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bunnys-kisses · 25 days

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Hi there! I was wondering if I could get mushroom pie and ice cream bars with a side of juice and ✨Vampire! Max Verstappen? ✨

I love your writing so much! And the bakery theme is my favorite thing 🥰

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu!!! want more vampire!max or something else that might tickle your fancy? then the bakery is open for requests!! thank you so, @fictional-babes-inc for this darling of a request. i've been pondering vampire or monster!max, like oh god! so thank you for this treat, it was great to make for you! enjoy!!

mushroom pie ("if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up.") + ice cream bar (“did you see the way he was eyeing you? he needs to know you're mine.") + juice (cockwarming) served by vampire!max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, vampire!max, vampire au, possessive behaviour/jealousy, cockwarming, human!reader, mentions of blood, biting, facetimes (exhibitionism), degrading language, clit playing

max thought that the marks on your neck were enough to let others know what you were taken. bringing a human into the fold with a bunch of vampires could cause some problems if one of them got the wrong idea. you belonged to max, and any vampire with at least one working eye could see that. how you tucked yourself neatly into your lover's side, let him taste your blood. docile and beautiful doing so.

but max knew charles well enough, the two had been immortal for about the same time. he knew that if you had max's name printed across your chest, charles would still flash those boyish smiles at you. get in a little too close, let those green eyes of his hypnotize you the way it had so many women.

max was a possessive creature of the night and charles loved to get under his skin.

"max."

"i don't want to hear it." you were both in the car. it was well into the night and max was driving you both back home.

his eyes were on the road, he refused to make eye contact. the thrum of envy engulfed his stomach. he gripped your soft thigh a little harder, if he wanted to, he could break the bone.

but max didn't break his toys. even if they disobeyed him.

"if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up." he said, his eyes flickered to you for a moment. they were blue, but a dangerous kind of blue. like the deepest part of the oceans. the all consuming nature of him.

you swallowed, "charles meant nothing by it. you knew how he is. he's a flirt. you know i'd never leave you. i promise." you bottom lip wobbled. humans, always so emotional.

as if max wasn't seething with jealousy.

when you both got home, you were brought to the couch in the living room. you cunt ached at the feeling of him tugging down your skirt, threatening to rip it at the seems.

your vampire boyfriend really hated the idea of another undead creature of the night putting his hands all over you. like he owned you.

he ran his fingers across your clothed slit and watched your squirm. oh, you were just lovely weren't you. he felt something rise inside of him as he eyed your heated body.

you looked so innocent, so human with all that blood in your body. sizzling under the heat of his sexual advances.

he got you out of your blouse and pulled the bra off of you. he stripped you bare and got his face up into your neck and sank his teeth into you. not enough to draw blood, but enough to bruise the sweet peach he called his beloved.

he got you up into his lap, seated upright against him. he got his cock out of his slacks before he pushed you down onto him. the sudden feeling of his cock inside of you made your breathing stagger for a moment.

you let out a small moan, but soon you were bent over as max propped his phone up on some books on the coffee table. you whimpered instead of asking what he was doing.

he just said, “did you see the way he was eyeing you, my love? he needs to know you're mine." he said it like a promise which made you stomach do a flip.

soon he was facetiming charles as you stayed seated on his cock. this possessive vampire! you squirmed a little but, max stayed close and started to play with your clit.

charles answered it, he was in bed and his eyes went wide at the sight before him. there you were, in max's lap with his cock stuffed into your pretty hole and his large fingers rubbing against your clit.

vampires really didn't have a sense of decency did they? regardless it made you run hot, your throbbing pulse enticed him.

"holy my." charles said as he shifted a little in his spot on the bed. you could feel the leer of his gaze through the phone screen, "you're certain she wasn't a prostitute before you met, max?"

"no. her father of a vampire hunter wouldn't have let her. she had never ever sucked cock before i got to her. poor thing, completely taken apart by the vampires."

you looked away, but max's words were biting as he told you to face his phone. look at charles while you did your job and kept max's cock warm. they spoke of you like you weren't in the room with them, like max's cock wasn't spearing you.

but you wouldn't move your hips as his cock filled you. you tried to get some sense of control by holding onto your knees. but soon max held you throat with his other hand, keeping your back to his chest.

"so, charles." max said as he continued to play with you. his fingers were methodical as they moved.

charles chuckled, "possessive, max? you could've just sent a photo. but, no, you have to put it right in my face.... but you know she'd look better with my fangs in that soft stomach of hers."

max sneered, "shut up, charles. you see this." he held your throat a little tighter, "this is mine. you have all of monaco to seduce. she is with me."

charles laughed at the petty jealous words, it was honestly funny to him, "oh max. i'll get her soon. you and i can have a take about what to do with your little pet."

vampires always so high and mighty.

you were a little beauty to max, the favourite thing to keep his cock warm. and he made sure you did a good job, he wouldn't have you slacking. he kept you seated on his cock, unmoving while he worked your slick pussy.

"max. ah!" you whimpered.

max sighed, "keep quiet. bad pets don't get to complain."

you clenched around his cock as you tried to grip onto his forearms. you looked like a debauched mess against him. letting charles drink in the sight of you. the other vampire didn't touch himself, rather he was enticed by the sight of you.

all the men, women and others in monaco, and charles yearned to dig his cock and fangs into you. see what the lover of his rival and friend felt and tasted like. was it rich like a large meal, or was it sweet fruit in the late summer.

what did you taste like, little human?

max took you by the jaw and turned your head to the side, exposing your neck and letting him take a bite into you. once again, only enough to bruise. the intimate act of drinking blood was only for his eyes.

you felt your head grow heavy from the entire thing. the pleasure damped any bad thoughts you were having. you could hear charles' voice when he said, "seems she enjoys this too much, max.'

max worked your pussy harder as you remained soaked around his hard cock, that was dribbling pre-cum into your poor cunt. he smirked at charles before he sank his teeth in fully.

to damn with convention, he wanted to make his stake clear.

it sent you over the edge. you came around his cock and it made him tense up. he licked at the blood as he slowed down his fingers. you went soft against his chest and let your lover do what he pleased.

"and charles... don't touch what is mine again." he could see how flustered charles was. max then ended the call before you were shoved over the coffee table, the books shoved off the table. your ass up in the air as he tossed his phone to the side. he needed you.

he needed you now.

the following week, you were with the vampires once more. they had been nice enough to give the human guests something to nosh on while the creatures discussed all matters.

you could feel charles' gaze from the couch. you felt heat run through you once he approached you. his hand on your thigh, pushing up the short dress you owned.

he chuckled, "a sundress for the lover of one of the most important vampires on the continent." he leaned in a little closer, "i think you'd look pretty in something darker. something that didn't make you look like prey."

you felt your heart stagger.

"charles... that's enough." max said as he cut into the little scene on the couch.

charles just smiled, "i wasn't actually going to bite her."

max raised his eyebrows then said, "if you're going to try and fuck her, charles. i must be present there too." it was his compromise, if charles leclerc wanted you so badly. then what was stopping him? but if he was going to take that chance, it would be under the watchful eye of your vampire lover. <3

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sarahisslytherin · 22 days

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duty and honor.

cregan stark x tyrell!reader

summary: it has been decided. you are to wed the young lord stark. you know little of him or the north but will do your duty. this, however, does not release you from your worry of how the union will go or how you will settle into your role as lady of winterfell. luckily, cregan takes it upon himself to make you feel at home.

contains: fluff, people rooting for a bedding ceremony.

a/n: i am so in love with this man i need to be restrained.

word count: 2k

The carriage rocked on the road to Winterfell, your ocean blue gown ruffling as it did. You tried your best to ignore the wild beat of your heart in your chest, tried focusing instead on the growing pines that passed your window with increasing speed. Your mother sat at your side, a stoic presence that soothed you somehow. You took her hand in your own, and when she looked at you you didn’t have it in you to mask your utter fear.

“You will be alright, child.” she sighed, bringing that same hand up to cup your cheek. “Lord Stark is a good man. I know you will be far from all that you know, but surely you will grow to love your new home as well as your betrothed.”

When you finally came to a halt outside its gates, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. You clutched your mother’s hand like a frightened babe when they drew open. The courtyard was full of expectant faces you knew you would eventually commit to memory. The townspeople were out and about, young rosy-cheeked girls squealing with delight as they spotted your carriage. Their soon-to-be Lady was within it, and you could only hope when the time came that you would not fall short of their expectations. They watched keenly as you stopped before them one final time, and you prepared to be devoured by hungry, prying eyes. You tugged on the fur lining of your cloak as your mother stepped down from the carriage. You quickly followed suit.

Indeed, you could feel their glares cutting clean through you. You had known enough ladies and lords to know they were searching for faults and virtues to remark upon as soon as you were out of earshot, but there were so many faces you could not focus on a single one.

Instead your gaze swiftly fell upon the mountain of a man that was the young Lord Stark. His chestnut locks fell in such a manner that they delicately framed a rather rugged face, on which a scowl seemed to be permanently etched. But this was to be expected. It was common knowledge that smiles were rare amongst Northmen. Though winter was still months away, he was already cloaked head to toe in furs, an uncommonly large sword strapped across the broad expanse of his back.

“Lady Y/N, welcome to Winterfell.” he rasped, his voice quite gravelly and masculine for so young a man. You offered him a small curtsy in return, but couldn’t quite muster up the agreeable smile your mother had asked you to perfect on the way here. You tried your best not to gawk as you took in the ancient castle, trailing behind Lord Stark as he strode through Winterfell’s stony halls. The biting cold of the north left your bones as you approached the hearth in the Great Hall.

You listened as your mother exchanged pleasantries with members of Lord Stark’s court, though your eyes did not leave the dancing flames and glowing embers.

“You’re a long way from Highgarden.” he said as he came to stand beside you. His accent was harsh, the vowels flat and words clipped, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t find it somewhat pleasant to your ear.

You turned to regard him. Gods, he was beautiful. The fire cast his features in a golden hue, the color returning to his cheeks. He was a sight to behold, powerful and perhaps even fearsome, but in this moment so soft. You wondered what your future with him would look like. Would he take a liking to you? Would he hate you? When you eventually gave him children, would they take after their mother or father? Would it be a life worth living?

“Yes, my Lord.” you sighed, rubbing your hands up and down your arms. “A long way indeed.”

The muted ivory of your gown made you appear one with the snow of the Godswood. Your hair was unbound, save for the intricate braiding around the crown of your head. Only the moon’s and torches’ light showed you the way to the weirwood tree. Your father swiftly came to your side, looping your arm in his. He offered you a gentle caress along your icy cheek, a solemn look about his face as if watching a spring rose being sacrificed to the unforgiving cold of winter. Wordlessly, you began to walk.

Despite the North’s fame for brutal winters and even more brutal people, you couldn’t help but marvel at the quiet beauty of the Godswood. So still was it, that you could have sworn you felt its ancientness in your bones, could feel every ring of age around each tree stump. Snowflakes danced on their way down, coming to land upon strands of your hair. It was then that you saw him before the weirwood, his lips drawn into a thin line. He was covered in dark furs and a cloak, his hands clasped behind his straightened back.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” The words were spoken by a family ward.

“Y/N of the House Tyrell.” your father replied. “She comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

You watched as Lord Stark approached, towering over you. You hoped you would grow accustomed to it, to him. You held your breath when he spoke. “Cregan of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

You dared to look up, to meet his gaze. You found nothing but gentleness in them. “Who gives her?” Your father spoke his name. And now the ward asked you the question.

“Lady Y/N, will you take this man?”

You could feel the overbearing weight of watchful eyes, of held breaths and keen ears. But Cregan’s eyes hadn’t left yours, determined to hold your gaze. You could have sworn a flicker of joy shone in them when you gasped out.

“I take this man.”

Cregan offered you a shy curl of his lips, then took your hands in his. You noted that they were far smaller in comparison to his weathered hands as he led you to the trunk of the weirwood tree. Its face provided you with some strange comfort. Perhaps the gods would heed your prayers. Perhaps they were watching over you as you both knelt before the trunk. Silence fell upon the Godswood as the wedding party prayed. No sooner had the moment passed that you and your now husband rose to your feet. Cregan’s large hands reached around you to gingerly remove your cloak, a golden Tyrell rose embroidered upon it by your mother.

You shivered as the cold crept into your body, but were swiftly covered once again, this time in a Stark cloak, the wolf sigil stitched boldly enough for all to see. And just like that, it was done.

It was the first time you had seen him smile, truly smile, since you had arrived at Winterfell. From where you sat at his side on the dais, the entirety of the Great Hall stretched out before you. Jovial music filled the hall, and you watched the merry faces of Cregan’s men as they helped themselves to the wedding feast. Their chatter echoed on the stone walls, and for the first time since you had left Highgarden, you felt somewhat at home.

“Has Winterfell begun to grow on you, wife?” Cregan’s husky voice came from your left. When you turned to meet him he was wearing a boyish smirk. He was playing. You didn’t suspect the Wolf of the North had it in him.

“Well, it may be a while longer before that happens.” you sheepishly admitted, struggling to hold his intense gaze. “But I know I will come to love it.”

“Aye.” he said. “I know it will never be your true home, but I promise you I will do all in my power to make it the next best thing.” He placed his large hand atop your own, taking your palm and squeezing it gingerly. You were thankful for the gesture, and couldn’t ignore the flush of your cheeks that resulted from it.

“You’re timid.” he observed, only causing you further embarrassment. “It’s quite charming.”

“You may very well be the only person who finds it to be so. Even back home my soft temper has been known to irritate others. Most times people can barely hear me when I speak. I find it easier to keep to myself and observe.” you confessed. “I truly must grow a thicker skin if I am to survive amongst the wolves.”

“You won’t survive.” Cregan stated matter of factly. You whipped your head toward him with wide eyes at that, not prepared for what he would say next. “You will thrive.”

You felt your muscles loosen up once again, offering him an incredulous laugh.

“I am perfectly serious, my Lady.” he went on. “You will rule the North at my side.”

“I hardly think I am equipped to rule such an – unruly people, my Lord.” you tried to mask the nervous tremble of your hand as you brought your wine to your lips.

“Cregan.” he rasped. “Call me Cregan.” You nodded, eyes crinkling above a smile. He leaned in, as if he were about to tell you a most precious secret. “Sometimes all a beast truly needs is the touch of a gentle hand.”

You backed away to meet his eyes. They held nothing but truth in them. Nothing but honor. But your moment was soon ended by the clamor of the wedding party. The men began to holler, whooping and howling in unison. “Time for the bedding!”

You had anticipated this, and you now braced yourself for the unpleasant experience of being hauled to a bed with Cregan. You had always known your first time would be like this, and though you loathed the idea, you could not alter tradition. It was a surprise to you when Cregan rose from his chair, planting his large hands on the dinner table before he spoke.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, but there will be no bedding ceremony tonight.” he bellowed out through the hall in a voice so commanding it was an effort not to shrink in his presence. “And I won’t hear any complaints about it. It’s too lovely an occasion to taint with a brawl.”

The men did their best to mask their disappointed groans as they returned to their dinner. You weren’t quite sure what had prompted Cregan to make such a decision. Did he not like you the way you had hoped? Perhaps he thought you fit to rule by him, to be a figurehead, but not someone he could ever desire in earnest. He must have read the emotions as they crossed your face, because he quickly took his seat beside you again.

“Are you well, my Lady?” he asked. You merely nodded in response. He gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze towards his. “When you wish it to happen it will be just the two of us, husband and wife. No prying eyes or ears.”

Warmth bloomed in your heart at the words. It was as if he had quieted the growing storm in your mind with only the touch of a hand. A gentle hand.

“You are a man of honor, Cregan.” you said resolutely.

He only smiled in return as he brought you in closer, finally pressing his lips to yours. The touch sent sparks down your spine. It was in that moment you knew that spark would soon fan into a flame a thousand northern winds could not snuff out.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @spxllcxstxr @lovemesomevesey @shemisseshome @themissgreen24-blog @siriusement @kingdomzeldaquest @gayfordabae @slayis4ever

#cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark fluff #cregan stark oneshot #house of the dragon #hotd

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morepeachyogurt · 1 year

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i love you, i do, but i cannot fucking stomach you

text id below

1. sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them

2. [in red highlight] everything i’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

3. [white text on a background of a field] A FRIEND HAS TO BE OUTSIDE MY REACH, BEYOND MY GRASP. AND THERE CAN BE NO FRIENDSHIP WITH SOMEONE WHOM I AM NOT READY TO BETRAY: A FRIEND IS SOMEONE I CAN BETRAY WITH LOVE.

4. Long before Caesar and Brutus were lessons, they were friends. // They played with stick swords in their kingdom of trees // and dressed up in crowns of flowers // and painted mud on each other's faces. // The pair was often found walking down dirt roads, // Caesar stomping proud and tall, // and Brutus- step by step- placing his feet into the footprints left behind. // Caesar grew into a strong Roman man. // Brutus grew into Caesar's shoes. // They walked to a wishing well and they threw in their weapons // and Caesar whispered a prophecy: // "We live and die together." // The day before the slaughter, Brutus took pause. // He turned to Caesar and thought // "I'll love you twice as hard today to make up // for tomorrow," // and they stayed up and played cards on the kitchen floor. // It wasn't until the next morning that Brutus realized how cold the tile was. // Life and death are not mutually exclusive. // When Caesar died, so did Brutus, in the sense that he never really lived again. // In the present, when someone mentions one of them, // they seldom exclude mention of the other.

5. a scene from succession. the characters kendall and stewy are in a dimly lit alley, one walks away from the other while saying “you’re my third oldest friend. you fucked me like a tied goat. we’re great.”

6. I'm not happy if you're not happy // And swear that you're always sad // You're pathetic, I resent it // When you're down, it hurts so bad

7. I've gotten so good about not flinching at the sound of your name that people don't know I'd still throw myself mouth-open into the ocean for the chance to drown somewhere you might see it.

