#i shouldn’t be surprised at feeling like my situation is precarious.

[strohller27]

.

[darcydarlingdabbles]

At Autumn's End ~ Part 3

RadioApple🍂Human Au/Age Gap 🍁Top!Dom!Alastor

🍂Divorced Dad!Lucifer🍁Explicit~ 9.1k

AN: Big sexy times, big feelings happening here.

🍂🍁🍃

🍁 On Ao3🍁Read for Free on Ream🍁On Tumblr 🍁

The clock on the wall ticked softly in Lucifer’s room, echoing in his head.

He couldn’t sleep. Then again. He never could. 

Normally, he would go bustle around the kitchen and make something, but, well…last night he got more sugar than he asked for. 

Ugh, that was cheesy even for him. 

Lucifer threw off the blanket and started pacing in front of the desk  and little lounge before his fire place. 

The master bedroom was huge and spacious…and empty. And he rubbed his arms and fold them across his bare chest he looked out the back window and the snow drifting down. 

Only to be interrupted only by the sudden and insistent knock at his door.

Lucifer’s parental instincts went off like a fire alarm. He quickly grabbed the fluffy robe from the end of his bed and hurried to the door. The plush fabric whispered against his skin as he wrapped it around himself, tying the belt with a practiced motion.

As he pulled the door open, the dim light from the hallway spilled into the room, framing a figure clad in red satin.

"Alastor?" Lucifer’s voice was low, a mix of surprise and admonition. "It's late."

Alastor stood there, seemingly unfazed by the hour or the situation. His red pajamas shimmered slightly in the faint light, their sheen emphasizing the confident tilt of his head and the playful glint in his eyes. 

"Yes," Alastor replied smoothly, his voice carrying a hint of mischief, "and it's cold in my room. My fireplace isn’t working."

Before Lucifer could respond, Alastor stepped forward, crossing the threshold with an easy, assured grace. The scent of cedar and something spicy—was it cinnamon?—trailed into the room with him.

 "Maybe you can show me how to operate yours," Alastor suggested, his tone both innocent and suggestive.

Lucifer watched as Alastor sauntered into the room, his red satin pajamas shining under the faint light. Bringing a palpable energy that shimmered around him.

"Alastor," Lucifer began, his voice tinged with exasperation, "you shouldn't be in here."

"Oh, why shouldn’t I?" Alastor replied, a smirk playing on his lips as he surveyed the room with casual interest.

"Because, well…” Lucifer blustered, then tightened the soft robe around himself when those hazel eyes were on him.

“I shouldn’t freeze to death because of your devastating lack of both self-esteem and self-control.”

”Uh, okay, ouch.” Lucifer blanched at the sharpness of those words. Even as those eyes softened on him.

”Tell me I’m wrong.” Alastor said it softly, and Lucifer couldn’t. He could only huff and fold his arms over his chest, and deflect. 

“Did you try asking Charlie or Vaggie for help with your fireplace?" Lucifer asked, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to maintain some semblance of authority despite the younger man’s intrusion.

Alastor chuckled softly, a sound that felt like it was filling the room like his presence. 

 "I was about to knock on their door," he said, drawing out the words like a cat playing with a mouse, "but from the sounds coming from it, I was rather reluctant to disturb them."

Lucifer cringed inwardly. 

So, going upstairs to fix Alastor’s fireplace was definitely not an option. And it was freezing enough to snow outside–no wonder he was cold.

The older man cleared his throat, searching for a solution that would steer them away from this precarious situation.

"Alright," Lucifer relented with a sigh, feeling the weight of inevitability pressing down on him. "Let's get the fireplace in the living room going. It'll warm you up just fine."

“Well…we could do that…” Alastor sauntered over to the bed.

 With a casual grace, he sat back on his hands, crossing one leg over the other. His eyes gleamed with mischief, and an impish smirk danced across his lips as he settled into the plush comforter, making a point of appearing at ease.

And that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

"But sir, the living room is so wide open," Alastor drawled, his voice smooth like honey, "anyone could walk in on us there."

Lucifer's eyebrows shot up to his hair line, before he shook his head and sighed in pure exasperation.

The weight of Alastor's presence pressed down on him like the humidity before a storm. He resisted the urge to rub his temples–needing to maintain some sort of semblance of control over this situation. Before it got right out of hand. 

"There's not going to be anything to walk in on," Lucifer countered, his tone firm yet threaded with a hint of incredulity. The pure arrogance of this young man–of this boy, compared to him. 

He stepped closer to the foot of the bed, as Alastor made a point of leaning back. Lucifer needed to ground himself to the reality of their situation.

 "Think about it for a second, Alastor. You're my daughter's friend. Hell,  I was your age when I had Charlie!" But even as he spoke, Lucifer couldn't ignore the electric charge that hummed in the air between them, a current that defied logic and expectations.

Alastor's eyebrow arched with a playful elegance, a flicker of amusement igniting in his eyes. "Well, now, Mr. Morningstar," The corners of his mouth curled upward as he tossed an offhand remark into the charged silence. "I think it’s a little early to say you want my children, isn’t it?"

Lucifer felt the heat bloom across his cheeks, seeping through his pale skin with embarrassing intensity.  The little jab cut right through his attempt at composure, and he thrust both hands through his blonde hair. 

"Can you at least stop it with the 'sir' and 'Mr. Morningstar' stuff?" he groaned, his fingers toyed absently with the belt of his robe, twisting the fabric . "I feel old enough already."

“Well,” Alastor's gaze traveled leisurely over his robe—fluffy, undeniably comfortable, yet suddenly feeling like the most inadequate armor against the intensity of those eyes. “What would you like me to call you?”

“My name, obviously.”

"Lucifer," Alastor purred, and oh, that was worse. So much worse. 

The younger man’s voice was a silken thread that curled around Lucifer's name for the first time with a tenderness that belied the teasing grin playing at his lips.

Lucifer's heart thudded traitorously against his ribs, and he swallowed hard, trying to tether himself to reason.

"Why do you have to say my name like that?" he huffed out, though he meant to be stern.

"Like what?" Alastor replied, feigning innocence with a tilt of his head, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his awareness—the calculated precision of each syllable designed to unravel Lucifer's defenses.

“Like that!” Lucifer's fingers instinctively found their way to his hair, ruffling through the golden strands in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over the situation spiraling rapidly away from him. “Like you’re going to–”

“Eat you?” The brunette smirked, his gaze only lifting a moment to take in Lucifer’s mussed hair. 

“Yes, that.”

“You rather enjoyed my mouth on you last time, did you not?” 

Lucifer was going to burn to death from embarassment. That smirking tone knew he was drawing images of last night right back into the older man’s head. He bit his bottom lip, clapping a hand over the shoulder of his robe, where it barely covered the bite mark Alastor left in his skin. 

"Listen here," Lucifer began, his voice slipping into the authoritative timbre of a father,  hoping to reestablish some boundaries, to remind them both of lines they shouldn't cross. 

But before he could continue, Alastor's soft tutting interrupted him, accompanied by a look so infuriatingly fond it made Lucifer pause.

"That was cute," Alastor said, a teasing lilt to his words.

 The comment disarmed Lucifer completely, the dad voice rendered useless against the unwavering confidence radiating from the younger man.

Lucifer's cheeks turned a shade of crimson that rivaled the deepest embers of Hell. His mind raced, scrambling for some semblance of composure as he opened his mouth to retort, perhaps to regain control or at least to articulate something coherent.

But any attempt at words was swiftly stolen from him as Alastor moved with sudden intent, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. The  blonde’s back hit the door that he’d been holding open, only to have Alastor’s hand press above his head. Forcing it to click it closed. 

The younger man's hand reached up, grasping the front of Lucifer's robe with a possessive confidence that sent a shiver down his spine. And he cursed himself that he was tilting his chin up, hoping for a kiss. 

"Lucifer..." Alastor's voice purred and curled between them, that same silken tone lingering on each syllable with deliberate slowness that made him hang on it. "Where do you keep the lube?."

The words hung there, bold and unashamedly self-assured, wrapping around Lucifer like a lasso tightening at his very core. His heart skipped a beat, shock rippling through him anew as he blinked, trying to process the audacity—the sheer ease with which Alastor navigated this intimate terrain.

“How dare–you–we won’t–”

And then, without hesitation, Alastor kissed him—hard and unyielding, a force of nature that demanded nothing less than complete surrender.

Any protests that Lucifer might have conjured melted away under the heat of that kiss, lost amidst the fiery collision of lips that left him breathless. All thoughts dissipated like smoke on the wind, leaving only the raw sensation of urgency thrumming through his veins.

Alastor pulled back from his lips, and Lucifer felt himself whine. Until the younger’s forehead pressed against his. Overwhelming him with his cinnamon scent. 

“If you want me to stop.” The brunette panted, and Lucifer thrilled that he could leave him breathless. “You need to tell me. Now.”

Lucifer couldn’t help the pathetic little sound that escaped him at even the idea of stopping now. Alastor wasn’t even holding his wrists, but his hands felt pinned to the wall behind him. He lifted his head, hopeful for another kiss. 

That Alastor denied him. 

“Darling.” Alastor purred, his tone on the edge of impatience. “Use your words.”

Lucifer swallowed. The last of his reservations falling into the dark like the snow outside. 

“Green.”

“Good boy.”

Then Alastor was kissing him. And it felt like Lucifer could breathe again. Until those long fingers wrapped around the bulge in his lounge pants. 

Lucifer let out a moan that Alastor swallowed as he kissed him, deeper, demanding entrance. Tasting every inch of him. 

But those clever fingers were relentless, their touch both deft and deliberate as they found the waistband of Lucifer's sweats. In one smooth motion, they pushed the material down, gravity taking hold as it pooled around Lucifer's ankles.

Damn those clever hands, Lucifer thought dimly, even as his own body responded with a traitorous eagerness.

A part of him marveling at how easily the younger man unraveled him piece by piece, yet another part surrendering to the undeniable allure of it all.

Alastor's fingers hovered at the tie of Lucifer's robe, a pause in the fervent dance that had consumed them both. And, Lucifer could guess why.

Because he’d been reluctant to remove his shirt around the younger man all weekend. And it struck him that not only had the brunette noticed–he actually cared if Lucifer was comfortable.  The weight of Alastor’s gaze was almost tangible as he subtly pulled back, his eyes searching Lucifer’s face with an inquisitive glint.

"Perhaps," Alastor murmured, brushing a soft kiss against Lucifer's lips—gentle, teasing, "you ought to change into another sweater, hm?"

Lucifer hesitated, the suggestion bumping awkwardly against his rising need. He whined, a sound that escaped him unbidden, raw and vulnerable. "I don’t want to," he confessed, voice low and rough.

The flicker of amusement in Alastor's eyes was unmistakable, but his smile held a warmth that chased away any notion of mockery. 

"Then what do you want?" Alastor prompted, voice smooth and inviting as velvet.

"For you...to bite me," Lucifer admitted, the words tumbling out like a floodgate giving way, "to be marked…and claimed." His admission hung in the air between them, charged and electric.

"Gladly," Alastor purred, his voice a dark promise.

 With deft fingers, he untied the robe and left Lucifer breathless and bare to the night, exposed.

The cool air caressed his skin, a stark contrast to the heat blooming under Alastor's gaze—a silent vow to fulfill every unspoken want. 

Alastor's fingers grazed Lucifer's skin with a touch that was both feather-light and searing. The contact sent a shiver racing down his spine, igniting a fire in his veins that had lain dormant for too long. 

Doubt, though, nibbled at the back of Lucifer’s mind. Why would this gorgeous young man ever want him? 

Alastor’s next words silenced every thought.

"Every inch," he purred, his voice a sultry promise that seemed to resonate through the room. "I can't wait to mark every inch of you."

With a gentle but insistent push, Alastor guided Lucifer onto the bed.

Lucifer fell onto the yielding mattress without complaint, lifting his head to the claiming kiss. His skin already tingling at the thought of more. 

Alastor’s lips trailed down the column of his throat, dragging the edge of his teeth–but leaving no marks above his collarbones. As he promised. 

"Ah!" Lucifer gasped, his voice catching in his throat as Alastor sank his teeth back into the older man’s shoulder. Not the same place because that would distort the pretty purple that bloomed overnight. 

But leaving a brand new bite to criss-cross it. Like there was a design written in his head. Alastor's lips descended upon him, tracing a path of bites along his torso, each one a deliberate claim that set Lucifer alight with sensation.

Alastor growled with delight at the marks he was leaving—little trophies of his conquest.

The sharp nip of teeth followed by the soothing brush of Alastor's tongue sent waves of pleasure coursing through him. Each bite was a declaration, a testament to Alastor's desire that left no room for doubt. 

Lucifer arched beneath the attention, the undeniable evidence of being wanted now decorating his body. And sinking into his very soul. 

Lucifer lay there, every nerve ending alive with anticipation as Alastor's hands roamed lower, spreading his legs with a possessive leer that went straight to Lucifer’s aching prick. 

He was fully exposed, every inch of dad bod laid bare before Alastor’s hungry stare. 

Lucifer felt his legs tremble as the younger held them open wide. And then the brunette was catching his eye. Waiting for Lucifer  to look at him. before he lowered his head, dragging his tongue along the soft flesh of the inside of his thigh.

“Color?” That predatory purr asked. 

And Lucifer had to fight the tremble of anticipation in his voice, so it wouldn’t sound like anything else. 

“Green, so green.” Lucifer squirmed. 

Alastor chuckled, pushing his legs further apart as he simply said “Good.”

The fireplace was roaring away, but Lucifer still felt a shiver of goosebumps prickle over his skin at the cool air. 

Until Alastor’s mouth set him on fire all over again.

 Each bite along his soft thighs was a spark, igniting deeper within him, and he could feel the promise of bruises blooming beneath the surface.

"Turn over," Alastor commanded as he stood, his voice a velvet spike that sent a shiver down Lucifer's spine.

Lucifer hesitated only for a heartbeat before complying, shifting over onto his stomach and his elbows. Feeling a little tingle across his skin at how exposed he was. 

"Where's the lube?" Alastor's question was more an expectation than a request, each word dripping with intent.

"Nightstand," Lucifer managed to pant out, his mind swimming in a haze that left little room for coherent thought. Just talking felt like a tether to reality, and he was ready to toss it out the picture window behind him.

Alastor moved with purpose, his footsteps a murmur on the carpet as he approached the nightstand. 

Lucifer watched him through half-lidded eyes. The anticipation was a live wire under his skin.

"What's this?" Alastor's voice broke through the haze with a teasing lilt.

He held up a cock ring, its snap glinting wickedly in the electronic fire light. There was a smirk playing on his lips–and it was clear he knew exactly what it was.

Lucifer felt a flush rise to his cheeks. His gaze flickered away for a moment before meeting Alastor’s playful stare. "It's mine," he admitted, the words tumbling out with a hint of sheepishness.

"Is it now? How fortuitous" Alastor's grin widened, a flash of white teeth against his brown skin "We'll use this too, since it's been a while for you." His tone was light, but there was an underlying challenge in it.

“Hey!” A spark of indignation flared within Lucifer at the insinuation, a feeble attempt to cling to the remnants of his dignity. “You know, I’ve probably been doing this since before you were born.”

And he actually saw Alastor roll his eyes. 

“Yes, yes darling, I’m sure.” The younger moved behind him, as Lucifer turned to try to keep him in sight. “But, you haven’t been doing it with me.” Alastor purred. Just as he seized Lucifer by the hips, dragging him down the bed and manhandling him until he was bent over the end of the bed. 

"Spread your legs," Alastor commanded, his voice dropping to a sultry murmur that danced over Lucifer's skin like a caress. The words sent a shiver racing down Lucifer's spine, igniting something primal and urgent within him.

He hesitated only long enough to draw a shaky breath, then obeyed, surrendering to the pull of Alastor's will with a thrill that made his pulse quicken anew.

🍂🍁🍃

Lucifer never would have believed that he’d end up in a position like this. 

Face down in the plush comforter of his own bed, ass up and completely exposed. As Alastor’s sure fingers languidly stretching him open. Taking his tortuous time. 

The sinfully red satin of Alastor's pajamas brushed against Lucifer’s thighs, a teasing reminder of how frustratingly clothed the younger man remained.

"You're doing so well, darling," Alastor murmured, his voice a low purr that reverberated through Lucifer's bones. 

One hand pressed firmly at the nape of Lucifer’s neck, keeping him pinned, grounded, even as each deliberate stroke of Alastor’s fingers made him writhe.

"Alastor..." Lucifer’s voice was a half-groan, half-whisper, the sound drenched in desperation. Each calculated brush of his sweet spot sent shocks of pleasure ricocheting through his body, leaving him breathless and aching for more.

"Patience," Alastor chided softly, leaning over him, a shadow cast by moonlight filtering through the window. The world outside was a blur of wintry white, but in here, heat seared through Lucifer’s veins as he surrendered inch by inch to Alastor’s deft touch.

Lucifer’s back arched instinctively, seeking more of those skilled touches, his thoughts a haze of white noise and want.

"Please," he heard himself say, the plea falling from his lips unbidden, raw and honest.

Each press of those sinfully long fingers sent him spiraling further into a space where thoughts were fleeting. And all he could do was feel.

"Lucifer," Alastor's voice was a silken caress, wrapping around his name with an intimacy that made his heart stutter.

"You're too good at this," Lucifer squirmed beneath the unyielding hold on his neck. His mind floated somewhere between reality and oblivion,  "Too old for this,"

 It was a weak protest, more habit, as if acknowledging the disparity in their ages could anchor him somehow.

"Nonsense," Alastor replied, his tone light, teasing, but leaving no room for arugment. "You’re taking my fingers so well."

The praise was like a balm, soothing some hidden ache inside Lucifer, even as it fanned the flames of his desire higher.

Alastor continued, leaning closer until his breath ghosted over Lucifer’s ear, making him shiver. "I’m sure you’ll take my cock like a good boy."

A whimper escaped Lucifer, unbidden, the sound lost in the heady cocktail of want and submission. Any semblance of control slipped further from his grasp, leaving only the raw, unfiltered need to please the man who had him laid bare in every sense of the word.

"Good boy," Alastor had said, those two simple words burrowing under Lucifer's skin, igniting something deep within him. 

But… alongside the warmth, there was a chill, creeping into the edges of his consciousness, reminding him of everything else he was.

He wasn't just old–he felt worn out. Baggage that tangled with his self-worth, dragging it down beneath the surface. Depression loomed over him like an ever-present shadow.

"Alastor," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, breaking through the haze for a moment. "You... you deserve better than this. Than me."

The confession hung heavy in the air between them. Bound up and fizzling with the insecurity and doubts that clawed at Lucifer, especially when he was at his most vulnerable. 

The sudden stillness from Alastor was like a jolt, ripping Lucifer from his spiraling thoughts, making the room feel colder, the air thicker.

"Say that again," Alastor's voice sliced through the silence, sharp, cold, and commanding. 

Before Lucifer could even process the words, a sharp thud echoed through the room—a hand coming down hard on his ass.

Lucifer gasped, the sensation ricocheting up his spine, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. The sting on his skin was a reminder—albeit a startling one—that he was very much alive, here and now.

"Say it again, Lucifer." Alastor's tone was unwavering, firm, and beneath the surface, there was something else—something almost tender. 

His mouth opened, a protest forming on his lips, but doubt clawed at him, urging him to speak the self-deprecation that had become second nature. Another swift smack landed in the same spot. Precisely.

Lucifer flinched, the repetition sending a shiver throughout his entire being. 

The heat on his skin bloomed, and somewhere within the haze of sensation and emotion, a new awareness took root. Alastor knew exactly what he was doing—each strike calculated, deliberate.

It was a punishment. Alastor had never punished him. And it brought Lucifer sharply back to reality. 

"Again," Alastor pressed, unyielding.

Lucifer's mind spun, caught between the urge to resist and the desire to yield. His defenses wavered, the walls he'd built around himself weakening under the relentless onslaught..

Alastor flipped Lucifer over onto his back.

 The sudden shift left Lucifer momentarily breathless, a rush of vulnerability washing over him, but before fear could take root, Alastor's hand found its place at his throat.

The touch was firm but not constrictive—a gentle reminder of the power Alastor wielded, but also of the care with which he wielded it. Lucifer felt the weight of that hand like an anchor, grounding him amidst the tempest of emotions swirling within.

"Stay still," Alastor’s  voice low and smooth, as if coaxing the tension from Lucifer’s body. “And keep your eyes on me.”

 He complied, the unspoken command threading through his very veins, calming the storm swirling in his chest.

With deliberate movements, Alastor spread Lucifer's legs wide, each motion purposeful, leaving no doubt in its intention as he moved between them. A shiver of anticipation danced along Lucifer's spine, mingling with the remnants of uncertainty that clung to him. Alastor’s lithe body, pressed into the cradle of his so damn intimately it was breath taking. 

“I know what I want.” Alastor said, so softly and emphatically, Lucifer’s world narrowed down to every word on his lips. “And I have, excellent tastes.” He chuckled, lowly and dark. “And I want you. So, it only follows that you must be desirable.”

Lucifer felt his mouth open, to agree or to contradict, he didn’t know–when he felt Alastor snap his hips forward. So the older man felt the hard line of his cock through those satin pjs. Making Lucifer whine. 

"Isn't that right?" Alastor's words were soft yet unwavering, carrying a conviction that resonated. He leaned over Lucifer, their eyes locking, and in that instant, all pretense fell away.

Lucifer could see it—the certainty in Alastor's gaze, the desire that lay beneath the surface, raw and unhidden. It was a question that was not a question at all, but an affirmation.

 Alastor knew what he wanted, and more than that, he wanted Lucifer.

In the silence that followed, Lucifer felt the truth settle around him like a warm embrace. Alastor had chosen him, and in that choice, there was worth—something long elusive, now finally within reach.

“Alastor…”

Alastor’s fingers plunged back inside Lucifer, rough and unyielding. Three all at once, they filled him and stole his breath. It wasn’t uncomfortable–it was a relief–a release of tension, as if those deft fingers were unraveling the tangled knots in him.

Lucifer's body arched involuntarily, a gasp escaping his lips. Alastor moved with purpose, each thrust precise, exploring until he found that sensitive spot that made Lucifer's vision blur with pleasure.

"Isn’t that right?" Alastor repeated, his voice low, almost tender. He brushed against Lucifer's prostate, sending a jolt through his spine, a reminder of what was asked of him.

"Yes, Alastor..." Lucifer breathed, the word tumbling from him, born of instinct and need.

"Say it, darling." Alastor's voice was velvet and steel, a command wrapped in endearment. His fingers moved relentlessly, coaxing every ounce of sensation from Lucifer’s trembling form.

Lucifer whined. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—say the words that felt too big, too heavy to be true.

"Say you are worthy of being wanted." Alastor repeated, his tone unwavering as he leaned over Lucifer, the weight of his presence all-consuming.

Lucifer shook his head, a stubborn refusal even as his body betrayed him, arching into each calculated thrust. The world narrowed to the point where their gazes locked, Alastor’s eyes holding his with an intensity that burned.

"Look at me," Alastor urged, that had still firm on Lucifer’s throat.

 That touch kept him still, made him focus on nothing but those dark, intense eyes.

His cock throbbed, trapped and dined by the ring around it. It was a torment that bordered on bliss, and Alastor watched him keenly, absorbing every reaction, every flicker of emotion.

"Please," Lucifer gasped, desperation coloring his voice, not sure what he was pleading for—for release or reprieve.

"Say it," Alastor insisted, his fingers never faltering, the rhythm a relentless reminder of his demand.

Lucifer’s resolve wavered under the pressure of Alastor’s unyielding attention, under the promise lingering in the air—that here, in this space, he could be wanted, cherished even, if he just admitted it.

"You may be older," he murmured, his breath a warm whisper against Lucifer's skin, "but I assure you, I can wait you out. As long as it takes."

Lucifer's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, overwhelmed by the certainty in Alastor's tone.

 There was no doubt, no hesitation. Just the unshakeable conviction that patience was infinite, and that Lucifer was worth every second spent waiting.

And there was as nothing quite like having alastor’s full attention on him.

Lucifer’s hands had stayed pinned to the bed, his fingers clenched in the sheets, without having to be bound or held down. 

Alastor’s unwavering gaze grounded him there.

Every fiber of his being urged him to move, to reach out, to defy this feeling of vulnerability. But, he couldn’t. Because he didn’t want to. 

"Lucifer…" Alastor’s voice was a velvet whisper, wrapping around him with an intimacy that felt like a caress. Lucifer's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against the cage of his ribs.

"I…" he began, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of vulnerability. His mind spun, words lodged at the back of his throat like stones he couldn’t dislodge. All the while, Alastor's fingers moved inside him—patient, relentless, drawing him closer and closer to the precipice.

"The full sentence, darling," Alastor prompted tenderly, the words sliding over Lucifer’s skin like silk, teasing and coaxing—but never demanding. It was maddeningly tender.

This wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t enjoying playing with a partner during a scene. Alastor was taking Lucifer apart just to put him back together again.

And, after that, how could Lucifer ever let him go?

"I want to hear you say it," Alastor continued, his tone as smooth as molten honey. 

Lucifer inhaled shakily, his chest tight with the tumult. With each breath, he could feel the embers of trust and warmth expanding, threatening to engulf the shadows of doubt and insecurity that clung so stubbornly to him.

And then, finally, the words tumbled out, each syllable a hard-won victory against the specter of self-doubt. "I am…worthy…of being wanted."

Alastor's eyes lit up with approval, a smile curving his lips as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to Lucifer’s temple.

"Good boy," Alastor murmured, his voice rich with praise and promise.

With a deftness that belied the magnitude of the moment, he reached down and released the cock ring, freeing Lucifer from its constraining hold.

In that instant, euphoria crashed over Lucifer with the force of a tidal wave, leaving him quivering beneath Alastor’s unwavering affection.

🍂🍁🍃

Waves of blissful pleasure coursed through Lucifer's body, leaving him trembling and breathless. Alastor's skilled hands continued to caress him gently, easing him through the aftershocks.

"You did so well for me," Alastor murmured, his voice a soothing balm.

Lucifer's eyes fluttered open, meeting Alastor's intense gaze. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. And he was so blissed out, he didn’t even blush at his awkwardness.

Alastor's fingers traced delicate patterns across Lucifer's flushed skin. The tender touch felt like everything to him, and when he meekly tugged on those satin pajamas, the brunette indulged him and moved to sit on the bed.

Lucifer was about ready to curl right up into his lap. Soak up this newfound attentiveness like a house cat in the afternoon sunshine.

His cheek came to rest on the red fabric that covered Alastor’s thigh, clinging to the slender frame.

"How are you feeling?" Alastor asked softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Lucifer's forehead.

Lucifer leaned into the touch, savoring the warmth of Alastor's palm against his cheek. "Incredible," he murmured, and it was true. He was floating on a satin cloud. Not even thinking of what usually came next.

A small smile tugged at Alastor's lips. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, cher."

Lucifer's head felt pleasantly fuzzy, his thoughts hazy and unfocused. He found himself overcome with affection for the man above him. Without thinking, he nuzzled against Alastor's crotch, relishing the smooth texture of against his cheek.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me," Lucifer said softly, his words slightly slurred.

Alastor's hand came to rest on the back of Lucifer's neck, a comforting weight that also stilled his movements.

"It’s been my pleasure," he replied, his voice warm with fondness.

Right, Lucifer was starting to get a bit more lucid, and remember…Alastor’s pleasure…he really should—

Lucifer's blissful haze was abruptly shattered as he felt Alastor's hands gently cradle his head, lifting it from the satin-clad thigh.

With careful movements, Alastor lowered Lucifer's head to rest on the soft bedding. Before Lucifer could fully process what was happening, Alastor had slipped away, rising to his feet beside the bed.

Panic surged through Lucifer's chest. "Wait!" His voice was hoarse, tinged with desperation. "You're not going to leave again, are you?"

Lucifer's eyes darted down, immediately noticing the obvious bulge straining against Alastor's sleek pants.

“Or…let me help you out…?”

But Alastor merely shrugged, a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. But his night clothes caught the light from the snowy window, which was probably the only reason the blonde’s fuzzy head noticed how the younger seemed to shift from foot to foot.

"That's not necessary, Lucifer," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I told you. Orgasm isn't really my goal."

Lucifer furrowed his brow, confusion mingling with concern. "But…I want to make you feel good too," he insisted, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

Alastor's expression softened. He reached out, gently caressing Lucifer's cheek. "You were so good for me," he murmured. “That's all I need.”

Lucifer leaned into the touch, torn between the warmth of Alastor's praise and his own lingering desire to reciprocate.

The blonde felt his tongue dart out, wetting his dry lips. "Don’t you want to stay—and fuck me, I mean?"

Despite Alastor's reassurances, a nagging desire still gnawed at him. His voice came out weak, almost pleading,

Alastor's long fingers threaded through Lucifer's hair, the gentle touch at odds with the intensity of his gaze. His eyes roamed deliberately down Lucifer's body, lingering pointedly on the evidence of their recent activities.

Lucifer followed his line of sight, suddenly acutely aware of his own spent cock, still flushed and sensitive, and the cooling streaks of come decorating the constellation of bite marks Alastor had left across his belly.

A rush of heat flooded Lucifer's cheeks as he realized the implication.

He was thoroughly spent, but here he was, practically begging for more.

"But I still want you to fuck me," Lucifer insisted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alastor cocked an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and intrigue playing across his features.

Without a word, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Lucifer's body reacted instinctively, reaching out to clutch at Alastor, desperate to keep him close. But Alastor was quicker, catching Lucifer's wrists in a firm but gentle grip.

His thumbs traced small circles on the sensitive skin, a gesture both soothing and electrifying.

Lucifer's breath caught in his throat as Alastor leaned in, his lips barely grazing Lucifer's ear.

"Tell me, Lucifer," Alastor whispered, his breath warm against Lucifer's skin. "Do you truly want to be fucked, or is it that you simply do not want to be left alone?"

The question stripped away his defenses. Cutting right to the quick, as the younger said he did.Why did Alastor always seem to see right through him?

"Both," Lucifer admitted, his voice trembling slightly. He met Alastor's gaze, determined to be honest. "I want you to fuck me, Alastor. And…I want you to stay the night."

A flicker of something—surprise? approval? longing?—passed over Alastor's face. He released Lucifer's wrists and shifted, settling more comfortably on the bed.

“I assure you, I was hoping to stay.” Though a little bit of mirth lit his face, and his eyes traveled over Lucifer once again. “After I cleaned you up a bit.”

Relief and desire surged through Lucifer in equal measure.

He pressed close, intent on kissing Alastor, on showing his gratitude and renewed passion. But before their lips could meet, Alastor placed a finger against Lucifer's mouth, halting him.

"Careful now," Alastor warned, his tone light but firm. "This is my favorite set of sleepwear. I'd rather not get it…sticky."

Lucifer froze, suddenly hyper-aware of his own state—the drying come and blooming bruises over his pale flesh.

Lucifer's cheeks burned as he remembered Alastor's rules.

“It wouldn’t, I mean.” He huffed, rubbing a hand through his hair to try to ground himself. And not sound as petulant as he felt. Like a child repeatedly denied a treat. “They wouldn’t get messy, if you took them off.”

He swore the chuckle Alastor gave was indulgent. “Will you want to touch me, then?”

Lucifer’s attention snapped back to Alastor, nodding eagerly. “Touch you, blow you—anything you want, Alastor. Please.”

“And, there in, lies the rub.” The brunette murmured, and Lucifer mourned the movement he took to get back on his feet at the edge of the bed. But not the way the way he crawled after Alastor.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” Lucifer asked, his tone light with curiosity that tilted his head as he looked up at the younger man. Wondering if this was what had him pulling away the two times before.

“Oh, no, darling,” Alastor met his eyes, with that intense hazel look. “I very much do.”

Lucifer was about to offer everything, anything Alastor wanted, when the brunette surprised him by being the first to pull his eye away.

“You make me greedy, Lucifer. I want everything you’ll let me have. I want nothing to be left for anyone else…But,” Alastor folded his arms over his chest, looking defensive and utterly unlike his ever-confident self. “I can’t always…" he said softly. "It's not…easy for me to finish."

Lucifer's first instinct was to smirk, sure Alastor was teasing or challenging him.

But as he searched the younger man's face, he caught a glimpse of something he'd never seen before: embarrassment. The vulnerability in Alastor's expression made Lucifer's heart clench.

The blonde quickly moved from his knees to give the brunette his full attention, sitting as he reached for Alastor’s hand that was clenched in the crook of his elbow. He felt resistance, for a moment, before the younger gave in to the hold.

"Have you seen a doctor about it?" he asked gently.

Alastor's fingers tightened around Lucifer's, a flicker of something guarded in his gaze. "Yes, of course," he replied, his voice low. “They all assure me I am too young for the issue to be from the waist down.” He paused, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “So it must be from the neck up.”

Lucifer felt his brow furrow. Concern etched all over his face. He slid onto his knees, almost bringing himself to eye level with the taller man.

“Hey, Alastor.” He reached for the younger, for that narrow waist, trying to tug him close. “Look, if you need to talk about this, we can.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “Do you really want to chat about Catholic guilt, compartmentalization, and grief right now?” He gestured with his free hand to Lucifer’s state of undress and his own state of visible arousal. “I’ve had this problem for a while, no matter the scene or the partner.”

Lucifer's chest tightened at the mention of grief, understanding dawning. He stroked his thumb across the small of Alastor’s back, considering his next words carefully. "Do you want to continue?" he asked softly, searching Alastor's face. "We don't have to if you're not comfortable."

Alastor's expression softened, and he cupped Lucifer's cheek with his free hand. "I do want to, more than anything," he assured him. "But I know bottoms get frustrated, or even feel inadequacy, when they can't make me come. I don't want that for you, Lucifer."

The delicacy in Alastor's hand sent a shiver through Lucifer. But it was nothing compared to how damn considerate he was being. Alastor knew Lucifer’s self-esteem was weak at best. And he was trying to shield him, at his own expense.

He leaned into the caress, his heart swelling with affection for this complex, caring man.

"Thank you, for telling me. I know that couldn’t have been easy," Lucifer murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to Alastor's palm. "But I want you to know, it doesn’t have to be about making you come…I just want to be with you, to make you feel good in whatever way I can."

Alastor's eyes widened slightly at Lucifer's words, a flicker of vulnerability passing over his features before being replaced by a look of profound gratitude.

Slowly, he leaned down, cupping Lucifer's face in both hands as he brought their lips together in a tender kiss.

The kiss was unlike any they had shared before. Where their previous encounters had been marked by passion and urgency, this was slow and achingly sweet. Alastor's lips moved against Lucifer's with deliberate care, as if savoring every moment of contact.

Lucifer's hands came to rest on Alastor's hips, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his pajamas. He could feel the warmth of Alastor's skin through the thin material, grounding them both to the moment. As the rest of the world faded away. The soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window cast everything in a dreamy, ethereal light.

The only sounds were their quiet breaths and the gentle rustle of fabric as they moved together.

Their kisses deepened gradually, tongues meeting in a slow, sensual dance. There was no rush, no frantic need driving them forward.

Lucifer's hands slid up Alastor's back, feeling the lean muscles shift beneath his palms. He marveled at the contrast between Alastor's usual sharp edges and this softer, more vulnerable version of him.

He felt it, when there was a shift in Alastor. The tension that had been holding him rigid began to melt away, his body relaxing into Lucifer's touch.

His kisses became more assured, more present, as if he was fully allowing himself to be in the moment.

"Undress me," Alastor murmured, his voice low and rich with emotion. It wasn't quite an order, but there was a quiet authority in his tone that always left the older man tingling.

Lucifer nodded, slowly rising to his feet. He maintained eye contact with Alastor as he began to remove his clothes, piece by piece. There was no teasing or showmanship in the way he slid the buttons of the satin night shirt apart. Letting the fabric drop to the soft carpet of the bedroom. His pants followed.

Lucifer's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of Alastor.

The lean lines of his torso were accentuated by the soft moonlight streaming through the window, casting shadows that highlighted every dip and curve of slender muscle. His skin was brown and smooth, marred only by a few scattered scars that spoke of a life lived with intensity.

His collarbone stood out prominently, creating delicate hollows that Lucifer longed to trace with his tongue. Lucifer's eyes followed that tantalizing path, noting the sharp cut of Alastor's hipbones and the lean strength of his thighs.

Despite his earlier admissions, Alastor's arousal was evident, straining against the fabric of his boxers. Lucifer felt a surge of desire, wanting nothing more than to worship every inch of the beautiful man before him.

"Touch me," Alastor commanded softly, his voice low and husky.

Lucifer didn't hesitate.

He reached out, running his hands reverently over Alastor's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart. His fingers traced the contours of Alastor's abs, gaping at the subtle definition. He explored every plane and angle of Alastor's body, committing each detail to memory.

As his hands roamed lower, skimming along Alastor's sides and coming to rest on his hips, Lucifer felt an overwhelming urge to taste him.

He looked up, meeting Alastor's intense gaze.

"Can I blow you?" Lucifer asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I want to make you feel good."

Alastor's eyes darkened with desire. He cupped Lucifer's face gently, thumb brushing across his cheekbone.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, you can."

Heart racing, Lucifer settled between Alastor's legs, taking a moment to admire the man's impressive cock.

It had been a while since he'd done this, and he wanted to savor the experience. He started slow, placing soft kisses along Alastor's inner thighs, relishing the slight tremor he felt beneath his lips.

As Lucifer's mouth finally enveloped him, Alastor let out a soft gasp. "Oh, that's…lovely," he murmured, his long fingers threading gently through Lucifer's hair.

Encouraged, Lucifer began to pull out all his tricks–swirling his tongue, varying pressure and speed, using his hand in tandem with his mouth.

He glanced up occasionally, thrilling at the sight of Alastor's head tipped back in pleasure, his chest rising and falling more rapidly.

Alastor's quiet sounds of enjoyment spurred Lucifer on. He redoubled his efforts, determined to bring the younger man to climax. But despite his enthusiasm and technique, that release remained elusive.

"You're doing wonderfully," Alastor breathed, his voice strained but affectionate as he stroked Lucifer's hair. "It feels incredible, truly."

Lucifer pulled back, panting slightly. "But not quite enough?" he asked, unable to keep a hint of disappointment from his voice.

“Darling…”Alastor cooed, obviously trying to soothe him. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Lucifer couldn't help the frustration that bubbled up inside him.

Alastor had been right, and that knowledge stung his pride. But beneath that initial irritation, a fierce determination took root.

He wasn't about to give up so easily.

"We're not done yet," Lucifer declared, his blue eyes flashing with renewed resolve. "I've got more tricks up my sleeve, darling."

Alastor raised an eyebrow, an amused smile playing at his lips. "Is that so? Well, I'm certainly curious to see what else you have in mind."

🍂🍁🍃

Time passed in a blur of heated touches and exploration.

As the night deepened, Lucifer found himself in a decidedly compromising position—legs in the air, practically folded in half as Alastor loomed over him.

"Fuck, yes," Lucifer gasped, all traces of his earlier shyness long gone. Sweat glistened on his skin as Alastor thrust into him relentlessly. "Just like that, don't stop!"

The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming. Lucifer had suggested this position, thinking it might finally push Alastor over the edge.

But as the pleasure built to a crescendo, he realized with a mix of chagrin and ecstasy that he was the one tipped over the edge.

"Alastor—" Lucifer's warning dissolved into a cry of pleasure as his orgasm washed over him, leaving him trembling and breathless.

Alastor's lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he gazed down at Lucifer's flushed face.

The blonde man's chest heaved as he caught his breath, a mix of frustration and lingering pleasure evident in his eyes as Alastor eased him down from being practically folded into a pretzel on the edge of the bed.

"Shut up," Lucifer muttered, unable to meet Alastor's gaze.

“Darling, I didn’t say a thing."

Lucifer took a deep breath, steeling himself before looking up at his partner. "Will you just…fuck me the way you want to?"

Alastor's eyebrows rose slightly. "However I want?" he asked, his voice low and velvety.

Lucifer nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes."

A thrill of anticipation ran through Lucifer's body. He braced himself, half-expecting Alastor to flip him over and take him roughly. To pull out his own tricks with the evident experience he had with deviant and kinky sex.

To his surprise, Alastor gently maneuvered him onto his back.

As Alastor moved over him, Lucifer instinctively wrapped his legs around the slim waist, pulling him closer.

He searched Alastor's face, trying to decipher the unexpected tenderness in his actions.

Alastor leaned in, his breath hot against Lucifer's ear. When he spoke, his voice was low and intense, but still somehow soft.

"You make me want to break my own rules, Lucifer."

Lucifer's heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to ask, but Alastor silenced him with a deep, languid thrust that made Lucifer's thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

As Alastor continued his slow, steady rhythm, Lucifer managed to find his voice.

"What do you mean by your own rules?" he asked breathlessly, his fingers digging into Alastor's shoulders.

Alastor's dark eyes met Lucifer's, a flicker of vulnerability passing through them.

"I don't let my scene partners touch me," he explained, his voice low and hoarse.

Lucifer hesitated for a moment, suddenly hyper-aware of his hands on Alastor's skin.

Slowly, reluctantly, he dropped his arms from around Alastor's shoulders, letting them fall to the bed.

