fingers into the fabric as Javi punched deep into the spot that made your vision go white, feeling your cunt already beginning to clench around his cock as he rubbed his fingers frantically along your clit. “You want me to give you a baby, Osita? Shit- I’ll give you as many babies as you want. We’ll fill up every fucking room in this house. I’d fuck a baby into right now if I could. You’d like that, huh?” Javi hissed through gritted teeth, his strokes rapid and punishing as he punched against your g-spot, watching you whimper beneath him.

“Fuckkk, yes, Javi- ahhhh- Jesus, I want it so bad. I want everything with you, baby.”

“Fuck, Hermosa, I’m close- I can feel how close you are too, baby. So tight and wet. Give it to me, Osita. Want you to cum all over my cock before I fuck you full of me.” With a few more strokes, you could feel the tingle building at the base of your spine as your orgasm ripped through you, euphoria flooding through your veins across your body. Your moans and cries as you tightened around Javi’s dick had him moments away from coming undone just as fast as you had, his rambling becoming just as fast and boundless as his last few pumps inside of you.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be such a good wife- oh shit- such a good mom. I can’t until we can have a family to raise here- I can’t believe-ahhhh- I can’t believe your mine forever. Can’t believe I get to marry you, fuck a baby into you, holy shit, fuck, fuck- ohhhhhhh-” With one final thrust, Javi buried himself deep in your hilt, milking himself of every last drop of his spend, slumping into you, your chests rising and falling in unison as you both came down from your blissed out highs before pulling out from the wet mess between you.

“Well fuck me…” You giggled, running your hand over your face, smirking back up at Javi.

“Jesus Fucking Christ, Osita. I’d apologizing for fucking busting so quick, but goddamn, if you keep saying shit like that, I swear…” The two of you laughed, Javi picking up the hand covering your face, kissing the ring now wrapped around your finger before leaning down to meet your lips in a long, tender kiss.

“You liked that, huh?” You smirked up at him, biting down on your lip as he nipped at your ear, his voice low and raspy as his hot breath pressed against your skin.

“Baby, if you keep talking like that, I swear to God, I’m gonna find a way to beat your birth control and fuck a baby into you right this second.”

“I meannnnn, I wouldn’t be mad about it. You better stop saying shit before I run home and toss my birth control pills out the window, never to be seen again. No, no, this is bad, Jav! We aren’t even married yet, Jesus! We cannot be talking like this until we at least make that happen and we build this house. One step at a time.” You sighed, shaking your head and laughing to yourself as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear before swiping his thumb along your bottom lip.

“One step at a time.” He repeated, softly gazing into your eyes, his sweet chocolate brown stare making you melt beneath him. “I love you so fucking much, Osita.”

“Te amo hasta la luna y de regreso, Javier Peña.” (I love you to the moon and back). I still can’t believe you did all this for me. I would have been happy with anything, but a proposal and surprise house combination is pretty fuckin’ tough to beat. Thank you, Javi. For everything. I am the luckiest woman in the world. I honestly still can’t believe this, oh my God.”

“There’s still one more surprise.” Javi grinned, his comment making you sit up in shock.

“Javi. Seriously? How could there possibly be any more surprises? Did you get me a fucking unicorn too?”

“Last one, I promise.”

Javi grunted as he pushed himself up to stand, extending his arm down to you to help pull you towards him. You couldn't help but wrap your arms around him, squeezing your body against the warm familiar space of his, staring out into the blank canvas that would be yours and Javi’s home. The two of you stood there for a moment in silence, smiles stretched wide across your faces as you held each other in the crisp November breeze, feeling like the only two people in the world to exist. No one but you and him. You had Javier Peña forever, and you were never letting go.

As you had finally come to grips with the reality of what had just happened on the actual car ride over to the Peña ranch, you could feel your head spinning with questions as to how in the world Javi had managed to pull all of this off.

“Wait okay, so when did you get the ring? You hid it really well, I had no idea you even had it. Did you set all of this stuff up? When the hell did you go buy this beautiful piece of land we’re about to build a house on? How long have you been-”

“Jesus Hermosa, one at a time.” Javi chuckled, resting his hand on your thigh to try and slow your interrogation as he drove.