8. the painting ‘Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivana’. it depicts a man holding another man who is bleeding profusely from his head.

9. there are a million ways to bleed, but you are by far my favorite.

10. scene from the movie thoroughbreds. a character lays crying wrapped around her friend, she is covered in blood, her friend is unconscious.

11. [in pink highlight] and be wary of friends, yeah? they are the ones who kill you, in the end.

#web weaving #toxic frienship #toxic friends #toxic relationship #parallels #succession #thoroughbreds #yrsa daley ward #orla gartland #richard siken #david foster wallace #iain thomas #mine <3 #requested <3 #1k

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naffeclipse · 3 months

Text

Sea Tears

Reader x Selkie!Moon

Commission Info

Thank you to the darling @cipher-the-sidhe for commissioning me to write about Selkie!Moon! The setting and the scenario are absolutely delightful. It's a shame I haven't written a selkie until now but I'm so glad I finally did!

Content Warning for mild injury and blood.

———

You tread carefully through the salt-tinged darkness and listen. A low hum plays along the moonbeams brightening the Salish Sea coast in an ancient voice you cannot translate. The fish and the seals might understand it as it thrums like insects on the wind or the constant, murmuring dance of the waves. You wonder if it is simply the sea. Perhaps it is something hidden along the dark inky waters now softly lapping up in the high tide.

Bends and sharp juts of coves shelter the rocky beaches. Further inland, a dense forest of coniferous evergreens conceal the beautiful shore and thrive in high levels of salt spray. You descend to the water, minding every step knowing that a slick, ocean-stained rock could easily lead you into a stumble and your head could crack open like an egg on the wave-smooth stones.

These beaches are not for sunbathing and sand castles. They are to stand and admire the great breath of the Salish Sea and the bumps of crags lining the dark teal ocean—if the mist and cold don’t form an avid deterrent.

You rub your arms over the sleeves of your jacket and breathe a crisp scent. Driftwood dots the edge of land and water, and heaps of bull kelp sway farther out in the sea, lurking like guardians just along the surface to whatever might wander from the depths.

Tonight, the fog is wonderfully parted by the silver-fingered light of the full moon. You scan the crevices in between dark, angled but blunt rocks, seeking the smooth fragments of seashells. In your years, you have rarely discovered a whole heart cockle or horse clam shell. There are only remnants of what was whole.

The sand is firm and brown. The water gushes between stones before receding gently back with a frothy lace edge, bubbling and tumbling over itself just to do it all over again. You spy a fragment of a castoff shell, bleached and pale. You bend carefully down to scoop up its shard like a piece missing from a puzzle you wish to finish.

You hold it between your fingers. A curve or perhaps half of a spiral of a shell, sculpted by the waves now, softened by the time of being broken. Still, it is beautiful.

Carefully, you straighten while you slip it into your pocket. A soft understanding fills you to the bottom of your rib cage. A kinship, perhaps. You cast your eyes around you for a moment, admiring the moonlight until it shines upon a texture that is not often found here.

Fur. Silver and speckled in blue-gray, it sits, slumped and hunched between two rocks, lying lifeless.

A seal. The dawning comes upon you in a moment of the rushing tide, and then, your feet are moving towards it. Your heart twists while you watch it sharply. How it could be so still and thin? Is it injured? You don’t have your phone with you—you left it in the car parked beside the oceanside road. Who would you call? Wildlife service? Perhaps it’s already too late.

No. You pray it isn’t.

You weave between sand and stones. Where the unmoving figure lies is thick with rocks, with almost no beach to speak of other than what is buried beneath. Your sandals slip on the slick edges of the rugged terrain. Wobbling, you catch yourself before you sling your body along a craggy boulder. You pass over the harsh edges and corners of the rocky shore, almost within reach. The fur hasn’t moved an inch at your rash approach. Your throat bobs for a moment in the horror of coming upon a long rotted seal—then your sandal-clad foot slips.

A whip of sea and wind, and you fall. You throw your elbow down to catch you and it scraps sharply down the side of rough rock. You gasp when you bounce and slide, splashing into a thin strip of the tide slipping between cracks and crevices, but hold your chin high, away from any fatal head injuries.

You inhale slowly, eyes wide in the relief that you are not currently dripping your brains out of your skull like spilled yoke. A thin, stinging pain erupts along your forearm. Prying yourself off of the ground, watching where you place your feet, you get back up. A glance at the fur confirms it is still there. Slowly, you twist your arm to examine a fine, ragged cut slicing towards your wrist. A mix of sand, salt water, and blood spread across your skin.

You breathe as it flares with pain. You close your eyes and convince yourself that you’ll clean and bandage it once you get back to your car.

First, the seal.

You lower your arm. Blood drops into the water as you at last reach the two stones the fur is wedged between, and tentatively, you reach out with the vain hope it might be warm and move with life. Your fingers stroke over the beautifully silver shade of the coat, dappled with blue-gray markings and a few, lovely rings at the end. But strangely, it’s cool with mist and bunched like fabric. Your mind turns the conundrum over slowly as if examining a broken seashell before you tug on it, higher, higher, until you hold in your hand the thin skin of a seal.

A pelt.

There is no blood, sinew, or otherwise, much to your relief. It carries a smooth sleekness on its underside. The strangeness of it tugs at a part of your mind, a memory of folklore and tales spoken around a table late at night. The beautiful pelt fills your vision with its starry silver shade and the Pacific ocean-deep hue of its markings. Carefully, as if handling platinum and sapphires, you caress the fur with the back of your fingers. A drop of blood from your arm threatens to stain it and you quickly shift the hide to your clean arm. You can’t ruin this beautiful coat with your crimson.

You lift your head. You gaze out over the ocean, rippling with the incandescence of the moon upon its onyx surface. Your heart bobs within you. Your eyes seek, and your ears strain.

The hum of the ocean which has filled you since you first arrived in the darkness grows. It is no longer a muffled, soft sound carried from behind closed lips but a soft melody lifted upon a voice. It rises to the sky. Over the driftwood and waves, you turn to face it, clutching the seal skin to your chest.

A man sings.

A part of you, undeniable and filled with longing, strides towards it. Following the curve of the rocky beach, you watch your every step. A plea in your core echoes with the desire to find the one singing. The crystal vibrations of the siren call rings through your bones.

A rocky cove crops up on the side of a bluff, cutting off the beach but resuming with a swell of the tide into its darkened alcove. Once you near the mouth, you stop to bask in the lovely timbre.

Then, with your fingers tangled in the soft, sleek fur of the seal pelt, you stand upon a rock just out of reach of the oceanic tide and peer into the cove.

In the glow of the night, a man stands in the icy shallows. You can only gaze at his striking figure wrapped in moonbeams. He steps lightly, his movement rhythm. The water ripples softly underneath him. He waves his arms, his limbs flowing over his head and down, like a wind sweeping the rocks and ushering the mist higher onto land. He turns, and one leg sweeps over the inky surface before stepping back.

His body is long-limbed and slender, blue-gray like the speckles on the fur you hold. Upon his face is a marking of a silver crescent. His rich copper eyes flash in the dimness and are half-lidded in his homage to the great sea. Your breath stalls in your throat caught upon his visage. His face is wide and flat. Draping behind his head is an appendage much like a seal tail, an even darker blue with spots of glimmering silver-like stars.

His voice carries a song you have no name for but that which you hold only the most reverence in its echo. Your lips part unwittingly in adoration. He sings to himself and dances to an audience of the black sky filled with the moon.

But you twitch a hand forward as if you might catch a note of his lullaby and cradle it close to your chest. The man’s head snaps towards you. You freeze.

In a second of time and starlight, he holds your gaze, and you slip into the coppery irises that fill his wide eyes. His attention slips to what you clutch. You glance down, admiring the fur anew before you find your voice, hollowed and soft.

“Is this yours?” you ask.

The man stares, motionless like the bluffs the waves beat against. A few heartbeats pass within you. The man gently dips his head. The tail on the back of his head sways slightly like a nightcap.

“It is,” he speaks. “Please return it to me. I cannot return to the sea and my brothers without my coat.”

His voice rasps through the salty air and brushes the shell of your ear as if he whispered it to you.

The word emerges in your mind like the fall of dusk. Selkie. One who has shed his fur to take a faintly human form under the full moon. The tales you’ve caught murmurs of were always of women, beautiful and naked, who begged for their seal skin back but spent the rest of their days held captive by the man who kept it hidden, forced to become a bride and carry his children.

An ache takes over your heart at such a cruel fate.

You answer with a gentle, “Of course.”

You slowly step into the icy waters. A shiver rolls up your body and you catch your tongue between your teeth to keep from gasping out at the shock of the brine. The selkie watches you, his eyes unreadable, his hands poised with his fingers half furled—as if you intend to dangle his seal skin in front of him before yanking it out of reach.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. You wade far less gracefully in the echoes of his dance and song to reach him under the cove’s mouth, “I didn’t intend to keep it. I only meant to return it to you.”

You find the truth along your tongue. Even if you didn’t catch a glimpse of his beautiful melody, you would have left the coat where it lay, too afraid of stranding a selkie without her or his skin.

He says nothing until you present it to him. Carefully, you hold it out to him and his long fingers grasp it. A soft breath leaves him. His shoulders lower while he turns his coat over and examines it, stroking the fine fur before leveling an unreadable gaze over you. You’re small before his tall figure. You feel clumsy and cumbersome in comparison to his lissom body.

A true selkie, right before your eyes.

“So you did,” he at last murmurs as if he were dreaming. His copper eyes glide over you. His blue-gray body shimmers with a galaxy-like illumination. He carefully folds his coat over his arm before holding out his other hand and bidding you closer. “Come here. Sit with me.”

You stare at his offered palm. A few thoughts cross your mind of danger and temptation, a selkie ready to snatch away an unwary human, but would he have asked you so kindly? You slide your fingers into his grasp. He holds your hand before gently tugging you down until you cross your legs and sit in the icy cove water beside him.

“Is it true?” you ask, then flush slightly with the bluntness of your voice echoing in the alcove.

He tilts his head at you, the appendage at the back of his head slipping over your shoulder. His silence coaxes you softly into asking, “Do humans really steal the coats of selkies and force them into marriage?”

The selkie’s eyes lower, somber, before he dips his chin. “It is true. But not always.” His eyes find yours and hold them softly.

He has yet to release your hand, but slowly, he lifts your wrist and turns it slowly. You almost forget the sting until the sight of the bloody cut down your arm strikes you once more. Your lips twist at the sight, glancing at the selkie and fearing his judgment. How human you are, bleeding in his ocean.

“What did this?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes outlining the edges of your wound.

“A fall,” you say sheepishly, “I thought your coat was an injured seal.”

A laugh, rolling and deep, loosens from his lips. A not unwelcome shudder fills you in the sound. Mischievous and sincere, all at once.

“You must be more careful,” he says, his laughter dying as he leans closer.

You curl your fingers. Pressing back in the slightest as he hovers over your torn flesh, you hushly ask his name.

But he doesn’t answer. You watch in the quiet of the tide as the selkie blinks, and a tear falls onto your sliced forearm. A soft tingle spreads through your flesh. You glance down, and another tear falls, mingling with the sand and ocean salt, but the tingling becomes a gentle sensation knitting and stitching the skin together. In stunned silence, you observe seven tears in total bind your wound as if you never fell.

“This is my thanks for returning my coat.” The selkie releases your arm to gently wash it with a touch of brackish water. Blood and sand wash away, leaving your skin as it once was. He lifts his head and smiles. “I am Moon, and I must go.”

“Oh.” The sound is so small coming from you. “Moon…”

You echo your name. It feels so weak in comparison to his, but he takes it within his mouth and he sings it once. Your heart bobs within your chest as if floating upon a storm-tossed sea.

“Goodbye,” he rasps. He holds your gaze, soft as seafoam, and tugs his coat over his body. He slips down into the water. A flick of velvet flippers emerges, and a large seal lifts his head above water.

You gaze at the beautiful copper eyes of the seal. Whiskers twitch and a wet nose presses closer to you. Slowly, carefully, you stretch your fingers and stroke the soft fur of his head. Your palm runs down the slippery slope of his neck to his strong, blubbered back. The selkie holds beautifully still.

“Goodbye, Moon,” you whisper.

The selkie eyes upturn, somehow grinning in an animal form. In a sharp splash, he turns and dives into the water. The sleek dappled fur of his pelt mingles with the moonlight reflecting upon the black ocean before the waves reclaim one of its own.

You stay in the cove for a time you cannot account for, watching the waters, wishing to catch the echo of his song just one last time.

Gradually, like the moon beginning to shift across the darkness, you get to your feet. Water splashes back into the cove. Your heart grows heavy and forlorn, and you rub your fingertips together as if still stroking his fur.

Perhaps you might return in search of broken seashells but find the selkie again.

#naff's writing commissions #selkie!moon #this setting was delightful and selkie moon is *mwah*#just augh i love any mythical sea creatures!#naff writing

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cameronspecial · 6 months

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Really, Rafe?

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Couple Arguments and Angst

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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brandileigh2003 · 19 days

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Older wolfstar fic recs: (older in age that is)

let me know what I missed and self recs are welcome (also as always check tags for each one to protect yourself) **And I know older is relative term bc most of these wolfstar are in their 30s I do believe. But. They have more life experience than in Hogwarts or uni.

--orange juice (i've been ready for you to come home for so long) by raggedypond: divorced parents of teddy with one bed at his graduation

-Honey If I'm Not by @brigid-faye divergent post war where remus left, jily lived, and wolfstar only reconnects years later by chance. (Also has a Sirius pov)

---used my best colours for your portrait by @littleoldrachel lie low at Lupin's with flashbacks exploring remus' life

-Looking for Moony by Writer_INFJ_2w1: meet and fall in love birthday party

-Flight of Destiny by @lucigoo lesbian wolfstar meet on plane (Luci also has several others where they're older and lots of beautiful fics

--Aging Gracelessly by orphan_account: texting fic

--the mayors of simpleton by fruity_individual divorced wolfstar get back together, raising teddy

-Second Generation by MsAlexWP single parents, getting back together. The sequel is so perfect too! It's a Nice Day for a Wolfstar Wedding

-the sea is a good place to think of the future by peachyybabe (second in series is mcd but this one is open ending)

-Of Memories and Milk Thievery by moonymoment raising teddy, get back together

--Birthday Blues by YouBlitheringIdiot @blitheringmcgonagall :Sirius is turning sixty and he is appalled...

--Give Quarter to Old Men - @krethes series

--dear your holiness by mollymarymarie

--The Postwar Chronicles by @sliebman10 post canon series

-Vigil Strange I Kept by whitmans_kiss explores effects of lycanthropy

--ten reasons (to go to michigan) by @greyeyedmonster-18 remus headed home, trying to move on from divorce

--Prettiest Star Verse by Raging_queer

-I didn’t sign up for this by Moonystoastandmarsbar divorced wolfstar

-Of Protein Powders and PTAs by @squintclover and @tracingpatternswrites rivals to lovers

-An Infinte Ocean by orphan_account raising teddy strangers to lovers

--The Road Not Taken by @mollymarymarie

-extra credit by MsAlexWP rivals to lovers

-Baby On Board by aqua_myosotis

-Of Memories, Bitter and Sweet by MsAlexWP memory loss

**luci's recs

-my love, take care of yourself by littleoldrachel

-How to romance a guy with (terrible) poetry by BayleyWinchester

-Teddy Plays Matchmaker by grow_as_we_go

-The Front Step Surprise by R33sesPieces

**Recs from others** (I haven't read all these yet but wanted to include)

--Just what the doctor ordered by WrappedUp (be aware there is age gap)

--The Lab by de_sire again an age gap

-Till We Have Arrived Home Again by prouvairing divergent post canon raising harry

-The Patchwork of Us by TracingPatterns

-The Things I Did by Lolo_row

-The Phoenix Agency by LupinsChocolatePraline

-The Fall by EuripidesTrousers

-Pages of You by wolfpants this is drarry main but apparently background wolfstar is really good

-Just Like Heaven by the_prettiest_w0lf_star: mechanic Sirius and librarian Remus

-soloorganaas

-impishtubist

***Self rec***

--Memories of You: mcd exploring memory loss

--Through the Years: Sirius thinks about the past and how handsome his husband is while holding their granddaughter.

--DN(R): Lie low at Lupin's era where they discuss decisions Remus made in the lost years.

**also- the wolfstar librarian is always a great resource make sure to give some likes on posts: 30yo and Up part 2 Bring Black Back Back from the Veil Lie Low at Lupin’s Post Azkaban Grimmauld Place

--Feel free to check my other rec lists, as well as the rest of my fics

#older wolfstar #fic recs #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #fanfic recommendations #lie low at lupin's #divergent #muggle au

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rootedinrevisions · 8 days

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Texas Orange

SUMMARY: Heavily based on the song "Tennesse Orange" by Megan Moroney. You're in the early stages of your relationship with Glen and he takes you to a Texas football game with him.

**This was my first time writing about Glen himself and not one of his characters. I really loved the idea and the song that inspired this fic, however think I may stick to writing his characters instead of him as a person in the future. **

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

The Texas sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape as you and Glen drive through the winding roads of Austin. The truck hums steadily beneath you, the air conditioning a welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside.

You glance over at Glen, dressed in a black t-shirt with the orange Texas Longhorns symbol emblazoned on the chest, and a white Longhorns baseball cap turned backward on his head. His sunglasses shield his eyes from the bright light, and with one hand on the wheel, he holds your hand gently in the other. You glance over at him, and the corners of his mouth lift into a smile when he catches you looking at him.

"This is amazing," you say, taking in the sprawling hills and the way the cityscape rises in the distance. "I can't believe I've never been here before."

Glen chuckles, his voice low and smooth, the kind of sound that makes you feel instantly at ease. "I still can't believe that. Austin's pretty great. But, I mean, you grew up on the coast, right? Plenty of beauty there too."