A fleeting look of disappointment crossed Alastor's face.

In one swift motion, he pinned Lucifer's wrists to the mattress, only to thread their fingers together a moment later.

The intimacy of the gesture gave the older man chills.

"I never do scenes with people I know," Alastor continued, his hips never faltering in their rhythm.

Guilt washed over Lucifer as the weight of Alastor's words sank in. He squeezed Alastor's hands, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest.

"I told you… we shouldn't," he whispered, his voice thick with regret. "But you—"

Before Lucifer could finish, Alastor's lips crashed against his, silencing his doubts.

The kiss was hard, desperate, filled with a longing that took Lucifer's breath away. He melted into it, his body responding instinctively to Alastor's passion.

When they finally broke apart, both were panting.

Alastor's lips ghosted over Lucifer's as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "And…I never, ever let anyone kiss me."

The admission sent a jolt through Lucifer's body. His mind raced, trying to process the significance of what Alastor was telling him.

A soft whine escaped his throat as realization dawned.

"You've got rules against being…intimate with anyone," Lucifer breathed, his eyes searching Alastor's face.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Lucifer's heart pounded in his chest, something he wasn't quite ready to name, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Exactly," Alastor murmured, his voice turned to velvet. His darkened eyes bore into Lucifer's, intense and defenseless. "You make me break all of my rules. You make me…" He paused, seeming to struggle with the words. "You make me want to love you."

The confession hung in the air, heavy and raw. He'd never imagined Alastor capable of such openness, such vulnerability.

Before Lucifer could respond, Alastor ducked his head, burying his face in the crook of Lucifer's neck. The shame was palpable, as if Alastor regretted letting his guard down so completely.

Lucifer couldn't bear to see Alastor retreat.

With a surge of affection, he broke his hands free from Alastor's grip. Gently, he cupped the younger man's face, tilting it up to meet his gaze.

"Alastor," Lucifer whispered, his thumbs caressing those sharp cheekbones. Then, overcome by emotion, he pulled Alastor into a deep, tender kiss. He poured everything he couldn't say into that kiss—his own fears, his growing feelings, his acceptance of Alastor's confession.

After a moment, Alastor made a soft sound against Lucifer's lips—something between a whimper and a sigh. His hips continued their steady rhythm, but his voice was strained when he spoke.

"Tell me…" Alastor panted, the words more plea than command. “Tell me that you want me to stay.”

Lucifer broke the kiss, his breath ragged. His heart swelled with affection and a fierce protectiveness.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around the younger man, pulling him close.

"I want you to stay, Alastor," Lucifer breathed, pouring every ounce of sincerity into the words. “With me. As long as you’ll have me.”

As their lips met, Lucifer felt a shudder run through Alastor's body. The younger man's hips stuttered, losing their steady rhythm.

Lucifer gasped into the kiss.

"Oh," Lucifer breathed, breaking the kiss to look up at Alastor in wonder. "You're…you're coming."

Alastor's face was contorted in vulnerability and pleasure, his usual composure completely shattered.

He buried his face in Lucifer's neck, muffling a low groan against his skin.

Lucifer held him tightly, one hand tangling in Alastor's hair while the other stroked soothingly down his back. Awed by the tremors running through Alastor's body, the heat of his breath against his neck.

"That's it," Lucifer murmured, his chest tight with emotion. "Let go, sweetheart. I've got you."

The significance of what had just happened wasn't lost on him. Alastor, who never let himself be vulnerable, who always maintained strict control, had allowed himself this moment of abandon in Lucifer's arms.

"Are you alright?" Lucifer asked softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Alastor's temple.

Alastor lifted his head, meeting Lucifer's gaze. His dark eyes were hazy with bliss, but there was also a hint of wonder there.

"I…yes," Alastor replied, his voice rough.

Lucifer cradled Alastor close, relishing the warm weight of the younger man's body against his own. He could feel Alastor's heart racing, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

The air around them was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady reminder of what they'd just shared.

“You don't have to pull away.” Lucifer murmured, running his fingers through Alastor's damp hair. “Stay with me."

Alastor remained silent, his face still hidden in the crook of Lucifer's neck. But he didn't move to disentangle himself, and Lucifer took that as a good sign.

The room was bathed in soft moonlight, casting everything in a dreamy, silver glow.

Outside, snow continued to fall silently, blanketing the world in white. It felt as though they were cocooned in their own private universe, separate from the rest of the world.

Lucifer's hands roamed gently over Alastor's back, tracing the contours of lean muscle and the ridges of his spine. He marveled at how different this felt from their previous encounters. The urgency and intensity had given way to something softer, more like making love…if he dared to think it.

Alastor finally lifted his head, meeting Lucifer's gaze. His eyes were soft, vulnerable in a way Lucifer had never seen before.

A stray lock of hair fell across his forehead, and Lucifer reached up to gently brush it away.

"I've never…" Alastor's voice was barely above a whisper. "Not like that."

Lucifer's heart swelled with affection. He cupped Alastor's face in his hands, thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones. "I'm honored," he said softly.

Alastor's lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. It was so unlike his usual confident smirk that Lucifer felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Stay the night," Lucifer said, not quite a question but not quite a demand either. "Please. I want to fall asleep with you and wake up with you in the morning."

For a moment, Alastor looked uncertain.

Lucifer could almost see the walls trying to rebuild themselves behind his eyes. But then Alastor took a deep breath, visibly relaxing.

"Alright," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Lucifer's lips. "I'll stay."

🍂🍁🍃

🍁 On Ao3🍁Read for Free on Ream🍁On Tumblr 🍁

[biggest-stupidhead]

Demons

A/N: I'm baaacckkkkk, I was inspired by a tik tok about how dangerous the winter solstice is, and how the veil between this world and the next is thinnest this time of year. So, in honor of my previous spooky Nat fic, I wrote this :) Hope you all enjoy! Listen to Demons by Hayley Kiyoko if you're feeling jazzy. Image is from pintrest not mine, credit goes to the creator!

Summary: The darkest night of the year harbors dangerous creatures, and you find yourself in a precarious situation when Natasha returns after a month of radio silence...

Warnings: Uhhhh lesbian sex (duh), blood (minimal), dark! Wanda & dark! Natasha (not super dark just spooky) , slight horror themes, porn w plot, fingering (r receiving, Wanda receiving), oral (r giving & receiving, nat giving). Lmk if I missed anything, this was a long one and I wouldn't be surprised if I did tbh.

Word Count: 3.5K

Autumn departed in a long drawn-out battle, temperate weather ebbed into freezing winds and biting blizzards. Bare tree branches scraped against your window, and the leaves have long fallen to be replaced with icicles and heavy snow. Dried herbs and pickled goods littered your minimal counter and cabinet space, casting strange shadows in the dark. You sat in a small armchair near your fireplace, a book splayed open on your lap. The scent of bitternut hickory logs burning filled the space, mingling with the dried herbs and the soup you’d prepared earlier.

Your cat purred as she slept by the fireplace, her paws kneading the air. Your cozy cabin felt lonelier than ever during this holiday season, your only company was the cat. This solitude had never bothered you before, but after Natasha had slipped into your life and just as easily slunk out of your life, you found yourself feeling lonely. Your nightly visitor had stopped visiting, and you found yourself missing her company. After her last visit on All Hallow’s Eve, she stopped coming, and your fears were confirmed. Natasha wasn’t a townie who was visiting your isolated home, she was something else entirely. A true creature of the night, bound by ancient laws to restrict the havoc she could bring to the secular world. 

Deep down, you had always known this was the case, her glowing eyes, sharp fangs, and claws hidden under a vague disguise gave her away. You shouldn’t miss her, she was not yours to keep, and she likely hadn’t thought about you since that final encounter. But you thought of her constantly, every night you spent between cold sheets with your fingers buried in your heat you thought of her. You closed your book, eyebrows knitting together at the memory of her body slotting against yours, the chorus of your moans filling your quiet cabin. The book clattered to the ground as you stood quickly from your chair. A log in the fireplace popped loudly, but your cat continued to purr, her flank rising steadily with each tiny breath. You ground your teeth as your eyes flickered around your tiny cabin, taking stock of the herbs you had grown and gathered. 

It wasn’t enough. You hadn’t been prepared for All Hallow’s which is why you felt so tormented. Mere days separated you from the Winter Solstice, a time when the veil between worlds was thinnest. It was the popular belief that Halloween or Samhain was the most dangerous night of the year. But those people would be sorely mistaken, the true danger lies in the darkest night of the year which occurs on the Winter Solstice, a time when sun deities are said to have died. You were counting on Natasha’s return on this night, but you needed boundaries this time. You flew into a frenzy, throwing open cabinets and lighting beeswax candles as you rummaged through your stores. It became apparent that you would have to run into town for mistletoe and yule logs. There was little you could do tonight, so you set about pacing your cabin as you made a mental list of what needed to be done. 

________

As the first rays of sun filtered through your window, you were already dressed and stepping out the door. You hurried into your beaten pickup truck, allowing the ancient vehicle to warm up as you double-checked your list. One full day of sunlight stood between you and the darkest night, between you and Natasha meeting once more. Of course, this was all provided she wanted to see you, a thought that made your stomach swirl with anxiety. Once the truck was warm enough you slowly drove through the powdery snow, navigating your way through the precarious roads.

Once in town, you checked off each item, leaving nothing to chance. You were back in your cabin, unloading sprigs of mistletoe and hauling yule logs into your home. You tethered the mistletoe above every threshold and sprinkled some salt down for good measure. A large chunk of beef was simmering in bone broth on your stove, the aroma overpowering the scent of smoke and herbs. The berries you had preserved were bubbling in a mixture of lemon juice, water, and sugar, well on their way to becoming a fine jam. A feast for yourself would be ready by dark, which wasn’t far away, and maybe if you were feeling generous, you’d welcome a guest. 

The afternoon slipped by and you watched the sun set as you placed your jam in jars, the scent of freshly baked bread threatening to overwhelm the scent of the stew. It was the proper way to fend off spirits, a warm meal, salt covering thresholds, and mistletoe dangling above every doorway. Most would surely pass you by, but you were praying that one wouldn’t. As you sat out plates and poured yourself a glass of wassail, the heady scent of cider and cloves filled your nose as you brought the steaming cup to your lips. The flames of your candles licked at the air, occasionally spitting plumes of smoke into the still air. The sky outside was like crushed black velvet with studded diamonds sprinkled across its surface. You found yourself enamored with the vision of perfect constellations, the heat of your drink seeping into your calloused palms. 

Just as you began to think about sitting down to eat your meal, there was a soft yet demanding knock on your door. Any feeling of warmth or comfort left your body as gooseflesh rose to the surface of your flesh. You sat your cup down softly and carefully crossed the room, pausing in front of the door, trying not to grin like an idiot. 

“Hello?” Your voice was mistreated, rough from not speaking often. Your porch creaked under the weight of whatever was on the other side of your door. 

“Let me in.” The voice was unfamiliar, your smile dropped from your face, eyes widening as a cold sweat broke out all over your body. It was feminine and sultry but it certainly was not Natasha. 

“No.” Your breathing picked up as you staggered backward, and a soft malicious chuckle filled your ears as if the creature was right behind you. You spun around only to find your crackling fireplace with your cat batting a ball of yarn innocently across the floor. Another slow rhythmic knock rang through the cabin. 

“Come on, don’t be scared.” The creature sang between knocks, followed by a soft scratching sound. 

“Little witch I know you’re home.” You struggled to maintain your breathing as the scratches grew louder. 

“You must be so lonely in there. I can help you.” The scratches stopped, the porch creaked, and the hinges on your door groaned. Carefully, you stepped closer to the door, call it a morbid curiosity. You pressed your body against the door, your ear on the smooth wood as you listened intently. 

“Speak to me.” A wispy voice rang through the wood, she was also pressed against the door, and the vision of a beautiful woman just on the other side filled your mind. Subconsciously, your disloyal fingers wrapped around the brass knob, turning it a quarter before a searing heat burned your palm. 

You yelped loudly and laughter rang through your cabin, a sadistic sound that made your blood freeze. You stepped back again, nearly tripping over the ball of yarn as you sank into your chair. 

“I won’t leave until you open this door.” The voice grew stern and you felt a tear slip past your lashes, the fear encompassing you. Between shaky breaths, you gathered yourself before throwing another yule log onto the fire. The ashes swirled as the logs popped and snapped because of the blistering heat. Your stew was growing cold, the forgotten glass of wassail sat on your counter, and the creaks of the creature outside grew louder and more impatient with each passing minute. 

“Let me in.” The voice sounded tired and frustrated as it continued to plead, a pitiful scratch followed the request. 

“I won’t!” You shouted into the brisk night air, and the creature hummed. 

“You will.” The creature growled and the candles you’d lit flickered out, leaving you in darkness. Your cat yowled before racing into your bathroom, the clatter of things falling led you to believe she had jumped into your shower. The pounding on the door was louder now, more demanding, you covered your ears and curled into yourself, tucking your legs to your chest in fear. Suddenly the pounding stopped, the porch creaked again, and then you could discern a second set of footsteps. 

“I told you to wait.” Natasha. 

“I couldn’t help myself Natty.” The other voice sounded soft and playful. 

“You’ll have your turn.” Natasha hissed and you nearly flew to the door to open it at the sound of her voice. 

“Natasha!” You screamed and their hushed voices stopped. The darkness seemed to heighten your senses, you swore you could hear them both breathing heavily on the other side of the door. 

“Let me in darling.” Natasha turned the doorknob impatiently and you paused, recalling the salt and mistletoe. You kicked the salt aside and took a deep breath, your hand resting on the brass knob as Natasha turned it once more. 

“Just you.” Your voice was shaky and brimming with fear. Natasha laughed softly and turned the knob once more. 

“Just me.” Little did you know, she was crossing her fingers between her back, her lips curled into a sinister grin as her friend hovered over her shoulder. You opened the door slowly, peeking through the crack to see Natasha standing innocently, alongside another beautiful woman. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of the two. Natasha looked the same, her red hair tied back in a loose braid, green eyes sparkling in the moonlight. She looked like a vixen, her white teeth shining in the soft firelight that slipped through your cracked door. 

“This is Wanda, she won’t hurt you.” Natasha stepped aside, and you got your first good look at your tormentor. She had dark hair that hung loosely around her round face, her hands were locked together in front of her. But what truly caught your attention was her face, her eyes were green like Natasha’s but they were wider, more doe-eyed. She had full pink lips that curled into a grin as she noticed your prolonged stare. 

“It’s freezing out here.” Natasha hinted at you to let them in, making a show of rubbing her hands together. 

“Come in.” You threw all inhibitions to the wind as you let the door swing open and stepped aside. The two stepped in quickly and you shut the door behind them, Natasha paused under the mistletoe, reaching up to tap it lightly. The bundle of leaves swung with the disturbance and you watched it, swallowing thickly as Natasha turned her attention to you. Wanda stood looking into your fire, her neck craning down as she watched the flames lick the logs. 

“How festive,” Natasha murmured, reaching out and cupping your face and you found yourself leaning into her touch, despite the coolness of her palms and the sharpness of her claws. 

“I missed you.” You whispered as she touched her forehead to yours, red whisps of hair slipping from her braid as she did so. 

“I’m here,” Natasha spoke softly, her lips brushing yours as she did so, her thumb brushing over your ear lobe tenderly. She leaned forward and sealed her lips with yours, setting a slow and sensual pace as her arms circled around you, pulling you flush against her. 

“Wow get a room.” Wanda scoffed, whirling around on her heel and smirking as the two of you broke apart. 

“Can we eat? I’m starving.” Wanda’s green eyes glowed in the firelight, she licked her lips and the fear that was hiding inside of you was ignited again. 

“I could eat.” Natasha shrugged, her own gaze languid but lurking beneath you could sense that familiar darkness. Something told you they weren’t talking about your stew, you slipped out of Natasha’s grasp and moved through the small space to grab your drink. You gulped down a few long sips, the auburn liquid slipping past your lips and dripping down your chin. Natasha sighed loudly, walking to Wanda and rubbing her back. 

“I’m famished.” You made eye contact with each of them, blinking slowly as the two broke into sly grins. 

“Come here, sweet girl.” Natasha crooned and you slowly padded over to her, your confidence fading with every step. Wanda bit her lip, her sharp fangs protruding as she did so. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had a forked tongue as well, maybe even a pair of leathery wings folded behind her back. Once you were an arm's length away, Natasha grabbed your wrist and reeled you in, kissing your jaw as her hands cradled the back of your neck and wrapped around your waist. Your eyes fluttered closed as you basked in Natasha’s affections, her claws scratching your back softly. 

“Give me a turn Natty.” Wanda whimpered and your eyes flew open, meeting her green ones as she placed her chin on Natasha’s shoulder. Wanda’s warm breath fanned over your lips, her long lashes batting as she watched your mouth drop open. Natasha’s lips had found your collarbone, her sharp teeth scraping against soft warm skin. 

“When I’m done, you’ll never forget who you belong to.” Natasha hissed against your skin and Wanda giggled, leaning forward and pressing her lips to yours just as Natasha broke your skin. A hot trail of blood slipped down between the valley of your breasts, staining your shirt as it blazed a trail down your body. You gasped against Wanda’s open mouth, her laughter cut through the tension as she cupped the side of our face softly.

Her lips found yours again and you honed your focus in on kissing her, your tongues mingling as your heads turned to reach deeper into one another. Meanwhile, Natasha had sunk onto her knees, resting between you and Wanda as Wanda’s own hands greedily tugged at the hem of your white blouse. Natasha was busy pulling your pants down, along with your underwear, her cold hands roaming along the expanse of your thighs. Wanda broke the kiss so she could pull your shirt off, leaving you completely exposed to the women. She groaned as she cupped your breasts, smearing your own blood across your skin as she leaned in and took a pert nipple between her teeth, biting down softly. You threw your head back and arched into her, Natasha’s finger traced along your labia, smearing your arousal as she watched you and Wanda from below. 

“Fuck, you look so perfect like this, covered in blood, being such a good girl for us.” Natasha groaned as she sunk a finger into your heat. You whimpered, your hand clutching the back of Wanda’s head as you struggled to meet Natasha’s gaze. Wanda switched breasts, her green eyes lidded as she savored you, her cold hands skating along your sides. Natasha’s own lips latched onto your neglected clit, suckling softly as Wanda returned to your lips, kissing you deeply. Natasha added another finger, slowly curling her digits to massage the rough spot inside of you that she knew drove you crazy. Your knees buckled and you nearly lost your balance, Natasha chuckled as Wanda steadied you, her fingers digging into your shoulders. Natasha continued her ministrations, feeling your pussy clench down on her fingers as Wanda stripped off her clothes. 

“Nat, please. I need you so bad.” You whimpered as Natasha’s fingers picked up their pace, her thumb finding your clit once more. Wanda was nearly nude now, her teeth shimmering in the firelight as she leaned in to place fiery kisses along the column of your throat, your head was thrown back in ecstasy. The tight knot in your stomach was becoming unbearable, and the ache between your legs seemed insatiable. Natasha’s fingers held a brutal pace, the loud noise of her fingers sinking into your cunt spurring her on. Wanda’s fingers found your neglected clit, nearly matching the pace that Natasha had set. 

“Go ahead sweet girl, come for us.” Wanda bit down on your ear lobe, her lips pressed against the side of your neck. That was all you needed to hear before tipping over the edge, your legs shaking as your eyes rolled back and a wave of pleasure washed over you. Natasha slowly let you come down from your high as Wanda peppered kisses across your collarbones, whispering praises as your heart rate returned to a normal rhythm. You felt like the room was spinning as Natasha cupped your chin in her hand, a smug grin smeared on her face. 

“Let's go to the bedroom huh?” Natasha’s brow raised suggestively and you hummed in agreement, eager for what was to come next. The three of you staggered into your bedroom, crowding into the queen-sized mattress that occupied most of the room. Natasha reclined against the pillows, patting the space between her legs and pointing at Wanda, who leaped at the opportunity. Wanda laid back against Natasha’s chest, her head notching between Natasha’s neck and shoulder perfectly, the sight made you jealous. You pushed your lower lip out in a pout, unsure where you were supposed to lay, what you were supposed to do. Natasha laughed, her long slender fingers skating down to stroke Wanda’s glistening pussy, Wanda moaned, burying her face into Natasha’s neck. You watched as Natasha’s fingers slipped into Wanda’s heat effortlessly, her arousal shimmering in the moonlight. 

“Come here, sweetie.” Natasha hummed and you climbed onto the bed, slowly crawling between Wanda’s legs. You rested on your elbows, watching as Natasha’s fingers slowly pumped into Wanda’s cunt. 

“Go ahead, take care of her.” Natasha withdrew her fingers, a stretchy string of Wanda’s wetness still connecting them. Wanda whined at the loss of contact, her eyes screwed shut as her hips rose from the mattress eagerly. Your mouth watered as you leaned in to place a soft kiss on her clit. Wanda sighed as your tongue lapped at her aching cunt, her hands weaving into your hair to keep you close. Your eyes remained trained on Wanda’s face, which was twisted in pleasure as Natasha’s hands roamed her body and your tongue delved into her. 

“‘m close Natty.” Wanda cried out, her hips grinding against your face as you looked at Natasha, trying to see what she wanted. Natasha nodded at you, a proud gleam in her eyes as you focused on bringing Wanda over the edge. Your fingers sank into her heat, slowly setting a steady rhythm. 

“Tell me about it, Wanda, what’s she doing to you?” Natasha asked and your cunt throbbed, as Wanda whimpered as her fingers pulled at your hair desperately. 

“S-she’s… her fingers are inside of me.” Wanda stuttered as you kept your pace, eager to bring her pleasure. 

“Go on…” Natasha sighed, her hands cupping Wanda’s breasts, her fingers pinching her nipples. Wanda gasped, her hips jutting off of the bed and pressing into your mouth. You moaned into her, your mouth watering as you continued to eat her out. 

“Natty please, I’m so very close, please let me come.” Wanda yelped as your teeth scraped against her sensitive bud. You felt her clench down on your fingers, her leg twitching as her orgasm built up inside her. 

“Go ahead Wanda, come for us, baby.” Natasha hissed into Wanda’s ear and the woman screeched, her thighs clamping down around your head, her fingers pulling at your hair as she rode out her high. You sighed contently as her body shook with tremors, you gave her clit one last kitten lick before departing and she whimpered, at the stimulation. 

“Come here,” Wanda spoke between pants and you crawled up her body, your head spinning as she reeled you in for a searing kiss. 

“How did she taste (Y/n)?” Natasha’s hand rubbed your back languidly and you broke the kiss to respond. 

“Like candy.” You teased and Wanda’s nose scrunched at the jest. 

“You surprised me tonight sweet girl.” Natasha hummed, toying with a strand of your hair as you laid down on Wanda’s chest, your own fingers busying themselves in Wanda’s curls. 

“It could be like this every night….for a price,” Natasha mumbled, and Wanda chuckled darkly. 

“I might just take you up on that offer.” You sighed as Wanda’s nails traced patterns on your back. 

“Think about it, we’ll be waiting.” Your eyes slipped closed, tangled in their warmth despite the cold outside. You knew you’d wake up alone, and you knew that if you agreed to their terms, your life would change. For the better? Likely not, but you found yourself weighing your odds. You might just agree if it meant you would spend every night like this. 

Tags:

@natashaxwife

[sunlightfeeling]

“See You There” Concert Experience

2024.11.24 @ Port Messe in Nagoya

okay so firstly: i genuinely dont have any pictures or videos; guidelines were VERY strict to not do that and i didn’t want to play with fire even though I technically saw one person sneak at least one photo lmfao

except for this:

: )

+ map of the venue the “x” is approx. where i was sitting - i was an aisle seat; seventh row back from the front right-side; the black line in the middle represents the center stage runway thing

(it was assigned seating - I had no clue where I sitting until receiving the ticket from staff - and I have no idea how/when the seating is decided)

also idk if it really needs to be said but im not gonna do like a song play-by-play or write this in any sort of actual organized fashion

also I’ll probably need to make more of these because of flaky memory and horrendously long and yadda yadda yadda im v sorry lol

(i don’t wanna draft these too long and beautify/nitpick them too much so all spelling/grammar issues don’t exist and if you notice them fixed.. they were always like that 😇)

okay with thaaaat out of the way~

I can’t describe the feeling seeing him when he got out on stage like…..he just looked unreal

like not just drop dead beautiful but like a feeling of “holy fuck this dude actually exists” lmfao 😭

it’s just very bewildering after watching so many things with him behind a camera to now being within your own personal presence

I really don’t have an ego or whatever and even the times where im like “d-did he just look at me there?” it kind of feels like a joke but….i like to pretend that he did at least at some point (to which I immediately deny and it and pretty much say “no ��� lol~ 🤭”)

there are two..three moments that really make me wonder tho like genuinely/actually/not me being big headed lmao

smap songs were “One Chance” which is a solo so really only half-smap 😔; “ダイナマイト”; and “KANSHA して”

he did two (I’m pretty sure it was two lmao 😭) rounds going on the trolley thingie for a few songs to go around the perimeter, and he swung one of his legs over the cage and just let it dangle to show how bendy he still is at least twice

Both rounds included the smap songs (One Chance on the first, other two were back-to-back on the second) which kind of felt really special??? Like……it just made me remember the smap cons that I’ve watched (and tsuyoshi perpetually getting himself into precarious situations on the stupid things 😭 [i knowwww 😒 {affectionate/lighthearted}])

something that will probably live in my head rent-free (that I HOPE he does in the actual filmed con footage not only for everyone to SEE it but because I already can’t accurately visualize it 😭) is that in Crazy Party when he says “sexy” he made THE MOST absurd and hysterical expression like making himself bug-eyed and just a very not calm/cool/demure face that matches his voice (omfg that voice…..wakes up sorry)

He made himself cross-eyed three times at the very least - probably more tho

I really tried to look AT him as much as possible but there were moments where I really just COULD NOT see him or it was just…more incentivizing? to look at the front display..

(ie when he would pop his fucking jacket open and just….expose arm (we love arm) which he did WAY TOO MANY FUCKING TIMES)

..but I did stare at his back quite a bit 😗

His outfit around when he did “No Night, No Starlight” was my ultimate fave which absolutely shouldn’t be surprising and I think it’ll be everyone’s too

which is why I won’t spoil what it looks like (it’s PEAK peak tho im virtually pinkie-promising all of you)

After NoLiNoStar, he did an MC where I think (mostly going off of his mannerisms and understanding v select words so 🙃) he talks about the difficulty of the choreo for this song and like….idk probably that he’s getting too old for this shit

personally I think he should have done a backflip and he probably CAN still do one but hey! that’s just me…… 😔

sorry to spoil but yeah there is no backflip revival I know it was on all (my) of our (my) mind 😔😔

okay there’s def going to be a part 2 but I’ll write more later waaaaah byeeeee 😭😭😭

[decks-writing-blog]

Here to Stay Drabbles: He's a Person

Summary: Breen has a chat with Gordon about Benrey

[A/N] A sequel to chapter 13. In which Breen sees Benrey driving Gordon's car around town.

~

Being called into the boss’ office was never fun but Gordon wasn’t about to let himself be outwardly intimidated. With Black Mesa on track to being well established – even if it would take years upon years to reach the size it had been before the Resonance Cascade – he didn’t have as much leverage against Breen as he’d had upon helping kickstart that rebuilding process. But he was still much higher up in the company, answerable only to Breen himself. And with how small their numbers were he’d have to do something really bad to get fired which he hadn’t done. So he wasn’t powerless in whatever this situation was. And thus he walked in with a straight back, forward gaze and not fiddling with his gunhand despite desperately wanting to turn it to make it make that satisfying clicking sound and feel that had grown to be far more soothing than it had any right to be.

Breen, seated at his desk, looked up at him as he entered. “Close the door and have a seat, Dr. Freeman.”

Gordon obeyed. “What’s this about?” Did he sound sufficiently nonchalant and mildly annoyed at the disruption?

“It has come to my attention that you’re in possession of one of Black Mesa’s experiments. One that presumably escaped during the fallout of the Resonance Cascade.”

Oh no! How did he know? They’d been trying so hard to keep Benrey a secret. … Maybe, hopefully,it somehow wasn’t about Benrey. “What do you mean?”

“I saw it driving your car.”

In hindsight, maybe this shouldn’t be surprising. Tuefort was a small town, it was only a matter of time before someone from the lab caught sight of Benrey, especially now that he had access to the car, allowing him to go out more often and further. Bad luck it was someone who recognized him.

But now Gordon had two options. Come clean and make a case for why Benrey was a person and not property or an experiment belonging to Black Mesa. Or try to continue to keep him secret and lie by saying his car had been stolen. Since giving Benrey a key to the car, he’d come into work with Dr. Coomer or Tommy fairly often anyway, so he could maybe make it believable. … That lie might lead to them viewing Benrey as a rogue experiment on the loose that was stealing cars and thus a potential risk to Black Mesa should he be caught committing crimes. Which would probably lead to the former being necessary anyway. So might as well just cut to the chase before the silence answered for him. The cat was out of the bag and there was no putting it back in.

“That’s Benrey. He was part of the group I escaped Black Mesa with after the Resonance Cascade. He’s not a threat or a problem or a thing to be possessed by Black Mesa or anyone else. He’s a person.”

Breen frowned as he folded his hands on his desk between them. “Very well. We currently lack the resources to deal with it anyway. So as long as you promise to keep an eye on it and make sure it doesn’t do anything to jeopardize us with the law or the media when we’re already in such a precarious position, I’ll let your not reporting it immediately slide.”

Almost Gordon lifted his gunhand to point at Breen. Even if he had no intention to fire it, showing his anger like that wouldn’t do him or Benrey any favors. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? He’s a person. I’m not ‘keeping an eye’ on him to make sure he doesn’t do anything naughty or whatever. And I didn’t need to report him because again, he’s a fucking person, not Black Mesa’s plaything.”

Breen’s frowned deepened but Gordon didn’t care anymore. He’d been through Benrey’s files so he knew what Black Mesa had done to him. And thus he wasn’t about to sit here and just let Breen talk about Benrey as if he were an experiment or an object to be possessed.

For a moment Breen looked like he was going to argue but instead after several seconds of silence, he sat back with a sigh. “Very well. I’m not unreasonable. And I’m not familiar with all the specifics of the experiment that produced i- him, so perhaps it is possible they did create a person on accident. If possible I would like to meet him.”

“Huh?” Gordon hadn’t expected him to fold so easily. “Is this like… a trap? You want me to bring him into the lab so you can try to capture him or something?” Not that they were likely to succeed. As far as Gordon knew, all the glass that had been special made to contain Benrey had been pilfered and destroyed, its remnants buried in the dessert. But still the thought of anyone trying made him angry.

“No. But we’re on thin ice with the military currently. If they find out we have anything alive that’s related to Xen, they’ll want it and they’ll do everything in their power to take it. And in general, if it gets out publicly that we created… whatever the fuck he is, I’m not sure what’ll happen but we certainly don’t need that kind of publicity right now. So if he really is a person, I would like an assurance from him that he won’t do anything to draw too much attention on himself or Black Mesa.”

That wasn’t an unreasonable request actually. And maybe if Breen met Benrey and had a real talk with him, he’d see for himself that Benrey was a fully thinking person and thus any talk or eve thought of him being an experiment of Black Mesa’s would be discarded. So… “All right. I’ll ask him then. If he doesn’t want to come down and talk to you though, I’m not making him.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. Bring him into work with you tomorrow or whenever he’s willing to come in. For now, your dismissed.” He lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Uh… all right then. Sure.” Gordon got up and left the office. That had somehow gone both worse and better than he’d feared. He’d talk to Benrey about it when he got home. Probably he wouldn’t want to come, right? But then again, he was often unpredictable so who knows for sure? He’d do his due diligence and tell him about his conversation with Breen though.

[badassxbirdy]

thatevester​:

The way the other woman grimaced while she checked her injuries didn’t go unnoticed. It both snapped Kiara out of her own panic yet somehow made it worse at the same time, too. Glancing at the rearview mirror of her car, then looking over her shoulder for a second, she tried her best to locate the first aid kit she knew was somewhere back there, even though it had probably expired years ago.

“Do you need something for your injuries? I think I’ve got a first aid kit stored somewhere behind my seat. You want me to pull over?” she asked, looking back and forth between the backseat, the woman beside her, and the road ahead of her. Luckily, the traffic light before her was currently red anyway, so she was pretty quick to dive behind her seat, nearly dislocating her shoulder until she finally reached the tiny bag and handed it over to the other.

“Here” she said, offering her a worried, yet friendly smile. Nearly stalling her car when the light turned green and she almost slipped off the pedals. “Well, if there’s one good thing coming out of this, it’s that I’ll definitely be doing a refresher course on first aid and self defense” she said, chuckling nervously while trying to lighten the mood and hiding her little slip up at the same time. She let out a shaky little breath and nodded, grateful for the little pep talk, no matter how shady it made the guy sound like now.

“Right. Okay. That sounds like a good idea. And yeah, I think it’d make me feel better. Thank you” Kiara replied, thinking about it some more, until she couldn’t help but ask. “Did you know him? See something you shouldn’t have seen?” Soon enough, she realized her mistake though. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that he sounds like a guy straight out of Unsolved Mysteries or something. I’ve got a..uhm, habit of watching too many of those shows.”

When her passenger asked about where they were even going, she couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, slowing the car down a bit until she found a safe place to pull into for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know, actually. Just started driving, basically” she admitted, then turned her head to give the other a questioning look.

“Where do you want to go?”

Before she’d had a chance to reassure her further the woman was diving to retrieve the kit, leaving Tyler blinking at her in surprise as the bag was handed to her. “…Thanks.” It was much smaller than her own, but it contained a few things that would do for fixing up her hands while they drove. She tore open an antibacterial wipe while balancing the little bag somewhat precariously on her lap, carefully cleaning the blood and dirt from her knuckles and palms. “Yeah, that’s a um, that’s a good idea. I ain’t so sure you need the self defence part though, that trip was pretty badass.”

Whatever disinfecting stuff was in these things always stung like a bitch, but anything to get her hands free of the scent of cambion blood was welcome. With things as clean as they were going to get Tyler moved on to treating her dominant hand, pressing gauze to her bloody knuckles before securing it with a bandage. The movement was careful but quick as she wrapped it back and forth around her wrist and fingers, the steps for dressing and supporting hand injuries well practiced over years of hunting and fistfights. It was only the last part that she struggled with. Securing a bandage was always a fiddly task when it had to be done one handed, but still it wasn’t until she’d made a few fumbling attempts that Ty realised just how badly her hands were shaking.

“Never even met the guy before today. I heard he could help me with somethin’, like a uh… friend of a friend kind of situation?” She hated how unsure she sounded, the um’s and uh’s making her vague explanation sound far more nervous and suspicious than she was going for. “That plan kinda went to shit when decided to try kickin’ my ass.”

“Maybe I should start watchin’ those. Get some tips to keep outta trouble.” Ty snorted, aiming for a joke but doing a rather poor job of hiding how freaked out she by what had just happened. He knew. He knew. And now that the initial shock had worn off it was becoming much harder to keep all that panic at bay.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

She ran her newly wrapped hand through her hair before letting her head fall back against the seat, eyes closing for a moment while she tried to keep it together. The woman’s question didn’t help matters, a few stuttering words going unfinished in her attempt to answer. Shit, where did she want to go? Her car was too close to the scene to risk heading back to it so soon. And she couldn’t really go and check into a room in her current state either, it’d draw too much attention.

“Some place, um, s-some place with a bathroom I guess?” A whole sentence! And an actual suggestion too, that was a good start. “There’s gotta be a gas station or somethin’ around here, right? Those have bathrooms… Doesn’t really matter where. I just gotta— I should get fixed up a little.”

[seasonsbloom]

bad habit part iii (hangman)

part i, part ii

pairing ; hangman x female!reader

synopsis ; the moment you meet hangman, you know you hate him. and then suddenly, you’re not so sure anymore.

wc ; 23k; yes you read that right you can’t be more confused than me idk either and i wrote it in six days

warnings ; angst, explicit language, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of previous character death, explicit sexual activity (Explicit sexual content (oral f and m receiving, p in v, like one sentence about choking but not rlly, some dom/sub elements, a little bit of degradation and praise kink), age gap, inexperienced reader, more angst, sappiness, feelings so many feelings all the feelings

note ; i don’t know what to say, this is literally INSANE i’m feeling INSANE this was a fever dream i wrote 8k words today none of this makes sense but it’s OVER IT’S DONE IT’S FINISHED anyways this isn’t proofread but i love you all besties and girlies and babes pls don’t hate it

also this would never have been possible without sol aka desertsagecelestial the best lines in this whole thing are credit to her sol i love you hand in marriage NOW

Hangman doesn’t lose.

And people call him cocky, arrogant, conceited… but the thing is, it’s the truth. He’s not exaggerating. He just really is that good.

When Hangman wants something, he gets it. Promotions, missions, girls, difficult to obtain first editions of Spiderman comic books… Hangman figures out a way.

Of course, it wasn’t always like that. Back when Jake was younger, when he was the invisible kid at the back of the class who nobody wanted to play with, he had to fight tooth and nail for everything. When his father said he’d never amount to anything, it took Jake years to push back, to say no, you’re wrong. But he did, eventually, joined the Navy, graduated top of his class at Top Gun, became someone people knew, someone people looked at, someone who wanted to be seen.

So Hangman doesn’t lose because Jake learned how to fight.

This situation, then, is a complete novelty.

Jake rips his helmet off, ears still ringing with the roaring of the engine, heart still hammering the way it always does after a landing. He’s half adrenaline, the highest of high, half jitters. Head still firmly stuck in the clouds. Only this time, there’s the unfamiliar, bitter taste of failure on his tongue. 

He doesn’t know whether to be embarrassed or surprised.

Captain Mitchell, having climbed out of his own plane, approaches with a frown. Just a few steps away, by the entrance to the hangar, where the Californian sun is flooding the asphalt with golden light, a throng of the other pilots has formed.

If Jake even sees Rooster, he might start throwing punches. He’s toeing a precarious line here - ascension or plummeting.

“What was that?” Maverick wants to know, fiddling with his helmet’s clasp. “You flew straight into my line of fire, Hangman.”

So, yeah, maybe Jake just got shot down in less than a minute. So, yeah, maybe he made a rookie mistake. So, yeah, maybe Jake is having a really bad day.

“I still maintain that he got dumped last night,” Coyote says. There’s no malice to the words, but Jake wouldn’t be surprised if he and Payback had some money running on this.

“I did not get dumped,” Jake growls for what feels like the fiftieth time. Seriously, his tongue is starting to go numb.

“Oh,” Phoenix says, “you totally got dumped.”

Now that might be actual malice. Phoenix decided last night that whatever had happened between you and Jake was clearly his fault, and she was therefore firmly and squarely on your side.

In Jake’s opinion, there are several things wrong with that assessment.

First of all, there shouldn’t even be any sides. It’s not like your circle of friends has to pick teams in a divorce. Secondly, even though she constantly complains about him, he’s known Phoenix for years. She met you less than a month ago. Shouldn’t she be in his corner? And then lastly and most importantly… Jake has no idea what the hell he did wrong.

It’s all pretty unfair.

“I told you that I didn’t get dumped,” Jake repeats, forming the words slowly and carefully in the hopes that they will sound more convincing than he knows them to be. “We weren’t dating.”

And he can’t explain it, that clenching in his stomach, that lump in his throat. He can’t explain any of it, except that it hurts in a way that’s unfamiliar, in a way that’s unwelcome.

Man. He really needs a drink.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

That’s Rooster, definitely. Jake tilts his head back towards the high, high ceilings of the hangar to avoid catching the other pilots’ eyes. 

Lord, give me strength, he thinks.

“Don’t quote Shakespeare at me.”

“Wow, you know Shakespeare?” Phoenix says immediately. “I didn’t know you could read, Bagman.”

Before Jake can retort something, Maverick steps between them.

“Hangman,” he says, and something about his voice is severe enough that Jake snaps to attention. “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

He’s one hundred percent playing for time here. Sue him. He needs to come up with an excuse.

“Did you mess up because you were thinking about a girl?”

And the thing is, Jake wants to say no. He wants to say, No, Sir, I had a bad night. He wants to say No, Sir, the sun was in my eye. He wants to say, No, Sir, I was dodging a bird strike.

But every word turns to vapor on his tongue. He can’t get anything out.

And so he just stands there, blinking like an idiot at his instructor.

Because the truth is, Jake can’t for the life of him remember what he was thinking about as he went up on the plane. Considering you’ve been on his mind pretty much non-stop since you met, and it’s only gotten worse since you stormed up to him at the Hard Deck last night, it’s not unlikely that he really was knee-deep in a train of thought revolving around you.

You’ve been haunting him. A specter squeezing into the cockpit with him. A ghost sneaking into his bed. Riding shotgun in his car.

You’re everywhere, at the bottom of each glass, soaring in the skies, under his skin, in his bloodstream. He can’t shake you.

There’s real disappointment on Maverick’s face, and Jake’s stomach drops. The older man sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys…” he says softly. “This isn’t a joke. Up there, you can’t be distracted, not by girls or boys or anything juvenile like that. You can’t be distracted by anything. This is life or death. Death, do you get that? I won’t have it. And this goes for all of you.”