“Sorry, sorry. I still can’t believe you did all of this, I wanna know all the details now! Okay, the ring- I’ll start there. God, it’s so pretty.” You beamed, holding out your hand in front of you to stare at it.

“I got it from my dad after my birthday party. Believe me, I would have done this sooner, but all the stuff with buying the fucking land was a pain in my ass, and took way longer than I thought it was going to. I put the offer in right before we left for Chicago, and didn’t close on everything until like 2 weeks ago. ” Javi sighed, shaking his head.

“Yeah Jav, I’m SO upset you didn’t get this beautiful piece of land to build our dream house on and propose to me a few weeks sooner, I’m calling it all off.” You joked, your voice oozing with sarcasm as Javi rolled his eyes at you.

“Pendejo.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked to marry me. When did you decide building a house was gonna be a part of this whole plan?” You asked, smirking over at Javi, giving him a little nudge across the center console.

“For a while now. I looked at a few houses after I got the ring, but nothing felt right. My dad built our house on the ranch when he and my mom got married, and after talking with him, it was the only thing that made sense. I want our house to be everything we want. Everything you want.” He smiled, tracing his thumb in soft circles along your leg.

“Javi, we could live in a cardboard box together and I would be happy. I don’t care as long as I’m with you. Although, I’m not mad about it.” The both of you laughed to yourselves, stupid grins on your faces. “So like, are you gonna build it? Not that I don’t trust your construction skills, but that seems like a lotta house for one man.”

“Jesus, no. My cousin Danny’s a contractor- I talked to him when I was thinking about doing all of this. He helped me find the place and already agreed to start building whenever we’re ready. I told him obviously we would help whenever we could, and my dad has already offered to help too- he’s about to be over there every day, because he’s convinced the sooner the house is built, the sooner he gets his grandkids.”

“I think he may be the most excited out of anyone.” You giggled, shaking your head. “So he obviously knows about all this? Did he help with setting everything up?”

“Yeah, he had some help too.” Javi smiled as the two of you pulled into the driveway of the Peña ranch, the sun slowly beginning to set behind the horizon, the golden rays spilling in through the windows of his truck as he shifted it into park. He quickly got out, hopping around to your side of the car to open your door, taking your hand and helping you down after planting a soft kiss on your lips.

The two of you walked hand in hand up to the house, giddy with excitement to finally talk with Chucho about everything Javi had surprised you with today, almost forgetting that the 3 of you still had Thanksgiving to celebrate on top of everything else. “Oh shit, the pies!” You exclaimed, getting ready to run back to the truck before Javi grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“I’ll go get them in a minute, let’s go inside, okay?” He insisted, dragging you back towards the house.

“Javi, it’ll take like 2 seconds, I-”

“Ostia. Just go inside, okay?”

“Fine, fine!” You laughed, reaching your hand down to twist open the doorknob, looking up at Javi’s boyish grin. “I just don’t understand why-”

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, THEY’RE HERE! AHHHHHHH HONEY!”

You stood there for a moment, wondering who the hell was screeching at the top of their lungs, ambushing you in a hug that felt more like a death grip than anything else. It took a second before you processed the all too familiar voice and arms wrapped around your body, making your heart race and tears begin to fall down your face.

“Wait, wha- Wait Mom?! What are you-”

“Oh sweetheart, oh my God! BOYS! GET YOUR ASSES OUT HERE! COME CONGRATULATE YOUR SISTER.” Your Mom shouted over your shoulder, still squeezing you in her arms, shaking you frantically. “JAVI, HONEY, AH WE ARE SO HAPPY FOR YOU!” Your mom shrieked, pulling Javi in for just as tight of a hug as the one you had just gotten a few seconds earlier before turning back to you, squeezing you again.

“Wait, everyone- Mom, what the fuck? What are you- wait, what are you all doing here?” Finally beginning to come to, you pulled away from your mom to see not only Chucho, but your dad, brothers, and nieces all smiling back at your awestruck face.

“Language honey, Jesus, just because you’re getting married doesn’t mean you get to swear at your mom.” She swatted at you, rolling her eyes.