You nod, your mind flashing back to memories of ocean breezes and sandy beaches, a world away from the vast, open skies of Texas. "Yeah, but it's different. I've never seen anything quite like this."

He grins, squeezing your hand gently. "You're gonna love it here. Plus, this is only the start. Wait till you see the stadium-it's a whole other world."

You laugh, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves bubble up inside you. "Speaking of the stadium, I've got to admit something. I've never actually been to a football game before. My family wasn't really into sports growing up."

Glen's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he quickly recovers with a teasing grin. "You've never been to a game? Well, that changes today. Texas football is like a religion around here. It's something you just have to experience.

"Hopefully I'll fit in okay," you say, half-joking. The thought of stepping into the massive stadium, surrounded by thousands of passionate fans, is both thrilling and a little daunting.

He chuckles, his voice warm with affection. "Don't worry, I'll be right there with you. We'll ease you into it. Plus, my folks are going to be so excited to meet you they're gonna forget about the game, at least for a minute."

The mention of his family makes your stomach flip. This is a big step, meeting his family, even if you've both been keeping things casual. There's a part of you that wonders if this trip is more than just a casual one for Glen.

"What are they like? Your family, I mean," you ask, trying to keep your tone light.

Glen's expression softens, a fond smile playing on his lips. "They're great. They'll love you, I promise. My mom might be a little overwhelming at first, but that's just because she cares so much. And my dad, well he's the quiet type, but once you get him talking about anything Texas-related, you won't be able to get him to stop."

You smile at the thought, feeling a bit more at ease. "They sound like a good bunch."

"They are," Glen says, his voice sincere. "And they're going to love you. How could they not?"

His words bring warmth to your chest, and you squeeze his hand in return. "I hope so."

As the two of you continue to drive further into Austin, Glen gives you a mini tour. He points out a few landmarks - his favorite taco place, the park where he used to hang out with friends, and a music venue where he once saw an incredible show. You listen, soaking in every detail, feeling a sense of connection to this place that Glen clearly loves so much.

"Here we are," Glen says as he pulls into a parking spot near the stadium. The massive structure looms ahead, a sea of burnt orange and white, alive with energy even from a distance.

You take a deep breath, a mixture of anticipation and nerves swirling inside you. "This is it, huh?"

"This is it," Glen confirms, turning to you with a smile that melts away any lingering doubts. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," you say, smiling back at him.

As you step out of Glen's truck, you notice that nearly everyone around you is decked out in burnt orange and white. Texas Longhorns hats, jerseys, and t-shirts, all show their pride. The sea of matching colors makes you acutely aware that you're the only one not wearing any team gear.

Glen steps around the truck to join you, noticing the way your eyes scan the crowd. He gives you a playful nudge with his elbow. "Feeling a little out of place?"

You laugh, shrugging slightly. "Just a bit. I think I missed the memo on the dress code."

Without missing a beat, Glen reaches up to the back of his head and pulls off the white Longhorns cap he's been wearing. He turns it around in his hands before stepping closer to you. "Here, you can wear this. Can't have you being the odd one out."

Before you can respond, he's already placing the cap on your head. His fingers brush against your hair as he adjusts the fit, making sure it sits just right. You tilt your head up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "How do I look?"

Glen takes a step back to admire his work, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You look great in Orange. Might even say you wear it better than I do."

You roll your eyes playfully, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "You might be biased."

"Maybe," he says with a grin, his eyes sparkling with affection. "But I'm also right."

As you walk towards the section of the parking lot reserved for tailgating, Glen drapes an arm over your shoulders, keeping you close. "Tell you what, we'll hit up the merch stand once we're inside. Gotta get you a t-shirt to complete the look."

"You don't have to do that," you start to protest, but Glen shakes his head.

"I want to," he insists, squeezing your shoulder lightly. "Consider it part of the full Texas football experience."

You smile up at him, feeling more at ease with every step. "Alright, but only if you help me pick it out."

"Deal," Glen says, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple before leading you into the sea of orange and white.

The aroma of sizzling barbecue fills the air as you and Glen approach the tailgating area. Rows of trucks and RVs are lined up in the parking lot, each decked out in burnt orange. Flags bearing the Texas Longhorns logo flutter in the breeze, and the sounds of laughter, music, and clinking bottles create a festive atmosphere.

Glen leads you through the crowd with a confident stride, his hand securely holding yours. As you near a large, lively group gathered around a grill, Glen spots his family and friends.

"There they are," he says, nodding towards the group. "Ready to meet everyone?"

You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Glen gives your hand a reassuring squeeze as you approach the group. His mom, Cyndy, is the first to spot the two of you, and her face lights up with a welcoming smile. She's a petite woman with a warm demeanor, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she waves you over.

"There you are!" Cyndy calls out, pulling Glen into a quick hug before turning her attention to you. "And you must be the one we've been hearing so much about. I'm Cyndy, it's so nice to finally meet you!"

You return her smile, instantly feeling at ease with her friendly nature. "It's great to meet you too. Glen's told me a lot about you."

"Oh, I'm sure he has," Cyndy says with a wink before pulling you into a hug. "Welcome, sweetheart."

Next, Glen's dad, Glen Sr., steps forward with a firm handshake and a nod. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with a quiet strength about him. "Good to have you here," he says simply, but the warmth in his tone is unmistakable.

Then, Glen's sisters Lauren and Leslie, each take their turn to greet you. Lauren gives you a friendly smile. "You're braver than I would be, meeting the whole crew at once like this. They can be a handful, but you'll be fine."

Leslie nudges Glen playfully. "You didn't warn her about us, did you?"

Glen laughs, shaking his head. "I figured I'd let you all speak for yourselves."

As you exchange pleasantries, more of Glen's friends and extended family members join in, introducing themselves and welcoming you with open arms. Someone hands you a cold drink, and before you know it, you're standing around a grill piled high with burgers, sausages, and all the fixings, soaking in the pre-game atmosphere.

The conversation quickly turns to stories about Glen's past. A few of his college buddies, each with a beer in hand, are eager to share some of their favorite memories.

"Remember that time Glen tried to impress a girl by riding a mechanical bull at that honky-tonk?" One of them starts, a grin spreading across his face.

"Oh, I remember!" Another chimes in. "He was so confident, strutted right up there like he was gonna show everyone how it's done. Lasted about five seconds before he got thrown off and landed flat on his back."

The group erupts in laughter, and even Glen can't help but chuckle at the memory. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he says shaking his head. "At least I gave it a shot."

Cyndy leans in closer to you, a glint in her eye. "That's nothing compared to the time he and his sister decided to 'borrow' my car when they were kids. Thought they'd take a little joyride around the neighborhood...until they crashed it into a mailbox."

"Oh no!" You gasp, unable to suppress a laugh.

Lauren grins, shaking her head at the memory. "We were grounded for months. Glen thought he was so slick, but he didn't realize the mailbox he hit belonged to one of Dad's friends."

"Yep," Glen Sr adds with a rare smile, "and that's how they learned not to mess with my car."

The easy banter and lighthearted stories quickly dissolve any lingering nerves you have. Glen's family and friends are down-to-earth, welcoming you into their inner circle as if you've always been a part of it. The more they share, the more you see the depth of their bond and the way they care for each other.

As you take another bite of your burger, you look over at Glen, who's been watching you with a soft smile. "You doing okay?" he asks quietly, leaning in so only you can hear.

You nod, feeling completely at ease now. "Yeah, I'm doing great. Your family's wonderful."

His smile widens as he places a hand gently on your back. "I'm glad you think so. They're a little crazy, but they're mine."

"And now I guess I'm part of them too," you say with a playful grin.

Glen's eyes light up at your words, and he leans in to press a quick, affectionate kiss to your lips. "Yeah, I guess you are."

Just then, one of Glen's friends raises his drink and shouts "Hook 'em, Horns!" The entire group responds in unison, raising their hands in the iconic "Hook 'em Horns" gesture, with pinkies and index figures extended with the thumb tucked grasping the second and third fingers.

You try to mimic the gesture, but you don't quite cooperate. Glen catches your struggle and chuckles softly. "Here, let me help," he says, gently taking your hand in his.

With his warm fingers guiding yours, Glen carefully adjusts your hand, making sure your pinky and index fingers are extended and your thumb tucks the other fingers. His touch is gentle and precise, and you can't help but feel a little flutter in your chest as he concentrates on getting it just right.

"How's that?" you ask, looking up at him with a smile.

He gives your hand a final tweak before stepping back to admire his work. "Perfect," he says, his voice soft and affectionate. "Now you're officially part of the team."

You laugh, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "Guess I really am one of you now."

The group continues to laugh and share stories as the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the gathering. The pre-game atmosphere, filled with the sounds of sizzling food, clinking bottles, and cheerful banter, is everything you imagined - and more. With Glen's arm draped comfortably around your shoulders and the "Hook 'em Horns" gesture nailed down, you feel a sense of belonging that surprises you in the best possible way.

As the tailgate winds down and the anticipation for the game grows, Glen wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you through the throng of excited fans heading towards the stadium. The air is filled with the sounds of chanting, music, and the collective buzz of thousands of supporters, all eager for the big game.

"Ready for the full game day experience?" Glen asks, glancing over at you with a grin.

You nod, feeling a mixture of excitement and curiosity. "Definitely. Lead the way."

As you approach the entrance, Glen veers off towards a merchandise stand just inside the gate, keeping his promise to get you your very own Texas Longhorns shirt. The stand is awash with burnt orange and white, offering everything from t-shirts to hoodies, foam fingers, and even Longhorns-themed sunglasses.

"Okay, let's find you something," Glen says, scanning the racks of shirts. He picks out a simple, yet classic burnt orange t-shirt with the Texas Longhorns logo emblazoned across the front. Holding it up to you, he grins "How about this one?"

You take the shirt from him, feeling the soft fabric between your fingers. "It's perfect," you say, already imagining yourself fitting right in with the sea of orange in the stadium.

Glen pays for the shirt and then hands it back to you. "Go ahead and try it on. Let's see how it looks."

You pull the t-shirt over your white tank top, the bright orange contrasting perfectly with your outfit. As you smooth the fabric down, Glen steps back to admire the look.

"Hold on," he says, reaching for the white Texas Longhorns baseball cap he had been wearing earlier. With a playful grin, he gently places it back on your head, adjusting the brim so it sits just right. His fingers linger for a moment, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You look up at him, a smile playing on your lips. "How do I look?"

Glen's gaze softens as he takes you in, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You look great," he says, his voice filled with genuine affection. "I think orange might be your color."

You laugh softly, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Guess I'm officially part of the team now."

"Absolutely," Glen replies, leaning in to brush a quick kiss against your forehead. "Now, let's get to our seats."

With his arm comfortably draped around your shoulders, Glen guides you through the bustling concourse and up towards the exclusive box seats he reserved for you, his family, and close friends. As you walk, you can't help but notice a few heads turning, whispers following in your wake. It's clear that Glen's presence isn't going unnoticed.

But Glen seems unfazed by the attention, focused entirely on making sure you're comfortable and enjoying yourself. "Don't worry," he says, sensing your unease as you pass by a group of fans who seem to be debating whether or not to approach. "The suite will give us a bit of privacy. It's just us and the people we want to be with."

You give him a grateful smile, relieved at the thought of a more private space. "That sounds perfect."

When you reach the suite, a staff member opens the door, revealing a spacious, comfortable area with large windows offering an unobstructed view of the field. The room is decked out with cozy seating, a fully stocked fridge, and even a table spread with game day snacks.

Glen's family is already there, mingling and settling in, and they greet you warmly as you enter. You quickly realize that this box isn't just a place to watch the game - it's a space where you can relax, enjoy the company, and soak in the experience without any interruptions.

Glen guides you to a seat near the window, right next to him. As you take in the view of the field below, and the energy of the crowd that's starting to pile into the stadium, you feel a sense of excitement bubbling up.

"So, what do you think?" Glen asks, settling in beside you, his hand casually resting on your knee.

You turn to him, your smile reflecting the excitement you feel. "It's incredible."

Glen grins, clearly pleased. "I'm glad you're here," he says giving your knee a gentle squeeze. "Now, get ready for some real Texas football."

Suddenly, the lights dim, and the giant screen at the far end of the stadium flickers to life. The Texas Longhorns logo appears, and the crowd erupts into cheers. You glance over at Glen, who is grinning ear to ear, clearly caught up in the excitement.

"Here they come," he says, nodding towards the tunnel at the edge of the field.

The sound of drums fills the air as the Texas Longhorns marching band begins playing. The brass instruments gleam under the stadium lights and the rhythm of the drums pulses through the stands, making your heart beat a little faster.

As the band starts playing the school fight song, the crowd rises to their feet, the familiar tune echoing throughout the stadium. Glen stands up, pulling you to your feet with him. The sight is breathtaking - the sea of burnt orange, the flags waving proudly, and the booming voices of thousands of fans all joining together in the song.

Glen leans in close, his voice just above a whisper in your ear. "You've got to sing along, it's tradition."

You smile nervously, not sure what the words are, but Glen's enthusiasm is contagious. As the band reaches the chorus, Glen starts singing, his voice blending with the roar of the crowd. "Texas Fight! Texas Fight! And it's goodbye to A&M..."

You start to hum along to the words, your soft voice, almost drowned out by the thousands of others. But Glen's infection energy pulls you in. His eyes spark with excitement. "Louder!" he urges, his grin widening.

You laugh, feeling the last of your hesitation melt away as you throw yourself into the chant, clapping along with the beat and shouting the words with enthusiasm. Glen's pride is evident, and he can't hide his delight at seeing you get into the spirit of the game.

As the team bursts onto the field, the stadium erupts into a thunderous roar. The players, clad in their iconic burnt orange and white uniforms, charge out of the tunnel, the sight of them stirring a fresh wave of excitement into the crowd. The band crescendos into the final notes of the fight song, and the noise level reaches a fever pitch.

Glen wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as the team lines up on the field. "What do you think?" he asks, his voice barely audible over the noise.

You look up at him, your heart racing with the excitement of the moment. "It's amazing," you reply, your smile wide and genuine. "I can see why you love this so much."

As the players take their positions on the field, the atmosphere in the stadium becomes electric. The roar of the crowd swells, and you can feel the anticipation vibrating through the stands. You're fully immersed in the excitement, your earlier nerves replaced with growing enthusiasm as Glen points out different players and explains the significance of the game.

Just as you start to relax, the opening kickoff is moments away. You're leaning forward in your seat, eyes glued to the field when suddenly - BOOM!

The deafening sound of Smokey the Cannon firing catches you completely off guard. You jump in your seat, your heart racing as the shock of the blast reverberates through your chest.

Glen, noticing your startled reaction, can't help but chuckle. "Sorry, I should've warned you about that," he says, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. His laugh is warm and affectionate, and he pulls you close, resting his chin on your shoulder. "That's Smokey the Cannon. It fires off at every kickoff. Just part of the tradition."

You lean into his embrace, your initial fright quickly fading as you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. "I think I just aged a few years," you say with a laugh, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline. "I wasn't expecting that at all."

Glen's grip tightens slightly, his way of reassuring you. "It's loud, but you'll get used to it," he says, his voice gentle and comforting in your ear. "Trust me, by the end of the game, you'll be waiting for it."

You turn your head to catch his eye, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your mouth. "I'll take your word for it," you reply, your nerves settling as you take comfort in his closeness.

The game kicks off, and the action on the field immediately draws you back in. As the players clash, the crowd erupts into cheers and groans, their energy contagious. Glen keeps you close, his arm draped over your shoulders, and you find yourself getting more and more caught up in the excitement of it all.

Throughout the game, Glen is right there, guiding you through the experience. He explains the rules as plays unfold, pointing out the strategy behind each move. "See how the quarterback is scanning the field?" he says at one point. "He's looking for an open receiver, someone who can catch the ball and make a run for it."

You nod, trying to absorb the information. "It's a lot more complicated than I thought," you admit, appreciating his patience.

Glen grins, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. "That's what makes it fun," he says. "Once you start to understand the strategy, it's like watching a chess match...only with a lot more action."

As the game progresses, you find yourself cheering along with the crowd, your earlier nerves completely forgotten. Glen's explanations help you feel more connected to the game, and his excitement is infectious. Each time something exciting happens on the field - a touchdown, a particularly good tackle - he turns to you with a grin, eager to share the moment.

"Did you see that?" he asks after a particularly impressive play, his eyes alight with excitement. "That's what they call a 'Hail Mary' - a long pass to try and score a touchdown when time's running out."

You nod, caught up in the moment. "I think I'm starting to get the hang of this," you say, feeling a sense of pride as you follow the flow of the game.

Glen leans in, his voice low and full of affection. "You're doing great," he says, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad you're here with me."

You smile up at him, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. "Me too," you reply, feeling more at home in the stadium with each passing moment.

As the game continues, the two of you settle into a comfortable rhythm - Glen explaining plays, you cheering along with the crowd, and both of you enjoying the shared experience. It's a day filled with excitement, but also with moments of quiet connection, each one deepening the bond between you.

And by the time Smokey the Cannon fires off again, you barely flinch - too caught up in the thrill of the game and the warmth of Glen's presence beside you.

The final whistle blows and the stadium erupts in a sea of burnt orange and white. Texas has won, and the energy in the air is electric. Fans are cheering, hugging, and celebrating as the Longhorns players wave to the crowd before making their way off the field. You can't help but get caught up in the excitement, clapping along as the band strikes up the fight song one last time.

As the crowd begins to thin out, Glen helps you gather your things, and the two of you make your way out of the suite. The halls of the stadium are still buzzing with excitement, fans streaming toward the exits, chatting excitedly about the game. You notice a few people casting glances your way - recognition flickering in their eyes as they realize who Glen is.