He makes sure to let his pointing finger wander over all of them before he storms off, the door slamming behind him.

An awkward silence spreads among them, punctured only by the shuffling of feet and somebody clearing their throat.

“Well,” Rooster says finally, slapping Jake on the back with enough force it almost buckles his knees as he makes for the door. “Thanks for that, Hangman.”

Jake should probably say something, but his mind is wandering again. He’s thinking of you, standing in a sea of broken glass, Mojito staining the front of your shirt, eyes shuttered and forlorn in a way he hadn’t seen before… 

He gets the feeling now.

“Jesus,” Coyote says, stepping up beside Jake. “The way Captain Mitchell is talking, you’d think he isn’t hooking up with Penny on the down-low.”

Something about Coyote’s voice tells Jake he feels bad for him. He doesn’t like the idea of that, not one bit, but he also can’t really find it within himself to do something about it right now.

“Mitchell and Penny are hooking up?” Jake asks, genuinely surprised.

Bob, passing by them, frowns. “Hangman, you really aren’t very perceptive, are you?”

It’s so out of character that for a moment, Jake considers if he’s somehow managed to go through a black hole and ended up smack dab in a parallel universe where Bob, of all people, goes around insulting others. Where Jake, eternal bachelor, famed ladies’ man, messes up flight maneuvers because he’s too busy thinking about a girl.

“Did… did Bob just shade you?” Coyote asks.

For a moment, Jake seriously considers hitting his head against a wall.

So, yeah, maybe Jake is having a really, really, really horrible day. So much for never losing.

+

Something’s off.

First of all, Penny’s never invited you to dinner. Second of all, this is decidedly not the kind of establishment you were expecting.

Penny seems like a burger and fries in her car sort of girl. Maybe a few bottles of beer or a couple of milkshakes to wash it all down. The little restaurant twinkling golden on the beachfront is entirely out of character. 

Narrow round tables are covered in red and white checkered tablecloths, fairy lights are strung to the rafters, and behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, boats bob up and down on the waves. It’s a tiny place, cramped but charming. Upbeat Jazz plays from invisible speakers, and a smiling waitress leads you past what seems to be only couples on anniversary dates.

“Here you go,” she says as she seats you at your table, right at the glass front, and hands you each a menu. “I’ll come to take you guys’ order in a minute.”

You sit in the plush chair, frowning. Penny is perusing the menu like nothing’s wrong.

“Oooh, Lasagna al Forno… that sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Penny,” you interrupt, not even opening your own menu. “What’s going on?”

Penny barely glances up at you. “You needed to get out of the house, sweetie.”

And she’s not wrong. You spent the last week since your… altercation with Hangman curled up in your bed, letting the anxiety eat away at you. The walls of your room closing in on you, the weight on your chest pushing you down until it practically molded you to the mattress.

Everywhere you looked, the world had grown teeth.

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound empty even to your ears.

Penny doesn’t indulge you.

“No, you’re not,” she says, voice firm. “You’re miserable.”

When you ended things with Hangman, you didn’t think much about whether you were making the right decision. You just wanted out. You wanted it to end, so scared of what would happen if it didn’t, if you let it continue, if you dipped even deeper into that pool. So scared that it might start meaning more than what it already did, that you would put your heart on something that was bound to end anyways.

Because guys like Hangman… handsome guys, confident guys, guys that hang around bars with toothpicks in their mouths… guys like that break you apart without a second thought.

And you’re already broken enough.

“I’m fine,” you reiterate and finally open your menu, staring at the entrées without seeing a thing. “I’m glad things are over between Hangman and me. It’s better this way.”

Penny is quiet for a moment, then she says, “Sweetie, you need to talk to him.”

“No, I do not,” you answer immediately. This is not the first time you’ve had this conversation. “What could I possibly have to talk to him about?”

“Oh, just… maybe you could explain to him just why you decided to break both your hearts, I don’t know.”

You purse your lips. “Penny. Hangman doesn’t care. He said so himself. This didn’t mean anything to him.”

And it’s so stupid. But his words replay in your mind like a broken record, like an endless loop, again and again. This was nothing. The cold upward turn of his mouth as he said it. Calm, collected. Unfazed.

You’re an idiot. You spent a few weeks flirting with a guy who wanted to get into your pants, and you made it into something it never was - made it big, made it important, made it matter, when really, to him, it had only ever been a game from the very beginning.

And now he’s off, somewhere, flying his planes, living bigger than you ever will, dreaming better, and you’re left on the ground, scrambling to pick up the pieces of yourself.

It’s pathetic.

But Penny looks at you from across the edge of her menu and says, “Pete says he’s been fucking up majorly during training. He’s distracted.”

It gives you pause for a moment and your heart - that stupid, incorrigible thing that never learns, never lets go, that latches onto everything - stutters in your chest.

“Huh?” you ask eloquently.

Penny jerks her head. “This wasn’t nothing to him.”

The smiling waitress returns with a notepad, and Penny orders lasagna and a bottle of wine. You settle for some kind of risotto, mainly because it’s the first thing your eyes land on.

After she’s left, you take a deep breath.

“It…” You hesitate. It’s so difficult to say it, to admit it, but you think if you don’t get the words out now, you never will. “It didn’t, Penny. I’m not… I’m not really someone people remember. I’m just… I don’t know. I’m just me. This didn’t matter to him. I didn’t matter to him.”

And Penny’s face softens. All her irritation of the past few weeks, the constant nagging when you came over for the tutoring session, the stream of texts asking you to come over for drinks, when she knocked on your door earlier, uninvited, and forced you into the shower, into a dress, into her car, it all just melts away. There’s nothing there now, not even pity, nothing there but genuine, real compassion, and you think you’re going to cry right here, in the middle of this restaurant…

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, reaching across the table to cup both your hands in hers. “You’re worth so much more than you think. When will you finally realize that?”

And it’s like this: since your mother’s death, you’ve just been so horribly, achingly lonely. The sort of loneliness that goes bone deep, that burrows into your bloodstream. You’ve drifted through the world unmoored, untethered, not belonging anywhere. Sure, you met people, but they disappeared from your life as quickly as they entered it. You let yourself become invisible, see-through like cellophane.

But with Penny, it’s like she sees you. Really sees you. In a way you don’t think anybody except your mother ever did, right down to your insecurities and flaws.

And somehow, with Hangman, it was the same. He saw something there with you, saw what you needed and what you wanted before you even really knew it yourself. And you don’t know if that’s just something about him, something he can do with any girl, or if it’s something special, if he understood you, all you know is that it terrified you half to death.

There’s something reassuring about remaining in the dark.

It’s a good thing the waitress comes back with a bottle of wine and a bread basket because you’re pretty sure you would have started sobbing otherwise.

You think you’re going to thank Penny, eat your food, try and enjoy the evening, and then maybe crawl into bed at the end of the night and cry a little more. Just… make the best of it.

But Penny glances over your shoulder, and something mischievous passes over her features. Suddenly, you feel a little sick.

She rises from her seat, and by the time you’ve glanced over your shoulder, they’re already at your table.

“Hi, Pete,” Penny says, grinning. “Hi, Hangman.”

You’re doing your very, very best not to look at him. Your stomach is turning. Perspiration builds up lightning-quick on the inside of your palms.

“Hi, Penny,” the older pilot you’ve never talked to but have seen hanging around the bar several times echoes, giving her a soft smile. He greets you by name, and you’re so stunned, so excruciatingly uncomfortable, that you can’t even react.

Pete manhandles Hangman into Penny’s vacated chair with two hands on his shoulders, and then you don’t really have a choice but to stare at him. He’s right there, in your line of sight.

Hangman looks as shocked as you feel, but there’s something else, too. He’s still handsome, of course, still tanned and blond and perfect, but something seems to have shifted. His hair is just a little less tidy, the bags beneath his eyes a little more pronounced. For the first time ever, you see him in civilian clothes - a t-shirt and jeans, something softer around the edges that makes your insides clench.

All initial instincts of flight bleed right out of you. It’s half hope, half fear, that keeps you rooted to your chair.

“You said this was a lesson,” Hangman says to his superior, looking, for lack of a better word, desolate.

“It is,” Pete answers, patting his shoulder before withdrawing.

And Penny says, “Listen, I know the owner. If you guys leave before finishing your dinner, there’ll be hell to pay.”

She points at Hangman. “I know your boss.”

Then she points at you. “I am your boss.”

And that’s final. Penny has a way of getting what she wants.

Before she leaves, she leans down to hug you and whispers softly, “Sweetie, you don’t need to go out of this evening dating him. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to. But I think he deserves an explanation, at the very least.”

She draws back, smiles at the two of you as if she’s just performed some great, benevolent act, and then disappears with Captain Mitchell.

You half expect Hangman to get up and leave the moment the two are out of earshot. You half expect yourself to do the same.

But you both stay where you are, at that table, actively avoiding the other’s eyes.

The waitress comes to drop off your food. Hangman pours both of you a glass of wine and then downs his in one go.

Finally, he sighs like he just lost some internal fight and says, “I can’t believe they totally just parent-trapped us.”

“Parent-trapped?” you repeat, a little dumbly.

“Yeah, like… tried to set us up. You know, like in the cinematic milestone with Lindsey Lohan?”

You nod.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. The gears in your head are turning on overdrive. You feel near frantic with nerves.

“Personally,” you say, your mouth moving before you’re really aware that you’re speaking, “my favorite bad matchmaker is Emma Woodhouse.”

Hangman frowns. “Who’s Emma Woodhouse?”

That has you gaping at him. 

“You don’t know Emma? By Jane Austen?”

“Jane Austen?” Hangman takes a sip of his water. “Is that the one with the Pride & Prepaid something? Where everybody goes to each other’s houses and just talks for hours?”

You’re going to have an aneurism. 

“Emma,” you say, now having trouble controlling your voice, “is one of the greatest pieces of literary fiction ever created. And you mean Pride & Prejudice.”

“Really?” He leans back and looks at you. “So what’s it about, then?”

“Well,” you launch into an explanation, jumping at the chance not just to fill this horrible silence but also to talk about one of your favorite books, and the words just seem to flow from you now, “Emma Woodhouse is this really pretty, really rich young Lady, yeah? And she decides that she’s not gonna get married, so instead, she tries to find a husband for her poor friend Harriet. So she wants to set her up with Mr. Elton, only it turns out Mr. Elton is actually into Emma, and at some point, they’re alone in a carriage, and he proposes marriage to her, and it’s super awkward, but then Emma thinks she’s in love with Frank Churchill who also turns out to not be for her and in the end, she realizes she’s really been in love with Mr. Knightley all along, who’s like a really close family friend, only now Harriet might be in love with Mr. Knightley, too, and they have a bit of a falling out and….”

Much too late, you stop yourself. The embarrassment comes belatedly, but it settles all the stronger.

Hangman is looking at you with a somewhat dazed expression. You can’t believe you just said all that.

You drag your fork through the mess on your plate, cheeks hot, and round it off by saying, “Anyway, it’s really about Emma realizing the errors of her ways and becoming more considerate of others, and it’s a commentary on class and privilege and all. It’s pretty good.”

“Okay,” Hangman says, and you have never wanted the powers of teleportation more than you do at this moment.

The embarrassment is going to eat you whole.

After another moment, Hangman says, “That just sounds like the plot of Clueless.”

You freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. 

“You… you know Clueless?”

One of Hangman’s eyebrows raises nearly to touch his hairline. “Do I know Clueless?” he repeats. “Is Cher Horowitz one of the best cinematic characters ever created? Of course, I know Clueless, I’m not a barbarian.”

You stare at him until a big blop of risotto rice lands on the tablecloth.

“Oh, I…” you stutter, moving to mop the spilled food up with your napkin. “Clueless is like, one of my favorite movies ever.”

“Yeah?” He grins, seemingly relaxing just a little bit. “Mine too. So, did Jane Austen steal the plot?”

You can’t help it - it punches a laugh out of you.

“No, it… Clueless was based on Emma. The novel came out like… 180 years earlier, I think.”

“Right.” Hangman nods. “Well, if it inspired Clueless, it must be a pretty good book then.”

You’re almost sure this is the longest conversation you’ve ever had without Hangman trying to get into your pants. It also might be the longest conversation you’ve ever had about your interests without someone shutting you down.

You’re developing a headache.

“Listen,” Hangman says suddenly, leaning forward in his chair. Something in his face has gone serious. “I understand what happened. I was pushing for something you didn’t want, and I pushed too hard, and you put a stop to it. That’s fine. It’s good, really. I respect it.”

And that’s not it at all. But you don’t know how to tell him that he’s got it all wrong, that it’s not that you didn’t want it. It’s that you wanted it too much. Wanted him so much it felt dangerously close to falling for him. Wanted him so much you knew you were giving him the power not just to see you, but to leave you.

He takes a deep breath.

“That doesn’t mean we have to avoid each other. Let’s just… let’s just be friends, okay?”

You feel like somebody punched you in the face.

“Friends?” you repeat softly.

“Friends,” Hangman confirms. He’s nodding his head.

Penny told you to explain it to him, made it seem like an imperative, but as you sit there, you realize she was wrong. You realize it doesn’t matter. Not to him, at least. Those words in the bar cross your mind again. It was nothing. His indifference to all that emotion you carry everywhere you go.

And you’re so angry with him, even if you know that you’re the one who brought this down on you, you’re the one who decided to end it. So angry you want to take him by the shoulders and shake him until that mask he carries finally slips off, until you get to see what lies beneath that.

Because the truth is, beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, you’ve spent the past week thinking of him. In bed, in the shower, at the gas station. And you missed him, even if that doesn’t make any sense.

And if you don’t tell him the truth, if you just let him believe his sexual advances were just a little too much for you instead of revealing the real depth of your feelings… well, then maybe you can at least preserve the last shreds of your dignity.

Besides… maybe, you think, it’s better to get any piece of him than nothing at all. Better to be friends than never to see him again. At least this way, you’d be safe.

“Yeah,” you say, and your voice sounds far away. “Yeah, friends. Okay.”

Hangman smiles, and it’s a real, genuine smile as opposed to his usual smirks. His eyes go all crinkly, and you clutch your fork tighter.

And after that, it’s… nice. You find out, to your own horror, that you actually do like Hangman. He’s funny and witty, and when he isn’t trying to fuck you, you realize you actually have things in common.

Together, you empty the bottle of wine and have another glass each, finish your meals, and share a plate of tiramisu that seems to melt on your tongue.

You squabble about the bill, but finally, Jake concedes and lets you pay, even though he looks like he’s about to start muttering in anger.

You like it. It kind of feels like finally being on even ground after weeks of fighting an uphill battle.

When you step out of the restaurant, leaving the Jazz and the smell of pasta behind, you pause. It’s a bit of an unsettling realization to come to, but you don’t want the night to end.

Hangman stops a pace or two behind you, tipping his head back into the breeze.

He looks younger like this, out of his uniform, with a blush painted on his cheeks by the wine, with the wind tousling his hair. All his edges blurred into something almost gentle. Boyish.

Calling him Hangman seems wrong.

Jake, you think, and something deep inside of you aches. Jake.

Smiling, he turns to you. “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t trust your own voice, so you just nod.

“Alright.” He starts towards his car, then immediately stops. “Actually… do you mind taking a walk on the beach? I think I should sober up a little more.”

No, you don’t mind one bit, and that’s the danger of it all.

“Fine,” you agree. You mean for it to be clipped, but instead, it comes out like a squeak.

Jake, who doesn’t seem to notice your tone, smiles and leads the way down a trodden path that takes you by the restaurant’s trash cans and then onto the sand of the beach.

It’s colder here, enough that you wrap your arms around your torso to leech off your own body warmth.

Jake is already halfway out of his jacket before you begin protesting.

“Come on,” he says. “I know you don’t believe it, but my mother actually did raise me to be a gentleman. I keep telling you.”

So you let him drape the jacket over your shoulders, and suddenly you’re enveloped in his scent, and your mouth is dry, and your stomach clenches.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

You walk along the beach for a while in perfect silence. The wind dances through your hair, the air smells crisp and fresh and salty, and the waves roll in from the sea, white foam that nearly licks at your feet.

It’s peaceful. Serene. It’s dangerous because it feels so much like a date, and you want to hold Jake’s hand so bad, and he’s almost devastatingly handsome in this light, but you ignore it. Look straight ahead and pretend you’re not feeling it.

Finally, Jake stops and sits down in the sand. Hesitantly, you follow his example, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” Jake asks, staring out at the waves.

You frown. “Seriously?”

“What? That’s a normal question people ask their friends.”

You don’t know about that, but you do answer, “I don’t know. I don’t really remember?”

“Not at all?”

You pause. It’s almost too easy to be truthful with him, and with a start, you realize that you trust him.

God, you must be an idiot.

“I used to…” You clear your throat. “Well, there was this house on my street back in Seattle. A house with a blue door. I used to dream about buying it one day and living there with my husband, and my kids, and our dog.”

You half expect him to laugh at you, call you childish or naive, or a romantic. But he doesn’t. He just listens, face utterly void of judgment, and your stomach swoops.

“Do you still want that?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. “But it was the first real dream of my life. I don’t know if you ever really grow out of those.”

Jake nods. “Yeah, you probably don’t, right?” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he continues, “Mine was becoming spiderman. Honestly, I’d still give my right arm for it.”

And it actually makes you laugh. An honest, genuine sound that echoes across the beach.

Jake’s smile is brilliant in the night. 

“I like that sound,” he says softly. “Do it again.”

To cover up the feeling rising up in you - something you’d describe as bashfulness, if that wasn’t so disgustingly ridiculous, something that warms you inside out - you feign nonchalance, say, “Well, tell me something funny, then.”

“Something funny, yeah?” He leans back in the sand with a sigh as you nod, balancing his weight on his elbows, and turns his head up at the night sky like he’ll find inspiration up there. “I thought Star Wars was real for like… an embarrassingly long time.”

“What?”

“Yeah, like, full on.” He nods, face almost solemn. “I looked Han Solo up in history books and shit, I got so confused when I couldn’t find him. I was just like, do people know about this, like, they have to know about this, like about little green Yoda guys and….”

You can’t help it. You start dissolving into laughter halfway through, and Jake looks up at you, grinning.

“Are you serious?” you ask through your laughter. The thought of little Jake thumbing through history books frantically as he searches for Han Solo - who you just know was his childhood idol - is almost too much.

He shrugs. “That’ll be my secret. Did make you laugh, though.”

“Yeah, you did,” you admit, and then you let yourself fall into the sand beside him. It’s cool, grains catching in your hair, and you’re pretty sure you’ll spend the rest of your week trying to get them out again, but it’s worth it for the view. 

The night sky stretches endless above you. You’re close enough to the sea and far enough from San Diego that the light pollution has bled out here, that you can see the stars twinkling up there. A million miles away, yet so close you think you could pluck one if you just stretched out your arm.

“Maybe I should be a teacher,” you say, and then freeze up. Because, what the fuck? Where did that come from?

You’ve never even thought about that, but it just burst out of you, like something you’ve been carrying in your chest your whole life.

Awash in the surprise, you can do nothing but blink for a while.

“A teacher?” Jake repeats. “What subject?”

“English,” you say immediately. Okay, well. Guess we’re having epiphanies about ourselves then. “It’s just that… well, I… I like tutoring Amelia. It’s my favorite time of the week, I think. And I… I love all those books other people are forced to read. I even like Catcher in the Rye, can you believe it?”

“Even Catcher in the Rye?” Jake says, mocking you by letting out a scandalized gasp and slapping a hand over his mouth. You laugh and shove at his shoulder. 

Grinning, he says, “I think you’d be a great teacher.”

And your heart beats faster. “Yeah?”

He nods. “I think you’d be great at anything you put your mind to, really. But I saw you talk about that book earlier… it’s like you were glowing. You love that. People are always best when they do what they love.”

It’s unexpectedly wise. It knocks the wind right out of you.

You need to take a moment to collect yourself, avoid the intent gaze of his eyes that makes it feel almost like he knows you.

“Have you always wanted to be a pilot, then?” you ask.

Jake shrugs, a movement you feel more than see, his arm moving up where he’s pressed against yours, shoulder digging a deeper furrow into the sand.

“Maybe. I guess.” You think he won’t say anything else, but after another moment, he goes on, “My father is a general, you know? It’s sort of a family tradition.”

You didn’t know that, but it sort of makes sense. Another shade to color Jake Seresin in with.

“He must be really proud of you,” you say, thinking of your own father, who hasn’t called in months.

Jake is quiet for so long that you glance over to check that he hasn’t fallen asleep. His eyes are open, though, and his throat bobs as he swallows.

“Not really,” he says, finally. “My father always thought I was a disappointment. I remember one time in middle school, there was this boy… He was a real bully. He liked to slam me into lockers, and one time he broke my nose. My dad just said it was my own fault for not fighting back.”

His jaw moves as he grinds his teeth.

“Nothing I do ever really… is enough for him.”

There’s something in his voice you never thought Jake capable of: defeat.

Your chest aches with it.

“Not even when you graduated Top Gun?” you ask carefully. “You were top of your class, right?”

Jake shrugs again. “He didn’t come to the ceremony. Mom said he was sick, but… I don’t think that’s true.” He exhales, and it’s a shaky, fragile sound. “Sometimes… sometimes I think he’d only ever be proud of me if I got shot down. If I died in combat or something.”

Your reaction is visceral. Heart plummeting, stopping, arm jerking against him.

“Don’t…” you begin, then shake your head vehemently. “Don’t say that, please.”

He glances at you, looking almost surprised at your outburst.

“It’s not…” You hesitate. “It’s not worth it. Not if he doesn’t recognize it already.”

“Recognize what?” 

And Jake won’t take his eyes away from you. You feel like you’re going to fall apart.

“That you’re… that you’re a good pilot.”

You swallow, immediately embarrassed by your own words. You can’t even look him in the eyes.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never even seen me fly.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and mean every word, “I know.”

It’s not enough. It’s way too much.

It doesn’t say half of the things you want to tell him, at the same time as it reveals much more than you want it to.

And you remember: It was nothing. Shrugging off everything he made you feel. Laughing as if nothing had happened. Telling you without as many words that you were just another conquest, just another girl in a line of girls, nothing special about you, nothing important, nothing relevant.

You want to hate him, yet something about Jake makes it impossible. Something about him keeps drawing you back. Even after everything that’s happened, wanting him is like a bad habit you can’t shake.

You can’t explain that.

But Jake reaches out to you and slots his fingers into the spaces between your own. Squeezes once.

Your fear got in your way. Even now, it chokes all words from you.

But that’s fine. You think, somehow, Jake understands anyway.

He’s quiet for a while and then says, “Why are you here, then? In Fightertown, I mean.”

It’s a good question, one you don’t know how to answer. 

Finally, you say, “My mother died.” 

And then you freeze. It’s the first time you’ve ever said it out loud, and suddenly it’s real in a way it wasn’t before. 

Haltingly, almost shell-shocked by it, you continue, “And it… it made me realize that I’d built my whole life around her. And when she was gone… well, that life was gone, too. Like that dream about the house with the blue door… It didn’t seem to matter anymore. So I just left. I just… drove until I got to Fightertown, and then I decided to stay because… I don’t know. There was nowhere else to go, anyway.”

Tears pool in your eyes, and you concentrate hard to blink them away.

“And do you like it here?”

You’re so grateful. You’re so grateful he doesn’t tell you that he’s sorry about your mother, that he doesn’t judge you for not having had a life apart from her. That he doesn’t ask about your father or your friends. So grateful that somehow, again, he seems to understand what you need: Not the past, but the present.

“Yeah,” you say and are surprised to find you’re telling the truth. “Yeah, it’s not so bad.”

Then you glance at him. “Unless the most obnoxious naval aviator in the history of the world almost knocks you over in a bar, of course.”

Jake laughs, a carefree, bellowing sound that has you feeling a little bit like you’re soaring.

“Only because you’re so pretty, sweetheart,” he says, winking at you.

And it’s toeing the line. Not really friendly, not really platonic, but so Hangman, so Jake, that you don’t even mind.

You smile back, and then you turn your eyes up to that sky, to those stars, and listen to the whisper of the waves, holding tight to Jake’s hand.

+

The thing about fear is that it’s not a one-time situation. Overcoming it once doesn’t get rid of it - it just goes stagnant for a while, lulls you into a false sense of security, and then it pounces again.

So walking into the Hard Deck is a little easier, but the rest of it is just as hard. Reassuring yourself that you’re wanted here, that you’re not intruding, that nobody will look at you weirdly.

Hangman and Phoenix invited you. Separately, you tell yourself. You know the owner. You’re gonna be okay.

You can’t spot any familiar faces when you finally get the courage to make it from the front porch into the actual bar. It’s all just strangers mingling.

Mostly looking for a little bit of liquid courage and something to occupy your time with until the others arrive, you make your way to the bar and flag down one of the unfamiliar bartenders to order a cocktail.

After, you turn to people watch. They’re everywhere, laughing and flirting, people lining up shots in neat rows on bar tops, people knocking back shots, people playing darts and pools and footsie, people laughing with their friends or at their friends. It’s almost shocking, all that display of life. It makes you think of yourself, alone in your room for days, weeks, years. How much did you miss?

“Can I buy you another?”

The guy is handsome. That’s the first thing you notice. Not Hangman-level handsome, but… that’s not the sort of thoughts you should be having anyway. Curls, kind eyes, a dimple on his cheek. Cute. The kind of guy you might have stared at in the supermarket a few months ago, would have lost your mind over if he had smiled at you in the frozen foods section.

“Oh,” you say as he slides up to you, folding and bracing his arms on the tabletop. “Uhm…”

“No strings attached,” he promises, holding up his hands like he wants you to check that he’s not carrying any weapons. “You just looked lonely.”

You laugh, feeling a little bit out of your depth. “Did I really?”

He nods, eyes twinkling, and says, “Yep. I could tell all the way from the other end of the bar.”

That’s probably not a good sign, you think. Gotta start working on my poker face.

“I’m Jason, by the way,” the guy introduces himself, offering you a hand.

This feels a lot like a precipice.

Part of you knows you should give in. Let this guy buy you a drink, let him flirt with you, let him take you home. Get an ego boost and have a nice time. This, you think, was what Penny meant all the time she talked about getting the sexual frustration out of your system. 

Not whatever the fuck that twisted thing you and Hangman had going on was. Definitely not that, because it didn’t get a single thing out of your system. In fact, it only ended up injecting more into your system. More worries, more insecurities, more pain.

And it’s over, you know it is. He listened when you asked him to stop, and he’s made it abundantly clear he’s not interested in you, that you were less than a fling, that you were just a possibility that never came true. That you were nothing. And yet… you’re not ready to let it go. To let go of whatever sliver of hope you’ve held onto.

But then you think of Jake at the restaurant, how easily he’d brushed it all off, how he’d said friends. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, not really. He’d just wanted to get it out of the way. And he’s so confident, so sure of what he wants, and if he wanted you… then he would have gone after you by now.

You know he would have.

So you smile and say, “Are you a naval aviator?”

Jason seems surprised by that, but he nods his head. “Yes, Ma’am. Just graduated Top Gun a few weeks ago.”

“Oh no,” you say. “That’s not good.”

Jason laughs. “Not the reaction I usually get. Are you not a big fan of pilots, then?”

“Not particularly,” you say. “I don’t think they’re good for my mental health. Or the environment.” 

And then he laughs, and his dimple distracts you, and it’s light and not heavy, and it feels simple in a way you’ve been missing.

So you let him buy you a drink. And you let him flirt with you. And you try, try, try your best to forget about the anxiety gnawing at your bones, about the voice telling you it’s wrong, about everything that’s holding you back.

You just want to be normal. You just want to have fun. You just want to be free of the ghosts haunting you.

And in a way, it’s easy. Jason isn’t aggressive like Jake was, isn’t so handsome it seems like a miracle he’s even looking at you. He’s nice and funny and a little bit boring, and that’s good, boring is good because boring is normal, it’s trivial, it’s safe.

Hesitantly, you place a hand on Jason’s arm and bask in the way it feels when he smiles at you.

And then the intrusive thought comes, unbidden, unstoppable, bleak: If Jake were here…

You banish the idea as soon as it crops up.

It was nothing.

If Jake were here, he would not care.

+

Jake is having an aneurism.

That’s the only logical explanation for any of this. He feels like somebody is peeling his skin off like he’s an orange.

“Yo, Hangman!” 

A hand starts wiping up and down through the air right in front of him rapidly, and Jake blinks against the blur of colors it leaves on his vision.

“There you are, dude,” Payback says, laughing. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for like 5 minutes.”

“Yeah, well,” Jake mutters, turning back to his friends. “You’re just not that interesting, Payback.”

Way less interesting than that scene unfolding near the bar, at least. But also decidedly less prone to provoke Jake into committing arson, so probably the safer choice.

“What are you looking at anyway?” Payback inquires, getting on his tippy-toes to look across everybody else’s heads.

Jake just manages to catch him by a shoulder and force him in the opposite direction. The last thing he needs is to get shit for this, too. He’s already got enough to deal with by just trying to untangle the thicket of his own emotions.

“I’m looking for Bob. We shouldn’t leave minors unaccompanied,” he lies, forcing a nonchalance he doesn’t feel into his voice.

From where she is leaning against the vintage Pacman machine, Phoenix gives him a look like she isn’t buying anything that he’s putting down. But she doesn’t point it out, and Jake sort of feels like weeping in gratitude.

He takes a seat at the table next to Coyote and starts playing with the label on his beer bottle, mainly so he doesn’t feel the urge to start looking for you in the mess of the crowd again. The paper is soaked through by the condensation, crumbling into tiny balls that stick between his fingers when he rubs too hard.

“So, day after tomorrow, huh?” Fanboy says. “Gonna know our fate. You nervous, Hangman?”

The worst part is, Hangman - Hangman, of all people, whose life for the past ten years has revolved around little more than the Navy, than his plane, than his performance up in the air - has pretty much forgotten that the day after tomorrow they’d announce who was about to go on the mission that could potentially become the most important of his career. It’s just that there are much more imminent, pressing things happening right here, right now. Like some dude chatting you up with what are probably the sleaziest lines you’ve ever heard just a few steps away.

He clears his throat. “Why would I be nervous?” he asks, but it lacks his usual edge. “I’m going anyways, no question about it.”

“I don’t know,” Rooster interjects. “You’ve been flying sort of shitty the past week.”

Jake’s fingers clench around the neck of the bottle.

“No shittier than you, Bradshaw. You fly like you’re trying to let senior citizens pass through traffic.”

Payback frowns. “You okay, Hang? That barely made any sense.”

Truthfully, Jake is so distracted he can’t even concentrate enough to come up with something that’ll really piss Rooster off. Not when you’re right there, and he’s not the one making you laugh. Not when he asked you to be friends while really all he can think about is you underneath him with that glazed look in your eyes he’s put there once before, you moaning his name, you in his shirt, you with your mouth wrapped around his…

“Hangman!” That’s Phoenix, now sitting next to Rooster, looking like she’s about an inch from slapping him over the head with her beer bottle. “I asked you a question.”

“Huh?”

Everybody’s staring at him. He’s still trying not to look at the bar.

“I said,” Phoenix repeats, speaking deliberately slow like she’s scared he won’t understand otherwise, “that I don’t want to see any physical fights. So we’re all going to accept the decision tomorrow. Get it, Bagman?”

He shrugs. Right now, he’s so decidedly uninterested in who goes on that mission he can’t imagine even getting upset about it.

“Fine by me,” he mutters and moves to take a sip of his beer. Only, when he tips his head back, it brings the bar right into his line of sight.

And there you are, sitting almost in the exact same spot you were the very first night he approached you. Back in one of those dresses, the ones that drive him insane, the ones playing much more prominent roles in his late-night fantasies than he’d ever like to admit. Legs crossed primly and tucked to the side, all that smooth, soft skin, and Jake can’t stop himself, can’t not imagine getting to run his mouth down the line of that leg, can’t not imagine taking that dress off you, can’t not imagine making you whimper for him, again and again and…

A pale hand lands on the small of your back, just half an inch from where the dress drops low to expose that skin he was just thinking about, and Jake feels like somebody sucker-punched him.

“Okay, somebody switch seats with me right now,” he says, and his voice has climbed to unprecedented heights. It just bursts out of him.

It startles Bob so much he almost drops his beer. Liquid goes sloshing all over Coyote’s lap, who yelps, jumps up, and dumps half his whiskey over Payback in the process. In the ensuing mayhem, everybody seems to forget about the culprit.

Everybody. Everybody, except Phoenix.

She looks at him with the sort of knowing, accusatory eyes that make him think he should be on his knees begging for forgiveness or something.

Discomfort makes him shift his weight in his seat.

And then a hand ghosts over his shoulder, fingernails painted a delicate pink, and for a second, he hopes, thinks he’s going to turn around and find you there, smiling at him, eyes shining, but it’s a different face that greets him. His heart, soaring for a moment, plummets to the ground.

He’s seen the girl around the bar a few times before. She’s pretty. The type he’d go for usually, the kind of pretty thing he’d fuck and leave and never think about again.

“Hi,” she says, smiling in a way that makes the corners of her painted mouth curl up like the lower half of a heart. “I’ve seen you around. Can I buy you a drink?”

It’s the sort of straightforward behavior he prefers usually. Hangman has never been much for playing it coy, for insecurity. He likes someone who goes after what they want, who knows what they want. At least he’s always thought he did.

For a second, he can see it: a little bit of flirting, some coy touches, letting her take him home, getting his rocks off, then disappearing forever.

But his heart just isn’t in it. The whole thing feels empty. Useless. Wrong.

So he shrugs her hand off, gives her a polite smile, and says, “Maybe some other time.”

The girl is drunk enough that she doesn’t care much, just shrugs and saunters off to find someone more accepting of her advances.

When Jake turns to face his friends again, Coyote is gaping at him with his mouth hanging open.

“What?” Jake asks, for the first time in his life actually uncomfortable with the amount of attention he’s receiving.

“Are you like… sick?”

“Why?”

“Cause you just…” Payback looks seriously concerned. “You just turned down a pretty girl, man. Are you feeling okay?”

And that’s when Jake realizes what just happened. With a dawning sort of horror, he sets his bottle down on the table and stares at the condensation rings, the crumpled napkins, the half-eaten bowl of peanuts. His head is spinning.

So, like… what the fuck?

Since Jake finally got to move out of his parent’s house, since he got out from under the gaze of his father - always judging, always finding him lacking - since he joined the Navy and found out that he’s one of the most talented pilots they’ve ever had, he’s had a pretty good idea of who he is.

Arrogant, sure. Cocky, even. Abrasive, at times, calculated, cunning. But with enough skill to back all of it up a hundred times. He knows he’s handsome, knows he can get any girl he wants, and he enjoys that. Basks in it. Based half his personality on it.

So Hangman knows who he is. Knew it perfectly well, right up until the moment he met you.

And just like that, he’s going not just after an inexperienced girl but a girl who might not even like him, and he keeps telling himself it’s just about the chase, just because you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and there’s something exciting about getting someone who doesn’t make it easy, but it’s starting to sound like a bad excuse, because then why did he ask you to be friends just so he could stay close to you, why did he tell you things he’s never told a soul, why did he feel like the earth was shattering beneath him when you said he was a good pilot? Why can’t he stop thinking of you?

“Hangman, are you having a stroke?” 

Even Rooster sounds genuinely concerned, but Jake doesn’t hear him. Not really, at least.

Because up at the bar, the guy has leaned in even closer, leaned all the way into your space (and Jake just knows he stinks of beer and sweat, and his palms are probably damp where he’s groping your waist), and is whispering something into your ear and you’re giggling, and Jake sees full-on, deep, deep scarlet.

He’s out of his seat before he can register it, halfway through the bar before he remembers moving. Elbowing people out of the way and probably spilling more than one drink in his path. He doesn’t care. In fact, he doesn’t even notice.

All his attention is laser-focused on you and all the places that dirtbag is touching you.

“Alright,” he says much too forcefully when he finally reaches the bar and slaps his hands onto the countertop with a noise so loud it almost has you jumping out of your seat. “I think I told Penny all her drinks are on my tab. Like perpetually. Eternally. Whatever, pick one.”

The poor, unassuming bartender stares at him. “I… Who are you, Sir, like I…?”

Jake ignores him. He turns to face you and the douchebag, both of you staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Hi,” he says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. Now he’s a little concerned his smile might look like a serial killer about to woo his newest victim.

“Uhm,” you say slowly, glancing at the guy behind you, “Hangman….”

“Sweetheart,” he interrupts before you can even get out a complete sentence, “I told you you can call me Jake.”

You pause. Then you start again, “Jake….”

“I don’t think we’ve met.” He leans around you, offering a hand. “I’m Hangman.”

The guy blinks. “Yeah, hi. Jason. Nice to meet you.”

Jake nods, shakes his hand, then turns to you. Bends down to press a kiss to your cheek, lingers for too long. Draws back and basks in the stunned look on your face, the wide eyes, just for a moment.

“You sleep well after last night?” he asks. “You must have been exhausted.”

And he’s laying it on thick, he knows he is. Leaves his hand resting on your shoulder for too long, lets his thumb stroke over your collarbone in a slow, drawn-out movement just for the hell of it.

He can’t explain it. It’s just… it’s just that he can’t forget the guy’s hands all over you. It’s just that he can’t forget your face last night, bathed in the moonlight, your laughter that made him think his chest was caving in. It’s just that he feels if somebody else makes you laugh like that, he may never be happy again.

“I don’t…” You blink up at him, face almost entirely blank. “What?”

One of his hands lands on your thigh, just above the knee, half on the fabric of your dress, half on the warm skin of your leg. And it’s pushing it, he knows that, but it’s not like he decided to touch you. It’s more of an instinct, a reassurance to himself. You’re there. You haven’t left.

Not yet, anyway.

He can see the way Jason looks at you. He knows that look, knows exactly what he wants to do, and it lights a fire inside of him, something pathetic and possessive and uncalled for.

And all he can think is: That guy won’t treat you right, I can do it better, I know what you like, I know it, I see it, I know you…

But apart from his own ego, apart from the cocky part of him that knows he’s got you pegged, knows he could set you off and have you coming on his tongue, his fingers, his cock quicker than you could make sense of, there’s something else there too. A strange, unfamiliar protectiveness. Something that makes him think: What if this guy hurts you?

Not because you’re fragile, not because you don’t know yourself, but because Jake knows you. Has seen you. 

Knows this runs deeper than anything else, even if he doesn’t know what that means. Even if it scares him shitless.

He can’t let some other guy take you home. He just can’t.

“Hangman,” Jason says, leaning across you and giving Jake a small, almost shy smile. “Man, you’re a legend.”

“I…” Jake was prepared to hit him with something else bordering on rude, but this throws him for a loop. “What?”

“At Top Gun. Everybody talks about you all the time. It’s an honor to meet you.” 

The guy’s eyes are positively glowing, his cheeks ruddy with alcohol and excitement. Jake, who was hellbent on hating him, suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Between them, you’ve gone very still.

“Oh,” Jake says, “well…”

“I’m sorry, by the way.” The guy - boy, some spiteful part of Jake things - gestures in your general direction. For a second, Jake feels indignant on your behalf before he realizes he’s the one responsible for this. “I didn’t realize this was your girl. Backing up right away. Sorry.”

With raised hands, he disappears into the crowd, blending seamlessly into the sea of uniforms.

Jake’s triumph is short-lived.

You’ve slid half out of your seat, gathering your bag from where you’ve draped it over the back of the chair by the strap.

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” he asks, reaching out to help you but withdrawing his hands immediately when you whirl to face him.

There’s something on your face, something he’s never seen before, and with his stomach dropping down to his knees, he wonders suddenly and belatedly if he may have miscalculated severely.

That night at the bar, when you’d walked up to him and told him to leave you alone, it had been a little like somebody had pulled the ground right from beneath his feet. Like that magic trick with the tablecloth, only this one had been bad and botched and bungled, all the china and the glasses and the cutlery falling and smashing.

And yet the way you’d looked at him… He could have sworn you weren’t telling the truth. 

Jake isn’t dumb, fuck what Phoenix says, and he’s been with enough girls to recognize desire when he sees it. So he was almost entirely sure you were lying when you told him to leave you alone.

But then… what if that had just been his own hope? Building nothing into something. Wanting you to want him the same way he wants you.

In the end, what he thought you wanted didn’t matter. All he had to go off were your words, and those were clear enough. The choice needed to be yours, or it meant nothing.

And Jake was a lot - bastard, asshole, fuckboy - but he wasn’t going to push you into something you didn’t want. Never.

So he’d let up. He’d listened to you. He’d tried to pull back. Even as it had hurt him in a way he could not explain. Even as it had broken him apart.

And then Maverick and Penny had to meddle, and he’d gotten to know you in a way he hadn’t planned for at all. Had learned that he didn’t just want you, he liked you. Wanted to keep listening to you as you rambled on and on in intelligible loops about books you liked. Wanted to read them, wanted to talk to you about them. Wanted to make those dreams come true: buy you that house with the blue door, give you that dog.

He can’t understand it. He can’t explain it. All he knows is he wants to be close to you.

But with the way you’re looking at him right now, pure, unadulterated anger on your face, he realizes you might not feel the same way at all.