You took another step back as your eyes darted between Javi and your family, your jaw hanging open in absolute shock. “But when did you- how did- Wait, what is happening?” You ran your hands through your hair, head swiveling back and forth, looking for someone to explain how the hell your family had ended up here, at the Peña Ranch in Laredo, Texas.

Shuffling up behind your mom, your dad greeted you, pulling you in for a quick hug and little noogie on your arm before doing the same to Javi, standing between the two of you as he spoke. “Once this kid knew when he was gonna propose, he wanted to find a way for us to be there. He knew how much you didn’t wanna miss Thanksgiving, which I don’t fucking understand, I thought you were gettin’ a get outta jail free card from these idiots,” He gestured over at Charlie and David, shrugging in agreement before turning back to you, “Javi asked if we wanted to come down here for Thanksgiving so we could celebrate it and spend it with you. You found a good one, kiddo.”

“Congrats, asshat. If there’s hope for you, then there’s hope for us all, isn’t there?” David snickered, giving you a playful punch before patting you on the back for a hug.

“To say there’s hope for you is generous.” You smirked at David, elbowing him back as Olivia squealed, running up to you with her arms outstretched, her patience running out as she waited for the grownups to finish talking.

“AUNTIE BEAR!”

“Cutie patootie!” You shrieked back, picking her up and spinning her around.

“Auntie Bear, did Mr. Javi do the surprise? Did you know that Mr. Chucho has cows?! And horses!? I got to go pet one and Brianna did too, but she was scared and cried, but I didn’t ‘cause I’m really brave!” Olivia beamed, giggling as you gave her one last twirl as you set her back down.

“You got to go see the animals? Aren’t they so cute? Yes, Mr. Javi did the surprise, it was a really good one.” You smiled back at Javi, tears welling in your eyes, wondering how your heart could feel any fuller.

“This niñita y su hermana (little girl and her sister) took very good care of the animals this afternoon. Gracias, peque (thanks, little one).” Chucho grinned, reaching down to give Olivia a gentle high five as she bounced in excitement before looking back up at you. “Oh mija. I am so happy for you both. Your family is a hoot, I will tell you that. I see where you get your spunk from.” All of you laughed as you wrapped your arms around Chucho.

“Mr. Peña, that’s a very nice way of calling us the biggest bunch of annoying idiots you’ve ever met, so thank you.” Charlie remarked, making everyone laugh equally as hard as he leaned against you, holding your other niece, Brianna as he ruffled your hair. “I’m so happy for you, Cubby. Natalie says she wishes she could be here, but with the baby, she couldn’t make it out.”

“I’d ask if she was mad, but considering you got these two little monsters and yourself out of her hair, I’m guessing she’s kind of relieved. Tell her we’re excited to meet baby Lucas at Christmas. Thank you, Charlie.”

Now that you had finally said hello to everyone, you turned back around to look at Javi, the look on his face only slightly smug as he winked at you, shaking your head back at him in disbelief. “You are absolutely insane, you know that?” You tried to laugh through your tears, caging your chest against Javi’s as you hugged him, wondering how in the world you had ended up so goddamn lucky. “Thank you, Javi. This is- I can’t- I don’t even know what to say. I love you so much.” Javi reached down, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face as he cupped his hand around your jaw, smiling out at your family before back down at you.

“I told you, Osita. You deserve everything. I’m glad I get to spend forever trying to give it to you. I love you too.” He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips, quickly interrupted by the sounds of Olivia’s disgust at the two of you.

“Ew, that’s really gross. Auntie Bear, do you have to kiss him now because you’re getting married? Maybe just do that when I’m not here.” She grimaced, covering her eyes and sticking out her tongue. Your family burst out in laughter, only to be interrupted once again by your mom’s excited screams.

“MARRIED! Honey, you’re getting MARRIED!”

“Jesus, Pam! I’m right here! You’re gonna blow out my fuckin’ ear drum!” Your dad winced, covering the sides of his head with his hands.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re getting married.” You replied to your mom, without breaking your stare up at Javi, your cheeks warm and full from the grins between them.