You feel a flutter of nervousness in your chest as the looks become more frequent. The idea of being recognized, of suddenly being in the spotlight, is overwhelming. But before the anxiety can take hold, Glen reaches for your hand. His grip is firm, and reassuring, and he gives you a comforting smile.

"Don't worry," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "I'm right here."

His words and his touch soothe you, and you take a deep breath, focusing on the warmth of his hand in yours rather than the curious glances around you. Together, you navigate through the crowd, Glen's presence beside you acting as an anchor, keeping you steady.

As you step out into the cool evening air, the noise of the stadium fades behind you, replaced by the more distant sounds of fans celebrating in the parking lot. The crowd is thinning out, and the atmosphere feels less intense, allowing you to finally relax.

Glen leads you to his truck, and as you approach it, he glances over at you, his expression softening. "So...your first Texas game," he says as he opens the passenger door for you. "What did you think? Did it live up to the hype?"

Your smile, climbing into the truck and settling into the seat. "It really did," you reply, your tone reflecting the surprise in your voice. "I didn't think I'd get so caught up in it, but I did. The energy, the crowd, the way everyone was so passionate...it was contagious."

Glen closes the door and walks around to the driver's side, sliding into the seat beside you. He doesn't start the truck right away, instead turning slightly to face you, his gaze soft and warm.

"I'm really glad you came," he says, his voice sincere. "It means a lot to me to share this with you."

You feel your heart swell at his words, and you take a moment to let them sink in. "I'm glad I came too," you say softly, your eyes meeting his. "It's not something I ever imagined myself doing, but I'm really happy I did."

Glen reaches out and takes your hand again, his fingers intertwining with yours. "You were a great sport about everything," he says, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Even when Smokey scared the life out of you."

You laugh, shaking your head at the memory. "I'll admit, that was a bit much," you say with a grin. "But honestly, the whole experience was incredible. I see now why it's such a big deal for you."

Glen's smile widens, and for a moment, the two of you simply sit there, hands clasped, sharing a quiet, meaningful silence. The excitement of the day is still buzzing in your veins, but there's also a deeper feeling - a sense of connection, of understanding, that goes beyond just the game.

"I'm really happy you're here with me," Glen says quietly, his voice carrying a weight of emotion. "This...it all means a lot more with you by my side."

His words hit you in a way you didn't expect, and you realize just how much this day, and this man, have come to mean to you. You squeeze his hand, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the game or the crowd, but everything to do with him.

"I'm happy to be here," you reply, your voice just as soft. "With you."

For a moment, the world outside the truck seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the stillness of the parking lot. It's a moment of quiet reflection, of mutual appreciation, and as you sit there, you realize that this experience has brought you closer to Glen in a way you hadn't anticipated.

Glen starts the engine, but before he shifts into gear, he leans over and presses a tender kiss to your lips. It's soft, sweet, and filled with unspoken emotion, a perfect ending to a day you'll never forget.

As he pulls away, you both smile at each other, the bond between you stronger than ever. As the truck rolls out of the parking lot, leaving the stadium behind, you feel a sense of contentment, knowing that this is just the beginning of something truly special.

The next morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across your bedroom. You sit on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, absently twisting the brim of Glen's baseball cap between your fingers. The events of the previous day play on a loop in your mind - Glen's infectious enthusiasm, the electrifying atmosphere of the game, and the way he held your hand, guiding you through it all. A smile tugs at your lips as you remember the look in his eyes when he told you how much it meant to him to have you there.

But now, in the quiet of your room, the excitement of the game has given way to do something deeper - an unmistakable warmth in your chest, a feeling that's both exhilarating and a little terrifying. You realize that what started as casual dating has slowly grown into something more. And for the first time, you feel the need to talk to someone about it.

You take a deep breath and scroll through your contacts, landing on your mom's number. The familiar sound of the ringtone fills the room as you hold the phone to your ear, your heart beating a little faster with each passing second. Finally, you hear her voice on the other end, warm and welcoming as always.

"Hi, sweetie! How are you?" Your mom greets you, the sound of her voice instantly soothing some of your nerves.

"Hey, Mom," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm good. Just...thinking about a lot of things."

Your mom chuckles softly. "Well, it sounds like you've got something on your mind. What's going on?"

You pause for a moment, gathering your thoughts before you begin. "I met somebody, and...he's really great, Mom. he's got these green eyes that I could just get lost in, and he's so sweet. He opens doors for me, he makes me laugh, and he...he doesn't make me cry." Your voice softens as you say the last part, a small admission of how different this feels from anything you've experienced before.

There's a brief silence on the other end, and then your mom speaks, her voice gentle. "He sounds wonderful, honey. Tell me more about him."

A smile spreads across your face as you think about Glen. "He's from Texas, not exactly where we're from, but...when I'm with him, he feels like home. He's got me doing things I never thought I'd do, like going to a football game." You laugh, still a little surprised at how much you enjoyed the experience.

Your mom laughs too, a mix of surprise and amusement in her tone. "A football game? You? Never thought I'd see the day."

"I know, right?" you reply, shaking your head at the memory. "He even gave me his hat to wear because I didn't have any Texas gear. And, Mom...I liked it. I really liked it."

There's a pause, and you can almost hear your mom's smile through the phone. "It sounds like you're really falling for this guy."

You bite your lip, the truth of her words sinking in. "I think I am," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Mama...I like him a lot. I even learned the words to the Texas Fight Song."

Your mom's laughter rings through the phone, full of warmth and understanding. "It sounds like he's got you wrapped around his finger," she teases, but there's no judgment in her voice, only happiness for you.

"Maybe he does," you say, feeling a warmth spread through you at the thought. "But...it feels right, Mom. He feels right."

Your mom's voice softens, a hint of emotion creeping in. "I'm happy for you, sweetheart. Just take things one step at a time, and follow your heart."

You nod, even though she can't see you. "Thanks, Mom. I will."

As you end the call, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. Talking to your mom has helped you put things into perspective, and you realize that you're ready to see where things go with Glen, no matter where that may lead. The thought of him brings a smile to your face, and you can't help but feel a flutter of excitement at what the future might hold.

#Glen Powell #Glen Powell Fic #Glen Powell Fanfic #Glen Powell Fanfiction

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months

Text

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 4: Read Between The Lines]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

It is your first week of basic training at Great Lakes on the north side of Chicago, and as you lie in the top bunk of your assigned bed you wonder what the hell you’ve done. You enlisted right out of high school, eighteen, no driver’s license, no work history, never been more than fifty miles outside of Soft Shell, Kentucky. The drill sergeants are always yelling and you’re bad at push-ups; you can’t understand the recruits from big cities like Los Angeles, Miami, Las Vegas, Detroit, Houston, and they don’t seem to get you either, and aren’t interested enough to try. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t signed that five-year contract, but where would you be if you weren’t here? Home is not words but textures, colors, fumes that still burn in your sinuses: cigarette ash on rose pink carpets, red embers glowing in the wood stove, Hamburger Helper and Mountain Dew, coffee creamer in Hungry Jack potatoes, laughter and heavy footsteps and slamming doors, scratch-off games, dogs barking, collecting coins from couch cushions for gas money, scrubbing clothes in the bathtub when the washer quits, Mama taking gulps from her favorite cup—plastic, Virginia Beach, filled with equal parts Hawaiian Punch and vodka—when she thinks no one is looking, blue shows flickering on the television, Family Feud, Maury, Good Morning America, WWE SmackDown. For as long as you can remember you’ve known you couldn’t stay. Now you’re getting out, but nothing in life is free.

You are at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, and even though it’s hotter than some noxious, volcanic hellscape—Mercury, Venus, Io—you are beginning to like it. You taste the salt of sweat when you lick your lips, sugar in the sweet tea they serve in the chow hall. There’s a magic in building something where there was only empty space before, in patching roofs and painting walls. Here being quiet and watchful is exactly what they want from you: head down, hammer striking nails, measurements and angles and long hours under the sun with no complaints. You’re not just running away anymore. You are creating something new.

You are sitting beneath swaying palm trees and a full moon on Diego Garcia, draining cans of Guinness with Rio, and he’s telling you things he shouldn’t, too personal, too honest: Sophie wants to try for a baby next time he’s home on leave, and part of him wants that too but he’s terrified. As thunder rumbles in the distance and raindrops begin to patter on the waves of the Indian Ocean, you tell Rio you think he’d be a good father. He wonders how you figure that, and you say because he’s not like any of the men from home. He gives you one of his crooked smiles—a flash of teeth, knowing dark eyes—and doesn’t ask what you mean.

But of course, when you swim up from the inky currents of sleep you are in none of these places. You are curled up on the floor of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio, cheap worn black carpet peppered with stars and swirls in neon green, pink, blue. You stretch out with a yawn. Someone has left a Lemon Tea Snapple within reach; you twist it open and guzzle it, hoping to extinguish the pounding in your skull, a rhythmic thudding of warm maroon, half Captain Morgan and half misery. The music isn’t helping. From the green Toshiba CD player, a man is singing in Spanish. Aegon and Rio are sitting at the nearest table and playing Uno.

Aegon says as he ponders his cards: “You know Enrique Iglesias, right Rio?”

“You are so racist.” Rio puts down a wild. “And the new color is red. Racist.”

“So what’s he saying?”

“Aegon, buddy, I told you, I was born here. My grandparents came over in the 60s. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“You can’t understand any of it?” Aegon is skeptical. He plays a skip, a reverse, and a seven. “My dad never taught me a word of Greek but I can recognize plenty of phrases. Vlákas means idiot. Spatáli chórou is a waste of space.”

Rio sighs, relenting. He puts down a two. “The song is called Súbeme La Radio, Turn Up The Radio For Me. Bring me the alcohol that numbs the pain… I don’t care about anything anymore…You’ve left me in the shadows…”

“Damn, now I’m sad. Draw four, bitch.”

“When the night comes and you don’t answer, I swear to you I’ll stay waiting at your door…” Rio studies his cards. “What’s the new color?”

“Green.”

“Yes!” Rio slams down a skip. “Fleeing from the past in every dawn, I can’t find any way to erase our history…”

Everyone else is awake already. As muted late-morning daylight streams in through the small tinted windows, Aemond is weaving between tables, pointedly checking on each person. He glances at you, says nothing, turns around and walks the other way.

“That’s tough,” Rio says sympathetically, popping open the tab on a can of Chef Boyardee and shoveling ravioli into his mouth with a plastic fork.

Aegon gives you a smirk. “You want to fake date now?”

“I’ll think about it.” No you won’t.

Helaena appears, a prairie girl vision in a modest blue sundress and with her hair tied back with a matching scarf. She reaches into her burlap messenger bag and offers you a choice between a ranch-flavored tuna pouch or a silvery pack of Pop-Tarts. “Strawberry,” she tells you.

“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts.”

Helaena gives them to you and then shakes a bottle of Advil. You’re so groggy it takes you a few seconds to figure out what she wants, then you obediently hold out a hand. Helaena lays two tablets in the center of your palm and moves on, soundlessly like a rabbit or a spider.

You wash the pills down with Snapple. As you nibble half-heartedly on a Pop-Tart—trying not to look at Aemond, multicolored sprinkles falling down onto the carpet—your eyes drift to the tattoo on the underside of Aegon’s forearm. It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You’ve spotted it before. Only now do you remember where you recognize the lyric from. “Is that Green Day?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says, enthused that you noticed. “Letterbomb.”

“I love that whole album.”

“Me too. I could sing it front to back if you asked me to.”

“I’m not asking.”

Aegon cackles and resumes his Uno game with Rio. Baela is wearing denim shorts and a crop top, slathering her belly with Palmer’s cocoa butter from Walmart as she chats with Rhaena and eats Teddy Grahams. Daeron is waxing the string of his compound bow. Jace is gnawing on a Twizzler as he scrutinizes Aegon’s map, annotated with Xs and circles and arrows in sparkling gel pen green.

“I’m going to be a thousand years old by the time we get there,” Jace mutters.

Aegon hits the table with his fist. The discard pile collapses and cascades, an avalanche of Uno cards. Rio, undisturbed, continues contemplating his next move. “You know what, Jace? The cities are full of zombies, the interstates are blocked by fifty-car pileups, if we bump into anyone else who’s still alive they’re just as likely to rob and murder us as want to be friends, and on top of all that I’m trying to do you the favor of preventing you from getting so irradiated you turn into Spider-Man. If you have a better route in mind, I’d love to hear it.”

“Spider-Man…? You’re such a dumbass, what are you talking about?!”

Luke says from where he stands by a window: “Aemond, someone’s outside.”

“What?” Aemond stares at him. “Zombies?”

“No. People.”

Aemond bolts to the doors, the rest of you close behind him. Rhaena turns off the CD player. You, Rio, and Aegon squeeze together to peer out of one of the windows. There are men—three of them, no, four, all appearing to be in their forties—passing by on the main road through town. They are armed with what are either AR-15s or M16s, you can’t tell which.

Rio whistles. “If you get shot by one of those, the exit wound will be the size of an orange.” Everyone looks at him. This was not an encouraging thing to say.

You elaborate: “Thirty-round magazines. Semiautomatic, assuming they’re AR-15s for civilian use. I guess they could have gotten ahold of M16s somehow. Those have a fully automatic setting.”

“So regardless, we’re out-gunned,” Jace says.

“If they know how to use them. Some men think guns are wall decorations, like deer heads or fish.”

Aegon recoils. “Fish?! What the fuck. I’m glad the colonies left.”

“Maybe they’ll keep walking,” Daeron says hopefully. One of the men stops and points at the bowling alley, saying something to his companions. They laugh and begin crossing the small parking lot. They are less than two minutes from the door. “Oh, great…”

“There’s an emergency exit in the back,” Baela says.

Aegon snorts. “Yeah, that we stacked about twenty boxes of bowling pins in front of to zombie-proof.”

“We won’t be able to get out before they hear us,” Aemond says. Then he abruptly orders: “Grab your guns, let’s go. Helaena, Baela, Rhaena, you’re staying here.” Aemond’s remaining eye—briefly, reluctantly—skates over you as Rio, Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Daeron scatter to obey him. “You too.”

“But I’m the best shot.”

“I don’t want them to know we have women with us.”

“I’m of more use to you outside.”

Aemond rips his Glock out of its holster, pointing it at the floor. His frustration is palpable, an electric shock, heat that refracts light rays until they become mirages on the horizon. “You’re going to stay here, and if a stranger comes through those doors you’re going to kill them. Okay?”

His urgency stuns you; his eye is blue-white summer storm lightning. “Okay.”

“Now get back.”

You soar to the nearest table, duck under it, reach for your Beretta M9 and double-check the clip, fully loaded. You click off the safety.

“Aemond, wait, let me go first,” Aegon is saying by the door. “I’m better at de-escalation, I’m less…uh…intimidating.”

“Less socially incompetent, you mean,” Jace quips.

“I’ll lead,” Aemond insists. “Aegon can talk. Rio, you’re up front with me.”

Rio pumps his Remington 12 gauge. “I’d be delighted.”

Jace is amused. “I’ve been demoted, huh?”

“He’s bigger,” Aemond replies simply, then opens the door and vanishes through a blinding curtain of daylight. The others follow closely; Daeron, the last one out—his compound bow in hand, the strap of his Marlin .22 slung over his shoulder—shuts the door behind him.

Very faintly, you can hear Aegon: “Hey, guys! What’s happening? How’s the apocalypse treating you…?”

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are under the table with you. They deserve to have options. You tell them: “If you want to go hide behind the lanes or try to get out the back door, now’s your chance.”

Helaena shakes her head, clutching your t-shirt: black, Star Wars, pawed off a shelf at the Walmart. “I want to stay with you.”

“Same,” Baela says determinedly, gripping her Ruger. She barely knows how to use it, but she’ll try. Rhaena is shaking, her eyes filling up her face, small fragile bones like a bird’s.

You can’t hear voices from outside anymore, but there are no gunshots either. You keep your M9 aimed at the doors, your breathing slow and deep, your heart rate low. Your hands are steady. Your eyes hunt for the slightest movement, for the momentary shadow of someone passing by a window. Against your will, your thoughts wander to Aemond. I hope Aegon is on his left side. Aemond can’t see there.

“Rhaena, get your gun out,” Baela says sharply. “Come on. Turn the safety off. What if you were alone right now? What if we weren’t here to protect you?”

Rhaena nods, fumbling to free her revolver from its holster. “I’m sorry…I’m trying…”

Now there is a stranger’s voice, gruff and deep. He must be just beyond the door, the farthest one to the right. There is a creak of hinges, a sliver of sunlight. “That’s just too damn bad, fellas. You got a nice little hideout here, and you’re gonna have to share it—”

The door opens. Two unfamiliar faces, too shellshocked to raise their rifles in time. You close an eye, line up your sights, fire twice, and that’s all it takes: one headshot, one in the throat, blood like a fountain, spurting scarlet ruin, thuds against the carpet strewn with neon stars, gurgling and spasms as their brains send out those final electrical impulses: danger, catastrophe, apocalypse. Rhaena is screaming. Helaena is covering her ears with both hands.

You run to the doorway; there are more booms of gunfire out in the parking lot. You cross into the late-morning light to see the other two men on the pavement: one with an arrow through the eye, the other with a gaping, hemorrhaging hole where his heart once was. Rio is admiring his work, holding his shotgun aloft. He scoops a handful of Cheddar Whales out of his shorts pocket and shovels them into his mouth.

“Goddamn, I love Remington Arms Company.”

“Oh, that was awesome,” Aegon says, wan and panting, hands on his waist. “Yeah, that was…that was…” He bends over and vomits Snapple and Cool Ranch Doritos onto the asphalt.

“Everyone okay in there?” Rio asks you.

“Yeah.” Behind you, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are stepping through the doorway. Your thoughts are whirling sickly: I killed someone. I killed someone. “They wouldn’t leave?”

“We told them the bowling alley was ours,” Aemond says, not looking at you. “We asked them very politely to keep moving. They chose to try to intimidate us into letting them stay. They weren’t good people, and these are the consequences.”