“What the fuck, Hangman?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused. “What did I do?”

This is not his day at all. Or his week. In fact, he’s not sure it has been his month.

You frown at him for a moment, completely silent, and it unsettles Jake in a way he can’t explain. 

He’s always known who he is, has been so sure of it, but now, with you… It’s like you make him question everything.

“I’m going home,” you say, pushing past him and heading for the door.

He’s too dazed to move for a moment, and then he’s chasing after you, trying to recapture his earlier speed but failing. It’s gotten even more crowded in here, every available inch of space occupied with sweaty bodies. He calls your name, but you don’t turn.

By the time he catches up to you, you’re out in the parking lot.

“Sweetheart!” he calls.

You whirl on him with a murderous expression on your face. He stops dead in his tracks.

“Don’t call me that,” you say. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Since you first met, the two of you have been exchanging sharp remarks. You have teased, you have taunted, you have circled around each other like wild cats around prey. Always toeing the line between flirting and fighting. Always toeing the line between foreplay and sparring. A tightrope act.

But this tips the scales decidedly. There’s nothing coquettish about it, nothing good-natured. The words have teeth, have fangs, have claws. They sink into his heart with perfect precision.

“I…” he begins, but you don’t let him finish.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I was…” He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. Tries to grin but thinks it might end up as more of a grimace. “I was saying hello.”

You shake your head before he’s finished his sentence. “No, you weren’t. You were ruining my night. You always… you always have to ruin my nights.”

And wow. Okay. That one hurt.

“I just…” Jake realizes he might have to explain this to you. Or at least attempt to, since he doesn’t even know what his explanation would be. “That’s not a good guy.”

You glance back at the bar, and an incredulous expression spreads across your face. 

“That?” you repeat, voice rising. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah!”

“You don’t even know him.”

“You don’t either!”

“So? I wasn’t… I wasn’t about to marry him.”

Jake’s chest feels tight. He’s breathless when he asks, “What were you going to do with him, then?”

“I was…” You shake your head suddenly, breaking off halfway through the sentence, changing course. “That’s none of your business!”

“Yeah, it is!” he protests, but he knows he’s in the wrong. Still, he can’t stop himself. “He’s not a good guy.”

“Oh my god!” You throw your hands into the air, and he’s never seen you so upset. Everything that came before now seems only like a crude imitation. This, though… this is true, genuine anger. “Stop it. He’s… he’s just a cocky pilot, you’re not that different….”

Somehow, the comparison has Jake clenching his teeth. He amends, “He’s not good for you, then.”

For a moment, your face goes slack, and he knows he’s just said the wrong thing.

“That is notyour decision,” you say, voice suddenly quiet and all the more dangerous for it. “That’s no one’s decision but my own.”

And God, if Jake doesn’t know that. 

You’ll always make your own choices. He hasn’t had a shred of an illusion to the opposite even for a moment, hasn’t even wanted it any other way. You will always go your own way.

You’re so much stronger than you realize. Going on after losing your mother. Giving up a whole life. Starting over a million miles away without family, without friends, without anything but yourself.

It’s what he admires. It’s what drives him insane.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says because it’s the truth. “You’re my friend.”

Something on your face shatters. 

“Friend,” you whisper dispassionately. “Sure.”

You rub your hand over your face, and suddenly you look so tired. All he wants is to wrap you in his arms, tug you closer, take you home. Make sure you’re okay.

“Hangman,” you say softly, almost gently. “I think this was a mistake. I don’t think I can be your friend.”

And it’s fear coursing through him. Naked, unmistakable fear.

If he can’t see you again, what will he do? This new Jake, the one who’s unsure about everything unless he’s right next to you, that new Jake… what will he do?

How can he go back to how he used to be when it’s like slipping into a costume that doesn’t fit anymore?

“My name is Jake,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to do. Because he needs to hear you say it. “I want you to call me Jake.”

“Stop it!” Your voice is louder again, an edge of desperation creeping into it. “Everybody else calls you Hangman, who cares if I….”

“You’re not everybody else!” It just… slips out. And then it’s out in the open, and he can’t believe he said it, doesn’t know where it came from, only knows that it’s the truth. “Not to me.”

You’re staring at him. Chest rising and falling rapidly, fingers tangled in the straps of your bag.

And you’re so beautiful, even in this empty parking lot, even in the unflattering light of the street lamps. Even with the sweat pooling at your hairline and the anger in your eyes.

“Hangman,” you say, “don’t.”

But he’s shaking his head. He let you go once, but now… now he has to… he has to…

“You’re special,” he says, even as you’re shaking your head. “You are to me, sweetheart, you are, you….”

“You said it meant nothing,” you blurt out, then shut your mouth with an audible click of your teeth as if you wish you could clamp the words back in somehow.

Jake blinks. “What?”

He can see your throat move as you swallow.

You take a moment, teeth sinking into your lower lip, and then you say, “That night when I told you to leave me alone. You told Coyote that this… thing between us. That it was nothing.”

Jake inhales. Exhales. His mind is blank.

“I… I did?” he asks, words slow, sluggish, like he’s thrusting them forward through the mud.

Your face falls. You say, voice almost a whisper, “You don’t even remember, do you?”

He wants to say no, I do, of course, I do. He wants to protest.

But if there’s one thing he can’t do, it’s lie to you.

Truth is, he doesn’t know at all what he said. The moments after your confrontation in the bar are shrouded in a fog of confusion for him. He was just trying to make sense of what you’d said, untangle the mess of his mind. He was just trying to save face.

It’s not nothing, he should tell you. It was never nothing.

But then, if it’s not nothing… what is it? This thing between us, you’d called it.

Jake doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t even understand why he can’t just let you go the way he usually does. He could just turn around, go back inside, find some other pretty girl, but something keeps him rooted to the spot.

I think of you when I go to sleep and when I’m touching myself, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I carry you with me up into the plane, into the sky, into the clouds. I want to sit with you in bars and in restaurants and on beaches. I want to hold your hand. I want to kiss you. I want, I want, I want…

There’s pain on your face, something raw, something real.

Jake can’t breathe.

“I’m leaving,” you say, and then you just stand there for a moment, looking at him almost like you expect him to say something.

He seems to have lost all ability to speak. You purse your lips, your eyes waterlogged, and then you turn on your heel and walk to the car.

Jake stands in the gravel of the parking lot until the headlights of your car have faded into the dark of the night. Then he trots back into the bar blindly, finds their now mostly deserted table at the back, and slumps into a chair.

He feels empty.

Phoenix’s face appears in his vision after what could have been five minutes or five hours, almost comically large.

“I think I’m having a heart attack,” Jake says, but his voice sounds like a stranger’s.

Immediately, Phoenix squats down to look at him better. “What?”

He points at his chest, where it feels like a tiger is on a rampage. “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“My chest.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Phoenix, I think I fucked up. Like… big time.”

Her face goes from mildly annoyed to honestly worried. She asks, a tinge of panic edging into her voice, “Did you drink too much? Hangman?”

He shakes his head. “I think I hurt her. I don’t know, I… I think I fucked it up.”

She searches his face for a moment, and then she’s straightening up, taking Hangman by the arm and pulling him out of his chair. Her grip is like a vice around his wrist, and he yelps.

“Alright,” she says, “you’re coming with me. Now.”

Jake would have protested, but the look Phoenix gives him shuts him right up. If there’s anybody he’s ever met capable of coldblooded homicide, it’s Natasha Trace.

So he lets himself be tugged into the last corner not yet wholly occupied by people past the halfway point to intoxication.

Phoenix lets go of his wrist in favor of stemming her hands into her hips. He’s pretty sure he’ll find bruises on his skin come morning.

“Don’t,” she says.

“Don’t what?” Jake asks, even though he has a pretty sure idea where this is going.

“Don’t… meddle, okay. You had your chance, you blew it. Let her move on.”

“It’s not…” He struggles. “It’s not like that. We’re friends.”

“Friends,” Phoenix repeats. God, she really is capable of violence, he knows it, and she’s not far from resorting to it. “Are you stupid, Hangman?”

He opens his mouth, but she’s already plowing on.

“Friends don’t look at each other like they’re about to rip their clothes off and go at it in crowded bars, Jacob.”

Jacob. The last time somebody called him that was when his mom caught him trying to sneak out of the window at sixteen to go see a band with his first girlfriend. He got grounded for three weeks.

Somehow, he thinks Phoenix won’t be that merciful.

“Like… obviously you have some kind of feelings for her, but….”

He doesn’t even hear the rest of what she says. Her mouth keeps moving, but none of her words reach his ears. All he can hear is a high, whistling noise cutting clean through his eardrums.

“Hold on,” he interrupts, “I don’t have feelings for her.”

Phoenix pauses for a moment, staring at him like he’s trying to convince her the earth is flat.

“Jake,” she says - not Hangman, not Bagman, not even Jacob, and hoooh boy, he’s in for it now - slowly, “don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” he says.

Phoenix blinks. Takes a moment. Another. Then she says, almost carefully, “Jake, you can’t be that stupid. Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”

It’s not the first time she’s called him stupid, but it might be the first time she actually means it.

And Jake would protest, only he feels pretty stupid right about now, too.

“Please…” She touches her forehead like she has a headache and exhales loudly, slowly. “Please tell me you’re not honestly stupid enough not to know.”

“Know what?” Jake asks, and he’s never felt less like himself.

He’s in control of things. He takes risks gladly, but they’re always calculated. Things don’t just… fly under his radar.

But right now, he feels like he missed something profound.

Phoenix looks at him with what could be either pity or actual hatred.

“Jake,” she says, enunciating each word with perfect precision, “you’re in love with her.”

“I don’t know her,” he says, almost automatically, and he’s so dizzy.

Phoenix waves his words away with a quick jerk of her hand. 

“There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone, Jake,” she tells him. “When you’re with her, how do you feel?”

“I feel…” And he can’t believe he’s talking about this, but in a way, it makes sense. Maybe Phoenix is the only person he could ever tell this. Phoenix, who has always seen through him and all his bravado. “When I’m with her, it’s like… like I can just be myself, you know? And I want… I want to know her. Everything about her, even the bad things, but I want her to know me, too. Not just Hangman but… Jake. And I want to… I just want to be with her all the time. I want to tell her about, like, everything, even the little things that I’d never tell somebody else, and I…. When I’m with her, it doesn’t feel like I need to prove anything. It’s like I can just be. I’ve never… never felt that before.”

His voice trails off.

The irritation has bled out of Phoenix’s face, making way for something softer, smoother, something almost tender. She puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Bagman,” she says, voice halfway to affectionate, “you know what that means.”

For a few moments, he just breathes.

And yeah, he does. In a way, maybe he’s known for a while now, at least since the set-up, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself. That it’s more than just wanting to fuck you. That it’s so much more than nothing. That it’s so much, it scares him.

It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t instantaneous. It crept up on him. You permeated his life in stages, and now you’re everywhere.

At first, he just thought you were pretty, thought he could get into your pants and out of your life in the span of a night. But you gave as good as you got, kept pushing back, and suddenly it was like a personal quest to get you to give in. You looked up at him on the beach behind the Hard Deck through eyes as scared as they were determined, and something shifted. Not profound yet, not significant, but the first domino to drop in a long, long, long line.

And somewhere, at some moment, he could no longer pinpoint, the game he’d played had ended, and he hadn’t even noticed. The last domino had toppled.

It was real now. Real and scary and over.

“I’m in love with her?” he says, almost a question with how his voice rises towards the tail-end of the sentence.

Phoenix nods, smiles gently at him. 

“Oh God,” he says. “Then I… then I really fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix agrees through a breathless laugh. “Yeah, I think you really did.”

+

It’s the hottest day of the year, and the aircon at the gas station breaks down.

The heat is unbearable. You stripped off your employee vest hours ago, but it barely helps. The single fan you found in the back oscillates stale air through the room.

You’re counting down the minutes until the end of your shift, until you can drive aimless circles through town just to bask in the cool of your car. Until you can drown in your own self-pity and another family-size serving of pasta and the dark thoughts swirling around you like storm clouds.

Your boss has disappeared into the back room, and it’s only five more minutes until you’re off, so you trek towards the cold drinks section and wonder if you should spend the few extra dollars on an iced tea. When the bell rings, announcing the arrival of a customer, you’re still standing undecided in front of the opened fridge, letting cool air caress your face.

Phoenix is in civilian clothes, her hair released from its tight bun for the first time. It falls in glossy waves down to her shoulder blades as she smiles at you warmly.

“Hi.”

“Oh.” The sight of her makes something in your stomach clench uncomfortably. Couldn’t she have come in five minutes later? You’d have been gone by then. “Hi…”

“Penny said you’d be here.”

You blink. “You… were you looking for me?”

Phoenix nods and steps up to the register to look at the cheap sunglasses on display.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says casually.

The fear of it all creeps up on you, and then it envelopes you. You’ve been trying and failing to push it to the very back corners of your mind for the past day, keeping your hands busy in hopes it would keep your head idle. Pretending you weren’t constantly replaying last night in your head - the bar, the parking lot, the anger, and the ridiculousness of it all. Jake saying you’re special, and then not even remembering the moment he’d broken your heart. Looking helpless in a way you’d never seen before.

In the rearview mirror, growing rapidly smaller and further until he disappeared completely, Jake looked almost like a little child.

“You and Hangman had a fight,” Phoenix says, and it’s not even a question. Just a statement.

“Yeah,” you agree because it doesn’t feel like there’s much sense in arguing. And no reason to, either.

Phoenix nods and watches as you round the counter. For some reason, you feel it’s not a bad idea to get some distance between you and her for this conversation. The counter is like a barrier.

“Hangman is…” Phoenix hesitates. “Hangman is an idiot.”

“No, he isn’t.” The words are out before you can stop them, and then frustration almost makes you bite your tongue. “He… he’s actually a pretty smart guy.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been told you hate him.”

You swallow, look away. Shrug your shoulders. “No, I… I don’t know.”

None of this matters. After last night, you’re never going to see him again.

For a long, long while, Phoenix is silent. And then she says, “He’s in love with you.”

And it should be earth-shattering, world-stops-spinning, music-stars-playing. But they’re just words.

Your heart is racing.

“He…” You shake your head. It’s a cliff, the plummet beneath you, your fingers gripping the edge for dear life. You want to believe her so very, very badly, but your common sense tells you it can’t be true. “He barely knows me.”

“That’s what he said,” she says, chuckling, then shakes her head. “I know, but… you have to understand… This is something special. I mean, this is Hangman we’re talking about… he doesn’t open up to people.”

You think about sitting side by side out on the beach. Sharing secrets before you let the waves carry them out to sea. Spilling your heart into his hands and trusting him with it. Realizing, suddenly, that he had done the same.

“I think…” Phoenix’s voice has gone very gentle. “I think you’re very similar. You and him.”

A week ago, you would have laughed at her. Just five minutes ago, you wouldn’t have believed her. And now…

You fall.

When you think about it, it’s not so far-fetched. Jake, up in those clouds. You, down on the ground. In the end, you’re both lonely. In the end, you’re both afraid.

“Anyway.” She smiles at you and pushes off the register. “I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

Something inside you stumbles. 

“Goodbye?” you repeat slowly.

“Yeah, we’re shipping out tomorrow morning.”

“Shipping…” Suddenly, it takes tremendous effort to breathe. “What?”

Phoenix pauses, furrows her eyebrows. “Didn’t Jake tell you? About the mission?”

“What mission?”

Phoenix groans, shaking her head. “See, I told you. He really is an idiot.”

+

Jake looks like he didn’t get a wink of sleep. The dark bags beneath his eyes have bloomed into purplish bruising overnight, and he blinks at you almost owlishly.

 “Why weren’t you going to say goodbye?”

That’s the first thing you say to him, and it’s not at all what you were planning in the car on the way here. It slips out the moment you see him, and your voice isn’t firm or strong at all, it’s a small, fragile thing. A teacup teetering on the edge of a moving tray, about to shatter.

He looks at you like you’re an apparition. “How did you get here?”

“It… Phoenix gave me your address.”

Jake has rented a place on the second floor of a modern apartment complex off base. It’s so much nicer than the house you’re living in, with stairs that don’t creak, no mildew in the hallway, and locks that look like they actually work.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, and you sound out of breath. It’s not even because of the stairs you just took two steps at a time. “Why weren’t you?”

Jake exhales audibly, nods once, and opens the door wider. “You wanna come inside?”

Only now do you notice that he’s shirtless, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants slung almost as low as his swim trunks were that day on the beach. Hastily, you snap your eyes away, head already spinning.

You push past him and into the apartment, careful not to touch any of his skin. Who knows what other unhinged things that might drive you to do?

His apartment is neat, tidy, clean, but that doesn’t surprise you much. It’s also obviously a rental, lacking any personal touches except for a few shoes kicked off haphazardly by the door and his Top Gun diploma and plaque displayed on a dresser. Of course Jake travels with those, you think, almost grinning. He’d never miss out on a chance to show off.

There’s an aircon blasting somewhere, and you almost crumble to your feet with gratitude.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, heading towards what you suppose to be the kitchen. “I have… water? I’d offer to make you a Mojito, but I don’t think I have any limes. Or any rum. Or any mint, so…”

“Can you…” You falter and watch as he pauses in the doorway, one hand braced against the wood. “Can you just explain it to me?”

His shoulders lift and lower with his breaths. After a moment that feels endless, he turns to face you.

“Explain it to you?”

You nod. “Why you didn’t tell me. Why you weren’t going to say goodbye.”

He shrugs, unperturbed, but there’s something affective to the movement, something almost performative.

“After last night… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You’re shaking your head, jaw clenching. “Why didn’t you tell me before then? That you’re about to go on some, some… stupid top-secret mission, that you might die, that….”

He interrupts you, “I didn’t tell you because it shouldn’t matter. I’m not…”

“Of course it matters!” Your voice is shaking. “It matters! It changes… everything.”

He squints at you. “How could it change anything?”

“It… it changes things because….” You stumble, try to find the words that elude you. “Because I thought we’d have more time.”

“More time?” Something about his voice is almost hopeful. “I thought you… I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

He’s right. You didn’t. At least you thought you didn’t. You thought the best thing you could possibly ever do for yourself, for him, was to stay as far away from Jake Seresin as possible. In a change-your-name-and-leave-the-country kind of way.

And then Phoenix walked into that gas station, and losing him had suddenly seemed so real, had gone from a distant fever dream to reality, and you didn’t have much choice anymore. All you wanted was to see him again. All you wanted was for him to call you sweetheart, smile and flirt and tease. Even if it drove you crazy. Even if it was the last time.

“Hangman…” You shake your head, correct yourself, “Jake, I… Do you like me?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since you knocked at his door, and something in his expression changes. Without hesitation, without a slither of doubt in his words, he says, “Of course. Of course, I like you.”

You have to sink your fingernails into your palms to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself from jumping several paces ahead. In your chest, your heart speeds up.

“And not just…” you pause, the word carnally already on your tongue. “It’s not that you just want to fuck me?”

He’s shaking his head before you’ve finished speaking. “No. Not at all. Yeah, sure, that’s what it was about in the beginning, but then… I just… It started changing, and I’d never felt that, and I… I think I got scared.”

“You got scared?” you ask, not unaware of the note of disbelief in your voice. It’s hard to imagine someone like Jake could ever be scared. Someone so confident, so brilliant.

He raises an eyebrow, and it’s a glimpse of the Jake you know, the one who drives you to the brink of insanity, “I’ll take that shock as a compliment.”

It’s a white-hot relief to find that he can still joke with you. That not all of the relationship you’ve built has washed away in the torrent of the last few weeks. 

“It’s just…” You look for a way to explain it. “I don’t know. You just always seemed like you had everything figured out.”

That makes him laugh, and you stare at his face scrunching up, his eyes shining. He says, “I’ve got nothing figured out. I haven’t even figured out what to eat for dinner tonight.”

You laugh. Even through all of it, he can still make you laugh. Even though nothing is resolved, even though you don’t understand any of it, he can always, always make you laugh. Even when you don’t want to. Even back when you still swore you hated him.

Jake settles down, and something darker crosses his expression. When he speaks next, his voice is almost hesitant.

“I’ve never… I’ve just never done something like this?”

“Like this?” you ask softly. 

Neither of you has ever defined this thing between you. You’re scared now, scared he has a different idea about it. Maybe you don’t want to hear his answer, want to live just a moment longer in this fantasy where Phoenix is right, where he likes you, where he wants you the same way you want him.

Carnally, romantically, wholly. Just… all of him. The good, the bad, the worst. The parts that drive you insane with anger and the ones that drive you insane with lust. The way he can break you apart and put you back together.

If he calls you his friend again now, if he says it was nothing… You don’t know if you can handle it. You don’t know that you won’t just break apart.

“Like this,” Jake repeats. “Something real.”

And your heart soars.

“Real?” you whisper, voice so quiet you think he can’t possibly have heard it.

Jake nods. “Real.”

“So it…” You trail off, shake your head, try again, “So it wasn’t nothing?”

He lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. And there’s none of his bravado, none of his cockiness. The armor is discarded, the mask is off, and there’s just Jake beneath it, not some hotshot pilot who’s got it all figured out, but a man, one who’s a dumbass at times and broken in so many ways and just as scared as you are.

You’ve never felt the way you feel about him before. Not once in your life.

“No,” he says, “it was never nothing to me. I’m sorry I said that. I know I hurt you, and it’s not an excuse, but I just… I just said it because I got scared. Because you dumped me, and honestly, I was hurt, and I liked you so much, I didn’t know what to do with myself, and I had all of these doubts, and I didn’t understand it, but… It was never nothing, sweetheart. It was… everything.”

He shrugs, something on his face that tells you he’s embarrassed by his own earnestness, uncomfortable with it, but your ears are ringing with that word. You can’t stop the smile from spreading on your face - broad and genuine and a relief after all these days in that prison of your room. Like stepping into the light after all the darkness. Like setting foot into airconditioned climates after hours out in the Californian heat.

And Jake smiles back, like a reflex, like a magnet. If you move, I move.

He’s made a step, and now it’s your turn.

So gather all your courage, that slithery, dodgy thing that’s been eluding you for months, and you grab it by the neck and thrust it forward, say, “Jake, I think I’m in love with you.”

His face goes completely blank, and with a sudden, horrid lurch, you think that maybe you’ve miscalculated, maybe it’s too much, maybe…

You backpedal, “I know it’s way too early, and I don’t really know you, and maybe in a month I find out you don’t like peanut butter, and I can never speak to you again, but this has never happened to me before, Jake, and I’m terrified, I’m so scared, but I just know I wanna be with you, I wanna figure it out together, and I hope you feel the same way, because, because I… I think I…”

“I like peanut butter,” Jake interrupts you. When you blink at him through the haze your rambling has plunged you into, he’s grinning from ear to ear. The sort of grin you have never seen him give to anyone but you.

“You.. you do?”

“A lot,” he confirms.

“Well, that’s… good then.”

“In fact,” he says, moving closer to you, “I love peanut butter.”

“Yeah?” 

Your voice is a little breathless.

He nods, hands going to cup your face. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, as you tip your face up, as your heart pounds, as your vision blurs, “I think I might be in love with you, too.”

And you don’t want to start crying, but you can’t help it. They just well up, like all those emotions you’ve been swallowing down for months now, longer than you’ve known him really, have finally ballooned into something too big for your body to hold, looking for any way out.

Jake frowns, wiping at a teardrop from your cheek like he’s trying to get an annoying stain off his laptop screen. Only like… a little gentler.

“It’s not that horrible, is it?”

You laugh, a water, bubbling sound. “No, it’s… it’s not… it’s fine.”

“Fine?” he asks, looking down at you with his eyebrows raised way too high for it to be anything than exaggerated. “I confess my love, and you think it’s fine? Jesus, romance really is dead.”

“Oh, shut up and kiss me already, Bagman, or I’m gonna strangle you, I swear I will, I’m not….”

You don’t get to finish.

Kissing Jake isn’t at all like you imagined. He’s soft but firm, and yet you can tell, underneath it all, that he’s almost nervous. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know at all how to proceed now that it’s actually real. That it means something.

All that cockiness melted away.

It’s so strange, but suddenly you realize that maybe, just for a moment, you’re going to have to take over. So you wrap your arms around his waist, draw him closer, draw him in, open your mouth beneath his and sigh into it all.

Jake comes willingly, follows your pace easily, smoothly, casually. The way he does everything. Ready to take anything you throw his way.

Finally, something inside of you seems to whisper. There’s an ache, a yearning, something that swells inside of you, grows bigger and stronger by the minute. You’ve never wanted someone this bad. It’s finally happening.

All that waiting, all that wishing and hoping and dreaming… It was worth it, you think. All of it.

His hands are warm on your cheeks, and they feel large, in a way that makes you clench your thighs. His lips are a little chapped, but he tastes sweet as if he’s been eating chocolate. He angles your face back a little more, his tongue running along the seam of your mouth, his fingers clenching into your hair, and your heart seizes as you think, suddenly, how close you came to losing this, to never having it at all, to missing out on it, and it’s so… it’s so…

You pull back when the intrusive thought inserts itself into the moment, when the anxiety makes your bones itch, look at him and say in a voice that seems to come from miles, worlds, universes away, “You’re not going to die, are you?”

It’s all you can think about - your mother fading away, flowers raining on an open grave, and being alone, alone, alone…

But Jake just smiles, rubs his thumb once along the line of your cheekbone, and says, “And miss out on getting to kiss you, sweetheart? Not a chance.”

And you haven’t belonged anywhere in so long. Have been so lonely, so broken, for so long you thought you’d never feel any different again. But here, right now, with him solid before you, with the knowledge that it’s real, it’s true, it’s not a game, and it’s not in your head, it doesn’t feel so horrible.

Because Jake knows you. Not just the pretty parts, but the ugly ones too.

How you push people away. How your fear paralyzes you sometimes, makes you mean and closed-off, and makes you lie. To him, to yourself, to everyone.

Jake has seen it, and he’s wanted you regardless.

And maybe that’s just it… how he can calm that anxiety with a word. Not banish it, not erase it, but silence that nagging, gnawing, horrible voice you’ve carried with you for so long. Make it bearable.

You’re going to die if you don’t have him. And yeah, maybe that’s dramatic, but who cares? If the past few weeks have shown anything, it’s that you and Jake aren’t just good with the dramatics… you excel at them.

“I did it,” you blurt out, and then immediately regret the words, clamp your mouth shut and feel the blood rush up into your cheeks.

Jake draws back a little to get a better look at you. “Done what?”

And you could kiss him for taking it all in stride. For not pushing you, for letting you set the pace.

Actually, you could kiss him just for… well, existing. But his ego is big enough already; he really doesn’t need to know all that.

“Well, what… what you asked.”

Jake stares at you blankly. 

“Care to be a little more specific, sweetheart?” he says gently. “I think we’ve established I don’t have the best memory.”

“I…” You hesitate, fingers going to trace a constellation of freckles on his shoulder, and there’s just so much of him, so much golden skin and so much muscle and so much confidence, and you’re going to fall apart, you know you are, you’re not going to survive this. “I touched myself. The way you asked.”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper, an exhale, but you know he heard you. Because the reaction is visceral - fingers tightening where they have slid from your face to your waist, chest undulating with the sharp intake of breath, shoulders stiffening.

Nerves make it impossible to look at him. What if he doesn’t like it, what if…

But, as always, somehow, Jake seems to know what you need. Seems to understand without ever having to say it that now, you want this to be something else. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, fingers hooking beneath your chin and turning it upwards, “look at me.”

And you do. It’s not like you have a choice, your body reacting before your mind even registers the words.

Right now, you think, Jake could tell you to jump off a bridge, and you’d go find the nearest one for a dive.

Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, hodded, an intent shining in them that scares you as much as it excites you.

“You touched yourself?” he asks quietly.

You nod, too scared your voice might fail you to try and use it.

“So, are you ready to answer my question, then?”

You know what he means right away, which is just a testament to your memory being decidedly better than his.

Instantly, the words ghost through your mind again, wrap around you like vapor. Have you been a good girl?

“I don’t…” You clear your throat as Jake steps even closer, walks you backward until your back hits the wall, until his hips are inches from yours, until he’s crowding against you like he wants to climb into your skin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He’s so close now, and it’s different, the whole air is different. Charged now, darker. Hot even with the aircon running.

Maybe you’re going to faint. You feel like you’re going to faint.

“I think,” Jake says, voice lowered into a mumble, “you know exactly what I mean.”

He braces both hands on the wall by your head and cages you in. It’s so reminiscent of the night out behind the shack that you would have laughed if you hadn’t been scared to move even a muscle.

Not trusting your voice, you just shake your head. And it’s an act because by now, even you have understood that that’s half the fun in this game of power Jake and you have been playing from the very moment. But you also just want to hear him say it again, have been dreaming of those words on his lips for weeks now.

Jake hums, and his breath washes over your face. There’s barely an inch between the two of you now - you can’t even think anymore.

“I know you’re smarter than that, sweetheart.”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He smiles, just for a moment, and it’s sweet, a little dopey, and so decidedly out of place that you realize he knows just as well as you do that you’re pretending. That he appreciates it as much as you do.

“Alright,” he whispers finally, leans closer to run his mouth over the arch of your jaw, lips barely a whisper of a touch as you strain into it, breath catching in your throat. “Sweetheart… have you been a good girl for me?”

It’s the rasp in his voice and those words and the agonizing whisper of separation between your bodies. It’s the lack and the promise and that tight, hot coil of want that writhes in the pit of your stomach.

With a gasp, you clench your thighs together in search of relief.

“I don’t know,” you say because, truthfully, you don’t. You don’t even know your own name anymore.

Jake raises an eyebrow, and all your pretense shatters.

“Yes,” you say, immediately, voice almost a whine, head spinning, “yes, Jake, I’ve been a good girl for you.”

He acknowledges it with a nod, entirely unaffected, face blank as he moves to card a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What did you think about?”

He asks it almost casually like he’s asking about the weather or your shopping list and not just which sexual fantasies you got out of the spank bank the last time you got off.

“I…” And his hand begins tracing a long, long line from your cheekbone down to your mouth, dragging across your jaw and onto your jugular. And there, just once, he presses his thumb into your pulse point. It’s the barest hint of pressure, the illusion of the rest of his fingers wrapping around your throat, but your eyes almost roll into the back of your head. 

It draws the truth right out of you.

“You,” you gasp, “I thought about you.”

Jake acknowledges it with a nod, but there’s something to be said about his eyes flicking to your mouth, about the hand still braced against the wall by your head clenching.

“What part of me?”

You want to answer, but he leans forward to press his lips to the side of your throat where his hand had been just a moment ago, and for a second, you lose all ability to speak.

“I… Your mouth?”

“My mouth?” Jake repeats, words muffled against your skin.

Pressed flat against the wall, unable to move, with your heart pounding a patter against your ribcage, you can do nothing but nod. “Yeah.”

Jake hums, and the sound vibrates through your body. By now, you must be soaking through the front of your shorts, you think.

“And where did I put it?” he asks softly, drawing back to look at you.

And there’s such… hunger on his face, his pupils blown wide, his mouth slack, and it’s going to kill you, death on impact, you’re not going to make it.

But that’s fine. What a way to go, anyway.

“On… on me,” you whisper.

Jake laughs, and it’s so… mean. You like it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he drawls. “Be specific.”

“I don’t know.” 

It’s all you can say. Who cares what you thought about that night? He’s here right now, so can’t you just do it for real instead of talking about your fantasy like this?

Jake clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

“You can do better than that,” he says. “You’re not that dumb.”

And it could be crossing a line - should cross a line, maybe. You never would have thought it possible that you could be into something like this, but you are. It sets you off in a way you wouldn’t have expected, makes you weak in the knees and dizzy, and you want him on you, want him everywhere, want him more than you’ve ever wanted him before.

Besides… you feel pretty dumb right about now.

When it came down to the wire, you know you’re the one with the finger on the lever anyway. The moment you say no, stop, he’ll listen. So you’ve always been the one with the final decision.

Maybe that’s why this whole thing works.

“I…” You have to close your eyes, swallow against the lump in your throat. “You put it between my legs.”

He squints.

“Here?” he asks, and his hand lands on the inside of your thigh, about two inches off from where you want him.

It startles you enough that you jump, a sound of surprise falling from your mouth. And then he applies pressure, squeezes the meat of your thigh once, and you’re moaning, eyes widening with the sensation of it all.

Jake grins.

Bastard, you think, but then that thought goes out the window too, disappears in the fog that has descended on you.

“You imagined my mouth here?”

You shake your head, whimper, tip your face back and open your mouth like you can compel him to kiss you just like that.

“Be a good girl and tell me, yeah?” he whispers, but there’s something strained to his voice, something glazed to his eyes.

“No, I…” But you can’t say it. Not like this. It’s still too much, and it frustrates you, makes your eyes burn, makes your breath hitch into a gasp like you can’t get enough oxygen into your lungs. You whimper, “Jake.”

“Shh,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “I got you, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

And then finally, because in the end, he always does, Jake takes pity on you.

“Did I put it on your pussy?”

The sound that escapes you is pathetic, barely more than a whimper, and before you know it, you’re nodding as you slump against him.

“Tell me,” he says into your ear, hand still on your thigh, mouth still against your cheek, his breaths fast and loud, “I want her you say it.”

And if you weren’t sandwiched between him and the wall, if he weren’t holding you up, you know your legs would have given out.

“You…” You swallow and take a deep breath, stell yourself, say, “You put your mouth on my pussy.”

And he groans, a loud, sudden sound that seems to burst from him unbidden like he just couldn’t hold it back. 

You’re almost stunned by it, by the discovery that he’s just as affected by all this as you are, that he wants you, too, and it does your head in, makes the world spin, makes you clutch at him a little tighter.

“You like that?” he asks, something almost frantic to his words now. “Having your pussy eaten? Does that get you off, having a tongue in your tight little cunt?”

You can’t help it. You mewl, drop your head into the crook of his neck, and wish you could stay there. And you’re so wet, can feel it pooling in your panties, feel it soaking through the fabric. Every move has the seam of your denim shorts pressing against your cunt, sends shocks of lightning through you, but it’s not enough, not enough, never enough.

Your heart is beating in your throat, and the embarrassment takes a moment to set in amidst the chaos of your sensations, but it comes. Eventually, the way it always does.

“I…” You falter, squeeze your eyes shut, push your face further into his neck, so grateful he can’t see you, and then you whisper, as if speaking it out loud could somehow make it more real, “I’ve never… you know… no one’s ever….” 

Instantaneously, Jake’s fingers tighten against your thigh, and then they tangle in your hair, and he pulls your head back with enough force that you can feel it, that it travels in shock waves through your scalp, all the way down to your toes.

He’s looking at you like he wants to devour you.

“Honey,” he says, and there’s something serious to the word beneath all that desire.

And you have trouble concentrating because honey, he called me honey, and your chest is so full of that feeling you only get with him, the one that makes you feel that everything will be alright, that nothing will hurt you, that you’ll be just fine.

“Honey,” he repeats, “do you trust me?”

And you don’t pause. Don’t think about it. Not even for an instant.

“Yes,” you say, and mean it. Mean it like you’ve never meant anything.

And Jake smiles, smooths your hair back, rubs his nose against yours. And then he said, “Would you let me? Would you let me put my mouth on you, would you let me eat your pussy until your legs are shaking? Would you trust me with that, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl?”

You’re going to disintegrate. It can’t be possible for one person to want another so much. It just can’t be possible.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Okay. Jake.”

He makes a choked sound, and then he steps back suddenly, tugging you with him by your wrists, and you stumble against his chest, let him guide you through the apartment blindly. It’s a wonder your knees don’t give in as you stumble against him like a fawn, as he pulls you like a ragdoll.

“Where are we going?” you ask, head spinning in rapid circles. Like you just got off a merry-go-round.

“I’m not going to eat you out against a wall for the first time,” Jake says.

And it would be almost romantic if it weren’t so filthy, such a quick turn-around that it could give you whiplash.

“Oh.” You blink as he pulls you into his bedroom. “I thought the wall was sort of hot.”

He laughs. “Don’t I know it?”

But then he turns, lets go of your wrists, leans down to press a quick, soft kiss to your mouth that leaves you chasing after him.

Affectionately, he brushes his fingers over your cheek and says, “I’ll do it right, honey, I promise I’ll make it so good, you’ll wonder how you ever went without it. I’ll have you coming for days.”

The thing is… you don’t even doubt it.

Jake has always been able to back up all that talk. It’s one of the things you hate about him. It’s one of the things you love about him.

“Now,” he says, “take off your top.”

It’s so much harder when he makes you do things because that’s when the anxiety gets behind the wheel, when the doubt creeps in. But in the end, that strange instinct to listen to him, to trust him, always wins out.

You pull your shirt over your head, and you can’t look at him.

“Shorts, too,” he orders and then, almost like an afterthought, adds, “and your bra.”

Your hands are shaking so hard that you struggle with the clasp of the bra, the button on the shorts, but finally, you free yourself of both, and then you’re standing in the middle of his bedroom, naked except for a pair of panties so wet you think you’re probably gonna have to throw them out come morning, and you’re shaking even though you feel like you’re burning up, like a fever in your blood, like a yearning in your bones.

It’s exhilarating and terrifying, and you want to cover yourself, but you can’t move, can’t do anything but stand there as you feel his eyes on you like hot irons, as you stare at the cologne bottles on the dresser.

What if he doesn’t like me? you think, mouth dry. What if I’m ugly.

And then Jake says, “Sweetheart. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

You’re going to cry.

“Now get on the bed and spread your legs so I can get my mouth on that gorgeous cunt.”

You’re going to have a stroke, and then you’re going to cry.

You do as he says, scooting backward on the mattress until you’re far enough up the bed to put your head on one of the pillows. Jake’s sheets are a dark blue, soft cotton, and they smell like him, like his cologne. Cinnamon and spice. The scent wraps around you, envelopes you. You clench around nothing.

If this is what his smell alone does to you, how are you going to survive his mouth on you?

The mattress dips under his weight, but you can’t look at him, keep your head on the ceiling instead. It’s all too much. It’s not nearly enough.

And then his face appears above you, and his smile is almost goofy as he leans to kiss you once, twice, three times. They’re just soft pecks, but you open your mouth and pull him down to you until you’re chest to chest, until you can feel the weight of him.

He slides his tongue into your mouth with a groan, pulls you closer with a hand on your hip. And it’s skin to skin, his palm hot and heavy, and you want him all over you, want to cover yourself in him, every inch. It’s very wet, very warm, too much spit in both your mouths, but you don’t even care, not when his teeth nip at your lower lip, when he pants against you, when it makes you feel like you’re going to fall apart right here, right now.

Finally, you get your hands on him too, on all that skin, let them run across his chest because you’re so drunk on the feeling of it all you forget even to think if you’re allowed to do this. His heart is racing beneath your palm, just as quick as yours is, and that’s a reassuring thought, that he’s affected by it all too.

Jake does something with his tongue, something that has your insides twisting, clenching like a fist, and you moan into his mouth, wrap your legs around his waist and buck your hips up, desperate for some kind of friction, of relief, not above humping him if that’s what it takes.

You feel it immediately - Jake is rock hard against your center, against the quick but firm pressure of your cunt, and it makes you squeak the exact moment it makes him choke.

“Jesus,” he grunts, fingers wrapping around your wrists and pushing them back into the pillow, pulling you off him and forcing you down into the mattress with a force as gentle as it is firm. “Stop distracting me, sweetheart.”

He draws back until he kneels between your legs, looming above you. All the lamps are off, but the blinds aren’t drawn, and moonlight spills like liquid mercury across the bedroom floor, across his skin. Inevitably, you think of that night out on the beach behind the Hard Deck, the light tangled in his hair, a study in blue.

“I think I remember telling you to spread these,” he says casually, tapping a single finger against your kneecap.

You want to tease him, want to say something about how his memory seems to be working pretty well of a sudden, but your brain won’t cooperate.

Instead, you do as you’re told, even as you feel like it might kill you, and spread your legs further.

Immediately, Jake’s eyes go to what lies between them.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice gone husky, “you’re so wet, honey.”

If you look at him, you think your heart is going to fail, so you just keep your eyes on the ceiling. Unlike your own, it’s completely free of water stains, and that’s just about the last coherent thought you have.

Jake leans forward, maneuvering around until his chest is pressed to the mattress, one hand on your thigh, the other spread on the sheets, and then his mouth is on you.

And okay. No more teasing then. Straight to business.

Over the fabric of your panties, his tongue moves against your center, and you can’t do anything but close your eyes, open your mouth even as no sound escapes. He just mouths at you for a moment, inhales deeply like he’s trying to smell you, and the thought sets you off, has you clenching your teeth, curling your toes. Then he presses a kiss to your clit through your cotton, and you’re seeing stars. 

“Oh,” you say, and he laughs, moves away to hook his fingers beneath the elastic of the panties, pulls them off unceremoniously, helps you lift your hips. They become another piece of fabric added to the pile of your clothes when he throws them over his shoulder without looking, eyes focused only on your center.

And then he leans forward, and you’re bracing yourself, steeling yourself, but nothing could ever have prepared you for the first stroke of his tongue through your folds. It has your hips rising, hed rearing back into the pillow, mouth shaping a word that never escapes it.