The rest of the night was spent full of joy and laughter as all of you gathered in the Peña’s kitchen for Chucho’s Thanksgiving feast, telling your family all about the surprises of your day, listening to them explain their antics of getting from Chicago to Laredo, how they had spent the day with Chucho at the ranch after helping set up for the proposal, and stories of Thanksgivings past, and the sweet memories of the family you’d wished could have been here to celebrate. The hours passed by like seconds as you ate more than your fair share of food, (excluding the pie you had made, considering Javi and your brothers practically inhaled it from the moment it was set out on the table), and laughing harder than ever as your family taught Javi and Chucho how to play “Chaos Cutlery”- your family’s version of the game “Spoons”, which wasn’t really that much different besides the element of danger involved with your competitive-ass siblings.

You truly didn’t think that your heart could get any fuller as you looked around to see all of the people you loved more than anyone in the world all gathered in once place, celebrating the happiest day you had ever had with the man you were going to get to call yours for the rest of your life. As the hours of the night grew later and later, you found yourself fighting off the sleep from your amazing, but exhausting day, not wanting the dream that had been today to come to an end. It wasn’t until Javi noticed you softly snoring against his shoulder as you were sitting on the couch, realizing the only ones left awake were him and your brothers, deep in an argument about who would win in a fight between 100,000 chickens and 10 dinosaurs, that he realized that it was probably time to get you home.

“Hermosa.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Baby, let’s get you home, okay?”

“I’m awake. I don’t want today to be done.” You grumbled, half-asleep, eyes still closed shut as you curled into Javi’s lap.

“Osita, it’s 1 in the morning, everyone else is asleep too. Your family’s here all weekend, baby, I promise we’ll get to spend lots of time with them, we gotta get you home before I fall asleep, too. C’mon.” He chuckled to himself, watching you scrunch your face, trying to wake yourself up as he helped to pull you off the couch. Javi tried his best to say goodbye to his dad to let him know you were leaving, even though he had already been sound asleep for the past hour in his chair with Olivia and Brianna on either side of him, the trio up well past their usual bedtime. Javi's heart fluttered at the sight, watching the fabric of your families lives intertwining to become one, fitting perfectly together. After you and your family said your half coherent goodbyes for the night, Javi helped hoist you up into the truck before the two of you headed back to the apartment.

Curling over the center console to rest your head against Javi’s shoulder, a sleepy smile spread across your face tangling your hand in his as he traced gentle circles with his thumb along your skin.

“Javi…” You mumbled, your eyelids heavy with sleep as your blinks grew slower and slower.

“Yeah, baby?”

“This was the best day I think I’ve ever had in my entire life. No, I know it was the best day I’ve ever had in my entire life. I can’t believe you wanna marry me. And build me a house. And that you made sure my family was here to celebrate. I love you so much, Javi. Thank you for everything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Today’s the best day I’ve ever had too, Osita.” He grinned, pulling your intertwined hand with his up to his mouth, pressing a tender kiss on your knuckles. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you too, Hermosa. I can’t imagine it without you. Te amo con todo mi corazón (I love you with all of my heart).” Javi let out a content sigh, pausing for a moment, waiting for response. It didn’t take him long to realize that you were already back asleep, the sweet sounds of your snores against his sleeve making him laugh to himself. “Dulces sueños, mi amor. Soy el hombre más afortunado del mundo. (Sweet dreams, my love. I am the luckiest man in the whole world.)

As Javi spent the rest of the drive with you propped up against his arm, he couldn’t help but smile at the beautiful gold band wrapped around your finger, resting in his lap.

Before you, Javier Peña didn’t really have much to live for. He didn’t think he’d deserved to. He was tired and broken, disappointed in the man that he had become. Now, you had become his everything. His light, his hope, the thing that made life worth living. You had taken his broken and battered pieces and put him back together. You had made him whole again. On a Wednesday in May, Javier Peña had fallen head over heels with you, the woman who would forever change his life for the better. And on Thursday in late November, the woman who had forever changed him, was now his forever, too.

Taglist: @cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @blackfemalenerd

556 notes · View notes