You click on the safety and re-holster your M9. You’re wearing Rio’s on your other hip. They seem to weigh so much more than they did ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to be a killer. I’m a builder.

“Aegon, are you okay?” Daeron asks, a palm on his brother’s back.

Aegon retches again. “Shut up. You can’t even buy fireworks.”

“Zombies.” Luke is peering through his binoculars. “Not many, just two. Way up the road.”

“There will be more.” Baela’s cradling her belly; you don’t even think she’s aware of it. “They heard the gunshots, the sound carries for miles.”

“We’re leaving,” Aemond says. “Right now. Everyone get your things.”

As backpacks are hastily zipped and Daeron and Aegon stand guard in the parking lot, you kneel down beside the men you murdered and check their rifles. They are M16s, either stolen or illegally purchased: there’s a little switch by the trigger to choose between semi-automatic or the so-called machine gun mode.

“They barely had any bullets left,” you tell Rio. Just like us when we were trapped on that transmission tower.

“Yeah, same story for the other two guys. Four bullets in one magazine, a half dozen in the other. But it only takes once. We don’t have any ammo that will work with M16s, do we?”

“No, we definitely don’t.”

“Fantastic. Well, we’ll throw them in a Walmart cart and take them with us just in case.”

You’re staring down at the man you shot through the head. His eternal resting place is a puddle of blood and brains in a bowling alley in rural Ohio; surely no one deserves that. “He was a real person,” you say, dazed. “Not a zombie. Just a person.”

“Hey.” Rio grabs your shoulders and spins you towards him. From where he is helping Luke gather up the remaining food, Aemond’s head snaps up to watch. “You hurt him before he could hurt us. You did the right thing.”

“Sure.”

“I killed a dude too. I blew his heart right out of his chest. You think I’m going to hell for that?”

“No,” you admit, smiling. “And if you’d be there with me, I guess I wouldn’t mind so much.”

Rio grins, wide and toothy. “Well alright then. Let’s finish packing.”

The ten of you depart from Shenandoah, Ohio heading northwest on Route 603 just like Aegon marked on his map, Jace chauffeuring Baela in one shopping cart, Rio pushing another loaded high with food and M16s.

“It looks like rain,” Helaena says.

Everyone else peers up into a clear, cerulean sky, wondering what she means.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re a few miles north of Shiloh when the storm rolls in, cold rain and furious wind, daylight that vanishes behind dark churning thunderheads, jagged scars of lightning in an opaque sky. The road is only two lanes, surrounded by fields of wildflowers and ravaged crops and untilled earth; it would look like the patchwork of a quilt if you were gazing down from an airplane, but of course the FAA grounded all flights over a month ago when the world went mad: Revelations, Ragnarök, the fabric of the universe unweaving as death burned through families, cities, nations like a fever, like plague.

“Maybe we should cut across one of these fields,” Jace says, pointing. He is soaked with rain; it drips from his curls, runs into his eyes. Baela is in her cart again; each time she tries to get out and walk, she’s gasping and can’t keep up within half an hour. You’ve all taken turns pushing her, much to Baela’s dismay. She’d be humiliated if she wasn’t too exhausted to keep her eyes open.

“Here, let me do it,” you offer, and Jace gratefully relinquishes the cart. Baela gives you a frail wave of appreciation.

“We stay on the road,” Aemond insists, flinching as rain pelts his scarred face. “Farmhouses have driveways and mailboxes, we’ll pass one eventually. If we lose the road, we might not be able to find it again. We’ll end up wandering around in circles in the woods.”

“Just like the Blair Witch Project,” Aegon says glumly, his Sperry Bahama sneakers audibly soggy.

“There!” Luke announces, spotting something with his binoculars. “Up ahead on the left. Past the bridge.”

You can’t see what Luke does until there is an especially brilliant flash of lightning: a farmhouse, old but seemingly not derelict, and with a number of accompanying buildings, guest houses and stables and barns and towering silos.

“Home sweet home!” Rio says. “And I don’t care if I have to kill a hundred of those undead bastards to get in, it’s mine.”

“Well, hopefully not a hundred,” you reply, in better spirits now that a sanctuary has been found. Aemond keeps glancing back at you as you push Baela’s cart. If he wants to say something, he’s doing a good job of resisting the temptation. “We don’t have that much ammo.”

There is a concrete bridge over a river, probably unremarkable and only five or ten feet deep normally but now torrential with rain. Water rushes by beneath, a muddy incline on each side as the earth rises back up to meet the road. A reflective green sign proclaims that you are only two miles from Plymouth, which Aegon plans to skirt along the edges of. It’s a decent-sized town; he thinks you might be able to find a car to steal there, something with gas in the tank and keys on a hook just inside the house.

“I call the master bedroom,” Jace says craftily, rubbing his palms together. You’re near the center of the bridge now, another ten yards to go. “Nice big bed, warm cozy blankets, and I was up for half of last night keeping watch so tonight I am off duty, I am a free man, it’s going to just be me and my girl and eight glorious uninterrupted hours of sleep—”

Rhaena shrieks, and then you hear it over the noise of the storm, pounding rain and rumbling thunder: moans, growls, hisses like snakes. Not one zombie. A lot more than one. They’re crawling up from under the bridge, from the filthy quagmire at both ends. There was a hoard of them waiting, aimless, dormant, almost hibernating. But now they are awake. They are grasping for you with bony, dirt-covered claws. They are snapping with jaws that leak blood and pus and bile as their organs curdle to a putrid soup.

“Get off the bridge!” Aemond is shouting. He has his Glock in his right hand, a baseball bat in his left. He’ll shoot until he’s out of bullets, and then, and then…

Rio helps you get Baela out of the cart, then opens fire. His Remington doesn’t just pierce skulls, it vaporizes them. When he’s out of shells—there are more in his backpack, but no time to reload—he yanks the M16s out of the other Walmart cart and empties each of them, mowing down zombies as the rest of you scramble across the bridge. All around you are explosions of gunshots, thunder, lightning, zombie skulls crushed by bullets and blunt force trauma. Baela is firing her Ruger as you half-drag her, one arm hooked beneath hers and around her back. When the last M16 is empty, Rio starts clubbing zombies with the butt of it. You’ve all reached the north side of the bridge, except…

“Fuck off, you freaks!” Jace is screaming. They’ve backed him up against the guardrail, a swarm of ten or more. His Remington shotgun is out of ammo; he’s swinging it wildly, but he doesn’t even have enough room to maneuver. There are still more zombies emerging from under the bridge. You can hear them snarling and groaning. You swipe an M9 off your belt and put a bullet in the brain of a zombie as its fingers close around your ankle, then you start picking off the ones mobbing Jace. You aren’t fast enough. As they lean in to bite him, teeth gnashing at the delicious throbbing heat of his jugular, Jace throws himself over the barrier and into the surging water below.

“No!” Baela cries. She careens off the road and into the field, running parallel to the river as swiftly as she can. You are helping her, steadying her, firing at any zombies you have a clear line of sight on. The others are here too: slipping in the muck of the flooding earth, shouting for Jace. He surfaces through the frothing current, flails pitifully, disappears beneath the water again. You glimpse a white hand, a shadow of his dark hair, a kicking shoe. There are more zombies on the opposite side of the river, trailing after Jace, lurching and slobbering viscous, gory saliva. They cannot swim, but they can follow him until he washes ashore.

Jace bursts up through the waves, gasping. “Help! Aemond…Aemond, for the love of God, help me…” He blubbers and then is dragged under. Aemond and Luke are continuing frantically after him. Baela is hysterical, sobbing, trembling with adrenaline. Aegon is yowling as he swings at zombies with his bloodied golf club. Helaena is darting around almost invisibly, always cowering behind Daeron or Aegon or Rio.

You glance north towards the farmhouse, growing not closer but farther away. We can’t leave shelter. We can’t leave the road. You lock eyes with Rio. He’s thinking the same thing.

“Aemond, we have to go,” Rio says, but in the midst of the rain and the turmoil it barely registers.

“Jace, we’re coming to get you!” Aemond swears. The ground is increasingly sodden, deep, difficult to trudge through. Jace resurfaces, coughing and sputtering.

“Jace!” Aegon wails. He caves in the skull of a zombie who was once a registered nurse as Helaena crouches behind him. “Jace, I’m sorry! I’m gonna miss you, man!”

Jace splashes in the rising river, his arms flailing helplessly. He is being swept away far faster than any of you can move on foot. “Aegon, you dumb bitch!” Jace manages, then slips beneath the water and doesn’t reappear.

“Where is he?!” Baela is saying. “Aemond, where…?”

You are trying to soothe her, to bring her back to reality. She was always so pragmatic before; you have to wake her up. “Baela, listen, we can’t stay here, he would want you and the baby to be safe—”

“Aemond! Aemond, we have to go!” Rio catches him, wrenches him around, roars into his face as driving rain pummels them both: “We have to go, or we’re going to die here too!”

It hits Aemond all at once; he understands, horror and agony in his sole blue eye. “We have to go,” he agrees. And then louder, to everyone: “Get to the farmhouse!”

Baela collapses into the mud, howling, tears flooding down her face. “No, he’s still alive, he’s still alive, we can’t leave him!”

You and Rhaena are trying to haul Baela to her feet. Now Aemond is here, pulling you away from her—his fingers tight and urgent around your wrist—as he and Luke take your place. “Go,” he commands. “You run. Don’t wait for us. Rio?”

“I got her,” Rio replies, grabbing your free hand with an iron grip. Gales of wind rip at you; every millimeter of your skin is soaked with rain. As you flee across the fields towards the farmhouse, dozens of zombies pursue you. More are still staggering along the banks of the river, swept up in the hoards chasing Jace and the promise of his waterlogged corpse when it reaches its final destination. Daeron has run out of arrows and is shooting with his .22, which is very much not his preference. Aegon trips, getting covered in mud as he rolls, and Rio stops to help him. While he is distracted, you look back at Aemond. He, Luke, and Baela are moving quickly, but not quickly enough. A drove of zombies is closing in on them. You have a spare few seconds at last. You yank your backpack off, grab a box of ammo inside, and reload your M9.

“Chips?!” Rio calls over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

He knows you well enough to listen. The world goes quiet as your finger settles on the trigger. There’s a rhythm one slips into, an impassionate lethal efficiency. It’s easier to keep going than to stop and have to find it again. You fire over and over, dropping eight zombies. You sheath your M9 and whip Rio’s out of your other holster, the sights finding grotesque decaying faces illuminated by lightning. You pull the trigger: blood, bones, brains, corpses jerking and convulsing as they fall harmlessly to the mud. Aemond is here; when did he get here?

“I told you to run!” he’s shouting through the storm, furious. He’s shoving you towards the farmhouse. You resist him.

“Let me kill as many as I can—”

“Go! Now!” Aemond orders over the clashing thunder, and then sprints with you all the way to the front porch to make sure you listen. Everyone else is already there. Helaena has fetched a spare key from under the doormat and is turning it in the lock.

Daeron observes her anxiously. “We don’t know if it’s safe in there, Helaena.”

“Not in,” she says, insistent. “Through.” Through this building, and maybe through the next one too. The average zombie is not terribly clever. If they lose sight of you, without the benefit of the momentum of a hoard they are lost. Helaena opens the door. The living rush inside, and she locks it behind you. As you are bursting out the back door, you can hear zombies pounding their rotting palms against the front one. You soar through a stable full of dead horses and donkeys, leaving the doors open; this should keep the zombies distracted if they make it this far. Then you race to the farthest guest house. Luke, swiveling with his binoculars, spies no zombies approaching as you steal inside. There is no spare key this time; Rio punches out a first-floor window for you to climb through. Once everyone is inside, he and Aegon move a bookshelf to cover the opening.

You all stand in the living room, gasping and shivering, dripping rain down onto the rug and the hardwood floor. The air is dusty but clean of any trace of vile, swampy decay. Outside, thunder booms and lightning flashes bright enough to illuminate the lightless house. The sky is so dark it might as well be nightfall. Baela sinks to her knees, clamping both hands over her mouth so she won’t sob loudly enough for a zombie to hear. Rhaena and Luke are beside her, both weeping quiet rivulets of tears, trying to comfort her in whispers. Helaena is rummaging around searching for candles; she has already taken a lighter out of her soaked burlap messenger bag.

“Daeron, bro, come over here,” Aegon chokes out. He embraces Daeron, clutches him tightly and desperately, doesn’t let go. Rio is reloading his Remington 12 gauge.

Jace is dead. Jace is dead.

Aemond says to you, his voice low but seething: “What the fuck was that?”

You blink the raindrops out of your eyes as you stare at him, bewildered. “You needed help.”

“I told you to run.”

“I’m an asset, I have skills that can keep you alive, why am I here if I’m not going to be useful—?”

“You’re not in the fucking Navy anymore!” he hisses. “When I tell you to run, you run, you don’t stop, you don’t look back, because I can’t worry about you and take care of everyone else.”

“Nobody asked you to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Aemond,” Aegon pleads, waving him over. Aegon’s plump sunburned cheeks are glistening with rain and tears. “Man, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters now. Please come here.”

“I’m going to clear the house,” Aemond says instead.

Rio raises an eyebrow at you—this is one fucked up guy, Chips—and then pumps his shotgun. “Me too.” He sweeps with Aemond through the main floor and then vanishes up the staircase.

Helaena is lightning candles she found in the kitchen and arranging them around the living room. Daeron starts gathering food from the pantry. Rhaena and Baela are murmuring to each other softly, mournfully. It doesn’t feel like something you should intrude on. Luke is peeking out of a window with his binoculars, vigilant for threats. Aegon sniffles, wanders over to you with large, sad, shimmering eyes, pats your shoulder awkwardly.

“Hey, Chocolate Chip. You doing okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Yeah. Me either.” Then he flops down on the hideous burnt orange couch and lies there motionless until Daeron brings him a can of Dr. Pepper. Aegon pops the tab, slurps up foam, and then begins singing to himself very quietly, a song so old you can remember your grandfather saying it was one of his favorites as a boy: A Tombstone Every Mile.

When Rio comes back downstairs—heavy footsteps, he can’t help that—you meet him at the bottom of the steps. “The house is good,” Rio says. “And Aemond’s in the big bedroom on the right if you’d like to go up there and talk to him.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me right now.”

“I could not disagree more,” Rio says with a miserable, exhausted smile. Then he goes to the couch to check on Aegon.

You pick up one of the flickering candles, white and scentless, and ascend the staircase. You find Aemond in the master bedroom, the same accommodations that Jace laid claim to when he was still alive. He is sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at the wall, at nothing. Tentatively, you sit down beside him, placing the candle on the nightstand.

“Aemond…what happened to Jace…it wasn’t your fault.”

“Criston said I was in charge, that’s the very last thing he told me. They might be the last words I ever hear from him, and I just…” His voice breaks; he wipes the rain and tears from his face with open palms. “I really wanted to get everyone home.”

“I’m so sorry about what I said at the bowling alley,” you confess, like it’s a dire secret. “I don’t want to fight with you, Aemond, I…I want to help you. I can see what you’ve done for everyone here, me and Rio included, and I believe in you. I want to be a part of this.”

He nods, an acceptance of peace, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Can we start over? I’ll never bring it up again, okay? I wasn’t trying to guilt you or upset you or anything. I should have just dropped it. I overreacted. And I understand why being with someone like me maybe wouldn’t be…super appealing.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Aemond wrings his hands, shakes his head, at last turns to you, golden candlelight reflected in his eye, his scar cloaked in shadows. His words are hushed, clandestine, soft powerless surrender. “I’m already so afraid of losing you.”

He cares, he hopes, he wants me too? “I’m here right now, Aemond. I don’t know what else I can say. I’d promise you more if I could.”

He reaches out to touch you, to ghost his thumb across your cheekbone, wet with rain. Then he kisses you, so gently you cannot help but imagine the wispy borders of calm white summer clouds, the rustle of leaves as wind blows down the Appalachian Mountains. You don’t have to ask him what he’s thinking, what it feels like. You can read it in the startled, firelit wonder on his face.

You taste like the beginning of something, here at the end of the world.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n

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werepuppy-steve · 9 months

Text

steddie ☆ G ☆ wc: 682 ☆ cw: teen dads

a little snippet from my teen dads au: tiny hands, little feet

The bell on the counter dings. Steve tilts his head back with a sigh and gives Robin a sidelong look across the table.

"Nope," she says, flipping through the only magazine they have in the place. They can probably recite the whole issue from memory by now. "I got the last three people. Go work your Harrington charm so I can add another 'you suck' tally."

The bell dings again and Steve groans, kicking Robin's foot as he rounds the table and opens the door leading behind the counter.

The lobby is empty. Great, they're getting ding-dong-ditch'd now. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He rolls his eyes and is about to snatch the bell off the counter and hide it when a tiny hand reaches up and taps it again. Steve holds back a snort, because he knows that tiny hand.

He steps up to the counter and sure enough, there stands a toddler with wild chestnut curls pulled into little pigtails, wearing a pink My Little Pony t-shirt and bright blue shorts.

Steve glances around the lobby and doesn't see anybody else in sight, which means...

He puts on his best customer service voice and gives the girl a smile. "Ahoy there, little lady. How'd you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with with me?"

Of course, she doesn't completely understand any of that. She just blinks up at him and points at the pictures of ice cream.

"St'awb'y, p'ease."

Steve nods. "A wise choice, m'lady." He slides the cooler open and gives his scoop a twirl, making her giggle.

The door opens and Robin slowly peeks her head out, looking flabbergasted. "Who in the world are you talking to? Why are you talking like that?"

"Careful, Buckley," Steve nods towards the child. "There's a princess in our midst. Wouldn't want her to throw you in the dungeon for disrespect."

Robin looks at the tiny child who is watching Steve with rapt attention.

"I think she's more interested in the ice cream, actually."