Jake’s fingers tighten on your thigh, and he moans once, and then he really goes for it. Burying his whole face in it, opening his mouth like he wants to devour you, tongue wet and wide and hot on your cunt, teeth just grazing your clit as he licks broad stripes from your hole up to the apex. He sets a leisured, moderate pace like he’s got all the time in the world, but you’re pretty sure yours is running out. Five more minutes of this, and you’re a goner, and it’s all too much but not enough, and you want to get away at the same time that you want him closer, and your head is spinning, your heart stuttering, your fingers tightening in the sheets.

He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and you all but keen, fingers flying to his hair, his shoulders, your stomach. You can’t settle, can’t stop jerking, have no control over your own body anymore. All over the place, all over him, mind a mess and heart a mess and body a mess, and you can’t believe nobody’s ever done this to you before, and how have you ever lived without the feeling of Jake’s mouth on your pussy and you’re going to rip your own heart out and…

And then he catches your wrists in one hand, forcing you to look at him where he’s barely lifted his head from between your thighs. And you freeze, all the world narrowing down to nothing but his face, his voice, just him, right there with you.

He says, “I got you. I’m taking care of you, pretty girl.”

Above the sheets, by your hips, he laces his fingers through yours.

When his mouth meets your cunt again, there’s no restraint left. He fucks his tongue inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling back, your legs straining to spread even further, to the point of pain when your muscles protest, but you need him closer, deeper, harder, and you’re so empty, aching with it. The only thing grounding you are his hands, the only point of you that seems connected to reality as the rest goes floating into space, reduced to nothing but a conduit for pleasure, for want, for yearning.

His tongue goes from your hole to your clit, one hand untangling from your death grip so he can slide a finger into you. He’s gentle about it, careful almost, but there’s no point, you’re so wet he goes without resistance, not an ounce of tension in any of your muscles. You couldn’t tense up if you tried, everything gone liquid and loose and lax. 

And it’s good, so good, so…

Jake pulls off you for a moment, breath panting and hot against you, just to check, “Did you do this too? When you thought about me, did you fuck yourself on your fingers?”

And it takes you a moment because you can’t remember if you have a mouth, can’t remember how to use it, and when you finally do, anyways, your voice is like a foreign sound, something from a different planet.

“I… tried, but it… I can’t… angle’s all wrong, it doesn’t….” He crooks his finger, and you sob, moment of dubious coherency gone, and then there’s only one word left in you. “Jake.”

And he grins, always so cocky, always so sure, adds a second finger, and buries his face into your cunt again. You keen.

It’s so wet, all of it. Your pussy and his tongue and his fingers fucking through it, fucking in with squelching sounds that should be embarrassing but make you burn hotter instead, your bodies slick with sweat, and you’re pretty sure there’s saliva dripping from your mouth, but you can’t stop it, can’t help it, can’t do anything but hold on and take it. Everything he’s giving you.

And you remember your ex trying to finger you in that bedroom covered in Twilight posters, eons ago, nothing but discomfort and awkwardness, and god, if this is what it should have been like that you want a refund, you think you’re owed compensation from the universe because that’s not fair, people were feeling this while you were telling yourself five minutes of rutting against your own finger on your clit was enough to satisfy you?

“You taste so good,” Jake groans into your cunt, “could eat this pretty pussy all day. Could stay right here forever, with my tongue in my gorgeous girl.”

And it’s almost scary, the way it builds, how high it goes, how tight it winds you. The precipice gapes below you.

“Jake,” you whimper, gasp, thrash, “Jake, wait, I’m gonna….”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, pupils blown, cheeks flushed, voice vibrating down into the darkest parts of you. “I’m here, honey, you can let go now, come on, sweetheart, I wanna see, I wanna taste….”

And you’re crying, cheeks and chin and neck wet with the tears, and you feel pathetic, but you can’t help it, free hand going to tangle in his hair, holding where you want him as he moves his fingers just so, grazing something inside you, tongue circling around your clit with just enough speed, just enough pressure.

“Please,” you sob, terrified he’s going to change up, and it’s going to get away from you, terrified he’ll stop. “Please. Please.”

It becomes a mantra, a litany, and then he squeezes your hand and plunges his fingers deep, curls them, and you’re toppling over that edge, hurtling, spinning, falling.

It’s bone-deep. It curls around you, it breaks you apart. A rope snapping. A coil unraveling.

You feel it everywhere, in your core and your toes and your fingers. A tightening and then the breathless, heart-stopping release of it all racing through you. It has you arching off the mattress, fingers tightening in his hair, legs trembling with tremors you can’t control, howling his name.

It seems to go on forever, his fingers fucking you through it, his tongue stroking you through it, and there’s nothing in your head, nothing but that blinding, strung-out pleasure.

Jake just keeps going until you push his head away with force, overstimulated to the point that pain shoots up like tiny pinpricks. You try to close your legs, but he keeps them open.

“I don’t know who those guys who didn’t eat your pussy were, sweetheart,” he says from between your legs, mouth still slick with you, eyes still dark, voice still breathless, hands still on your thighs, “but they must have been the biggest idiots in the history of mankind to miss out on that.”

You can’t answer. You’re afraid you might never be able to speak ever again.

Jake crawls up the bed until he can stretch out beside you, and finally, you can close your legs, draw them up to almost to your stomach and angle them away. You’re still pulsing, clenching around nothing, more exhausted than you’ve ever been.

“You okay, honey?” he asks softly, leaning in to kiss you. You can’t even reciprocate, just stare at him.

“Uhm,” you say.

He laughs at you, and if you could move your arms, you’d hit him. As is, you just blink at him, dazed, confused, still caught up in the intensity of it.

“That good, huh?” He grins like the cat that got the cream and wraps an arm around you, pulls you against him. There’s something reassuring to the feel of him, the slight damp of his skin and the solid muscle against the mush of yourself.

And then, voice suddenly so much softer, he says, “You did so well, honey. My best girl.”

Maybe you shouldn’t like it so much, but you can’t help but beam, cling to him.

“Next time,” he says, voice back to the levity of his pride, “I think you should sit on my face.”

You can’t help it. You gape at him.

“Your… face?” you repeat, hesitantly, unsure if you’ve misheard.

Shameless, he nods. 

“Don’t worry about suffocating me or any of that shit, it’d be an honorable way to go down.” 

“Oh my god,” you say, and then you laugh, and he laughs with you, and it’s like somebody poured liquid sunlight into your chest.

But then you shift against him, trying to get comfortable, and suddenly you’re not just aware that you’re lying in a puddle of what is essentially your own slick and Jake’s spit, that you’re still completely naked, but even more pressingly that he’s still hard.

Almost immediately, something inside of you seizes up again.

“Oh,” you whisper.

Jake, who has stilled your movement with a hand on your hip, clears his throat. He has a look of pure concentration on his face.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just… go to the bathroom.”

And he means it, is about to get out of bed when you hold onto him, wrap yourself around him like an octopus, shove your face into his chest, so you don’t have to look at him as you say, “No, I… I want it.”

Jake freezes.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, “you don’t have to….”

“I want to,” you interrupt. And it’s clumsy rather than sexy, but you reach for his sweatpants, palm at him through the fabric, breath catching when you notice the dark stain of pre-cum on the front. “I want you inside of me.”

It’s so much more forward than you’ve ever been, so out of character, but it feels good to be honest, to tell the truth, to articulate what you’ve been dreaming of for months.

Jake groans loudly as you begin to rub at his length, drops back against the mattress without any protest.

“You want it?” he asks, searching your face as if he’s looking for any trace of a lie, of hesitancy.

Well, he won’t find any.

You smile and nod.

“I want it,” you confirm.

Jake clenches his eyes shut for a moment, exhales a shaky breath, and then he nods, leans over to open a drawer on his nightstand, and gets out a condom.

And he’s saying, you’re driving me crazy, sweetheart, but you barely hear him.

Because there it is, right on his nightstand. Front cover up, a gas station receipt shoved as a bookmark between the pages about a quarter into it.

Emma by Jane Austen.

“You… you’re reading it?” you say, interrupting whatever other filth was pouring from it, and Jake blinks, follows your gaze, pauses.

And then he has the audacity to blush. 

“Well,” he says, “you said it was your favorite, and I wanted to… I don’t usually read much, so it’s… a lot, but I think I get it, why you like it I mean, and….”

You pull him into a kiss, and you pour all of yourself into it. All the gratitude and the longing and the love. Everything you feel for him, right there, condensed into the slide of your mouth over his.

When you pull away, his eyes have gone dark again.

“I like you,” he says, and it should be bumbling, awkward, but it’s beautiful instead. “So much.”

You giggle. 

“I like you too,” you say.

From the first moment, Jake and you were planets circling each other. And now, finally, you’ve locked into orbit.

Jake rolls over you, kisses you again, only it’s even filthier this time, reminiscent of what he did between your legs, and within moments it’s gathering in your stomach again, growing once more, and you’re wet and wanting and pliant beneath him.

He pulls back to finally get rid of his sweatpants - how weird that he was still wearing them this whole time, you think - moves to roll on the condom, and you look down at his cock, open your mouth and… falter.

“Jake,” you say, “that’s not going to fit.”

And the moment you’ve said the words, you regret them. God, you sound like somebody hired you for an extremely low-budget porno, but you’re just honestly concerned.

Jake laughs, and you can’t believe you just fueled that ego even further.

“We’ll work with what he can. But sweetheart…” And he leans down, presses the tip of his cock first to your clit, then your entrance in a way that makes your vision blur, and his voice drops to a whisper, right in your ear, “Personally, I think you can take it.”

You can’t even answer, can’t do anything, because he starts pushing inside of you. And it’s excruciating, so slow it’s almost impossible, the stretch just the right side of unbearable. Jake braces a hand by your head, face scrunched up in pleasure, mouth hanging open, one hand guiding himself. And you just tip your head back and moan, a sound that rips free from the very core of you.

“I’d like to think I did a pretty damn good job at warming you up,” he grounds out, jaw clenched with concentration, “but- god, you feel so fucking good - we’ll take it slow, yeah? Just… tell me if you want to stop, honey.”

Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You just want him in you, want more, more, more, had it once, and already you’re so greedy.

The slide seems almost endless, stretching your walls further than you thought possible, and you can’t hear anything, not even Jake’s voice spilling endless praise in loops that make no sense, not your own heartbeat hammering away, only the rushing of your blood in your ears.

And then finally, when you think you can’t take it anymore, he bottoms out with a grunt and just stays there for a moment, pelvis pressed to yours, breathing in the same rhythm.

“How you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks gently, one hand moving to brush the hair matted to your face with sweat away from your forehead.

“I…” And you can’t think, doesn’t he know that you can’t think, why does he keep asking you questions when all of your brain is currently occupied with reminding you to keep breathing. “… Full.”

Jake’s face crumbles like he’s in pain, and then he drops his head against your chest, his breath hot where it hits your skin, and moans. Inside you, his cock twitches, and you gasp.

“Sweetheart,” he grits out, “can’t just go around saying shit like that. So I’m trying my best to hold on here, yeah?”

And it makes you crazy, thinking that you’ve made him like this, that he’s riding that edge because he buried his face in your pussy, and you can’t help it, hook an ankle over his thigh and tug him forward, force him to move.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You sure.”

And you nod, so far gone you don’t care anymore, can’t even remember to be embarrassed. 

“Yeah. I want it, Jake, please, please.”

It really doesn’t take all that much. He immediately complies, moving back, drawing almost all the way out before plunging back in. And it’s more than you can take, and not enough, it’s too slow, and too fast, it’s too hard, it’s not hard enough, it’s everything at once, and above all else, it’s good, so good you can’t put it into words, can’t believe it’s real, can do nothing but hold onto him and hope you make it out at the other side.

Jake keeps it even, keeps it slow even as you can see the muscles in his stomach rippling with the effort of keeping still, even as his face is tight.

“Okay,” you whisper, looking him right in the eyes only to find he’s already looking back, “give it to me, Jake.”

It sets him off. He goes from measured, collected to focused, thrusting harder, reaching deeper, and your eyes roll back into your head. He’s fucking you with enough force that it rattles the headboard against the wall, that you feel it reverberate all along your bones.

“Jake,” you whimper, and he groans, grasps one of your thighs, and bends you nearly in half, and it should be uncomfortable, but like this, he reaches even deeper, grazes that spot that paints stars in your vision. You can’t describe the sound you make as anything but a strangled scream, and it should be embarrassing, maybe, but you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but the pleasure of it all.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re so… fucking… wet….”

The sounds are obscene. His cock plunging into your wetness, the headboard slamming against the walls, your own whimpers, and Jake’s moans, all of it mixing into what could possibly result in a noise complaint from several neighbors. And you don’t care. Not one bit.

He leans down to kiss you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, breath on breath, then his hand wanders down toward your pussy, and the other clasps yours, fingers slotting together. He’s thumbing at your swollen, sensitive clit, and it throbs, and things get even wetter, and you make a sound like you’re going to die right now, wrap yourself around him, arch into him, tongue stroking against his, his moan slammed against your teeth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers, rubbing tight, concentrated, purposeful circles on your clit, “come for me, I wanna feel your pussy clench on me, you can give me that, yeah, honey, you can be a good girl for me, can’t you?”

It’s been pretty clear from the moment he slid inside that neither of you would last very long, but that undoes you.

You’re saying yeah yeah yeah please please please jake jake jake, and he sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, sends his tongue after to soothe, and then it barrels through you, more intense than the first because it’s closer to pain, fingernails digging into his back, his palm, mouth ripping open around a sound that would have been his name had you had the breath, that dies before it leaves your lips, world-shattering, ground falling out from under you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear you black our for a moment, everything fading away.

When you return to it, Jake is saying, “… fucking, I can’t, god, pussy so wet and tight, so pretty, my gorgeous girl, my best girl so good, and you’re so, you’re so….”

You never do find out what you are because he goes from focused to frantic, hips undulating wildly, fucking into you at a shallow, quick pace, and then suddenly he freezes, shudders, his cock jumps - and then he’s groaning, arching over you as he empties into the condom.

He tries to roll off you immediately, but you wrap both arms and legs around him and hold him to you, in you, stay like that with your hearts thundering against each other like they’re knocking up a storm against your ribcages in an effort to embrace. Even like this, you still wish you could get him closer.

If I could, you think, I’d live inside your chest.

That’s a stupid thought.

For a while, you just lie like that. You’ll have to get up and go pee in a minute, but you don’t want to think about it yet. For now, you just want to lie here.

After an eternity, Jake says, “When I leave tomorrow….”

There’s something like hesitancy in his voice. Worry.

Into your hair, Jake whispers, “Will you wait for me?”

And that’s the thing about Jake. He’s always, always given you a way out. The decision was always yours.

So you could still walk away. Turn your back on this and forget about it. Rebuilt those walls and go back to the routine of your life before him.

But his heartbeat is quick and uneven against your chest. His voice is familiar.

You think of that house with the blue door back in Seattle.

Maybe, you think, it was never so much about the house as what it stood for: Sitting with your mother on the couch and listening to the rain. Laughing in Penny’s kitchen with her and Amelia. Watching the waves roll in that night at the beach with Jake.

Home, you think and blink the tears away. I’ve finally come home.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you,” you answer, tighten your arms around him, press your face into his chest. “In fact, I might never leave you again. You got air conditioning.”

+++

“Jake,” you say, “this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Wrong.” He turns the car left, and you hold onto the door handle for dear life. “The dumbest thing I’ve ever done was the time I almost let you go.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, “you’re getting so sappy.”

But when you stretch your hand palm-up over the middle console, and he takes it immediately, you’re smiling from ear to ear.

“Will you let me take this stupid blindfold off now?” you ask, the fingers of your free hand reaching up to trace along the line of the old bandana Jake tied over your eyes earlier before getting you into the car.

“Nope,” he says, sounding cheerful. “Don’t ruin the surprise, sweetheart.”

In reality, Jake isn’t the best at surprises. You’ve been together for four years now, and in all that time, you don’t think he’s managed to pull a single planned thing off. You knew about every surprise birthday party, every surprise anniversary dinner, every surprise homecoming. 

It’s a testament to his love for you, though - you’re the first person he wants to share things with, even the ones he should be keeping from you.

(And you indulge him, every time. Pretend to be shocked. Pretend he pulled it off. 

You’ll do it even when he finally decides to get out that ring box you found in his sock drawer last week. You know he’ll ask. Soon. 

You’ll wait.)

Maybe this one will actually work, though, because really, you have no idea where the hell he’s taking you.

“We’re here,” Jake says, and you hear the rhythmic thumping of the turn signal.

Jake parks the car, and you wait in silence until he’s back to open your door and help you out, one hand holding yours and the other on the small of your back. Then, carefully, he maneuvers you around.

The feeling in your chest catches somewhere between excitement and trepidation. God, you hope he didn’t do anything stupid.

Then, his voice is low in your ear as he says, “Ready, sweetheart?”

You’re not exactly sure if you are, but you say, “Ready.”

When he takes the blindfold off, you blink into the bright sunlight.

There’s a house in front of you. A beautiful place, the kind you always point out to him when you’re taking strolls through your neighborhood. White wood paneling, a front porch that wraps around the whole ground floor. Balconies with wrought-iron railings for the second stories. Flowerboxes before every window.

From behind you, Jake says, “It’s ours.”

Your heart is in your throat. Your eyes burn.

“Ours?” you repeat, voice so soft it almost gets carried off by the breeze.

Jake nods, then swallows and scrambles to say, “I didn’t sign the contract yet, of course, I’m not crazy enough to do something that big without talking to you first, you know that. But if you want it, then… it’s ours.”

The tears are hot on your face. You feel like your ribcage is going to splinter apart. Behind it, your heart has grown to three times its previous size.

“Oh,” Jake says, spotting your tears, and the hands that were wringing the bandana suddenly fall along with his face, “you don’t like it. That’s okay, we’ll just….”

“Shut up, Bagman,” you say, laughing even through the tears, a bubbling sound, fragile as glass, fragile as you feel, “I love it. Of course, I love it.”

He grins, eyes all crinkly and luminous, and fuck, you’re so in love, so far gone, it feels like you could hug the whole world. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I’m so whipped,” he says, laughing like he’s trying to rival the sun, reaching for you. “My gorgeous, brilliant girl.”

He pulls you against his chest, and you wrap your arms around him and press your smile into his neck, and it’s 84 degrees in the shade, but you don’t mind because you love him, and he sees you, and you’re home, you’re home, you’re home.

The door to your new house is painted a tender baby blue. Kind of like the ocean. Kind of like the Californian sky. Kind of like your dream.

[doctorstethoscope]

Yes, Mr. President || Bullshit

art by @multiverse-mxdness

happy saturday my loves hope you’ve recovered from the last chapter

story summary: Scandal! AU– your mentor, David Rossi, has recruited you to make Senator Aaron Hotchner the next President of the United States. Once described as a political nun, the Senator helps you see that maybe you can mix business and pleasure.

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: discussion of adultery, food and alcohol consumption

wordcount: 2.2k

“Well, that’s bullshit. He says he’s asking for one little thing, but it’s not little, and it’s way more than one thing,” JJ points out after you explain the Joey situation. She gesticulates wildly as she speaks, the wine in the glass that she’s holding sloshing precariously. You’d headed back to the office to decompress after leaving Joey’s in a huff, pleasantly surprised to find the rest of the team still around. You’d pulled an expensive bottle of red out of the closet in your office and ordered Chinese food for a proper vent.

“And Rosen isn’t stupid,” Morgan continues off of JJ’s thought as he plucks a crab rangoon off of her plate. “He knows exactly what he’s asking, and he knows it’s not insignificant. He’s asking you to move, he’s asking you to leave all of your friends behind, he’s asking you to abandon your business, he’s asking you to start over in a new city where you have no client base–”

“He talked about settling down. I think if it had gone any better he would have asked me to be barefoot and pregnant in his kitchen,” you remark, taking a healthy swig of your glass of wine and washing it down with lo mein before topping the glass off. “So really, I don’t think my client base is on his mind at all.”

“God, does he know who he’s been seeing for all this time?” Emily scoffs. “It’s just so typical. Of course he expects you to drop your career for his. Never mind the fact that you’re the far more successful person of the two of you. Men.” She rolls her eyes.

“The way he asked was shitty,” JJ concludes. “How do you feel about it otherwise?”

“Are you asking if she’s considering it?” Morgan balks– clearly he’s made up his mind about the situation.

“Why shouldn’t she? She and Joey have been seeing each other for a while. They’re happy together. People move all the time, Morgan.” JJ counters.

“We are happy. And people do move. It’s not the end of the world,” you affirm, although you realize that you’re trying to convince yourself more than Morgan.

“It’s not that simple, though,” Emily points out, ever the realist. “It’s an emotional decision, too. You can’t rationalize yourself into a choice like this.”

“You’ve got a lot to consider,” Morgan says. And he doesn’t know the half of it.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I do.”

++++++++++

You should have known it was a trap when Rossi had insisted you come to the White House for coffee. “It’s supposed to rain, and the President’s in meetings all morning, anyways,” he’d said. He was a dirty, shameless liar. There wasn’t even a cloud in the sky.

You heard the President’s voice from behind you before the door even opened.

“David, Senator Granger won’t leave me alone!” His voice bellowed from the outer office. “He’s looking for—” He explains as the door opens, stopping short as he sees you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company. Hi,” he says, treating you to the briefest appearance of that sweet little dimple on the side of his face.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” you say professionally.

“I know what Granger’s looking for,” Rossi scoffs. “He’s about to get my foot up his ass, is what’s gonna happen when I handle it,” he mutters, excusing himself and leaving you alone with the President, shutting the door behind him. Damn him.

The President advances upon you as soon as the door clicks shut, his intentions clear across his face. It’s been weeks. You hadn’t talked to the President, and you hadn’t talked to Joey. You should have known that you couldn’t outrun this clock forever.

“Mr. President–” you try to warn him.

“Quiet,” he whispers as he takes your face in both of his hands, his voice low and rumbly, so achingly familiar that it draws a gasp out of you as he presses his lips to yours.

You let him kiss you for too long, but you’re helpless to stop him, not when his hands are so big and so warm and his arms are so strong and he sounds just as desperate for you as you are for him. But you stop him, because you have to.

“Aaron— Mr. President. Joey got a job offer at Harvard. He asked me to go with him.”

The new information leaves him undeterred– if anything, he only pulls you in tighter, kisses you harder. “You’re not going,” he tells you, and you spare a thought for your feminist sensibilities when the sentence sends a pang of longing through you.

“I don’t know if I am,” you tell him, winding your arms around his neck.

“No, you’re not,” he affirms, running his hands up and down your sides. "That's bullshit," he mutters into the crook of your neck.

“You’re married,” you remind him.

“I can fix that,” he tells you, and it’s the first thing that gives you pause.

You pull away from him, place your hands on either side of his face and make him look you in the eye so you know that he’s listening.

“The media will crucify you. You’ll lose everything,” you tell him.

“Not everything,” he says, taking your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it up so you’re looking at him. “Not anything important.”

“Aaron,” you start, stepping away from him.

“I mean it. I’m not happy. Whether you move or not, my marriage is over,” he assures you. “It’s going to take time, maybe even the rest of my presidency. She’ll fight. Or maybe I’m delusional, and she won’t. But I can’t do it any more, I can’t pretend like we’re still seventeen and messing around when we’re supposed to be doing our math homework. I’m getting out.”

“And I’m supposed to do what? Wait for you?” You scoff, refusing to look him in the eye. You know that if you do, the conversation is over. He’ll win. So you train your eyes up towards the ceiling instead.

“This isn’t theoretical anymore,” he says, reaching out for you, placing a hand over your wrist. “I love you,” he reminds you, bringing his hands back to your face. “It’s real,” he promises with a gentle kiss to your lips. “ Say you’ll wait for me. We love each other, angel. You and I…” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist, linking his hands at the small of your back. “We belong together. So say it,” he requests, tucking in to place a kiss to your neck. “Say you’ll wait for me.”

The enormity of the moment hits you all at once– he’s here, and he loves you, and you’re holding him, and he’s choosing you– it’s everything you ever wanted. But it’s still not real, it’s not tangible. You do love him. Maybe you even do belong with him. But he is still married. And he is still the President. And you may be the woman he loves, legitimately. But you’ll always be his mistress, first.

He presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw, and like muscle memory, you bring your hand to the back of his head, curl your fingers into the deliciously soft hair there. You gasp. How could something so transient feel so real? How could something so immaterial play out in front of you and be so meaningful?”

“Wait for me, pretty girl. Please, please wait for me.”

“I’ll think about it,” you whisper.

“Hey,” JJ calls out for you one night as you’re all packing up to leave the office. “How well did you get to know the First Family’s detail when you worked at the White House?”

“I know most of them by name, at least. I obviously know the President’s detail better than The First Lady’s or Jack’s,” you tell her with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve got a first date tonight. Does the name LaMontagne mean anything to you? Will Lamontagne?” She asks.

It takes a minute, but then it comes to you. “Oh my god, yeah! He was on Jack’s detail. He was great with him– Jack loved him,” you tell her with a bright smile. “He seemed like a good guy.”

“Is this your first date since… the last guy?” Derek asks.

“Yeah,” JJ blushes, looking down at the floor.

“Jayje, that’s great news,” you say, wrapping her in a hug. “You deserve this, something good and somebody kind.”

“Where are you going? Do you know what you’re going to wear?” Emily asks, wanting to be in on the excitement.

“We’re having dinner in Alexandria,” JJ answers. “Which reminds me– do you still have those black pumps that lace up in the back?” she asks you, and you smile.

“Yeah, they’re in my closet, do you want to come back to my place with me and I’ll get them for you?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

When the two of you arrive at your apartment, there’s a floral arrangement in a vase on your front mat– a dozen red roses.

“Wow. Joey really wants you to move, huh?”

You know right away they’re not from Joey–he’s never once brought you flowers. You barely hear JJ over the sound of your own racing thoughts. “Huh?” You ask, and then, once you realize what she thinks is happening. “Oh, yeah. I guess so.” You pluck the card out of the arrangement.

“I know this is more ostentatious than normal, but you needed a pick me up, or maybe a reminder. I love you. We’ll figure the rest out. AH.”

You pocket the card, not wanting to risk JJ reading it while you fetch the shoes. She sits at one of the barstools in your kitchen while you grab the shoes from your closet, placing them in a box for her.

“Have you thought about the move at all?” She asks when you re-emerge from your bedroom.

You sigh. “It’s all I think about, and I never get any closer to making up my mind,” you tell her, taking a seat next to her.

She places one of your hands over her own, gesturing to the flowers with a tilt of her chin. “Clearly he wants to make it work. If you want to make it work, too, then that’s all it takes. Don’t analyze it too hard. It’s not about what you should want or what you think makes the most logical sense. You can’t make this fit in a box. You can only figure out what it is that you really want, and do everything in your power to keep it. Everything else is bullshit, anyways.”

You take in a little gasp, not expecting JJ’s words to affect you so much– and certainly not anticipating applying them to a situation she knew nothing about. “Thanks, Jayje. Don’t let me keep you. Have tons of fun tonight, and text me when you make it home.”

“I know who to call if I need help hiding a body,” she teases you as she bids her goodbyes and heads towards the door.

++++++++++++

You’re eating a real meal– your first in as long as you can remember– when there’s a knock on the door– pasta, vegetables, crusty bread and a big glass of wine. You groan. Of course, you’re being interrupted. Why wouldn’t you be? You swing the door open, and Joey’s on your doorstep.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” you say, attempting to stay polite despite your annoyance, and maybe a touch of hanger.

“Well, how could you be, when you’ve been ignoring my calls for weeks?” He spits out.

“Come on, Joey. Let’s not do this now.” You beg of him.

“So that’s it? We’re done?”

“I didn’t say that!” You argue.

“No, but you want to! You’re stalling. Stop stalling and just tell me the truth.”

“Joey–” you start, but apparently he’s not finished.

“Tell me that you don’t want to settle down. Tell me you don’t want to leave the city. Hell, tell me that it’s me. But tell me why I’ve been wasting my time. Tell me something.”

“I’m sorry, Joey. I’m really sorry,” you apologize. “I could go with you. I could settle down. I could do all of those things. But I don’t want to,” you confess, the simplicity of it nearly knocking the wind out of both of your sails. “I’m not built for it. I don’t want normal, and easy, and simple. I want difficult, devastating, life changing, extraordinary love. Don’t you want that too?” You ask, looking up at him, willing the tears that had gathered in your eyes not to spill over.

“No, I don’t. I don’t want any of that. I only wanted you,” He says lowly. He picks his head up, and notices the roses on your countertop. “Silly me, I guess,” he says with a humorless chuckle before storming out the door.

@shmaptainhotchner @call-me-mrsreid @dadbodhotch11 @the-modernmary @ssamorganhotchner @choppa-style @ssahotchie @rousethemouse @angelfxllcm @arsonhotchner @skyler666 @mintphoenix @gspenc @g-l-pierce @wheelsupkels

[elentiyawhitethorn]

When Passion Rules the Game | Part Three

CW: minor NSFW, language

Part Two//Part Four//Masterlist//2759 words

The rest of the week was pure torture. Rowan’s position in the company, right underneath her, made it hard to avoid him, and Aelin was frustrated as hell by the time Friday rolled around. Once she was out for the weekend and she didn’t have to worry about being yelled at again for being tardy the next day, she headed to a bar. Aelin needed some release after the shitstorm that had been Rowan Whitethorn.

It was even more crowded than it had been on Monday night, people on every side of Aelin. This wasn’t some classy, upscale establishment, it was a dirty, overflowing shithole that Aelin frequented both because there was less a chance of her recognizing anyone, and because she liked it here.

Aelin sipped from her drink, eyeing the people around her. One man, blond and cheerful, met her gaze, and she smiled seductively. Aelin had turned flirting into an art form. It was a rare night indeed that she went home alone.

The man made his way over. “Hello, darling.”

Aelin smirked. “Hey.”

And so it began.

Five minutes later, Fenrys, she had discovered, had his hand resting on her hip, while her own hand was trailing along his arm. He had asked her name, and she told him Celaena, the name she often gave people she met in this scenario. It would have been even more embarrassing had she falsely identified herself to Rowan, she thought, before she could help herself. Then she tried to stop thinking about him.

Before she could ask Fenrys if he wanted to get out of here and help her drown out the roaring in her head—the contemplations of Rowan—something caught her eye. Or rather, someone.

Leaning against the wall and speaking to a tall, pretty brunette was Rowan.

Aelin managed not to gasp out loud, deciding that she needed to quietly extract herself from the situation. Yes, that was the plan. Make an excuse to Fenrys and get out. It was simple. Until Rowan looked her way.

His eyes widened upon seeing her her; not that either of them really had any right to be surprised. They both knew the other enjoyed spending time here.

Mentally cursing herself, Aelin debated what to do. She definitely couldn’t talk to him, nor could she keep staring at him forever. She would still have to leave and hope he didn’t bring it up at work. But was there really any point in turning down Fenrys when Rowan now knew what she was up to?

“Are you okay?”

Aelin snapped back to Fenrys, who was watching her with concern.

Aelin hesitated. “Yeah, my friend is calling me over. I need to leave.” They both knew it was a lie, but Fenrys seemed too nice to call her out on it. Feeling bad—and feeling she was missing an opportunity—Aelin flashed her best smile and added, “Maybe next time, if I ever see you around here again.”

He grinned and said, “Maybe.”

Then Aelin left from her spot at the bar and headed away, the easy smile evaporating from her face as she hurried toward the door. She didn’t dare look to where Rowan stood.

She made it five steps out the door before she heard Rowan call, “Aelin! Wait!”

She stopped but didn’t turn around. “You shouldn’t be approaching me outside of work. It’s inappropriate.”

“It’s—” Rowan started, sighing in exasperation. Aelin turned toward him to find the man running a hand through his hair stressfully. “Aelin, I—”

“Miss Galathynius!” Aelin yelled. She hadn’t meant to scream at him; after all, he was in just as bad a position as she was. But hearing her name on Rowan’s lips was too much for her.

Rowan winced. “Miss Galathynius. I’m sorry. I just felt we needed to clear the air.”

“There’s no need to do that, Mr. Whitethorn. I told you just to forget about it.” Aelin crossed her arms, trying to block the cold breeze. She was wearing a green dress held up by thin straps. It dipped low in the front and the back, and it was fairly short. It was why no one recognized her. It was also why Aelin felt so underdressed in front of Rowan, who was wearing jeans and a button-up shirt.

“You say that, but ignoring what happened obviously isn’t going to make this any better. We can hardly speak to each other without wincing.”

“So what?” Aelin hissed. “It will get better eventually.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Aelin just stared at him, wondering what to do. She had never before been in a position like this.

“I understand that you don’t what to acknowledge what happened between us, I really do get it, but I’m in a bad position here, too. I work for you for fuck’s sake. Other people would have fired me by now, and to be honest, I don’t know you. I don’t know how secure my job is.”

Aelin blinked at that. She hadn’t thought about how much this was affecting him. Mentally cursing herself for not bothering to wonder how Rowan was managing, she said, “I won’t fire you, I promise. Not for anything to do with this, anyway.”

Rowan smiled slightly. “Why don’t you come back to my place? Not to do anything,” he added hurriedly. “Just to talk. You look freezing out here. I won’t make a move, I swear.”

Aelin hesitated. She believed him, but she didn’t know if she would be able to stop herself from making a move. And now that she was aware of what a precarious position he was in, she didn’t want to do anything like that. Intentions aside, anything she did to him would be sexual harassment, plain and simple.

But Aelin was not that kind of person. She could manage to restrain herself for this reason, at least.

“Sure,” she told him, because they really did need to talk.

They had taken a taxi to Rowan’s apartment last time, and they did the same now. That night they had been so close, their legs pressed together, his hand possessively gripping her thigh. Now Aelin stayed well to her side of the seat, staring out the window in silence. The few times she glanced over, Rowan was doing the same.

Once they arrived, Rowan ran his hand through his short locks some more, something Aelin was beginning to realize was a nervous habit of his. He led her up to his place, then flipped on some lights and gestured for her to sit on the couch.

The apartment was just as bare as it had been last time, boxes still littering the floor. Rowan must not have had any free time to unpack yet.

“Thanks,” Aelin muttered when he passed her a jacket from the table. Apparently he’d noticed she was still cold. It was the first word spoken between then since they’d agreed to talk, but it didn’t break the uneasiness.

Sliding the jacket on gratefully and taking a seat on Rowan’s couch, Aelin sat with her back straight. He took a spot next to her, but gave her plenty of space. Too much, even.

Rowan cleared his throat. Then waited a few moments. It seemed that though he felt they needed to talk, he wasn’t sure what to say. Aelin decided to break the silence.

“What do you think of me, Mr. Whitethorn?” Aelin asked.

“What do you mean, Miss Galathynius?” They were both acting far too formal. Aelin would typically be calling her workers by their first names and inviting them to do the same, unless she really didn’t like them.

“Does the fact that I hook up with strangers lower your opinion of me?”

Rowan blinked. “Of course not. I do the same thing, remember?”

“Most people, should they find out, likely wouldn’t acknowledge that fact. Women are often held to a different standard.” Aelin pulled the jacket tighter over her body.

A pitying look crossed Rowan’s face. As much as Aelin was relieved he wasn’t arguing that fact, she did not want his pity. Still, she kept her mouth shut.

“You’re right. But I don’t think what you do in your free time affects how well you do your job, Miss Galathynius. I’m sorry other people do.”

“Thank you, Rowan. Mr. Whitethorn.” Aelin tried not to blush. She’d been so annoyed when he had called her by her first name, and here she was.

Thankfully, he didn’t say anything about her slip, only raising an eyebrow. “So, we fucked.”

“Yep,” Aelin said.

Rowan nodded. “Now what?”

Aelin laughed. “I don’t know. Short of doing it again I don’t think… um…” She trailed off as she realized what she had said.

“What were you saying?” Rowan asked hoarsely.

Aelin tensed. “Well, I was just commenting on the fact that doing it again would probably relieve the tension. Not that I’m suggesting actually doing it. I was just… joking…”

“Doing it again…” Rowan mused, almost to himself.

Aelin bit her lip. She hadn’t realized how close they had gotten on the couch, only inches apart. When had that happened?

Aelin felt something on her thigh, and she knew without looking down that it was Rowan’s hand. She wanted to be angry, but she suddenly realized her own hand was resting on his chest.

Rowan leaned in, and their breath mingled. It was so wrong, so so wrong. He worked for her—she was his boss. But his hand was so warm and his eyes were so dilated and Aelin couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

The next thing she knew, they were kissing.

This kiss was no less passionate than any of the ones they’d shared that first night. Rowan’s tongue parted Aelin’s lips, darting into her mouth, and she groaned. His hands came to her waist, possessive as ever. There were reasons they shouldn’t be doing this, but Aelin couldn’t think of what they were. All she knew was that Rowan was touching her the way she wanted to be touched and if felt so gods-damn right.

Aelin slipped out of the jacket and climbed onto Rowan’s lap, straddling him. He nipped at her lower lip, drawing out a groan, and tugged her father toward him. She could feel his half-hard cock right underneath her, and she ground down on it, yearning for any sort of friction.

A feral groan left Rowan’s mouth and he flipped them so that Aelin was underneath him on the couch, covered by his enormous frame. She shifted so that her legs were free, then wrapped them around Rowan’s waist. Aelin moved, grinding her hips on him once more, needy for some sort of relief.

Rowan, panting, reached for the first strap of her dress. So that he could pull it down. So that her breasts would be free. So that she could be naked and he could fuck her.

“Wait.”

Rowan paused, weighed the sincerity of her tone, then sat back, letting her up. He didn’t ask her what was wrong. There was no need; understanding shone in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Aelin said, straightening her dress as best as she could. “We both initiated that.”

Rowan nodded. He didn’t ask her for more or tell her it didn’t matter. He just understood, just acknowledged the fact that Aelin wasn’t willing to do this anymore and didn’t argue.

This couldn’t happen. The first time hadn’t been wrong—after all, Aelin hadn’t known what she was doing, even if he had technically been her employee even then. But now… she had worked too hard to let this happen. If anyone found out that a female CEO was sleeping with one of her employees, she would be disgraced and her life’s dream would end in ruin. Sex, even damn good sex, was not worth that.

“I should go.”

Rowan nodded again. “That’s probably for the best.”

“I’m sorry,” Aelin said, mimicking his apology.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Aelin shook her head. “I did, though. I know better than this. As long as you continue to work hard, your job is safe.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Neither was angry. Aelin was pretty sure Rowan was as disappointed in himself as she was with her own actions. She had never been so careless, so rebellious of the rules.

Aelin gave one last nod, then stood and exited his apartment, her mind whirling. So quickly, she had come to her senses and put a firm end to their hungry movements. What if she hadn’t, though? What if she had let Rowan have his way with her, what if he had touched her and fucked her and gods-damn owned her?

Feeling like an idiot for imagining what could have been, Aelin made her way home and got ready for bed. It was late, and she knew that it would take some time for her to get to sleep, as it had all of the past week.

Dorian was gone, having finally grown a pair and apologized to Manon for spilling coffee on her favorite dress. Which meant the house was empty.

The silence was too much for Aelin. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had confidently dirty-talked her the night they’d met, the words he had spoken. When Aelin started remembering how he had kissed her not an hour ago, trailing his hands along her skin, she couldn’t quite stop her own hands from repeating the motions.

Obviously Aelin wasn’t going to be able to forget what Rowan had done with her, and she needed to relieve herself somehow. It wasn’t wrong. That’s what Aelin kept telling herself at her hands moved to her breasts, massaging them. This isn’t wrong, this isn’t wrong.

She was only wearing a t-shirt and panties, and Aelin efficiently stripped, committing to what she was doing. Just this once.

Then Aelin set to work. She let one hand continue playing with her breast, twisting her own nipple. The other moved down her body, caressing the soft skin. Worked up enough as it was thinking about Rowan, and permanently impatient, Aelin plunged two fingers into her entrance.

She sighed in content, beginning to thrust her fingers in and out, working herself. Her own callouses scraped deliciously against her walls, but they weren’t like Rowan’s. None of this was like Rowan.

Wishing that she could have the real thing, instead of some immature fantasy, Aelin finger-fucked herself harder, pretending it was him. The hand on her breast was Rowan’s rough touch, the hand in her pussy was him making her feel good.

Aelin moaned. She could almost hear his deep voice berating her, ordering her what to do. She could almost see him, hovering above her with that smirk, pretending he wasn’t just as turned on as she was.

It was ever so easy to fall over the edge, groaning Rowan’s name. Aelin loathed herself for it, she truly did, but that didn’t make it feel any less good. Her body shook for a moment, but Aelin couldn’t help but think Rowan would have made it better for her.

As soon as she came down from her high, Aelin slipped out of bed. She splashed her face with water in the bathroom angrily, wondering what had happened to her. She was never like this.

Then Aelin pulled on a shirt and some sweats and headed outside. Disregarding the fact that it was the middle of the night, Aelin set off on a brutal pace, jogging along the sidewalk. It was difficult to see with the limited light of the street lamps, but Aelin didn’t care. Hell, if she fell and twisted her ankle, she’d deserve it.

Aelin had been an athlete in high school and college, and with the adrenaline and fury coursing through her veins, her max speed was pretty fucking fast.

It was a long time before Aelin calmed down enough to head back and go inside. And when the time came, she promised herself never to touch herself again while thinking of Rowan Whitethorn. Or to touch him again. Or to so much as admire his chiseled chest, or his structured cheekbones, or his mirthful, full lips…

What had Aelin been thinking? Right, every encounter with Rowan would be entirely professional from now on. She would surely have no issue with that, not after the embarrassment and shame that had stemmed from tonight.

But Aelin’s vow to remain indifferent toward Rowan was about to be tested in more ways than one.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@autumnbabylon

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

[eirist]

In the Heat of the Moment

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: For Day 3—Nami’s Day—of the ZoNa Days event (at @zonamievents). I’m already late but still posting it. It’s unfair if it’s only Zoro who gets an entry.

In the Heat of the Moment is by Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds. I still have The Umbrella playlist to thank for being such a good company.

Summary: "You're getting sappy witch. Sounds like you care about me."

The rain hadn’t let up from the moment it began to pour down.

Which should not have been a problem in the first place… the Straw Hats have their very own weather expert-slash-navigator extraordinaire after all.

If only said weather expert-slash-navigator extraordinaire didn't get distracted, arguing with a certain green-haired swordsman.

"This is your fault!" Nami complained, rubbing her arms with her hands in a poor attempt to keep the emerging chill away.

​Somehow satisfied, she folded her arms across her chest as she sulkily glared at the rain which has now completely turned into a steady downpour.

​Luckily she was able to pull the man with her towards an alcove in the town's wall before they got drenched. It was an uncomfortable fit, as they were almost pressed to each other, but it'll do.

​Zoro was snarling beside her. "This rain is MY fault?" He huffed. "Right! It's my fault coz I absolutely can make it rain on a whim!"

Nami turned sharply towards him, glaring daggers. "If you hadn't gotten lost—" 

"I DON'T GET LOST!" 

"—like the idiot that you are," she continued ignoring Zoro's outburst, deliberately raising her tone and effectively drowning his retort with her shrill voice. "Then we wouldn't be stuck in here ZORO!" Her voice jumped another octave when she said his name. "In. HERE!" She repeated the words, making sure to emphasize them and hoping to drill it straight into his thick, dumb skull. 

"Tch! Then you shouldn't have followed me!" The former bounty hunter groused.

​"Besides, aren't you supposed to be good at predicting the weather?" He commented sardonically. "Shouldn't you have known that it’s going to rain today?" 

Nami gaped at him disbelievingly. ​And heat rose to her cheeks.

​She gave his shin a good kick for that.

​​"Ite!" 

​"I know that!" Nami practically shrieked at him. "That's why I followed you here to tell you about it! Is this the thanks I get from making sure you don't get your dumb self lost in this island while a storm is brewing?!"

"Again woman, I DON'T GET LOST!" Not the one to be deterred, Zoro raised his own voice to match hers. "And damn it! Stop kicking me!"

​"Bullshit!" The ever-feisty navigator exclaimed. "That a load of crap and you know it!"

​She angrily poked his chest with her finger. "If I leave you to your own devices... We. Would. Never. Find. You!" She punctuated each word with a prod on his torso. As if that would actually make the idea sink unto him. "I don't want Luffy and Chopper whining about how you are lost and that we should find you!

​Zoro grabbed her hand to stop her from poking a hole in him. Grasping it firmly he all but shouted back at her. "I will be fine! I will find my way back to the Sunny!"

“Hah! Fat chance of that happening!” 

​They were almost nose to nose by this time; all the while scowling at each other, both waiting for the other to back down.

Now only the sound of the rain falling heavily down the soaked earth can be heard as they continued their stare off. Along with the sharp intake of breaths coming from the two of them because honestly, their shouting matches can be quite arduous.

​As the glowering continued; Zoro thought he caught a glint, a spark from behind Nami's eyes before those warm brown orbs widened.

​In what could only be a realization that their current position is leaning towards… precarious. It was also not helping that his own eye had darted all over her face, taking in the flush on her cheeks. Despite it coming from indignation, she still looks...

 ... pretty.

​He almost choked at his thoughts. When did he turn into that shit cook?

Zoro inhaled sharply and realized what a wrong move that was. He caught a whiff of Nami’s signature scent. Sweet with an undertone of zestiness that reminds him of her mikan fruits at their peak of ripeness—that certain moment that makes you want to steal one so you can taste them...

​The color on her face deepened and Zoro wasn't sure if it was because she was getting angrier and angrier by the minute.

Or... If it was because she saw that his stare lingered for more than a second or two at her lips. ​"Screw this!" He grunted, instantly averting his gaze. He felt his face heating up and to get out of their rather 'awkward' situation, he immediately resorted to his favorite defense mechanism whenever he faces off against this orange-haired devil incarnate.

Losing his temper on her. 

"You are not my keeper woman!" He snapped at her before immediately stepping out of their sanctuary and into the rain.

That made Nami snap to attention. "Hey!"

​Without another word Zoro turn around and started walking away from her despite the torrential rain.

WALKING. AWAY. FROM. HER.

While it’s raining cats and dogs. 

 "Zorooo!!!" He heard Nami screeched his name, horrified that he would actually leave her alone. There was no way he was getting back in there with her. Not when it occurred to him that he was only a second away from grabbing her...

...and kissing her.

​He walked in faster strides when she called him again. He had to get away from her. He needed to get away from her.

Far away.

​Because honestly she was driving him crazy lately with all these thoughts of wanting to kiss her surfacing every moment whenever he was with her.  

And who knows what the repercussions are? This is Nami they're talking about. She would probably sic ero-cook and even Luffy if he dared to even try. Or rat him out to either Robin or Usopp or both.

Or charge him more than what his current bounty is.

He winced at that.

​For now he needed to get away and calm himself so he can reflect...

​There was no warning as something collided at his back, almost making him stumble down the wet ground.

Did someone just attack him?

​But the presence wasn't threatening, even if its arms were wrapped around his neck in a chokehold, throttling him.

"YOU DID NOT JUST LEAVE ME ALONE THERE RORONOA ZORO!" Nami deliberately yelled at his ear, probably making his ear drum shatter and rendering him forever deaf. In a split second the Supernova realized that Nami… had jumped him.

​"Hey! Get off witch!"

"No!" "Get off!" "I said no!"

​"Get off now or I'll--"

Her hold around his neck tightened. "Or you'll what?" Nami hissed right in his ear in a tone so dangerously low that an actual chill ran down Zoro's spine. He gave her arm a light slap, a silent gesture to loosen her hold because she was cutting off his air. When she didn't relent, he effortlessly bounced her up his back.

​With a squeak of surprise, her arms slackened and he was able to finally draw in some air.

Nami’s hands grabbed at his shirt in an attempt to prevent herself from slipping from his back. Zoro tried to shake her off him. But the cat burglar swiftly clung onto him by locking her legs around his waist.

His remaining eye widened at that. 

"Nami!"  ​ "Stop trying to shake me off Zoro!" Nami protested as she held on to him tightly. Her knee knocked against his katanas and he scowled. "Then stop strangling me damn it!" "You deserve it you ass! Leaving me alone like that! Wait until the others hear about this you brute!" ​ Zoro muttered an expletive under his breath. Nami is a real witch!

He can feel her sliding down his back again. She was having a hard time clinging onto him because his shirt and her arms and legs were all wet from the rain water.

"I'm charging you for all these Zoro!" She muttered against his ear, her breath hot against his skin… a stark contrast from the cold rain water falling down on them. "The hell you are!" He managed to retort. She was speaking from his blind side and even as he tilted his head, he cannot see her face or her expression.

The next thing he knew… her fist had descended on his head.

“The hell! Why did you hit me?!”

“Because you are a moron.”

“That’s it get off me!”

“No!!”

​They continued struggling against each other, right in the middle of the rain that was soaking them to the bone.

​And Zoro realized then and there that Nami was quite nimble. She had quickly managed to change her position from his back to his side with her legs still locked around him.

He really didn't know what to do with that information, except it's going to be really handy once he gets the chance to...

​​​Fuck! ​​ She had hit him on the head with her fist ​again.​ That’s twice already.  Why are her punches hurting him so much? Was it clad in haki?? "Argh! Nami stop it!" He tilted his head towards her so he can growl and glare at her all at the same time.

She just gave him a haughty serves-you-right grin.

In retaliation he bounced her against him again. 

​Which was a wrong move. Because all it did was rubbed her breasts against him and press her closer to him.

It was a good thing the rain was drowning them.   Though it did made her yelp in surprise. He’s good with that.

​"Argh! Stay still Zoro! I swear if you drop me down I'm going to—"

“To what?” His steely eye met hers. This time it was his turn to challenge her.

Nami’s hold around his neck tightened, probably because her grip on him was slipping again because she was just as wet as he is and also because she still wants to choke the shit out of him for leaving her alone earlier.

She lifted her chin slightly so she could gaze back at him even as the rain water continued trickling down her face.

Was it just him or Nami’s quite comfortable where she is right now?

He knew she was trying to give him the evil eye. But it was hard to do that when the droplets of rain keep clinging to her lashes and she had to blink them away in a manner that affects him greatly.

And there was it… that familiar glint, that spark he saw when they were back in the alcove taking shelter from this rain.

“Look Zoro,” she finally sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you will come back to the Sunny in one piece and not get stranded in this weather."

​Zoro blinked. He was not expecting that.

​Then his face broke into a smirk. "You're getting sappy witch. Sounds like you care about me."

“Y-y-ou!” She stammered.

He grinned at her as she sputtered, her face turn absolutely and adorably red.

To think, he actually high-tailed it out of there earlier with his tail between his legs all because he can't face the realization that he wanted this woman.

But there was no denying it now. Amidst this rain it was very clear. That was all he needed.

He finally decided to take a chance instead of running away from it like a coward. ​

He tucked a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. "You can punch me or charge me later Nami," was all he said before he pressed his lips on hers.

Her body jerked in surprised. His arm instantly wrapped around her waist to secure her as one of her hands grasp at his shirt tightly.

​He swore he heard and felt her murmur 'oh fuck' against his lips before she deepened their kiss.

​They pulled apart slightly for air. Zoro hauled her up a little and Nami was about to lean down to for another kiss…

“A-choo!”

They looked at each other in surprise. Nami’s hand automatically covered her mouth as her face turned red again… this time for a very different reason.

“Ehem!”

They both turn their heads towards the sound and saw an elderly man standing a few feet away from them under an umbrella.

He was shaking his head as he looked at them.

“You youngsters should just get a room you know. You risk getting sick doing things out here in the open that should be done privately.”

[angelguk]

→ pu$$y fairy — a jeongguk scenario

member: jeon jungkook

word count: 3.2k

genre: smut + college!au + jeongguk and oc are in a weird fwbs without the friendship part just the benefits except jaykay lowkey has feelings + virginity au

warnings: virgin!oc / blowjob / we talk about dicks for a bit / oc is strange / jaykay is confused / cum swallowing / first times / not really edited / mingyu the meddling best fwend

soundtrack: on the way, jhene aiko + hold on (slowed and reverb), the internet

Jeongguk doesn’t hate Mingyu. He truly doesn’t. He is one of his closest friends after all; he’d held him up after Jeongguk had dumped half a keg down his throat and his legs had promptly collapsed.  He’d also been a successful wingman for when Jeongguk was aiming to add Seolhyun to the list of girls he’d bagged, sent pictures of his organic chemistry notes when Jeongguk had missed more than half of the classes in high school and didn’t laugh at him when he was heart-broken over Sua and borderline depressed. He was a true friend; someone Jeongguk could rely on. It was a simple brother-like relationship that Jeongguk deeply treasured. So no, he could never hate Mingyu – but he could absolutely long to punch that insufferable asshole in the face.

He should have known this was going to go downhill exceptionally fast the moment you stumbled into his room, wide-eyed and nervous in your unsure steps. When his pants had hit the ground, the shock in your eyes was a dead giveaway to how messy this whole arrangement was going to be. The second clear sign was when you jumped out his window because the sight of his bare dick terrified you.

And this was all the result of Mingyu being a meddling shit who didn’t know when to mind his business.

He remembers it with a clarity that makes his shoulders tense, how Mingyu had snuck you into the conversation while twisting a soju bottle in his hands.

“Yo… JK…. You mind if I ask you a question?” He’d said. Jeongguk shrugged, focused on flipping the meat on the grill because he was starving and the prospect of cooked meat was a lot more appealing than feigning interest in a conversation. “Alright…," Mingyu took his silence as a cue to speak. “Have you ever fucked a virgin?”

He should have known then. He really should have known.

“I don’t know. I don’t ask any questions when I’m hard,” Jeongguk had replied, unknowing of the dangerous path this conversation was guiding him down.

“Yeah and most of the time you don’t fuck on an actual bed. I’m not even surprised you don’t ask questions.”

“Hey!” Jeongguk had swung the tongs around. “I ask important ones, like consent and making sure we’ve got a condom around. But virginity? Not my concern.”

“Seems a bit…. Whorish to me.”

“Not whorish. I just have my priorities elsewhere… Like cumming for example.”

Mingyu had sighed as he poured him a shot, the air leaving his lips heavy. “I shouldn’t even be asking you to be honest. You’re a decent guy but your kind of a dickhead when it comes to sex.”

“How does not pondering on virginity make me dickhead? Again, as I said, priorities are elsewhere.”

“Dude you’ve never even tried to have meaningful sex at least once in your life. When was the last time you were actually emotionally invested in the person you were sleeping with? Hmm?”

The answer was Sua and he knew that but Mingyu was decent enough to keep her name out of his mouth, the judging look in his eyes saying enough.

“You know… I don’t do well with the whole emotional thing. I prefer it physical. It’s less messy. But what does this even have to do with virginity?” Jeongguk hated to admit it but he was somewhat interested in where this conversation was going. If only he knew it was leading to a massive train wreck of the one thing, he steered clear from – emotions.

Mingyu had just sighed again, tipping the soju bottle into his shot glass once more. “There’s a girl who I’d like you to meet.”

He’d scoffed, mouth stuffed with a perilla leaf wrap. “You know I don’t do blind dates.”

“It’s not a blind date,” Mingyu had retorted, the glance he threw at his friend’s direction precarious. “She wants you to take her virginity.”

Jeongguk had choked. Of course, he had. Even if sex didn’t mean much to him, taking someone’s first time like that felt very transactional. And Jeongguk wasn’t that big of a dickhead. But then Mingyu had opened his mouth, spewing various details about your life to him that he would rather have not heard over a KBBQ lunch. You were a friend from one of his business lectures, rather eccentric but sweet and funny. You were also a virgin and terrified of approaching men on your own, one of the reasons Mingyu had sprung up this arrangement. Jeongguk wasn’t one to fall into things like this but it was too late. Mingyu was a marketing major for a reason, he knew how to spin words in his favour, convince people into agreeing to things that they normally would not. And that’s how Jeongguk found himself staring at your retreating figure after you’d thrown your body right out his window, landing hard on the lawn of the house he rented with Namjoon and Seokjin. The crazy thing was that you’d gotten up immediately, not showing any sign of a broken bone or injuries, before promptly sprinting down the road to the bus stop. He should have known then. He really should have known. And yet, here he is, pants discarded on the floor of his room and his dick aching from being unrelieved for longer than it’s ever been, while you crouch over him, squinting at his penis like it’s a foreign object that could kill you.

“Could you please stop staring at my penis like that.” He says it out of frustration, but also the way you’re examining his length makes him feel self-conscious in a way he hasn’t felt like in a long time.

“Sorry,” you murmur, not breaking eye contact with his dick. “I’m just… fascinated. It’s rather….” The sentence tapers out and you swallow hard as if it pains you to admit it, “...Ugly.”

Jeongguk decides then and there he hates you.

“I mean... It’s not that it’s ugly!” you swiftly attempt to amend, catching the glare he directs at you. “It’s also big!”

“I know. And you just said it was ugly,” Jeongguk retorts, weighing the options in his head. Either get a poor blowjob from a girl he’s terrified of (but also bizarrely attracted too) or kick you out of his room and finish himself off. The situation sucks either way but it’s better than the last time when you’d leapt out of the window like a gazelle.

“I misspoke,” you say, gently falling onto your knees. You flash him a shy smile, a soft delicate little thing that makes your eyes glitter and Jeongguk instantly picks the first option. “It’s just different to what I expected it to look like.”

He scoffs, swallowing hard on the sudden lump in his throat. “There’s no way you haven’t seen a dick before. You don’t watch porn?”

The grimace you make is enough of an answer. “I have… Not all the time though, it’s too much for me sometimes. Also, it’s weird seeing it in real life and not, like, through a screen.”

“Noted. But still, it’s not that ugly,” Jeongguk murmurs, trying not to compare his penis to the visuals he has in his head. His pride is wounded from that comment he won’t deny it.

“It kinda is,” you reply. Jeongguk flicks your forehead in retaliation. “Ow! Why’d you do that.” There’s that stupid pout in your lips as you glower at him. He despises how his dick twitches at the sudden thought of your pretty mouth wrapped around his length. Despises it even more when you gasp at the slight motion trembling through him. “It moves?!”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk sighs, wondering how on Earth you’re over the age of twenty and still like this. “It does. Also, don’t insult my dick. It’s rude.”

“Sorry again,” you pause as if you’re considering whether what you might utter next is offensive. You open your mouth anyway, unable to comprehend the fact that your words are slowly chipping away at his ego. “It’s kinda scary that it moves.”

“Oh my god, you are the literal worst.” Jeongguk thinks his boner might evaporate. It’s a miracle it’s lasted this long. You’d sauntered into his room around half an hour again and he’d been hard from the get-go. Truly amazing his balls hadn’t shrivelled up yet. “You know you’re about to blow me off right?”

“I know… I’m stupid,” you counter, eyebrows furrowing together like you’re attempting to figure out exactly how Jeongguk’s dick works. It’d be very simple if you just asked him. It’s essentially an up and down motion, some swirls, a lot of wetness. Nothing too difficult. But when you glance up at him, the innocent glaze over your eyes almost hopeless, he can tell it feels the same as defusing a bomb. “I just… Don’t know what to do. Show me?”

And there it is - the foolish little thing that landed Jeongguk here half-naked on the edge of his bed in the first place. Even though you were mildly repulsed by the male autonomy you were still so eager to learn. Something Jeongguk didn’t know he would be into until you posed that question and his balls tightened in a way they have never done before.

“Okay,” he mumbles, hoping you don’t suspect the twitch that runs through his length when you say that. Not like you would, to be fair.

But then you sweep your hair back, lean in fast, no preparation or anything before your breath is brushing against his crotch and Jeongguk nearly screams.

“Woah, woah, woah! I thought you just asked me to show you? What are you doing?” Maybe he scuttles further down the bed, terrified of the rush of heat you send straight to his gut.  

Your eyes flicker upward, bright and ingenuous. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“You’re not -,” Jeongguk sighs breath weighing through the air. “You’re not doing it wrong. I just think... We should go slow right? It’s your first time? Maybe don’t rush into it?”

“I watched a YouTube video and they said to do it like that,” you reply. Jeongguk can’t help but blink at you, brain reeling from attempting to understand your being.

“You watched a - never mind. You’re giving me a headache. And I thought you knew nothing. Porn would have been a better research alternative but to each their own.”

“I did it for preparation! I didn't know it’d be this nerve-wracking in real life. And, I told you, real dicks are gross. She used a dildo.”

“How is a dildo any different to a real dick?” Jeongguk fingers dig into the mattress a little harder when you lean it once more, gingerly resting your head against his knee.

“It’s just different. Less grotesque. And they come in various colours.”

He might just actually scream. “It’s literally made to replicate a penis.”

You sigh, your breath skipping against his skin. The room is suddenly tight, closing in on him and you’re not even really touching him. And then you catch your lip between your teeth, pressing down with a quick thoughtful bite. “I think you’re deflecting right now.”

“I’m not,” he splutters. “Why would I even be deflecting right now?”

“I mean, we’re having a conversation about dildos when your dick is hard and I’m meant to be blowing you. Sounds like deflection doesn’t it?” He hates the way your eyes glitter, bright and captivating as your gaze locks into his.

“Like I said,” Jeongguk retorts, “We should take it slow.”

“Okay then. I’m done talking about dildos unless you have anything else to add?”

“I don’t,” he murmurs, “Okay then, onto giving a blowjob.”

“Onto giving a blowjob,” you reiterate. And then, like a psychopath, you smile. “Where should I start?”

He hates that body is on edge right now, hands trembling even though he hides them by squeezing his bed-sheets tight. “Try giving it a lick first? You can put your hand around the base too - if you want to.”

“Here?” His knees nearly buckle when you wrap your warm palm around his length, grip firm around the base of his cock. But that’s nothing to the gentle lap of your tongue against the side of his cock, a quick little thing and nearly launches him off the bed.

“Oh - uh - yeah, there.” His voice sounds far off and without warning your mouth is against him once more, tongue a sinful little thing that slips along his length, wet and warm and so sneaky he’s unsure of what to respond with apart from an instinctual buck of his hips. It’s easy like this, your tongue pressed against his cock and your hands slowly dragging upwards, placing a perfect pressure along his length that leaves him sighing into the air of his bedroom. Your movements grow more direct, reading the increasing desperation in Jeongguk’s body as he moves closer and closer to you, waiting until you feel sure enough. And then, finally, your mouth sinks onto him.

He nearly whimpers. Nearly. There’s a heat pooling in his gut and ebbs through every muscle and nerve, the coil of his desire springing tighter with each inch that slips down your throat. You take him so well, Jeongguk can’t help but watch in awe, the wideness in your eyes making him harder than he’s ever been in his life. Even with your inexperience, the way you swallow his cock is obscene. It’s an imagery Jeongguk engraves in his memory, purposefully stored because he knows he’ll think about it whenever his desires override his logical thoughts again. You lap him up like you want this, a soft moan echoing from your throat and along his length as you move deeper, mouth plaint to his dick. He forces himself to sit still, give you the time to adjust, lick and taste to your leisure, forcing the impending wave of heat back down into his gut. He holds it there even when you move away, the sound of your wet mouth popping off his dick permeating the air.

And of course, you lick your lips afterwards, a swift swipe of your pink tongue against them, your eyes trained on his.

“Like that?” you ask.

Jeongguk’s going to die. He is. And you’ll be the reason why listed on his death certificate.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, chest tight with want. “Like that.”

You lean back in without question, mouth taking his length like you were made for it and your hand works against the parts of him you can’t reach just yet. His mind wanders as his eyes take in this sight of you, on your knees and mouth open wide just for him. Someday he’d like to see if you could truly take his length, all of it. Down your throat. Hard and fast like his hips wanted to go. But this is more than perfect. How you concentrate on blowing him like you want to see him spill himself down your throat. It’s almost adorable, the earnestness in your gaze every time your eyes flicker upwards as your mouth moves along his cock. He likes this more than he’s willing to admit, the slowness in your pace, how your tongue is shy sometimes when it laves against his tip. It’s a change from what he usually gets - and a welcome one too. A tiny part of him feels like it would be fitting to hold your hand. You’re so pretty too, especially when your lips are on him. He’d like to take care of you, see what your face looked like when his tongue was deep inside of you, know what your taste like as you moan out his name. He doesn’t even register the words as they leave his mouth, head lost in the images colouring his thoughts.

“Taking me so well, baby,” he can’t help the grunt, the pet name natural to him, “So pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

And you hum like you like it - like you like pleasing him, sinking further down until his tip bumps against the back of your throat. The zip down his spine nearly sends him spiralling.

“Baby,” he feels it then, when your eyes shift to meet his, the snap in his gut. “F-fuck, I’m gonna cum. You need to stop right now if you don’t want to down your throat.”

But you don’t, moving faster like the twitch of his dick in your mouth spurs him on, your lips firm as they wrap around him. He doesn’t hold in his moves this time, hips gently moving up to meet your mouth, the tremor running through his bulky thighs nothing but a warning before it hits him hard. A wave of heat, melting through his muscles as his eyes flutter shut, your tongue lapping him right up, no protest as he unravels down your throat. It’s over in an instant but Jeongguk feels like mush, head floating and his bones soft with how hard his back hits the mattress. You pull off his length a second later, letting him feel you swallow all of him first.

“Holy shit.” His mouth is still disconnected from his brain.

There’s a beat of silence, so awkward that Jeongguk shuffles himself back onto his elbows even though his bones feel like giving way. And then your laugh tinkles through the air, a soft gentle thing that makes his heart seize in his chest.

“That… wasn’t so bad,” you say, staring at him with an ease that spikes an urge to press his lips against yours in his heart.

“Oh,” he replies, like an idiot. “You liked it?”

“Well, it didn’t suck… pun intended. Your moans are really loud.”

Jeongguk blushes - he blushes - even after the stupid joke you made.

“Um, yeah. I do, I guess. Sorry, I kind of forgot to show you what to do. But you’re a bit of a natural, to be honest.” He abhors the diffidence in his voice.

“I guessed that,” you retort, the smile on your face hypnotic, “From your really loud moaning.”

“Can you - fuck how do you ruin any intimate moment when it happens?”

“Guess I’m a natural at that too,” you say it with a laugh, and Jeongguk can’t help the smile that tugs against his lips.

“Um,” he tries, fully aware of the front view seat you were getting of his soft dick. He sits up to try and shield it, feeling awfully exposed. “If you’d like… I could return the favour?”

“No, I’m good.” There’s zero hesitation in your voice and you’re up before Jeongguk can think of a decent excuse to keep you in his room. “Maybe another time? I’ll text you. Bye Jeongguk.”

It’s then he regrets not encouraging you to undress earlier, his assumption that this would be the worst blowjob of his life incredibly incorrect. Perhaps if your clothes were scattered around his bedroom he could have found a way to convince you into his sheets while you searched for them. But you’re fully dressed, already bounding out of his door like his dick wasn’t down your throat moments ago. He watches you go with forlornness, mouth dry with words he’s incapable of expressing at this very instance and his heart oddly warm at the sight of your skipping away with a carefreeness he admires. He still hates that you’re leaving, perhaps the only positive of this situation is that you’re using his bedroom door instead of his window.

“Bye,” Jeongguk mumbles into the vacant air. You don’t even catch it, shooting him a quick grin before you’re bounding down the stairs as if this doesn’t even matter to you. A stumble on a stepping stone to something greater. He plucks up his phone, pants still lost somewhere on the floor. Blocking Mingyu for twenty-four hours should be enough of a punishment, right?

mingyu the man [10:21pm]

bro..

you alive?

jaykay [10:26pm]

i focking hate u

u know that right?

mingyu the man [10:31pm]

you dont my g

how was it?

did she jump out the window this time?

jaykay [10:34pm]

worse

mingyu the man [10:37pm]

bro wtf wot she do??

jaykay [10:40pm]

she actually gave me head

mingyu the man [10:45pm]

????

how is that worse dude you’re just as weird as her

jaykay [10:46pm]

ITS WORSE CAUSE I LIKED IT

mingyu the man [10:51pm]

damn....

you like crazy coochie don’t you

jaykay [10:52pm]

WHAT R U EVEN

MAN FUCK

I HATE U

mingyu the man [10:53pm]

lmao u don’t i brought her into your life u lurve me

im best man for the wedding

not jaehyun

u got dat right

jaykay [10:56pm]

i hope you fall into a ditch and die

mingyu the man [10:58pm]

okay big man

you gon see her again tho?

jaykay [10:59pm]

....maybe

idk man im fucked up right now

like???

SHE JUMPED OUT THE WINDOW??

mingyu the man [11:01pm]

and u still invited her over to suck your dick again

crazy coochie got u bad bruh

jaykay [11:06pm]

FUCK U

mingyu the man [11:11pm]

mhmm if thats what u say

i have a class wid her to tomorrow

any messages u want to pass on?

hello?

[mingyu the man is blocked]

hello? jaykayyyyyy

JAYKAY

SEAGULL

damn he got it bad

[sorcererrezan]

unconvinced

congratulations on outdoing yourself yet AGAIN with chapter 7 @ataleofcrowns 💛 you are truly on another level queen 😌✨

prompt: “Then tell me, how can I convince you?” (list here) pairing: X/crown rating: spicy T 😏 word count: 1,929 summary: ‘It would be so easy to make him kneel for you, the way he clearly wants to—’ 

Crown Navid shows Xelef that two can play his game.

—

Liar. 

It’s what the earth spirits had said, but now, ensconced in his palace, where he has invited in those who are merely curious about him at best and possibly strategizing his murder at worst, Navid hears it in his own voice.

The control he has maintained since Ishrah and Siham opened his doors this morning squeezes around his chest. It pinches and he can feel his heart bursting out of the gaps of its hold, turning into spikes.

Navid’s eyes thin into slits of piercing gold. His tone, now devoid of its casual charm, is flat. Unamused. “I’m not convinced.”

Xelef, just as persistent, gauges him. Navid can pinpoint the exact moment the sellsword decides on his next tactic, green eyes shifting hues like a turning emerald.

“Then tell me, how can I convince you?” 

Just as much as Xelef is surely leaning on his sensory abilities, Navid’s awareness of the situation rises. Above his disrespected aggravation and Xelef’s agile contortions he can see the conflict between his own present and Xelef’s past. In the back of his mind he notes a sense of affronted duplicity—isn’t this the same man that warned him against self-destructive paralysis, the one that saw through his worries leading up to today and offered reassuring distraction?

Why can’t Xelef use that insight to understand the position he’s put a newly coronated Crown in, instead of to devise an escape from the consequences of his impulses?

Xelef steps close, as skilled at wielding a weapon as he is his own body. Navid’s thick brows furrow at himself, at the way his reaction betrays him, heart rabbiting in response to the enticingly deep fragrance clouding the mercenary, the ridges and valleys of his form set in such a tantalizing display. Navid can feel the heat from Xelef’s bare chest even through the rich fabric of his ceremonial robes and the magic imbued in them. Xelef’s hand on his shoulder is a reminder of his size and strength, of his willful potential to overpower.  

“Shall I beg you again, on my knees this time?” 

Every single thing about him is a distraction.

If Xelef wanted to keep up their easy flirtation from this morning, he shouldn’t have soured it by testing the limits of Navid’s control. But now that he has…

An open palm finds the heated skin of Xelef’s abdomen, gliding across hard muscles; callouses catching on the random, puckered skin of his scars. Navid can hear Xelef’s rushed inhale before it turns into a low chuckle. He lets his lips brush against the goosebumps on Xelef’s neck before he murmurs, breath hot on his ear, “Kneel, mercenary.”

The last word is a sharp hiss, accompanied by the bite of his blunt nails on Xelef’s bare skin. The muscles underneath his touch jump as Navid pulls him down, fingertips gliding up his torso along the way. Xelef would look almost reverent, on his knees before him like this, if it weren’t for the devious gleam of getting what he wanted in his eyes.

Navid’s lips twist into something wicked.

“Beg for my forgiveness,” he repeats, voice husky, one hand cradling Xelef’s jaw in a commanding grip. Navid feels powerful. Different from the ways before when he has bent Xelef to his will because this time, there’s no perceptive audience. 

Distraction or not, this is all for him.

Xelef bites his bottom lip and Navid eyes the plumpness of it, gaze sharpening in vindication as the man in front of him lets out a shaky, almost whining, exhale. 

“Please forgive me, Navid,” dark eyelashes flutter in a practiced way that Navid is nonetheless susceptible to. The use of his given name throws him off guard, widening his stare. Another distraction, or an attempt at sincerity? Only the Void knows for sure.

Navid nods, letting some of his cool charm return in an inviting smile. The hand on Xelef’s jaw slides to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through the smooth locks of his hair. “You look good like this, Xelef.”

“So do you,” he eyes Navid hungrily, not even hiding the lascivious way his stare roves from right below his waistline, up the slim taper of his waist, the flare of his shoulders, then lingers on his lips before making eye contact and meeting fire with fire. 

Navid’s smile shifts into a smirk and he tightens his hand into a domineering fist, pulling Xelef’s hair, holding him in precarious place as he leans over him. He makes a show of sliding his eyes from Xelef’s to his mouth as he bends closer then closer still, until the mercenary’s long lashes flutter closed in anticipation.

Their lips are separated only by their breath when Navid tugs—not gently—and Xelef lets out a choked half of a groan.

“Don’t ever deign to undermine me like that again. Especially not amongst these vultures,” Navid spits the last word out, voice testy and dangerous in a way Xelef has never heard before. He conceals his unspoken ‘I need you on my side.’ in another jarring pull of his hair, forcing Xelef to bare his throat to him. “Do you understand, Pale Sword?”

From his vantage point he can see Xelef’s desperate swallow, can hear the submission in his shaky exhale of a response. “Yes… my Crown.”

“Good.”

Navid breaks away like a glacier’s cliff dropping into the sea. For half a second Xelef crumples, not expecting the loss of support so immediately, before his muscles clench and he regains his balance. Spirits help him, but he is not immune to the way Xelef’s abdominals, framed by the rich textures of his formalwear, dance under his tanned, hairy skin.

Navid keeps a calculated, cunning look on his face as Xelef rises on his own, eyeing him in equal parts defeated respect and surprised annoyance. 

“I suppose I deserved that,” comes the begrudging admission. Finally, Xelef’s sincerity outweighs Navid’s doubts.

“Don’t mistake my reciprocation of your attention for naïveté,” Navid pins him with a knowing stare, a reminder that as much as Xelef can see through him, he can see the same. And to let him know that, even still, he wants to continue cultivating this “whatever you want it to be” that’s growing between them. Navid doesn’t know what Xelef’s romantic past looks like—and doesn’t much care—but if Xelef wants to keep courting his favor, he needs to know that there are harsh lines that Navid will not allow him to cross. 

“I’m sick of people hiding things I should know from me.”

The last part comes out more resentful than Navid intends, tinged with his turbulent reflections about his parents’ debilitating omissions and how exhausting it is to think of learning to divine the nobility’s nebulous motives and intentions.  

“You’ve known me for mere days, and you expect me to bare all my secrets to you because I helped you once?” Xelef snaps back, patience run ragged after Navid turned the tables on him. It stings. The fatigue of the day’s emotions slams into Navid all at once, his hurt the delayed catalyst. 

He takes a deep breath, recentering himself. Is his pride worth it? They’ve both made their point. And he doesn’t quite yet know where the line for Xelef is, when taking advantage of their attraction to each other morphs into something destructive. 

He sighs. So many calculations today, mind overstuffed by the endless observations he’s made to try to perceive everyone around him. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Navid shrugs, closing himself off from the weight of it all. He never asked for any of this responsibility, still doesn’t understand why the spirits chose him. Did they do it with the person he could’ve been before he spent a decade on the run in mind? Or with the decorated shell of a man he is now, desperately trying to fill his insides after those he trusted to protect and guide him failed? Maybe he really is naive, for dreaming that his problems could be solved simply by finding his sorcerer and finally becoming the Crown.

“You’re right, after all. We’ve only known each other a short time, and we’re not friends. I’m only your employer, right?” If Xelef wants to shield himself with that context, so be it. Navid is just as good at hiding.

“Navid…” Regret paints Xelef’s face an unfamiliar expression. 

“It is what it is. You have your secrets. I have mine.” 

“I didn’t mean—”

“Xelef,” he interrupts tiredly with an open palm. “It’s alright. I understand. Just don’t get me killed.”

Navid forces a smile to soften the jibe, retreating back into performance. Xelef opens his mouth as if to say something, brow bunched as he seems to sway between decisions.

“I’ll just see you—”

“The Mîrs of Rojan and I have a long, bloody history together. I don’t want to speak of Behram, but…” 

Xelef holds Navid’s gaze, still wavering for a beat before choosing his path. Something parts behind his eyes, something that allows both of them to see. How alike they are. How tired. How terrified and cautiously hopeful.

Xelef tells his story about Behram’s predecessor. Navid listens raptly, fully aware that this vulnerability could be fleeting, and hangs onto it. The part of him that doesn’t ache for Xelef as he unravels the tragedy of his childhood is grateful for the distraction from his own maelstrom of trauma and emotions.

“Then why did you help me?” Navid asks, feeling the gulf of his status between him and Xelef more distinctly than ever.

“I… had my own reasons,” he doesn’t meet Navid’s eyes when he answers. Though it’s not the reassurance that he wanted to hear—that he did it for more than just the potential of gold or vengeance—at least it’s the truth.

“In any case, does this sate your curiosity a little bit?” 

Navid recognizes the attempt at lightheartedness as a tool, though just like with his own attempt earlier, it’s outweighed by the ghosts that linger around them both. 

“Is this usually how you leave people sated after kneeling for them?” It’s not quite the same playfulness that’s usually between the two of them, not after what they’ve found out about each other today, but it proves that they can bounce back. Move forward, together.

“No, but today was a special occasion,” Xelef smiles, though it looks dim on his face. It flickers away, making room for the solemnity in his voice. “You should know—I told you that because I wanted to.”

“I do know.”

Navid reaches for Xelef, this time with no ulterior motive, but someone clears their throat before they touch. 

“Yes?” Navid tries not to let exasperation color his tone—the guards don’t deserve his ire. Still, he can’t help but be disappointed at the interruption, especially since this feels like some sort of breakthrough between him and Xelef.

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Ah, right. The banquet and its accompanying expectations. Navid sighs, imagining the steam rising from the bath he plans on sinking into after all this. Alone.

“You go on ahead,” Xelef concedes. “I think I need some time to myself.”

“Will I see you later?”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” relief flushes out Navid’s discordant emotions, and he holds on to the smile that Xelef sends his way to bolster him for the rest of the night. “You haven’t paid me yet, after all.”

“I’m good for it,” Navid hopes his returning smile, laden with the complications of things said and unsaid but sanguine nonetheless, does the same for Xelef. 

[jayeray-hq]

How He Shows You Affection: Tsukishima Kei

Post Time Skip/Manga Spoilers!

Warnings: None All Fluff!

How He Shows You Affection Master List - Character Masterlist

This was requested by an anon who asked for both Tsukishima and Kita Shinsuke! I hope you like it anon. I have to admit I’m not the biggest fan of Tsukishima, but I hope I did him justice! 😭🥺, also huge thank you to @haikyuu-addict​ for beta reading for me you’re amazing!

He Teases You

You grimaced slightly as you stared up at the mug on the highest shelf of the cabinet pushed all the way to the back. It was going to be an incredible hassle to reach it, and a part of you wondered briefly if it would even be worth it to try. After all you had plenty of other mugs in your kitchen. It was just, that happened to be your favorite mug, it had actually been a gag gift from your boyfriend, and read ‘you’re my favorite pain in the ass’ written in his neat precise calligraphy.

However, to his shock you actually loved the mug, mostly because it was the absolute perfect size to make your favorite hot beverage in, something he’d later been smugly satisfied about as if that had been the intention all along even if you both knew it wasn’t. You’d been craving your favorite drink all day, and had been set to make yourself a nice hot cup when you’d gotten home from work, only to open up the cabinets and find your mug completely out of reach.

             Staring at it you had to wonder if he’d done it on purpose. It was honestly a toss-up with Tsukishima, sometimes he did things like this just because he thought it was funny to watch you struggle, and other times he just genuinely forgot that if he put things on the very top shelves you wouldn’t be able to reach without some form of aid. Usually you’d simply ask him to get it for you, even if he would spend a good deal of time teasing you about it, he never actually said no, and you’d learned to put up with the teasing after years of knowing him and being in a relationship with him.

             Unfortunately, Tsukishima wasn’t home yet, still at practice with the Sendai Frogs, which meant you were on your own. You considered going to get the step stool that was tucked away neatly in the hall closet, which was for these exact kinds of situations, but in the end decided you were too lazy to walk over and get it and decided to climb up on to the counter instead.

             You were a bit precariously balanced, but you figured it would be fine as you leaned into the cupboard, your fingers scrabbling for the handle of the mug that was just barely out of your reach.

             “Oya what’s this?”

             You’d been so caught up in your quest that you hadn’t heard the door open or you boyfriend’s arrival into the kitchen. His words startled you enough to make you jolt slightly, making you lose your balance a bit, one of your arms pinwheeling to keep you from slipping backwards off the counter. Luckily Tsukishima had always had incredibly quick reflexes, and he immediately stepped forward, his hands finding your waist and steadying you easily.

             “Clumsy,” he scolded, clear disapproval on his face as he gently tugged you backwards and helped you set your feet firmly back on to the floor, “Just what are you trying to do shortcake?”

             “I was trying to get my mug,” you told him with a huff, even as some of the annoyance you felt for him startling you faded away with the familiar nickname, one that was part teasing you for being shorter than him, and another part fondness after his favorite food, though it didn’t keep you from pouting at him as you explained, “Someone put it up where I can’t reach it.”

             “Oh?” he asked a teasing grin curling his lips, making his golden eyes glint in amusement, as he moved over to where you had been, easily plucking the mug from its resting place without even needing to stand on his toes to reach it before turning to you and asking smugly, “You mean this mug?”

             “Yes, that mug,” you told him holding your hand out for it, fully expecting him to hand it over.

             “I don’t know if I should give it to you,” he told you with a wicked grin, “After all you nearly broke your neck trying to get it, and didn’t even greet me properly when I got home I don’t think that kind of behavior deserves a reward.”