Steve gasps as he puts a couple scoops into a small bowl. "Hearsay, Buckley. She'll have your head for that." He takes the bowl around the counter and kneels on one knee as if he's a knight, presenting it to her with a bowed head. "The finest strawberry ice cream in all the land, your highness."

She claps her hands and her shoes light up as she stomps her feet. "St'aw'by! T'ank, Da'y!"

Robin's eyes widen and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. "Daddy?"

"Sailor!"

Eddie Munson comes sliding into the lobby, his shoes squeaking on the waxed floor. He catches himself before he face plants and gasps like he's ran here from the other side of the mall.

"Sailor, honey, you can't run off like that!" he says around gulps of air. "About gave me a heart attack."

Steve picks the child up and scrunches his nose. "I think it might be time to give those backpack leashes a try," he tells him. "She's getting too curious for her own good."

"Wayne said I did the same thing at her age. Said it used to drive my mama crazy, trying to keep track of me." Sailor's chin is sticky with ice cream and Eddie wipes some of it off with his thumb. "You're taking after your old man a little too much, bug."

Sailor holds out her spoon. "Da'y try?"

Eddie can only huff a laugh and shake his head fondly. "Thank you, baby." He leans forward to take a bite of the offered ice cream and then turns to Steve to give him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I swear I had a hold on her. She saw the Scoops sign and then took off before I could catch her."

Steve sighs. "It looks like we're gonna have a little Road Runner on our hands."

"She definitely takes after you in that department, sweetheart," Eddie grins.

A throat clearing interrupts them and they both look at where Robin has been silently watching the three of them.

"Someone care to fill me in on all of this?"

more snippets from this au

taglist: @yournowheregirl @judasofsuburbia @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @tboygareth @starrystevie @inairbinad @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual @theheadlessphilosopher @sidekick-hero @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie @corrodedcoughin @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd

#cj talks #steve will always be silly for his kids in every universe #cj's wips #cj writes #tiny hands little feet #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie dads

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hearts4golbach · 18 days

Note

more johnnie guilbert x reader enemies to lovers smut but more time where they hate each other before anything happens between them PLEASEEEE i adore your writing

It's Harder Breathing Next to You.

pairing:

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

a/n:

Tara's sister au 👅!!

proofread

warnings:

fanfiction logic, 18+ smut, biting, reverse cowgirl, hairpulling, pet names (slut, whore, ma, mama), teasing, spanking, no protection (wrap it before you tap it)

word count:

4.5k

You hated going to see Jake. You didn't hate him. You hated his best friend. Johnnie had to have been the biggest dick you had ever met. You glared at Tara, giving her the deadliest look possible. "Do we really have to go over? Or, do I have to go over?" You clicked in the seat belt, sinking down into the passenger seat.

"Well, I don't want you rotting in your room all damn day." She sighed, pulling out of the driveway. "Just ignore Johnnie."

"It's hard to ignore him when he doesn't know how to shut his fucking mouth." Your profanity seemed more aggressive than usual, it always was when it came to Johnnie. You pushed away the thought of how soft his lips always looked.

"I don't know what to tell you." She shrugged, furrowing her eyebrows. "You can wait in the hot car if you want."

You let out a loud sigh, "No, I haven't seen Jake in a while."

"Okay, well, if you just gave Johnnie a shot, maybe you wouldn't find him as annoying." She glanced over before returning her eyes to the road. "He's a really great person, Y/n."

You crossed your arms, looking out of the window. "Whatever."

Johnnie plagued your mind for the rest of the ride there. It was a short ride, thankfully. You deeply considered what Tara said. Maybe he wasn't as annoying as you thought he was, but he really struck a nerve within you. You weren't completely sure if it was annoyance, but you didn't know what else to call it. Just the thought of him looking at you sent shivers down your spine. You hated those bright blue eyes. They reminded you of the ocean, and you dispised the ocean. But, god, were they beautiful.

You climbed out of the car, following Tara up to the front door. She opened it with her spare key and walked inside. It was cozy, per usual. The smell of musk and vanilla filled your nose. 'How could there be three guys in one house, and it smelled this nice?' You asked yourself. You wondered what Johnnies room smelled like.

Jake stood in the kitchen, basically hitting a Dress to Impress pose as he stood at the counter. He had a large coffee in his hand and his phone in the other. He looked up and smiled at the two of you. "My two favorite girls!" He smiled. You walked over and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "You need to come around more often. Get some sunlight." He teased.

You squinted up at him. Jake always kept all of the windows wide open, making the sun peer through nearly every crevice in the house. "Yeah, well, you guys stink, so.." You teased.

He rolled his eyes. "Well, your favorite person in the world is upstairs taking a shower, so you won't have to see him for a minute." Jake emphasized 'favorite person.'

As if it were a competition, you rolled your eyes in return. "Okay," you couldn't come up with a better response before you pulled away.

"We were thinking about Olive Garden for dinner. Does that work with you guys?" Jake looked down at his phone. "I can call and make reservations now."

You simply nodded as Tara responded with a yes. You pulled up a chair to the counter and sat across from Jake. Tara leaned next to you. You zoned out when Tara started ranting to Jake about her busy schedule for the next month. You wondered what Johnnie was thinking about. Did he even know you'd be at dinner with the four of them. Did anyone even want to tell him? A small part of you hoped his mood would change, and maybe you'd have a peaceful interaction with him. You hated wishful thinking. You hated a lot of things, and you felt like the root was Johnnie. That wasn't fair to him. You knew that. But, it seemed as if your downfall was after you met Johnnie. You never seemed to stop thinking about him no matter how hard you tried. You greatly disliked that fact. It was one you'd take to the grave if you had to.

Tara tapped your arm, snapping you out of your thoughts. "What?" You cleared your throat, caught off guard.

"I said that you don't need to worry about paying anything. Me and Jake are splitting the bill." She repeated herself, a clear annoyance in her voice. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." You flashed her an unsure smile. You rested your head in your hands.

You heard thudding coming from the stairs. Your head whipped around, knowing who it would be. Johnnie stood at the bottom of the stairs, in his usual skinny jeans and a 'The Cure' shirt littered with holes. You instinctively scrunched up your nose before looking the opposite direction.

He greeted Tara with a smile, not bothering to acknowledge you or Jake. "Did we pick a place to go eat?" He asked, sparing you a glance before returning his attention back to Jake.

His messy, wet hair made your heart skip a beat. "Uh, yeah." Jake spoke, briefly looking towards you. His eyebrows turned to at your expression before returning his attention towards Johnnie. "Olive Garden, like we said earlier."

You stood up, walking toward the cupboard. You reached up to grab a glass before you felt a gentle hand on your hip. You looked behind you to see Johnnie squeezing past you. His groin brushed your ass, making your eye twitch and butterflies erupt in your stomach. This wasn't the first time this type of interaction would happen, and you knew it definitely wouldn't be the last. Johnnie seemed to get a kick out of teasing you, and you found it unbearable. You didn't know he knew, but he did.

"Sorry," he muttered, quiet enough so that only you could hear.

You didn't respond, furrowing your eyebrows together as you filled up the glass with water. You took a long sip, hoping the cold drink would calm you down, to no avail. You shot Tara a look, seeing as her eyebrows were raised nearly to her hairline. She shot you a wink, which made you groan internally.

You were so flustered, you could barely think straight. You needed to talk to Carrington. That wasn't a weird thought for you, seeing as he was your best friend. "Where's Carrington?" you asked suddenly.

"He's in his room." Jake responded, gulping down the rest of his coffee. "He might be asleep. When he's awake, he's usually streaming."

You laughed, "I know." You walked towards the stairs, feeling a pair of eyeliner decorated eyes burn holed in the back of your head. you shuddered at the feeling, continuing your journey up the stairs.

You knocked a few times on Carringtons door before walking inside. He was cuddled up under the covers, also scrolling on his phone. "Hey," you sighed, taking a seat on his bed.

He stretched, letting out an exaggerated groan. He ended it with a high-pitched moan before greeting you. "Hey, you okay?"

"The usual," you implied. You had ranted to Carrington many times about Johnnie. Sometimes, you even woke him up in the middle of the night to whine to him about Johnnie.

Carrington knew what you never wanted to admit. After knowing him for so long, even before he was even associated with Jake and Johnnie, he knew you like the back of his hand. "Y/n," he said in a scolding tone. "Please, for the love of fuck just accept it. You like Johnnie and saying you hate him won't change that."

"Oh my god, I don't!" A twinge of pain shot through your heart. "Even if I did, which I don't, he hates me just as much."

He rolled his eyes, "So, what you're telling me is that the glances he sneaks and the small "casual" touches are hate? Get a grip, Y/n."

"You're actually the worst, you know that?" You let out a weak laugh, meeting Carringtons eyes. "Fuck you."

"I'm the best, and you need to accept it. It's gonna ruin you."

You didn't have the energy to argue, letting out a small 'I know' in response. You couldn't keep lying to yourself. You had always known you didn't hate Johnnie. You hated how much you craved him.

"Whatever, get ready to go to dinner. I'm starving." You attempted to end the conversation on a lighter note.

He groaned, pulling himself out of bed. "I'm serious, Y/n."

"Okay, okay. I get it." You huffed. "Get your ass dressed."

"Okay, fatso." He cackled at his own words.

You peeled yourself from your sitting position and made your way back downstairs. Whenever you made it down, Tara and Jake were still talking in the kitchen. Johnnie was nowhere to be seen.

Carrington met you downstairs a couple minutes later. He sat next to you on the couch, smacking your phone out of your hands so you'd pay attention to his words. "By the way, no one talks about someone they "hate" as much as you do." he added air quotes.

You huffed at his response. "Okay, and-" You stopped mid sentence as Johnnie walked into the living room.

"Don't let me interrupt, what were you saying?" Johnnie asked rhetorically. His hair was now teased and straightened as it always was. You couldn't help but stare before forcing yourself to peel your eyes away from him.

"Shut up." You looked down at your feet, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

"Oh god." Carrington muttered before getting up off of the couch and walking back into the kitchen.

"Make me." He smirked, laying on the couch and resting his calfs on your knees.

You shoved his legs off of you, "I bet you'd like that."

"We're leaving!" Jake called into the living room, jingling his keys before walking out of the front door.

You practically ran out of the room, trying to get away from Johnnies gaze as fast as possible.

You climbed into the back seat of Jake's car, ending up sitting between Johnnie and Carringon. Tara took the front seat, as well as control of the music.

You looked the opposite way of Johnnie and stared out of Carringtons window instead. Johnnies hand brushed against your thigh, making your heart skip a beat.

The car ride seemed to last a century before you finally made it to Olive Garden. Whenever you stepped out of the car, you felt like you could finally take a deep breath. It was harder breathing next to Johnnie.

The whole group walked ahead while you stayed in the back, coincidentally walking next to Johnnie. "Your outfit is really fucking cute."

You whipped your head to look at him. "What?" You raised your voice a little louder than his.

"I said your outfit looks like shit." He grumbled, amused by your response.

You huffed and walked faster. You caught up with Tara and joined the conversation she was having with the other two guys in the group.

Johnnie caught up to you and walked behind you. You felt his eyes rake over your body, making your face flush. Shivers ran down your spine before you finally got seated at the table.

Johnnie sat across from you, while Tara and Carrington were on either side.

You looked up at Johnnie, who was already looking at you. His pupils were dilated as he stole glances at your lips. You grabbed a napkin and grabbed a certain pen that always seemed to be in your pocket. You scribbled 'do you have a staring problem?' on the napkin before sliding it over the table to Johnnie.

He smirked at the note before crumbling it up and putting it in his pocket. His foot rested against yours, hidden from the rest of the group. Your face heated up for what felt like the millionth time that night.

You realized Johnnie was always like this, always showing the smallest bit of interest affection in the smallest ways. You thought back to the time everyone had gone home except you and Tara. Jake was upstairs asleep while Tara was crashed out on the couch. Johnnie sat with you in the kitchen, keeping you silent company. He watched as you worked on an article for your job, only checking his phone once the whole time. His knee was rested against yours, and when you mentioned it, he made a sour rebuttle before going silent again. He had never moved his knee until you got up to go lay with Tara. Afterward, he made the trek back to his room without a word.

This thought made you glare up at him again, but he was looking at Jake as he spoke. You hated his stupid, sexy fucking face. His noticeable jawline and smudged eyeshadow made you weak in the knees.

The rest of the night went by in a blur of Johnnies lips, his gaze meeting your lips, his watercolor eyes burning into your own.

The whole group walked out of the restaurant, stomachs full and giggling at a joke Carrington had just cracked. From the outside looking in, it was a picture-perfect moment.

Johnnie was walking dangerously close to you. You could smell the mix of cologne and cigarette smoke on him. You weren't sure if you wanted to slap him or kiss him. You truthfully wanted to do both.

You sat in the same spot, stuck between a never-ending giggling guy and the silent emo. His clothed thigh was rested against yours gently, keeping the physical contact he almost always had with you-- when he had the chance.

You walked into the house, respectively, exhausted from the long day you had.

"Are you gonna sleep on the couch with me?" Tara yawned as the curled up on the couch.

You sighed. "I guess so."

Everyone said their goodnight and went to their rooms. Tara fell asleep almost immediately while you stayed up and scrolled on your phone.

You were giggling at a Reddit story and didn't even realize Johnnie was leaning on the couch behind you. "What the fuck are you watching?"

You jumped at the sudden noise. "Oh, fuck you. Don't sneak up on me like that."

His hands slithered over the cushion and gripped your shoulders gently. "Come on."

"What? Why?" You looked back at him. "I'm perfectly fine right here."

"'m gonna give you a better place to sleep. I hate seeing you cramped up on this small ass couch." He gave your shoulders a squeeze.

"That's hilarious coming from you. Stop messing with me and go to bed for the love of everything holy." You roll your eyes and return your gaze back to Instagram.

"Don't make me change my mind." He replied in a stern tone. "I'm serious, come on."

You let out an exaggerated sigh. "Uhm, okay?" You peeled yourself off of the couch and followed Johnnie back to his room. "Someone's feeling a little too lonely."

"I'm being considerate. Use your brain." He spat as he began to walk back up the stairs.

You hummed in response, not far behind him. When you were in his room, he shut and locked the door.

"Why'd you lock it?" You asked with raised eyebrows. You crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly extremely nervous as his gaze fell onto you.

"I always lock my door. Get a grip," he mumbled.

"Just makes me think you're trying to-"

"Shut up," he cut you off, clearly not interested in hearing the end of that sentence. He sat on the edge of his bed, looking up at you as you took your stance in front of him.

"Make me," you smirked. You really needed to come up with a better response to 'shut up.'

"Don't fucking test me." His voice was barely above a whisper.

You hummed once more, not knowing what to say as you looked down at him.

"Stop looking at me like that." Johnnie mumbled. His eyes raked over your body, which was barely visible in the dimly lit room.

"Like what?" Before you could think, you spoke your thoughts aloud. "Like I wanna do you?"

"Are you trying to turn me on right now?" You raised your eyebrows at Johnnies words. "Because it's working."

You scoffed, "Yeah, I'm sure." you figured his was joking. He had always made small, dirty comments in a 'joking' manner.

"Kiss me." he said, looking up at you with those tempting eyes that you could never get enough of.

You laughed, looking away as you felt your face heat up tenfold. "What?"

"Kiss me." he emphasized. He gripped your hips and pulled you closer.

His hand wrapped around your neck, not adding much pressure as he pulled you down to meet his lips. The kiss was desperate and messy. His hand moved from your neck to your waist. His fingers dug into the soft flesh as he pulled you down into his lap. You tangled your fingers in his raven colored hair as the kiss became needier by the second. You gave a slight tug on his hair, making him let out a soft grunt against your lips. His tongue swiped your lower lip, begging for entrance. You slightly parted your lips, allowing his tongue to lick inside of your mouth. He tasted like mint and nicotine-- a heavenly combination.

Johnnies hard, clothed member was pressed into you. Feeling him against you turned you on even further.

His hands slid up your shirt, snaking behind your back, and unclipped your bra. You grinded down against him, making you let out a small whimper against his soft, puffy lips.

"You're such a fucking slut, already so damn needy for my cock." He muttered against your lips, making quick work of your T-shirt.

His hand moved up to cup one of your breasts while the other toyed with your nipple. You let out a soft moan in agreement as your only thoughts were about Johnnie finally getting inside of your pants.

He removed his hands from your chest and began to unbutton your jeans. Your hands met the hem of his shirt, "Lemme take this off." You pleaded, your voice coming out as a whine.

"I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, ma?" He teased, trailing his fingers along the inside of your waist band.

"Fuck, Johnnie." You muttered.

"You don't know what you do to me," his eyebrows were knitted together as he looked at you. His eyes were blown black as he looked at you like he was starving.

You helped him slip his shirt off before helping you out of your ungodly tight jeans. You were back in his lap in nothing but your lacy pair of wine red panties. He could've drooled at the sight of you in his lap. His lips attacked your neck, peppering it in hickeys.

"Everyone's gonna see how much of a little whore you are for me," he smirked against your neck. His hand slowly slipped inside of your panties and began to circle your clit. You bucked against his hand at the sudden contact. "Shit, you're so wet.."

"Bite me," you rebuttled sarcastically. He let out a low chuckle before gently digging his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder. You didn't expect him to take you seriously, but there was a lot happening that you never really saw coming.

He continued his pattern, biting and sucking at your collar bone as his fingers ran through your folds. You buried your head into the crook of his neck, letting out moans as he collected your slick on his fingers.

"You trying to let the whole house know how good I'm making you feel, baby?" Johnnie dipped his middle finger inside of you, making you yelp.

"N-no." You choked out, keeping your voice barely above a whisper.

"That's what I thought. Be a good little slut and stay quiet for me." He mumbled, placing a kiss on the side of your head. He lifted you up off of his lap and flipped you around so your back was against his chest.

His hand slipped back inside of your panties before he curled his long, slender finger inside of you. You bit down into your lip, moaning quietly in his ear as he pleased you. You tossed your head back onto his shoulder as his finger slowly thrusted inside of you.

Johnnie slipped another finger inside of you. You let out a louder moan before his hand slapped over your mouth. "I can't fucking stand you-- you think I can fuck some sense into you?" He mocked in a sultry tone. His question was more rhetorical than literal.

His fingers held a quick pace as the sounds of your pussy squelching filled the room. He curled his fingers to perfectly hit your g-spot, making your legs shake. You attempted to say something in response, which proved to be pointless. His hand was covering your mouth, after all.

As your walls spasmed around his fingers, he could tell you were close. "You close, mama?" He pressed a kiss into your temple. You nodded eagerly, causing him to remove his hand from inside of you. You whimpered at the loss of contact. "Take your panties off."

You acted quickly at the command. You stood in front of him and pulled off your panties at a teasingly slow pace. You heard his belt jingling and his pants hit the floor before you even got them off. He did the job for you, eagerly pulling your panties down around your ankles.

"Someone's eager," you comment. Johnnie laid a hard slap on your ass in response.

You jumped, letting out a soft yelp as a mix of pain and pleasure coarse through your veins. "Shut up," he barked, "you're the one who'd drop to your knees for me, isn't that right?"

Before you could argue back, he gripped your hips and pulled you back down onto his lap. He gently moved your hips, his hard cock grinding through your wet folds. He let out a soft groan at the proximity.

"You gonna be good and shut your fucking mouth?" his hands moved up your waist and cupped your tits. "Only good sluts get what they want, baby."

You let out a quiet moan as he pinched your pebbled nipples. "Yeah-- yes. I-I'll be good. For the love of God, please.."

"Please what, ma?" He whispered in your ear, biting your earlobe gently.

"oh my god, fuck me already." You accentuated, grinning down onto him harder.

Johnnie hummed in response, positioning you to where he wanted you. His dick slipped inside of you without warning, making you let out a loud moan. "Do you even know how to listen? Open." He instructed as he guided his fingers to your mouth.

You took his fingers into your mouth as you sank down onto his cock. You sucked harshly, gulping back the noises that threatened to fall from your lips.

"Good," Johnnie purred, "now move."

He interspersed kisses along your shoulder as you began to bounce on his cock. You bit down on his fingers gently as you stayed quiet, following Johnnies wishes. Your fingers dug into his bare thighs, desperate to hold onto something for stability.

"You look so good like this," he muttered against your skin. "Y'so fucking tight."

He bucked his hips up to meet yours, greedy as all he wanted to do was fill you up. "You're such a bitch," you mentioned, muffled by his fingers.

You felt him chuckle at your teasing. "But you're sucking my fingers while riding me, funny."

"Fuck you," you spat.

"Mama, I don't know if you noticed, but you already are." He snickered against your neck, sucking a dark hickey.

Both hands moved to your hips as he quickened your pace. Sounds of skin slapping together and quiet moans filled the room.

Your walls clenched around him, making him let out a low whimper into your ear. "You're so fucking good, fuck." You choked out between moans.

One of his hands moved down to cirle your clit, making your legs quake with pleasure.

"I'm s'fucking close." You breathed, your ass meeting his hips as you bounced against him assiduously.

"Come on, baby. Cum on my dick." He smirked into your shoulder.

The knot in your stomach snapped at his remark, releasing your juices all over his cock. Your body went limp as he kept fucking into you with the same passion. Your overstimulated moans became louder as he worked towards his own orgasm. "Doin' so good. Almost there, ma."

You crashed back into his chest, letting out a whimper as he filled you with his seed.

After you both came down from your highs, he gently helped you lay on the bed next to him. He peppered kisses all over your face before going to get a wet wipe to clean you up. He cleaned you with care, making sure to be gentle around your sore cunt. He placed miscellaneous kisses on your inner thighs as he did so, treating you as if you were the only woman in the world.

He helped you into a clean pair of underwear and the same T-shirt he had worn that day.

He cleaned himself up as you whispered sweet nothings to him. Johnnie slipped on a clean pair of boxers before climbing into bed next to you. You cuddled into his chest with a content smile on your face as his fingers brushed through your messy hair.

"Don't act like I didn't know about your little crush on me," Johnnie flashed you a toothy smile, one you thought you'd never see directed towards you.

"Oh, shut up," you said in a joking manner. This also shocked Johnnie, seeing as you always meant it.

"Then kiss me."

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him before resting your head back on his chest.

You woke up the next morning with no Johnnie in sight. You pulled yourself out of his bed and stole a pair of his pajama pants off of the floor. You slipped them on.

You trudged down the stairs to find Carrington and Jake standing in the kitchen. "Mornin'." You greeted.

"Good morning, sunshine." Carrington greeted. You also earned a good morning from Jake. Carrington looked you up and down. "I see that all of that tension was resolved." He couldn't help but laugh, and Jake joined him.

"Heard, too." Jake added.

"Suck me." You rolled your eyes.

#fanfiction #fanfic #johnnie guilbert #jake and johnnie #jake webber #hearts4golbach #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #tara yummy #johnnie guilbert smut #johnnie x reader #johnnie and jake #johnnie x you #enemies to lovers #request #oneshot #smut

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rahuratna · 4 months

Text

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 4

Contents: pre-relationship headcanons, slow burn, pining, humour

The day after receiving the honey cakes, you felt slightly nervous at the prospect of meeting Nanami in the break room. You knew, however, that you could easily avoid the encounter.

Except, you didn't want to. There was a delicate balance to be maintained here, a dance of two birds hovering around the same flower and never alighting. If you didn't meet him as usual, you knew that a silent message would be sent, and received accordingly on his part. At the same time, your presence in the break room was a message on its own.

Shaking your head to clear it of these thoughts, you wondered for a minute if infatuation (you didn't want to use other terms for this feeling that you might regret later) really had to be this complicated. You didn't have time to think on it further, because the door to the room opened and the subject of your fixation stood right in front of you.

You couldn't be entirely certain, but Nanami seemed relieved to see you there. He took off his glasses and approached your table with his usual quiet greeting, which you returned. You decided to throw caution to the wind and take the initiative.

"Thank you for the cakes."

"No need. They were meant as a thanks to you for helping Yuuji," he countered smoothly, opening up his bought lunch and preparing his chopsticks.

You paused, wondering how to query after what you'd been wondering, but Nanami was back to his tricks of reading your mind. Just as you opened your mouth, he placed his folded napkin neatly to one side and said, "I've noticed you going to that bakery often. I also appreciate good quality food and have purchased their savoury range before."

You brightened immediately upon hearing that.

"Oh! Then did you try their focaccia? And the cheese and garlic bread?"

"Naturally. I'm particularly fond of the focaccia. The herb blend they use is quite splendid."

You clapped your hands together and leaned forward, all nervousness about this encounter now forgotten.

"But then, you must have tried the brie and bacon ciabatta at the place down the road, right?"

"Yes. The rocket leaves are a nice touch. They give a certain freshness and bite to what could be a heavy sandwich."

"Exactly! And the tomato tart is to die for!"

"Oh? I confess, I haven't tried that yet. Perhaps next time."

"And pair it with their French coffee. Great combination."

He took a bite of his lunch and chewed, carefully and contemplatively, as he did all things. He placed his chopsticks across the top of the container, then turned his entire body to face you, those earnest hazel eyes unflinching in their regard.

"I'm not very familiar with the menu of that place, though. Perhaps you could accompany me, to provide a few recommendations?"

You didn't have enough time to process the query. For once, your mind would not allow you to hesitate as you beamed at him and nodded.

"I'd be happy to! Let me know when you'd like to go."

"Of course."

It was only when your lunch break was over, when he'd bowed his head in a respectful greeting and left, that you realised just how rapidly your heart was beating and how your hands were experiencing small tremors, as if some mischievous sprite of the air had taken up residence there.

It felt a little like diving into the ocean, from the top of a cliff. The water may receive you, hard and turbulent at first, and then cradle you, allowing you to open your eyes and see the wonders that lay beneath. Or a treacherous rock could break your fall. Permanently.

It wasn't as if you didn't see the direction this was heading. It was the nature of the world you inhabited that made this so potentially damaging. He must know it too, so why ... But something was stopping you from going beyond that point in your thoughts. Was it intuition? Was it some innate instinct for doing what you should? Or was it plain illusion, a blindfold of obtuseness and stupidity that had somehow descended over the both of you?

Nanami sends you a message two days later, informing you that he had some time off after his morning mission and that he would like to visit the bakery, if that was fine.

Before you are able to stop yourself, to hesitate, to really think about what you are doing, you type 'Yes, perfect' and forward it to him.

You are beginning to realise that however you spin it, your answer will always be yes. Yes, yes, yes, a hundred times over. Consequences be damned.

When you finish your shift, you receive a message, punctual to the minute.

"I am waiting in the garden."

You glance into the small hand mirror you carry in your bag, brush fingers through your hair and pause before touching up your lipstick. As observant as he is, Nanami wouldn't miss something like that. A treacherous little part of your mind whispers to you, "Good. Let him."

Slamming the mirror shut, you head out, past the fairly empty rooms, through the corridors and out into the afternoon sunshine. Nanami is waiting exactly where he said he would be. His hair gleams like the glaze on those honey cakes in the buttery light of your office lamp. As you approach him, you're struck by how tall he seems, now that you're not seated at a table together.

He turns to you and offers a soft greeting. You both pause, and it seems that even Nanami is sometimes at a loss as to what course of action to take. You assert a winning smile and adjust your bag on your shoulder.

"Let's go and pick up some tarts, then."

Nanami's mouth twitches slightly.

"Oh ... I mean the tomato tarts, of course."

You can feel that tell-tale heat rising in your neck again. God, what a sentence to utter.

"I'm not sure what other tart you could mean. Let's go."

Your embarrassment turns to good humour as he turns and leads the way, his pace unhurried. He starts to point out changes on the campus that have been made since he returned to work here, some of which even you hadn't noticed, what with the blinker-vision that your job induced.

"Hmm. Those statues. They came up just last year."

"I remember. Had to call a whole crew in to install them correctly."

"What do you think about them?"

"Well, to be honest, I thought they were a little pretentious."

Nanami is silent for a minute and you glance at him curiously.

"Why? Do you like them?"

He can barely conceal the smugness in his tone when he says, "No. They were Gojo's idea."

You laugh and whatever tension or uneasiness there had been between the two of you evaporates. As you head slowly for the main entrance, Nanami types something on his phone and soon after, a black sedan, one you recognize as a Jujutsu Tech vehicle, draws up beside the two of you. Nanami instructs the driver to take you both into the nearby town where the bakery you frequent is located.

When you have been dropped off at a street corner some distance from the cafe, Nanami glances at you with a trace of uncertainty.

"I thought it would be nice weather to walk for a while. If you don't want to, then we can call for the car again."

"Of course I want to. You're right. It's a beautiful day."

You continue your stroll with him, suddenly hyper aware of his arm brushing against yours gently, the way he was deliberately keeping pace with your stride, the distinct masculine scent of him that was always evident when you were close together. You look down at his hands, the broad, elegant fingers calloused slightly at the inner curve, where they would drag against the hilt of his weapon. You wondered how they would feel under your own exploring digits.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, softly.

You. Always.

"When did you decide that your weapon was the most suitable one?"

"Hmm."

His gaze is on you now, intent. You meet it, them allow your eyes to travel down to his hands. You've broken many vows already, but this new one, to be more open about what you think and feel, seems to be one you can adhere to.

Nanami follows your gaze and then lifts one hand, palm up, so that you can see more clearly.

"I assume you're wondering how it feels to wield a blade?"

"A little, yes."

"When we trained as sorcerers, they asked us to try out different weapons, become proficient at a few and then narrow it down to those we felt most comfortable with. I tried polearms, axes, swords, bludgeons. I found that I liked the weight of the heavy weapons, but also the precision of the blade. I told this to... a friend of mine. He went digging through the whole shed looking for something that suited me. I told him to drop it, that what I was looking for was unlikely to exist among cursed tools."

"But he kept looking, I assume?"

"He did, indeed. Day after day. He'd go looking after every training session, until even I became sick of asking him to stop. He was ... persistent like that. Haibara."

He says the name as if exhaling a weighted breath. You decide that the heaviness it bears must be pain. You think you can guess what had happened to Haibara.

"So he found your current weapon?"

"Not quite. He found an old knife, the type used to cut through dense bushes and branches. He said it felt right. I took it from him and ... he was right. It felt good in my hand. Balanced. I showed it to our teacher at the time and they had one designed for me, to the specifications I described."

He turns to you, and although the lines at the corners of his mouth seem a little deeper, his expression is more open.

"Does that answer your question?"

"It does. And I have another."

"Well, it's going to have to wait until you answer mine."

"Oh?"

"Are you in the habit of picking up tarts?"

"Nanami!"

"Pardon me. Then I'll ask something a little less personal. What is it about crosswords that you like so much?"

"Hmm. I suppose ... because I never used to be good at them."

"You weren't?"

"I was hopeless, actually," you laugh, "But I did love the challenge. I've always been good with languages. Eventually they became second nature to me."

"I see. It has to do with your stubborn streak, then?"

You splutter a little.

"What do you mean stubborn streak, as if it's a habit?"

"So you admit it, then."

"I - all right. Yes. But you're not telling me much about - "

"I overhead you talking to someone in the supply department once. You asked for a type of cubicle for the students' classrooms and they didn't make those. You drew something that looked like a beehive and sent it to him by email."

"Is there something wrong with shelving that looks like a beehive?"

"The craftsman certainly thought so, until you wore him down through sheer persistence."

"At least I'm consistently annoying."

"I don't find you annoying at all."

Your smile belies the pleasant frisson those words send through you. Honestly, your standards shouldn't be so embarrassingly low.

"Oh really? Maybe that's a character flaw, then."

He glances over and another small smile toys at the corner of his mouth.

"Possibly. I am known to possess a very high tolerance for certain persons."

By the time you reach the bakery, Nanami's speech is already less formal than you're accustomed to. He has loosened his tie slightly and his arms swing with greater freedom as he walks. He looks like he's actually having a good time and you know that you probably look much the same. It's almost too easy, this quiet camaraderie, the flow from one topic to another, the humour that bites and leaves such a teasing, pleasant sting in its wake.

You never thought it would be like this, but now you're perusing the menu, and you push that thought aside. Nanami has found you the perfect seats in a small private corner of the cafe, where you can see the street clearly, but are shielded from the view of those coming in through the main entrance. Nanami had pulled out your chair for you before seating himself and the sun's warmth is comforting against your back.

"Have you decided?" he asks, after a short while.

"I think I'm going to try the camembert toast with fig preserve and honey."

"Feeling for something sweet, then?"

"Today, yes. What about you?"

"I'll try that tart."

You struggle to keep a straight face and Nanami eyes you slyly over the top of his menu. Clearing your throat, you continue.

"I'm glad you're taking my recommendation."

"I see it has goat's cheese. Quite the complement. I do trust you in matters of food."

"Are there matters with which you don't trust me?"

He folds the menu away and regards you seriously.

"I wouldn't trust you in matters of dancing."

You stare at him. For someone so unassuming, this man really had a penchant for stating the unexpected.

"Dancing?"

"I've noticed you trip on the corner of your desk more than a few times."

"Oh God." You cover your face, mortified. "Really? Is there anything you don't notice?"

"Little escapes me."

The waitress arrives and saves you from his merciless analysis of your clumsy nature. She takes your orders and there is a small lull in the conversation as you wait for your drinks. You take the time to examine him, and he you. There is something intimate, but relaxing about this, the way your eyes can openly take each other in now. He seems to hesitate before asking you his next question.

"Do you like this kind of thing?"

"Eating at cafes?"

"Exploring new places to eat in general."

"Oh, yes. I do it quite often by myself."

The unspoken question was answered and Nanami's expression was suddenly closed and vulnerable. He looked away from you, out into the street. His next words were considered and quiet.

"I eat out with my colleagues sometimes. After a job."

Your hands clutch the menu a little too tightly, crinkling the corners.

"You mean, like this?"

He looks you in the eye, and what you see there both exhilarates and terrifies you. There is a softly burning fire there, a quiet longing, a wound that has been picked open many times by uncontrolled fingers. His answer sounds clear, even amongst the noises of chatter, dishes clanking and the hiss of the coffee machines.

"No. Not like this."

@tsukimefuku @g-kleran @actuallysaiyan @kentocalls

#fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami headcanons #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami romance #nanamin #slow burn #coffee date with Nanami #he's not calling it a date #YET #you both like food #A LOT

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bradshawsbitch · 2 years

Text

touch me | jake seresin x reader

plot; you've been seeing Jake for some time now, and when he invites you to bonfire night with his friends - you go a little shy on him.

request; yes, nonny requested with the prompt;

hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters

disclaimer; I'm aware that 'testing the waters' is a saying in the context of the prompts, but I found these pics on pinterest and it sort of started a bit of a plot in my head.

warnings; 18+, afab!reader, no use of y/n, pet names, touch starved, fluff, jake being an oblivious extrovert, skinny dipping, l-bombs, soft smut, p in v, unprotected sex in the ocean (make smart decisions folks, this is fiction).

word count; 4.1K

tagging people who might like; @roleycoleyreccenter @theharddeck @hangmanbrainrot @roosterforme @lt-bradshaw @sebsxphia @mothdruid @laracrofted

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He’d noticed you one day on his morning run. The sun had just barely made its way over the horizon, casting the deserted streets of San Diego in a fiery red hue, as he made his way through a street of cute little houses. Normally, this was not the route he’d choose to take during his morning run, but as he got out of bed that morning, he’d felt an unexpected urge to go about his morning a little differently.

Jake did have an established route for his morning run, and one for his evening wind down, but after he felt an inclination for change, he simply decided to switch his morning and evening route.