             “Kei,” you whined at him reaching for it, only to have him hold it up out of your reach, high above your head, “I need it.”

 He didn’t relent to your whining, only smirked in clear amusement as you stood on your toes trying to reach before eventually giving up.

 “Mean,” you informed him with a huff.

 “Calling me mean,” he goaded lightly, “And after I saved you from tumbling off the counter too. Maybe you should try asking nicely instead of just trying to take it from me hmm?”

 You huffed a sigh, unable to help the slight amusement that curled your lips, well used to his teasing and with a pretty good idea of what he wanted, the same thing he always wanted when he teased you like this.

 You stepped forward into his space and wrapped your arms around his neck and tilting your face upwards. He met you partway, his lips warm and soft against your own, even as they curled upwards clearly pleased.

 “Please can I have my mug Kei?” you murmured against his lips nuzzling your nose affectionately against his.

 He heaved a sigh as if completely put out by your request, but relented, passing the mug over to you, “Alright shortcake, but only this once and only because you asked so nicely.”

 You giggled at that, both of you well aware he didn’t mean it in the slightest as you stepped away humming happily about finally being able to get the drink you craved. You made enough for the both of you, feeling warm under the amused, fond gaze of your boyfriend.

 He Flicks/Pokes You in the Forehead

             You frowned in consternation, your arms crossed across your chest as you tried to make your decision glancing back and forth between the two choices in front of you, running your fingers over the fine material, and eyeing the pretty patterns. You couldn’t make up your mind about which to buy, and couldn’t help fretting about it.

             “Ouch!” you yipped in surprise your hands automatically dropping the scarves back on to the table and coming up to press to your forehead as you shot an indignant wounded look at your boyfriend who’d just flicked you right in the center of your forehead.

             “Kei,” you whined at him unhappily gently rubbing the abused spot, “What was that for?”

             “You’re worrying too much,” he informed you bluntly, a bored drawl to his voice, “Just pick one already.”

             “I just want her to like it,” you told him with a slight pout eyeing the scarves again, “Why don’t you choose if you think it’s so easy?”

             “My mother already loves you,” he informed you with a sigh, “So she’ll love whatever you get for her, because it’s from you.”

             “Even if that’s true, I still want her to like it and be able to wear it,” you informed him obstinately, as you picked up the two pretty scarves you’d been eying again and held them out toward him, “And you could try being a little more helpful Kei, she’s your mom after all, shouldn’t you know her best? Why don’t you pick?”

             Your boyfriend heaved a sigh that was half annoyance half exasperated fondness as he looked at you and drawled, “Weren’t you the one who said you could do it without my help earlier?”

             You flushed at that. It was the truth after all, your boyfriend had been playfully teasing you earlier about getting his mother’s birthday gift for her, and purposefully wound you up to the point that you’d blurted out that you’d pick out and pay for the gift yourself and it would serve him right if you didn’t even bother to put his name on it.

             As per usual he’d been deeply amused by this, and had insisted on accompanying you to go on your expedition to find the perfect gift. Unfortunately, it had been incredibly slow going, as while you did like his mother a lot, the woman was nothing but kind and welcoming whenever you saw her, you didn’t actually know her all that well. It was only pure luck that you’d remembered she had complimented your scarf the last time you were there and had vaguely mentioned wanting something like that for her own.

             “Don’t frown so much you’ll get wrinkles,” your boyfriend told you gently poking you in the forehead, in a slightly softer version of the flick he’d used earlier. It was something he’d been doing since the two of you had started dating, gently flicking or poking your forehead whenever he needed to catch your attention or whenever he thought you were frowning too much.

             He always teased that you were going to get wrinkles, or that if you continued to try to think so hard your brain would melt out of your ears. It never failed to distract you from whatever was worrying you, or upsetting you and he knew it. It was honestly probably the whole reason he did it in the first place, his own way of showing concern and taking care of you, that was rather cute, not that you’d ever tell him that.

             “Go with the blue,” he told you tapping his finger against your forehead and pulling your from your thoughts, heaving a sigh as if incredibly put upon as he explained, “It’s her favorite color.”

             “Thanks Kei,” you told him with a grin, unable to help yourself, in the face of his affection.

             “Yeah, yeah,” he waved you off with an amused smirk, “Just don’t forget to put my name on it too.”

             You huffed a laugh at that but agreed, feeling pleased both with your gift and with your boyfriend, who really was sweet, even if he went out of his way to hide it.

 He Seeks Out Your Company

             You sighed quietly to yourself as you looked over your project. You weren’t quite finished with it yet, but you felt like you’d made good progress on it in the last hour or so. Feeling rather pleased with yourself, you stretched lazily, letting your eyes flick over the room, taking it in. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on your lips as you saw your boyfriend sitting in the arm chair next to you.

             He was fast asleep, his eyes closed and his head tilted back, his arms folded across his chest as he snoozed away. You could hear the faint, tinny sound of music from the headphones in his ears, clearly still playing something despite the wearer clearly no longer paying attention. It didn’t look at all comfortable, especially since he still had his glasses on, and his neck was at an odd angle resting on the back of the chair.

             You couldn’t help the warm feeling that surged through you as you looked at him though. Tsukishima was a bit of an introvert by nature, despite how confident he acted around groups of people and his slightly caustic attitude. The people he was genuinely comfortable with were fairly limited and the people whose company he actually enjoyed could be counted on his hands with fingers left over.

             You were among the privileged few whose company he not only enjoyed, but who he actively sought out. He never drew attention to it, and it was incredibly subtle, but whenever you were both home at the same time he was almost always in the same room as you. You didn’t have to be interacting at all, in fact most of the time you’d be preoccupied and would suddenly look up to find him in the vicinity, usually listening to music or reading a book.

             It wasn’t just at home either. Whenever you happened to be in the same vicinity as one another Tsukishima almost always gravitated to your side within the first five minutes of your arrival. He tended to use you, both as a shield and a bit of an excuse to not speak with anyone he found distasteful, insisting that he preferred your presence to the rest of the unwashed masses.

             It never failed to make you feel soft and utterly loved whenever he did it, though you would never actually point it out or draw attention to it, well aware it would only make him defensive and hissy. Honestly, he was a bit like a cat that way, something Yamaguchi had pointed out to you when the two of you had first started dating and you’d asked the other man for advice. He’d told you to let Tsukishima do things on his own terms, and to treat him a bit like a standoffish feline, and it hadn’t failed you yet.

             Carefully you stood up from your spot, and made your way over, well aware he was a bit of a light sleeper. He looked far more innocent in sleep that you would’ve guessed when you first met him, without the flashing golden eyes and the ever-present smirk on his face. It was a vulnerability he only showed to a trusted few and you were honored to be among them.

             Gently, you pulled his glasses from his face, folding them neatly and setting them nearby where he could easily spot them once he woke, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He may try to hide it, but he really did have a sweet side to him, even if he could be incredibly salty at times and you couldn’t be happier to call him your boyfriend.

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love- Chapter 8

Guys, I’m so sorry this chapter has taken me so long to get out. My family was sick for awhile (nasty stomach bug) so i barely had any time to write, and then this chapter took me forever to edit. Plus this chapter just kept getting longer and longer…oops?

Also, writing sexual tension is my jam but writing actually smut terrifies me. There is a bit of mild smut in here (spoiler) so feedback is always appreciated!

Lastly, a huge thank you to everyone specifically who has commented! I cannot tell you how much your encouragement means to me!

Warnings: mild smut, swearing, Ivar being Ivar, fluff

Words: 12,000 (omg, what??? why didn’t someone stop me?)

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @zuxiezendler​ @punkrocknpearls​ @love-all-things-writing​ @southernbe​

Series Masterlist

Kari blearily reached over to turn off the alarm on her phone. It blared from the small table she used as a nightstand. Though she considered herself a morning person, there was something about waking to an alarm, forcing you to jolt to wakefulness, that was never easy to do. Laying on her back, she rubbed a hand down her face, eyes still closed. At least she was not opening the studio this morning. Sasha was back so most of the openings did not fall on Kari anymore. She would never tell her boss but those two weeks were rough. 

 "Fuck. What time is it?"

 Immediately, her eyes flew open. In the next second, she shrieked and thrashed in the bed, not expecting a deep, gravelly voice coming from her bed. Why was someone in her bed? She definitely went to be alone last night. She always went to be alone. Panic surged through her as she spun around to put space between herself and her unexpected companion. Although the rapid movement, and still only being half awake, caused her to almost fall off the side of her bed. She just managed to catch herself, leaving her half sitting, half crouched like some gargoyle at the end of her full-size bed, clutching the pale lavender comforter and white sheet gathered precariously around her. 

 "What the fuck was that for?" Her visitor growled as he laid on his back, an arm thrown over his face. 

 "Ivar?" Her panic was slowly abating as she realized it was not some stranger in her bed. Though her mind still felt muddled as to how he ended up here.  "What…. what are you doing in my bed?"

 "I told you last night. Fuck. Did you forget already?"

 "I…. I thought I dreamt that."

 That got his attention. His arm moved to his side so he could stare at her with those intense blue eyes and a naughty smirk on his lips. "Do you dream of me often?"

 She ignored his question, thinking back to the conversation they had during the night. Even though it was hazy and felt more like a dream than any real conversation. Then it hit her. She was not wearing a bra. 

 "Oh my gods, don't look!" Without hesitation, she rolled off the bed and dashed to her closet.

 "What?" 

 "Don't look!! Ivar, please!"

 "Why? Fuck. Stop shouting too."

 "Because...because I don't have a bra on!"

 He chuckled, folding his arms behind his head to shamelessly watch her. "Mmmm…. I noticed last night."

 "IVAR!!"

 She grabbed a cute sports bra, feeling beyond self-conscious in her gray, cotton sleep shorts and matching thin, cotton t-shirt. Ignoring the man in her bed, she rushed to her attached bathroom. As she quickly donned her leopard print, strappy sports bra, her mind tried to remember last night. All her mind could recall was waking up with him behind her, they talked…. she questioned him…. he said something about missing her and he had a key. That made her groan softly. Why did he have a key? How did he get a key? Looking into the mirror, she quickly fixed her messy hair, throwing it into a quick bun. So many questions swarmed her mind, all dealing with how to best handle this newfound situation she found herself in. Why could things with Ivar never be simple?

 Once ready, well as ready as she was going to be for being startled awake, she stepped out of the bathroom and moved to stand at the end of the bed, hands on her hips. "You have a key."

 Ivar had rolled onto his side, eyes closed. "Can we talk about this later? What fucking time is it? Why are we fucking awake?" He grumbled, not even looking at her. 

 It was now that Kari finally noticed that her bed's current occupant was shirtless. A handsomely toned chest and back were impossible to ignore, making her mouth suddenly feel dry.... and those tattoos.... She rigorously shook her bed, dispelling the distracting thoughts. Now was not the time for ogling. As calmly as possible, she answered Ivar, dropping her gaze to the rumpled sheets. "It's seven and I have to get ready for work."

 "Call in."

 Her head jerked up to stare at him. "What?"

 "Call in to work. Don't go in." He repeated firmly. 

 "Ivar, I can't just do that. I have to be there in two hours."

 He finally shifted and opened his eyes to look at her. It was unfair how handsome he looked lying in her bed with the morning sunlight peeking through the curtains over her window. Now was not the time to think about that. Mentally, she prepared a rebuttal for whatever scathing thing he was going to say, only for it to die dramatically on her tongue. 

 "Whoa, your eyes…." Subconsciously, she took a step closer as if physically drawn to him. Now with the haze of sleep and panic gone from her mind, she was able to fully see how the typical blue seemed to leak into the whites of his eyes. It was disconcerting to say the least. His intense eyes were now even more extreme. 

 "I know." He snapped, turning away from her and rolling back to his side. 

 "No, no, no. You don't get to do that. You already owe me so many answers." She crawled onto the bed and over to him. Although frustrated with him, the way he tried to ignore her and hide his face away made her worried. Gently, she brushed the few loose strands of hair off his cheek. When that did not even get a reaction, she gripped his chin and turned his head. "What's going on?" She asked softly.

 "Nothing." 

 "Ivar, you answer me honestly or I'm going to walk out of this room right now and start getting ready for work."

 In an instant she watched as the pain and fear in his eyes morph into anger. His gaze hardened and his lips pressed together as if sealing in the venom-laced words just waiting to come out. 

 "Ivar? Talk to me." She tried again, but at his furious look, she pulled her hand back. 

 Silently, he rolled over to the side of the bed. She watched as he reached down and began strapping his leg braces on over a pair of black sweatpants. 

 "Ivar?"

 "It doesn't fucking matter."

 "Yes, it does, whatever it is."

 With his braces on, he pushed off the bed, stumbling for a moment before catching himself. His back still turned to her, he hobbled over to where his t-shirt, shoes and cane were. 

 "Please…." Tears welled up in her eyes. It was stupid to be getting so emotional over this. But never before had he shut her out like this. She hated how much it hurt. And it shouldn't hurt this much. Since the beginning she reminded herself frequently she needed space from him. But now that he was pushing her away, giving her that space…. she hated it. She wanted him back, teasing and smiling. "Did I do something wrong?"

 "Fuck. Fine!" He spun around, shirt in his hands and flames in his frenzied gaze. "Every few months, my eyes look like this, and it means I'm more likely to break a bone. It happened more often when I was a child. Now I know to just lay around in bed otherwise dumb fucking things happen and my shitty bones break. There. Fucking happy now?"

 "Thank you for telling me. And I'm sure you've heard this a million times, but I'm sorry."

 At her apology, he yelled and threw his shirt across the room. The shirt slammed into her closed bedroom door. "Fuck your pity! I don't fucking want it!" 

 The echoes of his shout hung in the air. He stood there with fists clenched and chest heaving, glaring daggers at her. A tendril of fear snaked itself up her spine. A brief memory of Hvitserk warning her came to mind and she wondered if this was what he meant. She remained frozen, sitting on her bed, concerned if she moved it would set him off. 

 After an excruciatingly long minute, Ivar closed his eyes and roughly ran his hand through his loose hair. 

 "Ivar, why did you come here last night? Why not go home?" She quietly asked, twisting and untwisting the sheet around her hands. 

 "Seems I made a mistake." He scoffed, staring towards the window. "I'll leave so you get on with your day."

 "Gods, that's not what I'm saying! Ivar, please! I'm just trying to understand. Please just…. just talk to me."

 "It doesn't fucking matter anymore." He snarled. 

 "You said you didn't want to be alone…. last night….at least, I think so." She said hesitantly, more to herself, recalling their conversation, than actually speaking to him. To her surprise, after a moment, he seemed to deflate right before her. His shoulders slumped, head tilted forward to stare at the floor. In the blink of an eye, he changed from a cornered, snarling wolf to looking like a kicked puppy. Cautiously, she crawled off the bed and slowly approached him. The whole time he never moved but neither did he raise his head to acknowledge her. After taking a deep breath, she tenderly cupped his face. Her words were just above a whisper. "Push me away if you want to…. I’m just…. I’m just trying to help. What can I do? Please?"

 After a second, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers and placing his hands on her hips. They stayed there for several seconds, neither saying a word. Though she could almost feel the internal war being waged within him. His thumbs rubbed back and forth on her sleep shorts. Her hands slipped from his face to the back of his neck, one carding through his hair gently as she gave him time to think. 

 Finally, he breathed out. "Stay with me…. please."

 Her heart fractured at the quiet brokenness in his voice, the masked pleading in his tone. How often was he forced to be alone throughout his life, lacking connection and attention that he so desperately wanted.

 "Ok, I'll try and call in. If not, I'll…. we’ll figure something out, alright?"

 He nodded, turning his head to nuzzle her temple. She giggled at the sensation and tried to escape but he only pulled her closer. After a couple more moments of teasing, he allowed her to guide him back to the bed, a smile on both of their faces. He sat down on the bed, forearms on his legs as he watched her. 

 Trying to ignore his focus, which she was positive was not on her face, she grabbed her phone and called the studio. She paced nervously, tugging slightly on her sleep shorts in a vain attempt to cover the amount of her thighs showing, as the phone rang. Thankfully her boss was the one to answer. 

 "Hi, Lydia. Something has come up. Is there any way someone can cover my classes today?"

 "Are you alright?" Her boss asked, immediately going into concerned mom-mode. 

 "Yeah, I'm fine….um, it's, um…." 

 The phone was abruptly snatched from her hand. She spun to see Ivar talking on it, an amused smirk on his face. How he had managed to sneak up behind her unawares, she could not figure out. 

 "Hello, Lydia, yes? You are Kari's boss?" Ivar questioned, taking the couple steps and dropping back onto the bed. "I apologize for inconveniencing you by taking Kari's time. My ride to my doctor's appointment fell through at the last minute, and I have a rare condition which forces me to go get checked often. Kari was kind enough to…. hmmm? Yes."

 There was a long pause from Ivar's speech, clearly listening to whatever her boss was saying. Kari was unsure if she wanted to throw something at Ivar or die from embarrassment. As she started to walk past him, still pacing due to nerves eating at her, Ivar grabbed her arm. Next thing she knew, she was bodily yanked onto the bed. Before she could squirm away, he snatched her feet, forcing them into his lap. Pressing the phone against his ear with his shoulder, he began to massage the bottom of her feet. She should be mad at him, she really should but suddenly she felt relaxed and blissed out. His touch was the perfect amount of rough and gentle, kneading and rubbing like it was his profession. A moan accidentally escaped her and she covered her face with her hands, barely hearing the chuckle come from him. 

 He finally spoke into the phone again. "I understand. Yes, I promise…. that sounds like her. Yeah, I plan on changing that soon…. bye."

 He set her phone down on the bed, and continued his ministrations, never ceasing his relaxing touch. 

 "What, ah, what did she say?"

 "She said you've never taken a day off or had a sick day, so you are overdue for one. She hopes I feel better and that you do a good job of taking care of me." He answered then turned his head to look at her with a mixture of shock and bemusement. "You really haven't taken a day off?"

 "I didn't have a reason to."

 "No reason? I don't know, how about to do something fun? Spend time with friends? Day drinking? Watch movies? Not deal with people? Fuck, there are plenty of reasons to skip work."

 "I don't have friends to skip with." She mumbled to herself, her eyes having drifted shut on their own accord. It was a truth she had realized and sort of come to terms with.  

 He must have heard it though. "You do now." He said with something like a promise in his tone. 

 She opened her eyes to look at him, his face turned downward to focus on her feet. Now she was able to really look at his tattoos and his broad, sculpted back. The sweeping lines of ink seemed to emphasize the strength apparent in his muscles. It was truly a masterpiece. Her eyes greedily sketched over his bare skin, wondering what it would feel like under her fingers. 

 "Like what you see?" 

 A blush warmed her cheeks at having been caught staring. "They're beautiful. What are they?"

 "The tattoos? Mostly Nordic tribal designs, some are specifics from the Sagas."

 Curiosity burning, she pushed herself up, almost leaning against him with her chest barely touching his shoulder. With one finger, she started tracing one of the designs which began on his back and moved over his shoulder to end on his chest. "Did they hurt?"

 He scoffed, head slightly tilted to watch her. "I've been in pain most of my fucking life. This was nothing."

 They sat in silence for several minutes, him still rubbing her feet and her tracing his back and shoulder. It felt strangely domestic and intimate, but more importantly, it seemed natural for them to be in this position, relaxed and at ease with one another. 

 "What do you want to do today?" She asked in a hushed tone, peering up at him. 

 With a wicked smirk, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

 "No! Not that!" She swatted his arm lightly, yet she could not help but laugh as he pouted adorably. "What do you normally do on these days?"

 That quieted him. His body tensed slightly under her and he pointedly returned his gaze to her feet. She switched from tracing his tattoos to just running her hand up and down his bare back soothingly. 

 After a couple of seconds, he answered, his voice resigned and frustrated. "Movies, TV shows, video games, reading. Anything that will keep me in bed and resting. Sometimes my mother or Floki will come play chess with me."

 "But you're usually alone?"

 His lack of response was telling enough.  

 "Well on the days I don't work, I always lay around in bed for as long as possible then make a full English breakfast. Should we start with that?" She proposed, hoping that would cheer him up. Honestly, she had no idea what to do for him today, but feeding him seemed like a good start. Besides, her stomach was beginning to rumble. 

 "Yes, but first…." In an instant, he wrapped his arms around her and tackled her to the bed. She shrieked as her back suddenly hit the bed again which promptly turned into giggles at the silliness of it. A sharp inhale escaped him, silencing her. She watched a pained expression swiftly cross over his face before it vanished, only the lingering hints of pain in his eyes. After a moment, he shifted them so they laid facing one another. 

 Feeling bold, she touched his cheekbone, gazing into his vivid blue eyes. "I don't know why, but your eyes like this remind me of a crystal ball. Think you can see my future?" She teased.  

 His hand landed on her hip once again as he grinned. "I can. Want to know what I see?"

 "Mmmm?"

 "You’re going to kiss me."

 She giggled. "I do? You sure that's not just your imagination?"

 "I am no mere mortal. These eyes prove my divinity and with that I can see into the future." He leaned closer, his breath fanning across her mouth tantalizingly. "And I see you, with those pretty pink lips, kissing me right now."

 Her breath hitched in her throat at his close proximity and the way her mind easily recalled what kissing him felt like. "And what would happen if I do?"

 "You'll have to find out. I can't give away everything about the future…. unless you choose to worship me as your god. I can make you my favored priestess and bestow favors on you."

 "Favored priestess?"

 "It's a highly coveted job." 

 "I'm sure it is." She deadpanned but unable to keep the amusement from her voice. Overly aware of her actions, she ran a hand down his chest, feeling the muscles twitch under her palm. 

 The increasingly blurry line between friendship and something more screamed at her. Even just the way they were laying on her bed, the memories from her upbringing reprimanded her actions. Her grandmother telling her chastity was a virtue and to not let a man touch her. How God would frown upon anything remotely sexual outside of marriage. Yet her lips tingled at the memory of his kisses. She could not deny to herself how much she enjoyed them. How sometimes she found herself fantasizing about kissing him and letting him pleasure her again. Which was wrong. They were just friends. Even if the alluring draw to him was irrefutable. A single kiss would not hurt though. Maybe that would be enough to satisfy the heat currently curling in her belly. Hopefully. 

 "One kiss." She murmured, nervous excitement heating her blood. 

 Immediately, he leaned closer, his lips just skimming over hers teasingly. Gently, he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, drawing a needy whine from her. His hand on her hip tightened as he released her lip, only to press a lazy kiss to her mouth that spoke of contentment and familiarity. Their mouths moved languidly, lips barely parting as if they had all morning to just enjoy the feeling and taste of one another. All too soon, in her opinion, yet not soon enough for now she desired more, he pulled back but just enough to brush the end of his nose against hers. 

 "I told you, you'd kiss me." He playfully said. 

 "You're unbelievable."

 "I am your god now. You can't speak to me that way."

 "Uh huh." She rolled her eyes, then gently pushed on his chest. Following her movement, he allowed himself to be pushed onto his back with a smug look the whole time. "Come on, your priestess is making us breakfast before our stomachs rumble anymore."

 "I like this. I could easily get used to this arrangement."

 "Sure. You alright going down the stairs?"

 "I'm not that incapacitated." He snarked, a flash of anger passing through his gaze. 

 She chose to ignore that. "Alright, I'll meet you down there."

 Slipping off the bed, she headed downstairs to the kitchen. Thankfully her roommate was not at home this morning, otherwise she was baffled how she would explain Ivar's presence to Alana. Soon she needed to figure out what to do in regards to that. Ivar clearly had no intentions of leaving her alone. Plus, the more time she spent with the youngest Lothbrok, the more she found herself becoming distraught at the idea of him no longer in her life. This morning, she chose to ignore that predicament, content with enjoying making breakfast for them. 

 Humming softly to herself, she pulled the necessary items out for their breakfast. Soon bacon lay on the cast iron pan, the first hints of sizzling filling the air. Eggs and sausage waited for their turn next. The sounds of the coffee pot percolating made her smile as she danced around the kitchen. Distantly the sounds of Ivar moving around upstairs could be heard. 

 A sudden knock on her door caused her to freeze as she pulled some bread out for toast. Her mind scrambled to try and think of why someone would be at her door this early. Then she remembered. 

 "Shit! Erik!"

 Racing as if on fire, she turned the stove off and hurried to the front door. Yanking the door open, she was met with the sight of Erik standing there in his business casual trousers and a button-down long sleeve shirt. 

 "Erik, hi. I'm so sorry." She gasped out, holding the door open. 

 His green eyes swept over her body rapidly before meeting hers. "Um," he cleared his throat, "I thought you wanted a ride today?"

 "I do, sorry, did. Ah, something came up. I'm so sorry, I should have text you."

 "Ok, is your phone off? I texted you about fifteen minutes ago."

 She lied, tugging on her ear nervously. "Yeah, I forgot to charge it overnight. I'm so sorry for making you wait around for me. It's my fault you'll be late to work."

 He shrugged, rocking back on his heels, a small smile on his face. "It's fine. My boss is lenient as long as we get our work done and don't miss any appointments."

 "Oh good." She smiled in return; happy he would not get reprimanded because of her. He already did so much to help her out. As they spoke, it did not go unnoticed how his eyes continuously drifted down to the large amount of skin exposed by her sleep shorts. Self-conscious, she spoke again, hoping to distract from her body, even as his clear interest made a blush rise to her cheeks. "Is there something I can do to make this up to you?"

 "I still haven't thought of how you can pay me back for gas money."

 She chuckled at his shy look as he confessed. "We can put this on my tab too. Maybe I'll make you dinner or something?"

 Erik opened his mouth to respond when a shout caused his mouth to snap shut. 

 "KARI!"

 Closing her eyes for a moment, Kari silently prayed to whoever was listening for patience to deal with what she knew was about to occur. 

 The tapping of his cane and loud footfalls were enough for her to know Ivar was approaching. She turned to look at him and immediately wanted to smack her forehead against the doorframe. Of course, he had decided to forgo his shirt. 

 "Who the fuck is this?" He growled low once he was close, the predatory look in his eyes undeniable. In this moment he resembled a snake ready to strike without hesitation, more than someone who was in chronic pain. Standing there next to her, only wearing sweatpants and the braces over his legs, he was the one who seemed more runway ready than Erik in his business casual outfit. 

 "Ah, hi, I'm Erik Redsen." He said skeptically, eyeing the dark-haired man like he was unsure if he needed to grab Kari and make a run for it or talk to him about taxes. "I live next door. I was supposed to give Kari a ride to work this morning."

 "Well, she won't be needing one anymore." Ivar snapped harshly. 

 "I can see that….and you are?"

 "Ivar. Ivar Lothbrok." 

 Erik's eyes widened comically as he scanned Ivar with new eyes. "Right. Are you two…. friends?"

 Before Kari could explain, Ivar beat her to answering. He shifted behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. "You could say that. We have a very…. satisfying relationship. Don't you agree, kitten?" 

 At this point, Kari was positive her face most likely resembled a tomato. She tried to push his arm off her, but he only tightened it in response. "Ivar." She hissed. 

 "Mmmm? I'll wait for you in the kitchen. You did promise me breakfast after such a vigorous morning." He planted a hot, open-mouth kiss on her neck before he looked up at Erik with a disarming smirk. "I'm sure we'll see each other again; I plan on being here more often."

 "Ah, sure. Nice to meet you." Although Erik sounded anything but pleased as he stuck his hands in his pockets. 

 Leaning heavily on his cane, Ivar slowly walked towards the kitchen area; though it did nothing to negate the aura of danger surrounding him. 

 Once he disappeared from view, she let out a sigh before turning back to Erik. "He's just a friend. It's complicated. We don't….um, yeah. He's a friend." She tried to smooth over but even to her ears it sounded weak. 

 "It's alright. Um, I need to get going. I'll…. I’ll see you around."

 "Ok. Hey, think you're free to shop this week?"

 He smiled shyly, walking backwards down the short driveway. "I'll check my schedule and text you." 

 "Thanks. Bye, Erik!"

 She closed the door after he saluted her, making sure to lock it. Taking a deep breath, she mentally girded herself for the inquisition that was about to happen once she entered the kitchen. She had to stick to her guns in this. It was OK for her to have other guy friends, there was no rule that said Ivar had to be the only one. Besides, she had known Erik longer anyway, so he would have priority. She doubted Ivar would appreciate that sentiment though. 

 In the pause before returning to the kitchen, she also tried to use that time to douse her libido. She was upset with Ivar for the clearly possessive action towards her; while simultaneously, between the tight hold against firm body and that salacious kiss, arousal coursed through her body. It was infuriating how her body reacted to even the simplest touch from him. If he knew how much she was puddy in his hands….

 Once she felt in control of herself again, she headed towards the kitchen. Ignoring what just occurred seemed to be the best way of handling that awkward interaction. Erik was her friend and that was none of Ivar's business. 

 The dark-haired Lothbrok sat on a bar stool, leaning on the island that faced into the kitchen. Though his face remained impassive, his gaze was hard as stone, silently demanding her to explain. 

 Wordlessly, she returned to preparing their breakfast. Turning the stove on again, the bacon started to sizzle. Thankfully, the coffee had finished brewing so she poured herself and her brooding companion a mug each. A little milk and sugar went into hers, and she made sure to leave them in reach so Ivar could fix his own coffee. 

 Attempting to ignore the obvious tension swallowing the air in the small kitchen, she focused on making their food. Sausages were cooked, along with eggs, toast and tomatoes. She would have loved some black pudding but her roommate refused to let her keep some in the fridge, so Kari was forced to stop buying it. As she silently moved about the tiny kitchen, her mind worked on cataloging what she had potentially for them to eat for lunch and dinner. Which did not consist of much. She could try and make something but cooking was not her forte. Ordering out seemed the best idea. Although she did have popcorn so they were set for watching movies. 

 Suddenly Ivar's smug tone broke through her thoughts. "Erik Michael Redsen. Twenty-eight years old. Works as a personal banker downtown. Went to school for art history. Well that was fucking stupid."

 "Gods, Ivar!" She turned on him, horrified. "Did you just do a background check on him?" 

 "How much do you really fucking know about this guy?" He demanded with a threatening undertone. 

 She sighed, trying to decipher if he was coming from a place of possessiveness or actual concern for her safety. With him, it could go either way. Returning her attention to making their breakfast, she put the salt and pepper away as she answered. "Honestly, not much. We don't really hang out. We carpool to the grocery store and sometimes he gives me rides to work so I don't have to take the bus. That's it."

 "Take the bus." He mouthed as if it was a foreign concept. He then slammed his hand on the countertop, making her jump at the unexpected noise. “Hell no, you aren't riding no fucking bus. I'll have my driver take you to work."

 "No."

 "No? No, what?"

 "I'm not using your driver."

 "Fine. I'll buy you a car!"

 "No! I can't…." She turned to really look at him, pushing her ego aside to be transparent. "I can't afford a car right now. We also don't have space for me to have one here. Besides, I don't mind taking the bus."

 "I'll pay for everything with your car."

 "Ivar, you're not listening! I don't want one! Thank you for offering but I'm OK. I like riding with you in your car but I don't need my own right now. I wouldn't have anywhere to park it anyway."

 He tilted his head to the side, looking at her with a peculiar expression. 

 "What?" She sharply said. 

 "You don't…." He stopped himself, rubbing a hand over his mouth, as if choosing his words carefully, before continuing. "You really don't care about my money, do you?"

 "No, why should I?" She chuckled, putting their food on the two ceramic plates she pulled out. "Honestly, it's kind of intimidating."

 He barked a laugh, as he seemed to stare off into space. 

 A flashback hit her to her conversation with Gyda a couple days ago. She peeked over at Ivar, wondering what Pandora's box she was accidently going to open with her question. "Your ex?" She asked softly. 

 He tensed for a moment, staring into his coffee mug. For a moment, she thought he would ignore her question or rebuke her for asking. Instead, he silently gave a single nod, not meeting her eyes. 

 How many times was she going to feel her heart break for this man? How many times did he feel used? Abandoned? Unwanted? At what point did the aloof and cruel mask he wore become a permanent fixture to protect his heart?

 Wiping her hands off on a towel, she walked around the counter to come up behind him and wrap her arms around his shoulders. "I promise I don't like you just for your money or name or whatever other stupid thing people have done to you. I like you. For some unexplainable reason, I like you, though you do have the habit of pissing me off."

 "You like me, huh?" He teased, relaxing into her embrace. 

 "Don't let it get to your head. You won't fit through doors anymore."

 He laughed loudly at that. "You sound like Floki."

 After giving him a gentle squeeze, carefully of his fragile state, she walked back around to finish up the last touches of their food. "I kind of want to meet him but I'm also scared, you know?"

 "He's harmless since he doesn't carry around his axe anymore."

 "That's…. what? That's not reassuring."

 He just smiled…. and somehow, she was less comforted than before. 

 She finished up their plates, setting Ivar's in front of him on the island, and placing hers in front of the other bar stool next to him. They both began eating, drawing a pleased grunt of approval from her companion. 

 "I don't trust him."

 "Who?" The brunette covered her mouth, having taken a bite of eggs. The last thing she wanted was to spew food all over Ivar. There was no way he would ever let her forget that. 

 He narrowed his eyes at her as if her question was redundant. "That Erik guy. He wants to fuck you."

 "Well, he isn't going to since I'm not interested in him." He grumbled, but before he could speak up, she cut him off. "You, sir, still owe me an explanation of how you got a key to my townhouse."

 "Hmmm…. Let's say your property management didn't need much…. persuasion….to hand over a spare they kept on hand."

 "I'm not sure if I should be concerned or not."

 He winked at her as he bit into a piece of bacon. 

 Pointing her fork at him, she hoped he understood how crucial this next statement was. "You can't just show up here whenever you want."

 Chewing on a piece of toast, he just stared ahead with a cool expression.

 "Ivar, I'm serious. We're lucky Alana isn't here this morning."

 "I noticed that, where is she?"

 "She has an early day at work today."

 He hummed, digging into his food. 

 She opened her mouth to further press on the importance of her statement but changed her mind and sipped on her coffee. He was already moody enough, if she continued to pester him about this, his mood would only darken. Later, she could reiterate her stance. There was no way he was going to give up the key he had. However much she thought it was weird and unfounded for him to have a key, it was just so…. Ivar to think it necessary. That did not seem a battle worth fighting over. Him just randomly showing up, that was something they needed to set rules on. 

 They finished eating their food and decided to watch a movie next, both keen on the idea of laying around in bed. When Kari reminded him that they would have to use her laptop to watch a movie if they went back upstairs, he grumbled loudly, saying something about fixing that but she paid no mind. After cleaning up, they headed back up to her room. When she went to argue it would be better to watch a movie downstairs on the TV there, she noted how he slowly ascended the stairs, holding onto the handrail with a tight grip, and how he gritted his teeth. Biting her tongue, she kept her comment to herself, instead rushing up the stairs to grab her laptop and set up her bed for his arrival. 

 He made it to her room but instead of coming to the bed right away, he hobbled over to where his shirt lay. She watched, curious, but also admiring his body. A heat curled low in her belly as she watched his muscles tense and the ink dance across his skin. He was truly a beautiful specimen of masculinity. 

 With something in hand, he came over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Here."

 She took it from his outstretched hand, seeing it was the newest iPhone, which wasn't even supposed to be released until that Friday. "How? Wait…. why?"

 He unstrapped his braces, setting them on the ground. "I told you I was getting you a new phone."

 "You didn't have to; my phone is just fine."

 "It's a piece of shit." He grunted as he dragged himself to lean against the wall, in lieu of a headboard. "Besides, this one had better security features. I already programmed some of them and I can show you the rest later. I'll switch your Sim card for you too."

 "Ivar…." She started to argue but was cut off when he snaked an arm around her waist and tugged her against him. 

 "Just say 'thank you, Ivar' and shut up. I want to watch a movie."

 "Thank you, oh gracious, benevolent god." She said in a sickly, sweet voice as she batted her eyelashes at him. 

 "Cheeky." He nipped at her earlobe, causing her to squirm. Pinning her against his side once more, he pressed his mouth to her ear and he whispered in a husky tone. "You can call me that whenever you want."

 A bolt of desire shot through her at his voice and the wicked images it painted in her mind. Her traitorous heart began to beat a rapid tattoo in her chest in excitement. Shifting the laptop in her lap to distract herself from her body's unconscious reactions, she teasingly answered. "I'm sure your brothers would love that."

 "Fuck them. They know I'm better than they are anyway."

 She rolled her eyes at his cocky comment. "What movie are we watching?"

 "None of your shit." He snatched the laptop from her, scanning the streaming service. "I'm buying you a TV for your room next."

 "No, you aren't." She mumbled, as she shifted to lay down. 

 Her bedroom was by no means Spartan but it certainly was on the sparser side. Her bed took up most of the space, the only other furniture was the two small tables, one holding her jewelry box and her plants and the other she used as a nightstand. All of her clothes and shoes she kept in the closet, some hanging and some in plastic drawers. Besides the pile of clean clothes in the laundry basket she needed to fold and put away, but she ignored that. Her beloved books were lined up neatly on the windowsill or a couple stacked on the nightstand. The only decoration she had on her walls was a stick-on wall decal that was the quote 'not all who wander are lost' in a flowy script. Even her suitcases and yoga mat were shoved under her thin metal-frame mattress. 

 There were a couple other knick-knacks around but she had purposefully kept her space simple. Just for the fact if she needed to suddenly pack up and move….it would not be difficult. However depressing of a thought that was. 

 Her eyes fluttered shut as she laid her head on her pillow, listening to Ivar mutter about the lack of good choices. Eventually he picked out some movie she had never heard of before. He stayed reclined against the wall with her laptop in his lap, a pillow against his lower back. From where she laid next to him, Kari could see the screen but found her eyelids staying closed. To the sounds of gunfire, swearing and some man yelling "motherfucker" often, she dozed off. 

 *****

 When she cracked her eyes open, it was to be met with a pair of captivating eyes already staring at her from the pillow next to her.  

 "You know you drool when you sleep?"

 Absent-mindedly she wiped a hand over her mouth and sure enough found the traces of drool there. "Sorry." She said, voice still coated in sleep. "How long was I asleep?"

 Ivar laid on his side facing her, arm tucked under his head and the laptop nowhere in sight. "Almost two hours."

 "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize how tired I was."

 "I ordered us lunch. It should be here soon."

 "Thanks." 

 They laid there facing one another. From this angle she was able to admire the tattoos across his chest and the Thor's hammer necklace hanging from his neck. Gingerly, she reached over and touched one of the tattoos on his chest, only for it to jump under her finger and make her squeak in surprise. He laughed as she mock-glared at him, then rolled onto his back. When she made no further movement, he snatched her hand and laid it upon his chest, silently giving her permission to continue her exploration. He placed both of his hands behind his head, eyes intent on her the whole time. With that, she shifted closer, to sit up and gaze down at him. Her hand returned its tracing of his decorated skin, admiring the lines of both color and his sculpted body. 

 "I always wanted to get a tattoo." She quietly confessed, watching her hand trace the colored lines on his skin. 

 "Why haven't you?"

 She shrugged. "My mother would've been livid. Plus, I could never fully decide on what I'd get. I want something that…. means something…. not just a cute design."

 "I'll take you if you want."

 "To get a tattoo?"

 "Why not?" He sounded almost offended, but the upward tilt of his lips betrayed his amusement. 

 She giggled. "Ok, when I decide what I want, you can take me."

 He hummed his agreement. Her attention returned back to his magnificent body, dragging her finger from his chest up his shoulder, following one of the tattoo's lines. She wondered what kind of tattoo she would get. Part of the reason she never got one was she did not want to go alone and if Ivar was offering to take her, maybe it was meant for her to get one. Something small, probably. She liked the look of minimalist tattoos. Perhaps on the inside of her wrist or her ankle? The idea made her smile. This could be another step for her to choose her own future, to solidify her own identity. Even it felt strongly rebellious compared to the values of her family. She was forging her own path, without their influence any longer. 

 Ivar abruptly sat up, startling her from her inner musings. In one swift movement, their faces were close enough she could feel his breath on her lips. She sat spellbound, unable to pull away, causing her heart to race. His eyes landed on her lips, eyeing them like a choice morsel to be consumed. His smoldering gaze made her mouth go dry. The tension, the desire, heated the air between them until she wondered if it alone could burn them. 

 That craving she fought so ardently threatened to overwhelm her. The yearning for his touch, for his lips on hers, to show her what only he could give her. Never before had she been so consumed by someone, to desire them so much she struggled to maintain her vow. It was infuriating, the constant battle. Wanting to draw closer, to give in and allow him to sweep her away. Yet her mind screamed at her to pull away, to maintain the status quo, to only allow friendship between them. Even if that line was blurry at best. It was something at least. A line she needed, to protect both of them.

 Forcing herself to pull back, she witnessed a flash of hurt and anger cross his eyes before her gaze dropped to her hand still on his chest. Her breathing felt erratic, matching her heartbeat. They stayed there, caught in a stalemate, neither drawing closer or further away. A dance they subjected themselves to on more than one occasion, each time still as tangible and dangerous as the last.

 Luckily, a loud knock on the front door echoed up the stairs, breaking the spell over them. 

 "I bet that's the food, I'll go…. I’ll get it."