So when he jogged past your house, to see you sat on your porch with a steaming mug in hand, a cat perched on your lap as the morning sun made your skin glow - his step might’ve faltered and his jaw might have slackened. That day he almost came to a complete halt in front of your house, slowing so considerably it might be considered a brisk walk. You’d noticed him, of course, it was so early it was only the two of you out.

He’d decided to forego his shirt that day, running only in his shorts and his backwards cap to keep the longer strands of his fringe out of his face. Your soft smile before you shyly averted your gaze had his heart clenching in his chest, and it felt like you might as well have flung him into a 6G pull with the way the air seemed to leave his lungs at an alarming rate.

Jake had kept running that day though, which some might consider unusual for him. He had no qualms with going up to any woman or man to chat them up, it wasn’t really in his DNA to deny himself anything beautiful. With you, however, he felt like it would be disrespectful to chat you up like he did at the ‘Deck, with the sole purpose of taking you home for the night. No, Jake would like to treat you with more respect than that. Would simply like more with you. Which is how he found himself having switched his routes to see if sitting on your porch in the morning sun was a daily occurrence for you.

To his great delight, it was. And after a few weeks of making conversation with you as he ran by; learning your white, fluffy cat’s name was Empress Snowcone Kittlesworth - going by Snow when she wasn’t on royal duty (you assured him that the shelter had named her). Jake always made a point of offering Empress Snowcone Kittlesworth his most sincere salute when he saw her, only because he loved the way it made you giggle and beam at him, and of course because he was obligated to treat sovereigns with the utmost respect. Cats included.

After those weeks, you’d found yourself falling hard for Jake’s easy-going charm and sweetness. He’d taken you out on dates, and always made a point to open doors for you, keeping his hand respectably at your back, and for some reason always walking on the side closest to the road - always switching if you were to walk curbside. It was easy falling in love with Jake.

You’d never in your life experienced being treated with such care before. People opening doors for you had seemed foreign at first, and you had felt almost embarrassed the first time he did it - assuring him he didn’t have to do that. “Darlin’, I know I don’t have to do anything - I only do what I want to do,” Jake had said as he’d offered you that damn charming wink and smirk of his.

Dating Jake Seresin was nothing short of a whirlwind. The man had energy for the whole fleet, and his very extroverted persona of Hangman could make you grin for days. Though you had to admit you loved Jake’s softer side too, the one that let his hands linger near you at all times. It had been almost six months since your first date, and closer to seven since you first saw him that beautiful morning. For those six blissful months, Jake had had the privilege to have close to office hours at his post at Top Gun, along with some of his friends and co-workers from his squad.

Today, however, Jake had been gone for thirteen days and 20 hours - closing in on that dreaded fourteenth day. Jake had told you it was a shorter stint, more of an educational trip to another naval base to share some of their newfound skills. He’d been chosen to go out of the squad, and you were so proud of him. Still, it didn’t do much to alleviate the worry you felt for him, even if he had assured you there would be no actual mission on this trip. You knew that things could go wrong even without the interference of enemies.

Jake and you hadn’t moved in together yet (something you regretted somewhat, seeing as he’d be coming home to his own place after his trip instead of yours), wanting to take things slow. But as time went on you found that the urge to wake up to him by your side grew with each passing moment. These two weeks of not seeing him, hearing him and feeling him had left you in somewhat of an unexpected funk.

It surprised you, because you would describe yourself as quite an independent person - not too upset about spending time with yourself, almost teetering on a little introverted. Certainly, you hadn’t ever thought you’d feel the need to always have someone’s touch upon your skin. Now however, you’d found yourself crying on three different occasions at the way your heart yearned to feel Jake’s hands skim your body over the past fourteen days. You even missed when he’d absentmindedly have his hand on your hip as he talked to someone else, his thumb rubbing soothingly at the skin just above your jeans, something you hadn’t given much thought to until you found yourself feeling a little off without it.

Glancing at the clock situated over the entrance to your kitchen, you knew that Jake must have just reached San Diego by now. It was late, and you knew Jake must think you were asleep, and you knew he was likely exhausted as well. Heaving a great sigh, you knew you’d have to wait until tomorrow to see him.

Before he had been sent away there had been talk of a bonfire night with the squad, and they had settled on tomorrow’s date. They’d scheduled it in advance so that everyone could attend, and so that none of them were sent out somewhere else. Jake had been looking forward to it for ages, and he’d rambled about how happy he would be to introduce you to all of his friends and co-workers that you had yet to meet because of their deployment.

To your great distress though, tomorrow was Friday - which meant having to sit through an entire day of work before you could finally see Jake. Blinking blearily, you noticed your phone buzzing with a message.

Jakey 🤠💛: hey darlin’, just got home! absolutely exhausted, but missing you something fierce. can I pick you up after work tomorrow? spend some alone time with my best girl before the bonfire? hope you’re sleepin tight baby ❤️

Knowing how Jake could get, you smiled as your heart warmed in your chest, before deciding to sleep and answer his text when you awoke in the morning. You didn’t want him worrying his mind with why you were still up at this ungodly hour.

As it turned out, you wouldn’t be able to meet Jake before the bonfire. Your day at work started out pretty regularly, the clients that were scheduled for appointments with you showing up in a timely fashion and seemingly making good progress. Your last of the day though, that’s where it all got a bit rambunctious. During a small break, you had managed to text Jake that you would be needed at the office a bit longer - and he texted back that he’d been held back too.

Ultimately, the two of you decided to meet up on the beach, which almost made tears well in your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to meet Jake in private, be able to be a bit clingy and snuggly with him before you had to socialize with everyone else. You wanted him close in a way you didn’t feel comfortable having other people witness. With a sad sigh you returned to work, anxiously bouncing your knee as you tried to finish up as soon as you could.

In the end, you managed to get away from work. But you realized pretty soon you’d be late to the bonfire, and a disappointed little whine left you as you knew Jake would already be mingling with his friends, not even leaving you the opportunity to snuggle up in his arms for a few minutes in the parking lot before facing the group.

Having quickly changed into a flowery sundress, you slowly approached the group on the beach, the sun setting beautifully - turning the sky a lovely color of faded orange and pink. Scanning the group, you could see the tall forms of Rooster and Payback laughing together, Phoenix trying on Bob’s glasses, and Harvard and Yale throwing a football between one another.

Fiddling with your fingers that had interlaced in front of your dress, you nervously stood on your toes to try to catch your golden hued boyfriend in the mass of aviators.

“My hard workin’ girl!” you heard him before you saw him, but when you did see him, your breath caught in your throat. His hair had started falling out of its carefully styled look, some loose strands hanging in front of his gorgeous sea glass eyes, his beaming smile seemingly brighter than the setting sun.

“Jake!” you breathed out in relief as he finally stood before you, squealing as he swiftly wrapped his strong arms around your thighs, lifting and spinning you as you held on to his shoulder laughing.

“Missed you, baby,” he grinned, pecking your lips before setting you down and grabbing your hand “Let’s go before Javy eats all the food,” you giggled as he led you closer to the fire, his friends closing in on him - drawn to him like moths to his bright smile and sunny energy.

Soon enough, Phoenix had pulled you into conversation, Halo laughing beside you as you told them of a funny thing a client at work had said during the day. Hangman was out, flitting between friend groups faster than you could keep track of. That was the downside of a large party, you thought somberly. So many people that Hangman knew and loved all in one place for one night, and you couldn’t blame him for wanting to spend as much time as possible with people he hadn’t seen in so long. It didn’t help that awful sinking feeling in your stomach though, or the burning longing in your chest.

“He’s always like this, unfortunately,” Phoenix comforted you softly as Halo moved to grab some beers from the cooler a bit away. “loves being the life of the party,” she offered you a small lopsided smile, patting your shoulder. Looking down, you nodded “Yeah, I mean of course,” you replied, biting your bottom lip as you glanced over to see Javy goading Jake into doing some form of back flip in the sand.

“I’ve just missed him a lot,” you confessed, scrunching your nose at how pathetic you sounded. You were sure Nat thought you were a bit of a wimp, maybe not cut out for dating Hangman. To your surprise, she pulled you into a sideways hug, a warm smile on her face.

“I get it, hun. He’s just a little oblivious and high on attention right now. Just go nudge him a little, he’ll be good,” Phoenix squeezed your side again and you chuckled softly, thankful for the woman you now considered a friend.

“I don’t want to be the clingy girlfriend though…” you confessed your fears in so low of a voice you’re not even sure Phoenix would catch it, but she did, and she let out a loud laugh “Honey! Do you think Hangman would not like to have your attention every second of the day? Please! He wouldn’t think you were clingy. You’ve given him like three hours to monkey about doing stupid testosterone driven tomfoolery,” she winked at you, leaving your side to join Halo by the cooler.

Looking out onto the now dark ocean, hearing the soothing swish of the waves gently caressing the beach, you took in a deep breath. Perhaps it was the way the moonlight was hitting the water, but it almost looked like the ocean was glittering gently as it moved. As the waves moved slowly in their ebb and flow, so did you - languidly making your way over to where your boyfriends loud laughter rang out.

He had put on a long sleeved, cream white henley as the darkness had fallen, and you couldn’t help the stars that shone in your eyes as you took in the way his soft hair flopped in front of his eyes as he looked down - corners of his eyes slightly crinkled as his laughter turned into soft chuckles.

Moving to his side, you could tell that he was as Phoenix had told you, a bit high on the attention and general extroverted buzz the friends had given him. He was engrossed in a tale that Javy was telling, arms and hands emphasizing his point as Fanboy snickered by his side - Jake nodding along. A woman stood by Javy’s side, smiling and shaking her head - you figured that must be Javy’s wife, she looked very sweet as she smiled at you too.

A soft breeze had goosebumps slowly settling on your skin, and you protectively wrapped your arms around your mid, positively yearning for Jake’s warm embrace. He didn’t seem to notice the way you were silently begging for him though, engrossed in his friends and the buzz of activity.

Licking your lips, you slowly looked around, making sure no one was watching you. Javy had turned to Mickey to respond to a comment the latter had made, and you took this as your chance.

Ever so hesitantly, your fingers wrapped themselves around the soft cotton of Jake’s sleeve, tugging so lightly you weren’t sure he’d notice. But as soon as you had tugged twice, Jake snapped his gaze to you so fast you were concerned he’d get a whiplash.

“Honey,” he almost sounded surprised, breathless, his green eyes swirling with emotion as his brows knitted together - as if the spell of fooling around with his friends had abruptly been severed. “Hi baby, I’m sorry I left you. Have you been having an awful time?” he sounded so concerned, his voice laced with regret as he gently kissed your forehead.

“Don’t worry Jake, I’ve been hanging with Nix and Halo,” you smiled softly “I just missed you,” you confessed in a small voice, leaning slightly against his side, not wanting to seem too overbearing yet craving his touch all over you. Jake smiled so fondly down at you that it took your breath away, and it seemed as if his chest was puffed up just a bit prouder at your words.

Jake only felt warmth swirling within him as he finally looked at you. He felt a little ashamed at how he’d asked you to come, yet hadn’t made the proper time to make you feel like he’d missed you as much as he had when he was gone. Now, when he saw your sweet hesitant smile and shy look in your eyes, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why on earth he was listening to some stupid story Javy was telling him.

“D’you wanna go for a walk with me babe? Even if I’ve been a horrible boyfriend all evening,” Jake pleaded, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment. “Jake, you could never be a horrible boyfriend!” you defended “but I would love a walk,” the last bit was spoken a bit shyly, and Jake’s face lit up at your answer, swiftly lacing his fingers with your as he led you down the beach by the water.

As the two of you walked, you talked in hushed tones of the weeks you had been separated, and that overwhelming feeling of need was starting to overwhelm you again as you listened to Jake’s soft tone, laced with his endearing accent. You were out of sight of all of your friends now, so with a small whine, you grabbed onto his forearm with both hands, tugging him to a stop.

“Jake,” you whined softly, pulling him closer to you. His brows furrowed, letting his palm cup your cheek slightly as he looked into your eyes. “What is it sweetheart?” he sounded concerned.

“I’ve missed you,” you pouted, tugging at his other arm again. He chuckled softly, his thumb stroking against your cheekbone “I’ve missed you more, baby,” he smiled. He didn’t understand. You whined softly again, not wanting to spell it out that you were a little baby who needed to feel his arms around you at all times.

His intense gaze made you shift your feet, averting your eyes to look down at the sand beneath you.

“Babe… tell me what you need,” his voice was soft but definitely commanding, his fingers gripping your chin and slowly tilting it upwards so he could look you in the eyes. His green irises were stormy, and an expression you had yet to see on him was present on his features. It made you gasp, a slow burning ache settling between your thighs as he stepped ever closer to you.

“Need you to touch me…” you whispered, tears rimming your eyes. “Sweetheart…” Jake sounded regretful “Why didn’t you tell me?” finally his arms wrapped around you, and you let out a sigh of relief, your whole body relaxing into his broad chest, nuzzling your face into his pecs.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful today?” Jake murmured against your hair, his palm running up and down your spine as you shook your head against his sternum. He chuckled low, before you felt him shake his head against your hair.

“Silly me. You look out of this world beautiful today, honey,” his sentence was punctuated with a soft kiss to your hair. You smiled against his shirt, wrapping your arms tighter around his waist in an effort to get even closer to him.

“Still need me to touch you?” Jake’s voice had a teasing lilt to it, and you removed your face from it’s spot against his chest to take in his facial expression. Biting your lip, you could only nod bashfully at the look on his face. “What do you say to losing some clothing then huh, sweetheart?” raising a brow, you tilted your head slightly, inviting his lips to descend upon yours for the first time that night.

Kissing Jake always had you slightly dizzy. Jake kissed with purpose, slow, sensual, and just as good as he was at everything else. He had your jaw cradled in his hand, tongue slowly meeting yours as you so easily yielded to him.

“Now what did you say about less clothing?” you murmured into the kiss, and Jake broke away to reply, only to chase your lips for a quick succession of pecks, until he looked out over the ocean. “Care for a swim?” he smiled at you.

You barely had time to nod before Jake was removing his henley, revealing chiseled abs and a broad chest dusted with hair. Standing frozen, you could only stare as he continued removing his clothing. How was this man real? And how was he yours to look at? Blinking slowly, you took in your boyfriend's smug smile as he approached you.

“Up,” his words were soft, his large warm palms skimming your sides before guiding your arms into the air, hands firmly guiding them and holding them in place. Keeping your hands stretched towards the starry skies, you watched as Jake sank to his knees before you, hands caressing at your thighs, his mouth following his lingering touches, lips kissing the ever more exposed flesh of your thighs.

Moving to stand, his arms had now gathered the fabric of your skirts onto them, and he gave your lips another loving kiss before he guided the dress over your head and onto the sand among his own clothing. Jake groaned softly at the sight of you, his hands immediately finding their home on your skin. You sighed in pleasure as he gently caressed your bare breasts, his warm skin soothing the chill of the night.

His mouth trailed soft kisses from your neck to your collarbones, and from your collarbones to the soft flesh of your breasts. His warm tongue laved over your hard nipples, and he took one of them into his mouth to warm, letting his lips latch around the flesh to suck lightly, teeth gracing over the sensitive bud. Soft moans spilled from parted lips into the night, and Jake figured it might be the loveliest sound he’s ever heard as it mingled with the soft sounds of the waves.

Once again, Jake bent slightly, his fingers hooking themselves into your underwear, sliding them down your legs, removing your shoes from your feet last. Strong hands skimmed your calves, up to your thighs, where his fingers tapped gently, urging you to hop up.

As you did so, Jake caught you in his arms, tenderly helping you wrap your legs around his midsection as he walked you out into the water. Resting your hands around his neck, you softly tugged at his short hair, reveling in the way his eyes never left yours - the love radiating from them making yours slightly misty.

Wading deeper, you let out a surprised gasp as the water hit your skin, and the two of you smiled as Jake submerged you further into the water. It was when he moved fast that you noticed the glittering again.

“Jake!” you gasped, slowly dragging your hand back and forth in the water, spellbound by the sight of the bioluminescence that followed your hand “It’s beautiful” you sighed, before looking back at his handsome face.

“It really is,” he murmured, soft green eyes looking at you. Leaning down, you let your lips softly meet his again, hands roaming over his now wet skin. “I missed waking up next to you,” you confessed in between kisses “so did I,” Jake retorted honestly.

Again, Jake let his lips and tongue move languidly against your skin, drawing moans and sighs from your lips as he sucked and nipped at spots he knew were sensitive. “Jake” you whined softly as his hand reached up to cup and knead your breast. “Yeah, baby?” his voice was raspy, filled with lust.

“I need you!” the whimper fell softly out into the night, your head having tilted back slightly to give your lover more space to love on your skin. “Mhm, I need you too, honey.” Jake hummed, positioning you so that you could feel his hard cock against your inner thigh.

Sighing onto Jake’s lips, he slowly lowered you onto his aching cock, the swirl of the water making it a bit harder than it usually was. As you felt him fully seated in you, you let out a relieved breath, letting your forehead rest against his shoulder as he lazily lifted you so his cock slid against your walls - rocking slowly and deeply.

“I love you,” Jake’s words were soft and low, but they seemed to echo loudly against the dark night sky and the glittering ocean, illuminated by stars and the moon. He was still moving in you, and a soft groan left him before he repeated himself “Fuck, I love you,” his voice was strained with emotion, his jaw clenching slightly.

“I love you, Jake,” you whispered, having left your perch on his shoulder, rocking down onto him and looking at the way the moon beautifully illuminated his face, and the waters glittering between you as you moved.

“Move in with me,” Jake whispered “I’ll touch you day and night, for as long as you want me to,” he moaned, and you could tell his promise was as much to himself as it was to you.

“I’d love nothing more,” you sighed, relishing in the thought of waking up next to Jake every morning, for the rest of your life.

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