 Wordlessly, he dropped back onto the bed, jaw tensed and eyes made of ice. 

 She quickly retrieved the food from the delivery, surprised to see it was sandwiches, chips and drinks from a local favorite of hers she had mentioned once in passing. She carried the bag and cups upstairs, worried how Ivar's mood would be now. Would the rest of the day be awkward and tense? On numerous occasions, she reminded him they were just friends, even if he seemed to hate that notion….and her heart begged for more. It could not happen. 

 Entering her bedroom, surprise filled her to see him sitting up in the bed, the laptop next to him queued up to Netflix. 

 "What do you want to watch?" He asked casually as if nothing had happened. 

 "Um...have you heard of The Last Kingdom? Some of my coworkers said it's really good." She slipped back into her spot and handed him his drink cup. 

 "It's alright."

 "Would you want to watch it with me?"

 "Sure." He turned to slyly grin at her. "Hopefully you don't fall asleep this time."

 "I'll try my hardest." She quipped. 

 They sat up against the wall, eating the food with the laptop near their knees. What potential strain she worried would exist never occurred. A part of her wondered what that meant while another part chucked it up to Ivar's mood swings. Either way, she was grateful.

 By the second episode, the trash was disposed of and the laptop moved to the side table. Kari lay back against the pillows bunched behind her, half sitting up, half laying down. Ivar had his head on her stomach, an arm slung over her hips, fingers caressing the exposed skin of her thighs. She ran her fingers through his unbound hair mindlessly as she watched the tv show. 

 Eventually his arm over her withdrew, his hand drawing random patterns on the strip of skin exposed between her sleep shorts and shirt. Too absorbed in the show and in a comfortable position, she did not pay much attention to his actions. It did not take long for her core to subconsciously start to clench as his fingers slipped past the waistband of her shorts. She tried to ignore it, figuring he was trying to get a reaction out of her. Even if her attention was now split between the show and his provocative touch. His fingers traced her skin just under the waistband of her shorts. After several minutes where she started to relax, his fingers inched a little lower, toying with the top of her underwear. 

 She knew she should say something, to stop him from touching her but a flood of new sensations prevented her. Never before had anyone touched her like this. Her ex had tried but she refused to let him. Now though, it was as if invisible cords held her down, forcing her compliance. Her body possessed by his simple touch and curious about what he would do next. Her hand stilled in his hair, using it to anchor herself. His hand creeped lower. His fingers lightly grazing her outer folds. Her hips jerked instinctually. His head on her stomach prevented her from moving away. Pressing a soft kiss to her exposed skin, he chuckled lowly. A stirring sensation swirled between legs, something she had only felt one other time. Then with a barely-there touch, his finger traced her womanhood. 

 "Ivar…." She whined, though if it was encouragement or reprimand, it was unclear.

 He lifted his head to look at her as his fingers continued to gentle caress her sex. "Has anyone touched you?"

 She shook her head, mouth suddenly dry and words unable to escape.  

 Staring at her, he slipped a single, thick finger into her sex. 

 Her eyes slammed shut, a gasp falling from her lips at the foreign sensation. Her back arched slightly as her body made to accommodate the pleasurable intrusion. 

 "Look at me, Kari. I want to watch you." He commanded,  

 Her eyes snapped open, meeting his starved gaze. The naked desire in them sent a chill down her spine. Under his gaze, she was paralyzed. Slowly, his finger slid in and out of her. The heat in her belly steadily grew between his actions and his hungry eyes that seemed to feast on her pleasure. 

 After a few passes, he surprised her by sliding in a second thick finger. Her gasp transformed into a moan at the strange feeling of being full. The lewd sounds of his fingers easing in and out of her and her wetness overshadowed the TV show still playing but ignored by both. Her body began to feel hot all over, sweat forming on her skin. Without her conscious permission, her hips started to rock with his fingers, desperate for more friction, chasing a release only he could give her. 

 "That's it, kitten, good girl." He praised. His thumb rubbed a circle over her clit, making her body try to shoot off the bed at the sensation though he held her down easily. Whimpers slipped from her lips. Completely pliant under his touch, she made no attempt to escape. The fire coursing through her veins deterred her, the need for more overshadowed her own fears. 

 Still gazing at her hungrily, he leaned forward and licked her breast over her t-shirt. Her breath stuttered, chest heaving at the jolt of electricity that scorched her. It was all becoming too much and yet not enough. Her hips ground against his hand unashamedly. Lips parted as she panted for air. His hand played her like an instrument, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. This time when he licked her breast with one long swipe, he rubbed her clit at the same time. The sensation was devastating, pushing her over the edge. With a cry of his name, a wave of pleasure overwhelmed her. His fingers continued to pump into her, helping her ride out her orgasm. 

 Finally she laid there, unable to move, unable to even think. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her lungs fought for air. He chuckled at her, making her flush even more. Agonizingly slow, he dragged his hand out from between her folds, only to pop the two fingers that had brought her to completion into his mouth and loudly suck on them. 

 "Fuck, you taste amazing." He groaned, still eyeing her with a purely predatory look. Leaning over, he nipped at her breast, then laid on his side next to her. 

 "What…. what about you?" She managed to ask, the delirium of bliss dwindling. 

 He raised an eyebrow.

 She pointedly looked at the obvious bulge in his crotch and back up at him. 

 "Have you ever….?" His question trailed off while a crooked smile lit up his face. 

 She blushed, tugging on her earlobe. "I've...um, never actually seen one in real life."

 "Gods, you're so innocent." He chuckled, shaking his head amused. A second later, he rolled onto his back and folded his hands behind his head. When she made no move towards him, he rolled his eyes and taunted her. "Well? Or do I need to pull it out for you too?"

 Biting her bottom lip, her eyes darted back and forth between his face and his obvious erection. What was she doing? Her grandmother would be horrified. Yet her curiosity reared its head, encouraging her onward. Somehow, she knew with Ivar, she was safe. Not just physically but safe to explore her sexuality, something previously forbidden. He may be irritating at times and possessive at others but she knew he liked her innocence. And with him, touching him and letting him touch her...it did not feel wrong like when her ex tried. No, it felt like being home. 

 Before she could sike herself out with her frenzied nerves, she reached over and unbuttoned his jeans then slowly drew the zipper down. "Can…. can we take your pants off?"

 "No."

 His sharp retort had her whipping her head to look at him. Instead of meeting her eyes, he stared up at the ceiling like it personally offended him. 

 "Um, ok." She licked her lips, debating as what to do next. She tried to imagine what Alana would advise or even Gyda. Carefully and nervously, she guided her hand into his pants and boxers. Her hand wrapped around him and she found herself swallowing dryly. It was at this moment she was unsure what to do. He must have seen the hesitation on her face. Without a word, he wrapped his hand around hers and pulled his cock out, fully exposing it. Her eyes darted to his face and back down to his member. 

 "Um…. are they always...this…. this big?"

 He smirked. "You're good for my ego, kitten."

 That did not really answer her question but she doubted now was the time to probe further. She made a mental note to ask Alana…. hypothetically of course. 

 Her hand was unable to wrap all the way around his cock. Even though having nothing to compare it to, she was positive this was an impressive specimen. Holding her breath, she gently slid her hand from the base to the tip and back down. His cock twitched against her hand, making her giggle but she kept her focus on it. Slowly she repeated the movement a couple more times. With each pass she began to feel more confident. When noticing wetness gathering at the tip, she ran her thumb over it, smoothing it around and found it helped glide her hand along. 

 She glanced up at him, since he had not said anything either in encouragement or redirection, only to see a pained expression on his face. Immediately she yanked her hand away from him, terrified she was hurting him. "Are you OK? Am I doing it wrong? Does it hurt? I'm so sorry."

 "No, fuck." He grunted then inhaled sharply. "No…. it’s just been awhile."

 "Oh." She was not sure what to do with that information, so she focused back on her task. Memories of listening to Alana and some of her friends talk, plus a few movies she had seen, gave her some inspiration as she continued stroking him. Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned over and gave a little lick to the tip of his cock. 

 "Fuck!" He shouted, hips jumping, hands gripping the sheets tightly.  

 Seeing his reaction, she felt powerful, bringing this strong man under her control like this. It was alluring to know with just her hand, he was utterly at her mercy. The sweat beading on his forehead, his chest heaving with his fervid, shallow breaths, mouth slightly open. He was always handsome in her mind but seeing him like this, it was captivating. She continued guiding her hand up and down his member, swiping her thumb along the top frequently to spread his precum. 

 "Fuckkkk, Kari." He groaned out, hands fisted in the sheets now. "I can't…. ah, fuck!"

 Suddenly, he grabbed her hand and aimed towards his stomach. In the next second, his cum shot over his bare skin. Thinking how he continued his ministrations after she finished, she pumped him a few more times until he swatted her hand away. His chest heaved as he panted, one arm thrown over his face. 

 Silently, she got up and went to the bathroom to grab a towel and clean him up. Making a mental note to throw it in the wash before Alana could smell it and know what happened. 

 She returned and wiped him up, marveling at what just occurred. In comparison to others, she knew this experience was minor but to her…. she felt so wanton, so scandalous. She could not help the silly grin on her face, even as her stomach turned in knots. It went against everything her grandmother taught her, but she could not regret it. Even if it could never happen again. 

 Once done, she set the towel on the ground. The youngest Lothbrok silently laid there the whole time, arm over his face. The longer his silence endured, the more confusion and apprehension dispelled her confidence. 

 Finally, she could not take it any longer. "Did I…. was it ok?"

 In the next instant, his arms snaked around her and yanked her back onto the bed. Her squeak of surprise was cut off when his mouth descended on her possessively, as if attempting to steal the very air from her lungs. His body hovered over hers, pinning her to the bed as he claimed her lips completely. The way his mouth dominated hers, forcing her tongue to fight with his, the fire that shot through her body at his touch, was intoxicating. She willingly surrendered to him. Her hands tangled in his hair, keeping his mouth on hers. A needy whine slipped from her when their mouths unlocked, only to become a moan when he trailed his tongue over her neck. 

 "I want to taste every inch of you," he breathed against her skin, pressing open-mouth kisses that were sure to leave marks on her. "I want to corrupt you in every way imaginable."

 Her body arched into his touch, weak and throbbing for more. Even his words shot desire coursing through her. Air seemed unnecessary, only his mouth was a requirement to continue breathing. 

 "Ivar," she whispered in a slow, shaky breath. 

 That seemed to clear his lust-fueled haze. He shifted to press his forehead to hers, both panting and lips swollen, evidence of their raging desire. After a moment, he rolled over onto his back, pulling her to lay partially on his chest. His hand glided up and down her back soothingly. 

 As they lay there, Kari knew they crossed a line. Even if she could not make herself regret it, things had shifted between them. At least for her. They were at a crossroads. The entire time she knew Ivar, they had been toeing the line of friendship but this…. for her, this crossed it. And she was not sure what to think about it. Her mind continued to berate her, reminding her that they could only be friends. And not friends with benefits. She made her vow and no matter what, she promised herself to keep it. Even if it meant losing him. That realization felt like a stab in the heart.

 "Ivar, what are we?"

 "What do you mean?"

 She bit her bottom lip. This was not a conversation she wanted to have, but this limbo, this stalemate they resided in...it ate away at her psyche. Her head told her that friendship was the line they could not pass; meanwhile her heart longed for his affection that he so easily bestowed upon her. Tipping her head up so her chin rested on his chest, she watched him as he stared up at the ceiling, an arm behind his head and the other caressing her back. "We're not a couple…. but we aren't just friends either, I think."

 "Who the fuck cares what we are!" He snapped harshly. "I'm Ivar and you're Kari. Anyone with a problem with that can go fuck themselves!"

 It sounded so simple coming from him, but she knew whatever was between them was far from simple. He knew her choice of remaining friends. Then a thought crossed her mind that seemed to steal her breath away.  "Are there….do you do this with other…. friends?"

 "Do you?" Those mesmerizing eyes moved to her, staring at her as seeking to penetrate her mind and witness all her secrets. 

 "If I said yes, what would you do?" She meant the question to be teasing, to add a lightness to the conversation. Yet soon as the question slipped from her, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. 

 Instantaneously, a menacing glint entered his eyes and tension coated the air like oil. His body slowly moved, forcing her onto her back and leaving him hovering over her like an angel of death. 

 "I'd fucking kill them." He declared in a terrifyingly calm tone. His eyes were cold as ice as he stared down at her, his lips pulled back in a snarl. All she could do was stare up at him, scared to move. One of his hands grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her head to tip upward and bare her throat. Her breath froze in her chest, unable to pull away, unable to escape his hold on her. "You are mine. Do you understand?"

 Tears sprang to her eyes unbidden with how tightly he gripped her. This side of him, this cold fury was more frightening than his fiery anger. 

 "Yes…" she choked out, as he continued to glare down at her. 

 After a moment, he let go of her hair, smoothing it down. Then he dropped his face into the crook of her neck, laying on top of her. She could feel his labored breath on her skin. 

 "I can't…." He slowly inhaled, after he pressed his lips to her neck as if in apology. "I don't share. And the idea of you with someone else…."

 Her heart hammered in her chest, the residual fear still oozing like molasses in her veins. His hands held her firmly, like that would be enough to keep her. She stared up at the ceiling, unblinking. They laid there for several minutes, both caught up in their own thoughts. Sometimes she forgot how dangerous he was. Why everyone was so concerned for her safety. But this….it frightened her. This side of him that could so easily switch from fiery wrath to frigid terror. She was unsure what to do. 

 "Kari, I…." His voice trailed off but she could hear the apology in his voice, even if words failed him. "I'm a selfish bastard."

 "Mmmm…." She hummed, lips twitching. Her hand ran through his hair. After a long moment, she quietly asked, "Just Ivar and Kari?"

 He pressed another soft kiss to her neck, his other hand seeking hers to entwine their fingers. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

 She knew what he meant, and to hear the faint traces of hope in his voice made her words feel like lead as they rolled off her tongue. "I'm sorry."

 "Why won't you tell me?"

 "It's not…. it’s not worth it."

 "Then why do you let it affect us?"

 She sighed, knowing there was no way to win this conversation without spilling all of her secrets. "Please, Ivar."

 "Fine." He grumbled, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. 

 Eventually, he started caressing her skin with feather-light kisses as if worshipping her. His lips started on her neck, an occasional nip only to be soothed by his tongue after. Torturously slow, those kisses reached her ear to continue their journey along her jawline. Once he found her chin, his hand left hers to tug on her chin, tilting her face downward to meet his. His mouth hovered overs hers for an agonizing moment before sealing a gentle, sensual kiss to her lips. Their lips moved as if time itself stopped for this moment. No rush, just a silent conveying of emotions that could never fully translate to words. Her mouth and tongue danced a waltz with his, a willing partner even if she knew it was better to leave the dance floor. It called to her, summoned her, and like a spell cast over her, she allowed him to lead. 

 When he finally released her, lips swollen deliciously, he leaned up slightly to gaze down at her with something akin to devotion. The look made her squirm self-consciously because she wondered if her face mirrored his. 

 "We probably….um, not…." She stuttered out, dropping her gaze to his chest. Her thoughts swarmed about like a beehive kicked over. 

 "No." He chuckled in a low and husky tone. "I'm kissing you and touching you. Fucking try and stop me now."

 "But…." 

 His mouth descended on hers in a harsh kiss this time, swallowing her feeble protests. 

 "Ivar, you can't…." She tried to reason, only to be silenced once again by his possessive mouth, claiming hers. 

 She yanked her mouth away. "Stop." 

 This time he nibbled down her neck while his hand squeezed her thigh, rising higher and higher towards her sex. Although she tried to wiggle away, it was impossible. She was no match for his physical strength, nor was her willpower resolute enough to keep her from thoroughly enjoying his seductive touch. 

 "Stop, stop. Fine. A quota." She gasped out, her body beginning to burn under his assault. 

 "What?"

 "You can…. this is so weird...a kiss quota."

 He lifted up to stare at her like she was insane. "You're serious?"

 She nodded. 

 "Twenty kisses per day and they roll over if unused."

 She laughed. "No way."

 "Too low?" An arrogant smirk played across his mouth. "I know you love these lips. Thirty kisses."

 "No! I was thinking like three."

 "Three? Fuck that."

 "Four."

 "Fifteen."

 "Ivar, that's too many. We might as well be in a relationship." She giggled. Never before would she ever have guessed she would be arguing over a daily kiss quota, but here she was. 

 "I don't see a problem with that."

 "But we're not."

 "Fuck." He nuzzled her temple, letting out a long sigh. "We're just Ivar and Kari remember? Who gives a fuck what others think."

 "Five." She amended her number. 

 "Twelve."

 "Six."

 "Ten."

 "Seven."

 "Nine."

 "Eight."

 He pressed a greedy kiss to her lips as if sealing their agreement. "Eight."

 "No roll over."

 "Argh!" He finally rolled off of her and laid on his back beside her. "Today's kisses start now."

 "What?"

 "Yes."

 They rested next to one another, staring up at the ceiling. Kari had a stupid smile on her face and wondered if Ivar did too. 

 "How are you feeling?" She quietly asked. 

 "Fine." He huffed but after a second, entwined their fingers and brought it up to his lips. "Today was more fun than going to work, right?"

 "Well…."

 He growled. 

 "Yes, it was. I never just lay around in bed, but this has been…. nice."

 "Nice?"

 "Perfect."

 "Mmmm. Better."

 She giggled at the pure smugness in his voice. "Should we keep watching our show?"

 "Unless there is something else…."

 "No."

 After an apparently necessary kiss from their quota, they started the show back up on her laptop. Her head was on his shoulder and their fingers still entangled. For a second, she wondered if she should be concerned with how completely normal this felt. There was no denying this connection they seemed to have. Cuddled up to him, she relished in the sensation, for who knew how long it would last. 

 Ivar squeezed her hand. "Did I mention your ass and legs look fucking amazing in this shorts yet?"

 "Shut up." He buried her face against his shoulder, flushed with embarrassment. 

 "You don't believe me?" He snickered, fingers skimming her bare skin tantalizingly.  "I can't keep my hands off them, fucking amazing."

 "Gods, Ivar, stop!" 

 Thankfully, he did but only after receiving a kiss in recompense. 

 *****

 A couple of episodes later, and four kisses from the quota, Kari was still cuddled up against Ivar, her head on his chest this time. They had taken a break to make popcorn after they restarted the last episode. Yet, like their bodies were magnetized to the other, they subconsciously drifted back to cuddling once the popcorn was gone. With his hand rubbing up and down her back and his rhythmic heartbeat beneath her ear, sleep waited just on the outskirts of her mind to pull her under. Because of this, she barely registered a knock on her door until it suddenly opened. 

 "Hey, Kari, I think this Friday we…." Alana's blue eyes widened like saucers when she fully registered the scene before her. She blinked owlishly for a long second before clearing her throat. "Hi, um, Kari, can we talk privately please?"

 "Sure." Kari pulled away from Ivar with dread filling her. She had not realized what time it was and now that Alana had seen Ivar…. her mind fumbled to come up with a decent excuse, even though she knew it was fruitless. Each step feeling like she was walking to the gallows, she followed her roommate down the stairs and to the small living room. 

 "Alana, it's not…." She started, hoping to start the conversation off but was cut off. 

 "What the hell is going on?" Alana rounded on her, lips pursed and hands on her hips. "I come home and Ivar Lothbrok is lying in your bed, under your covers, shirtless and you're clinging to him like a koala. Tell me it's not what I think it is."

 "We're just friends…"

 The blonde interrupted again. "Bullshit. Are you two fucking? Tell me right now!"

 "No, we aren't. I swear."

 "We told you to stay away from him. What's going on?"

 "It's...it's a long story."

 "I don't want him here."

 "Why not? You bring guys here?" Kari asked defensively. Never before had she had a guy over, the whole year and a half they were roommates. 

 "Because he's a Lothbrok!" Alana sighed, after a quick glance up the stairs to confirm they were still alone, she continued. "You don't…. I don't want you caught up in that world. You deserve someone sweet, and kind…. and who treats you like a princess."

 "Weren't you telling me the other day to get out there? Go on a date with Erik?"

 "Because Erik is a gentleman. He'd treat you well. He'd probably propose after a month of dating you. He's been smitten with you since last year."

 The brunette rolled her eyes but smiled at the sentiment. She may disagree with Alana's viewpoint of Erik's level of attraction to her, but she knew her roommate meant well. The blonde had been pressing her lately to ask him out herself. 

 Before Alana could say something else, they both heard footsteps coming down the stairs. After a moment, Ivar appeared with his t-shirt on over his sweatpants, shoes on, cane in hand and hair pulled back in a man bun. 

 "You leaving?" Kari questioned, desperate to hide the disappointment in her voice. 

 "Yeah, there's something for work I need to do before going into the office tomorrow." 

 She moved to stand before him, gaze sweeping over his body as if she could read his pain level with just a look. Meeting his eyes, she quietly asked. "You'll be alright?"

 He snorted, rolling the cane in his hand. "You sound like my family now."

 "Probably because they care about you."

 He hummed, ignoring her comment. "You should be getting a box in the mail tomorrow."

 "Why?"

 "I ordered you some clothes."

 "Ivar…." 

 "My priestess needs to wear more than just yoga clothes." He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Though, I do love how tight they are on your ass."

 She laughed, pressing a hand to his, unfortunately, covered chest and carefully pushing him back. "Unbelievable."

 Instead of shifting away from her, he used her hand on his chest to pull her against him. His lips crashed against hers like he needed her to breathe. She clung to his t-shirt as her legs trembled under the reckless abandon of his mouth. Only when she felt boneless did he finally allow her to pull away, desperate for air. With short pants, she gazed up at him wondering where that came from. 

 "I'll text you tomorrow."

 "Oh ok." Was all she could say, her brain still fogged up by the insatiable kiss. 

 He cupped her cheek, looking at her with something like adoration if seen in anyone else, before glancing over her shoulder at Alana. "Nice seeing you again." Without waiting for a response, he walked to the front door and out of it. 

 The sound of the door closing seemed to lift the haze over her mind. She turned around to see her roommate glaring at her with arms crossed over her chest. 

 "Just friends, huh?" She scoffed with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "I don't know what game you're playing with him but I don't want anything to do with it. Apparently, you're not quite the woman I thought you were."

 "Alana…."

 "Save it." She stormed past Kari and up the stairs to her bedroom. 

 With a sigh, Kari trudged over and locked the front door. She wondered how true Alana's words were. After everything that happened today with Ivar, was she even the woman she thought she was? Or was he changing her? And was it for better or worse?

 She honestly was not sure….and it scared her a little. 

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter four: cham-pain

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.4K

A/N: hey, you.  yes, YOU. has anyone told you that you’re pretty today? well, if not let me be the first. i can’t help but feel lovey-dovey about the love you guys have shown me on this story. thank you so much for everything.  i hope you like this chapter and i hope you’ll reach out and let me know either way.  big shoutout to the baes @ladyartemesia​ and @taetaewonderland​ they know why.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

********************

At what point do you stop calling them shorts and start calling them panties?

That’s the question Hoseok ponders when he walks into the kitchen to find you precariously perched on tiptoes, straining to reach for something in an overhead cabinet.  He lets his gaze linger over the soft skin of your legs, up to your thighs, up higher to where he can damned near see the swell of your ass peeking out from that obscene little scrap of cloth.

What he does next is probably unwise.

What he does next is approach silently from behind, pressing one hand into the small of your back as he reaches over you to get a hold of the jar you’re struggling to grab. And if he enjoys the way your body jolts with surprise beneath his fingertips or the way your hair smells when he’s this close, then that’s his business and no one else’s.

“Thank you,” you murmur, avoiding his eyes and for a moment Hoseok thinks you’re going to scold him for being so bold.

But you don’t.

*********************

Hoseok shouldn’t be toying with you right now and he knows it. It’s not like you’ve ever been an open book with him, but these past few days you’ve been even more withdrawn -- more in your head than ever before.  

Not that you don’t have your reasons.

Shit is off the rails with your case and you’re living with a complete stranger and someone left a live fucking snake in your bedroom a few nights ago.  

So if Hoseok has noticed that you walk around in a fog — that the fire he used to see inside of you from time to time seems extinguished — well, that’s certainly understandable. 

But he can’t help but wonder if there’s something more to your melancholy. He can’t help but wonder if you actually hold a candle for that idiot you left reeling at the restaurant.  

Hoseok can’t stop thinking about that guy.  

There is a feeling he can’t shake and it’s not just the urge to beat Kang Donghyuk to a pulp. Hoseok can’t shake the feeling that beneath the dopey smile and the lazy charm and the overall benign affect, there’s something more.  

Something Hoseok is determined to figure out.

So he leaves you to your cooking in the kitchen and retreats to the privacy of his room to phone Seokjin.  If this piece of shit is up to something, Hoseok is going to make it his personal mission to find it.

And if he finds something?

Then Hoseok will make it his personal mission to make him pay.

***********************

YOU

“Amsaja -- with Hoseok.  Try being nice.”

You think back to your brother’s words as you stand just outside the door to Hoseok’s room, fist raised to knock.  But you don’t, at least not right away.  

What is your fucking problem?

You remind yourself that you are a grown woman, not some skittish little girl.  You remind yourself that Jung Hoseok is just a man.  

And then you get a grip.

The door opens after one light knock.  You don’t mean to stare, truly you don’t -- but Hoseok is wearing one of those goddamned tank tops again.  What happened to suits all day and all night?  Suits are a hell of a lot less distracting.

“What’s up?” he asks cautiously.  

Your eyes dart from his face to his chest to his arms and finally settle around his neck, where a pair of dog tags hang from a silver chain.  You had nearly forgotten that Jung Hoseok made a career of the military before he was one of your brother’s right-hand men.

“I made some Samgyetang,” you say lamely, gesturing to the bowl of soup in your hands.

I made it for you. 

“And it’s uh, supposed to be good for a cold,” you add, when he says nothing.

Which you have.  

“So, I -- ” you clear your throat, shift your weight back and forth on your feet, “ -- made some.”

For you.

Hoseok stares at the bowl like you’ve brought him a grenade instead of a meal.  The puzzled look on his face makes you feel awkward, makes the entire gesture seem silly.

“Never mind,” you say under your breath, turning on your heels.  

“Wait --” Hoseok calls quickly, stepping out of his room to follow you,  “ -- I didn’t -- I was just surprised, that’s all.” 

“It’s just soup,” you say over your shoulder, trying like hell to sound casual and not at all offended.

Hoseok keeps pace behind you into the kitchen; commands your attention with one firm hand on your arm.  You turn to face him, averting your gaze from the sweatpants that hang low on his hips and the thin cotton that grips every muscle of his lean chest.

“I didn’t mean to make that weird,” Hoseok says quietly. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had homemade Samgyetang.”

You pull your arm out of his hold.  

“Well, it’s there if you want it,” you shrug, brushing past him.

It’s a relief to trade the charged air of the kitchen for the uncomplicated quiet of your room.

*************************

Hyejin takes her reading glasses off to rub the bridge of her nose.  

“I’m not even kidding about my eyesight being shot,” she sighs, reaching for her coffee cup.  “It gets worse every day and the print on these depositions does not help.”

“I know,” you mumble, highlighter flying over your own set of fine print.  “Sorry.”

“Hey, at least we’re in this together,” she smiles. “Right?” 

Her face falls when you don’t return the gesture.

It’s not exactly a secret that you haven’t been firing on all cylinders lately.  You are so worn out from the shit going on at work and the shit going on at home that it feels like you don’t have much more to give.  You just want to climb into bed and sleep for a week straight.

If only you had that luxury.  

Instead, you’re back at it with Hyejin today, trying to figure out a way around the missing digital evidence you so desperately need.  The loss of those files was a terrible setback, but you refuse to let it be the end.  You still have an entire warehouse full of confiscated guns under lock and key.

Now you just need to get your head in the game.

“You still going to the gala tomorrow night?” Hyejin asks, sipping her coffee.

So much for getting your head in the game.

“Not sure,” you murmur, underlining a key part of the testimony.  “Lots of shit going on right now.”

“Yeah, I know things between you and Donghyuk got weird,” Hyejin says carefully.

You stop yourself from laughing out loud. 

Donghyuk is so far down your list of fires to fight, you’d nearly forgotten him completely.  You probably could forget him if you weren’t subjected to his dirty looks every time the two of you cross paths at the office.  You’ve made at least two very awkward cups of coffee standing side-by-side in the past week alone -- but honestly, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“That’s -- “ you start and stop before continuing, “ -- not really an issue right now.”

“Okay, sure,” Hyejin concedes. “Just don’t forget that I’m here if you need someone to talk to, alright?  You don’t always have to take everything on by yourself.”

You stop your incessant highlighting to look up at your friend and colleague.  

Concern is written all over her pretty face and for a moment you entertain the thought of opening up to her.  The idea of talking about what’s going on is tempting -- like if you could share just a piece of your burden you could relieve some of the pressure inside of you.  But there’s another part of you that worries that you are too pent up to let go of any of this.  A part of you that feels like all it will take is one tiny crack for the entire dam to give.

You finally manage to muster one weak smile for your friend, who seems relieved to see any display of emotion out of you.

“Thanks, Hye.  I’ll keep that in mind.”

***********************

You almost skipped tonight.  Almost.

But you’d already bought a dress and the tickets were paid for and Hoseok didn’t even flinch when you told him you had to go to a black-tie event. 

If only you could say the same for the moment you saw him in the living room.

When Hoseok turned at the sound of your heels on the marble floor, with hands tucked into the pockets of his bespoke black tux, you nearly forgot to breathe.  All of the coordinating details, the slim-cut jacket and the perfectly-styled hair and the carefully-crafted bow tie felt like a gut punch.

You’d silently prayed that Hoseok didn’t catch the way your eyes lingered on him for just a beat too long -- or that he didn’t spot the heat you could feel creeping up your neck and into your cheeks. The color that must have been made all the more obvious against the rose shade of your gown.

“You ready?”

Hoseok interrupts your thoughts with his usual business-like tone.  The one that tells you that this inner monologue about how incredible he looks tonight is painfully one-sided.  

You nod, not trusting yourself to use your words.

All things considered, the situation with Donghyuk couldn’t have gone south at a better time.  He would have been your date for the night were it not for the blow up at dinner -- and it certainly would have drawn unwanted attention to have two men at your side all evening.  

Though with the way Hoseok looks tonight, you imagine the attention will come anyway.

*********************

There are few things in life rich people enjoy more than pretending to give a shit about poor ones. 

They make sport of it, jockeying for position in front of the cameras, gladly shelling out hundreds of thousands of won a plate to prove just how much they care.  They spend their evenings drinking top-shelf liquor and eating top-notch catering and convincing themselves that they’re making some kind of sacrifice for the greater good.  

A string quartet plays softly in the background as guests mill about, grabbing drinks and hors d'oeuvres off of passing trays.  Hoseok is at your side, a glass of water in hand.  He is just close enough for you to take in his heady, masculine smell -- but not too close.

You hate that he smells this good.

You hate that he looks this good.

You have tried -- and failed -- to ignore the appreciative stares he’s gotten from some of the gala guests.  You already caught one woman ogling outright, gawking unrepentantly while at her own date’s side.  When a cocktail server walks by with a carefully-balanced offering of champagne flutes, you grab one right away.

Hoseok, as usual, takes nothing.  

You sip your champagne and watch him watching the room.  

He certainly looks the part of a society player tonight in his tux, the occasional wrinkle of his nose the only indicator of his disdain for the men and women drinking and dancing around him.  When a woman bumps into him while carrying a plate of appetizers, he holds out a hand to help her keep upright and she damned near melts at his reassuring smile.  

“Oh, thank you,” she breathes deeply before her eyes dart in your direction.  

You look away.

Not once have you ever seen this man smile, and he’s certainly never smiled at you.  You turn to slam the rest of your champagne and put the empty flute on a nearby table just as another cocktail server passes with a full tray of drinks. 

How fortuitous.  You grab another.  

There’s a few more minutes of mingling before the guests are asked to take a seat at their assigned tables.  Hoseok holds out your chair and you accept. 

The interaction, like always, is silent.

You look up from the perfectly staged spread to spot Donghyuk two tables away.  Even from a distance you can tell his cheeks look ruddy — like he’s already had way too much to drink. He narrows his eyes when he realizes you are looking and you lift your champagne flute to tip a sarcastic salute in his direction.  He scowls back.

“Miss Kim,” a deep voice interrupts your petty exchange. “What a pleasant coincidence.”

You force a smile when your boss and his wife unexpectedly fill two empty seats at your table.

“Mr. Park,” you return quietly. “Nice to see you tonight. And Mrs. Park, of course.”

Mrs. Park’s answering smile is warm and genuine, but the same cannot be said of her husband’s. Of course, the last conversation you had with him one-on-one, he’d practically thrown you out of his office. The smile on his face right now is a bit watery.

“It’s so nice to see you dear,” Mrs. Park says sweetly.  “And who is this handsome fellow?”

You falter when you open your mouth to answer, but Hoseok smoothly interjects.

“Yi Sang, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.”

You close your mouth and turn to smile woodenly at Hoseok, who doesn’t bother to look back. 

“Mr. Yi,” your boss extends his hand for a firm handshake, but a strange look passes over his face.  “The pleasure is ours.” 

Hoseok’s mouth pulls into a tight smile and you down what’s left of your champagne.

A couple you don’t recognize join your table before dinner is served.  You do your best to appear engaged in the small talk; nodding when appropriate, smiling during the awkward pauses.  But there is an emptiness in you tonight.  You spend the entire meal pushing the artfully-arranged dishes around your plate because you find you have no desire for food.

The same cannot be said for the champagne, though. That’s going down quite nicely.  Your server dutifully brings another flute as soon as yours is empty.

“I must commend you, Miss Kim, on forging ahead with this case,” Mr. Park says, when the plates have been cleared and after-dinner coffee is being served.  “I know it hasn’t been easy after the theft of your files.”

“Oh,” you clear your throat. “Yes, well -- I’m doing my best with what I have left.”

“Of course. It’s important we do what we can to bring these low-lives to justice,” Mr. Kim says slowly.  He looks from you to Hoseok with an expression that stops just short of a challenge and the champagne in your stomach seems to come to life. “Organized crime in this city is out of hand. We can’t allow Seoul to descend into chaos because of the trash making a living off of guns and drugs.”

Trash like your brother. 

“Right,” you say quietly, swallowing past a lump in your throat. “I’ll do my best.” 

Hoseok remains composed at your side, but you don’t miss how his knuckles go white as his grip around the water glass tightens.  

Trash like Hoseok.  

You swallow another mouthful of champagne.  

The couple sitting next to the Parks -- oblivious to the friction at the table -- strike up a conversation about the dessert selection and you’ve never been more glad for small talk.  The tension in the air slowly dissipates.

But you keep drinking.

Hoseok leans into you, lips so close they nearly brush the shell of your ear and your entire body goes still.  Goosebumps bloom all over when you feel his breath against your skin.

“You should eat something,” he murmurs.

You could almost laugh at the way your stomach seems to fall with disappointment.  What were you expecting him to say? Something complimentary? Something reassuring?  

What a joke.

All at once you decide you need space, you need air, you need a break from the bullshit you seem to be taking from all sides tonight.

Hoseok’s eyebrows lift as you stand from your seat.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you announce to the table, “I need to visit the powder room.”

The champagne seems to hit you the moment you stand and you have to work hard at keeping your steps steady as you make your way out of the ballroom.

You would never admit it, but Hoseok is right. 

You really should eat something.

***********************

hoseok: text me or i’m coming in [11:02 PM ]

You stand in the mirror and stare at your reflection in the dim lighting of the ladies’ room. You’ve been to dozens of these events over the years and it’s never felt as pointless and unnatural to you as it does right now.  A part of you hates how much you’ve tied yourself into knots seeking the validation of these pompous assholes.  So desperate to be chosen by the chosen few. 

hoseok: last chance [11:06 PM ]

Another part of you hates Hoseok.  

You hate his constant presence and his constant silence and his constant judgement.  It always feels like he’s punishing you for some transgression you don’t even know you’ve committed.  Your phone buzzes with a reminder of the waiting texts and you sigh, unlocking the screen to fire off an answer before Hoseok makes good on his threat to storm his way in.

you: i’m fine. be right out [ 11:08 PM ]

You take one last look in the mirror.  Have you always looked this tired? 

Before dinner -- after you’d meticulously primped for tonight -- you’d been satisfied with what you saw in the mirror.  Now all you can see are the shadows under your eyes, the grim set of your mouth.  Is this what other people see when they look at you, too?

A knock sounds on the door and you blow out an exasperated breath.  Hoseok must be tired of waiting for you to wrap this pity party.  You yank the door open with more force than intended, fully prepared to tell him to fuck off.

But it’s Donghyuk on the other side.

You stare at him.

“What do you want?” you hiss, stepping out into the hallway.

“I just want to talk,” Donghyuk says coolly, standing just a bit too close. You grimace at the smell of liquor on his breath.  “You still haven’t given me a chance to thank you personally for making me look like an asshole at dinner the other day.”

“Oh, honey -- you don’t need my help to look like an asshole,” you fire back, pushing more space in between you with a firm shove of your fingers to his shoulder. “You do a fine job of that all on your own.”

His laughter blows whiskey-tinged hot air in your direction and you make a face.

“I see you upgraded the bodyguard to dinner date.”

“Shut up, Donghyuk, honestly,” you seethe.  You try to step around him to leave, but he blocks you with his body.  

“You fucking him now, too?”

You barely register the movement of your own hand before it’s connecting with the side of Donghyuk’s face.  You barely register Hoseok’s arrival before he’s between you both, pulling you away and practically shoving Donghyuk to the floor.  You barely hear Hoseok’s whispered threats and you nearly miss the way he unbuttons his jacket to ensure Donghyuk sees his gun.

The whole debacle is so fast and so surreal you could almost convince yourself you imagined it.

But there is no imagining the sting still throbbing in your palm.

*****************************

HOSEOK

The trouble tonight started long before you smacked the shit out of Kang Donghyuk. 

The trouble started when you walked out of your room in that goddamned gown. Hoseok had not been entirely prepared for you in that dress.

He had only a split second to make sure he wasn’t staring.  He jammed his hands into his pockets and forced the most casual demeanor he could muster, but fuck it wasn’t easy.  There were a hundred things he could have said in that moment, would have said in that moment -- if you weren’t you and if he weren’t him.

Of course, dinner was a bit of a clusterfuck, too.

Playing dress up with the city’s elites was somehow less enjoyable than Hoseok imagined it would be.  The stares from tipsy society girls and the critical looks from their dates were bad enough but your boss laying it on thick with the white knight bullshit at the end was the real icing on the cake.  The coded language and the veiled threats that made loud and clear he knew exactly what Hoseok was but wouldn’t say it out loud.  

Hoseok saw the way you seemed to retreat even further into yourself during the exchange, silent and thinking.

And drinking. 

Hoseok has only ever seen you enjoy the occasional glass of wine with meals.  Tonight was an entirely different story. You were on a mission to get wrecked from the moment you sat down; forgoing food for an alarming amount of champagne.  Hoseok counted four glasses down before he decided to say something. 

Of course, that went over about as well as he’d expected -- and seconds later, you were walking away.

Hoseok hadn’t planned on following you to the bathroom. He hadn’t planned on overhearing the nasty back-and-forth in the hall . And he hadn’t planned on threatening to kill Kang Donghyuk at some ridiculous charity dinner.  But when he saw the man get up from his seat to follow you -- Hoseok moved on auto-pilot.  

There was no avoiding what came next.

**********************

You don’t utter a single word on the ride home.  

You don’t say a word when Hoseok walks you upstairs, unlocks the door to usher you inside.  He’s still securing the new deadbolts when he hears your bedroom door slam shut.

Hoseok scrubs a hand over his face and sighs deeply before loosening the bow tie and slipping it off.   

Then he pulls out his phone to text Seokjin.

hoseok: you on him? [ 11:48 PM ]

seokjin: sleeping it off in his car right now. what a slob [ 11:49 PM ]

seokjin: you’re welcome btw [ 11:49 PM ]

hoseok: thx [ 11:50 PM ]

Seconds later, your bedroom door swings open so hard it bounces back off the opposite wall. Hoseok looks up from his phone just as you are storming into the living room, hands still securing the belt to the short robe you’ve just changed into.  

You are positively vibrating with a dangerous energy Hoseok can feel clear across the room.  Maybe you’ve been sleepwalking through these past few days, but you are definitely awake now.

And angry.

“I don’t need you to win my fights,” you fume, pointing one hostile finger in his direction. “I took care of myself long before you came along and I can take care of myself now.”

Christ, do you have any idea how little you are wearing right now?  

Hoseok focuses on that accusing finger because it keeps him from staring at your legs. It also keeps him from opening his mouth and making you madder than you already are. 

“I don’t need you or anyone else swooping in with that macho bullshit,” you hiss, bringing your body within inches of his.  “I have had enough of men running and ruining every aspect of my life.”

Shit, do you have any idea how close you are right now? 

Hoseok can smell the perfume that lingers on your skin when you’re this close.  He can see how your pupils are blown wide and your cheeks are flushed with heat when you’re this close. 

“Say something,” you demand, jabbing your finger into his chest.  “Do something.”

Fuck, you are playing with fire.

You want a fight and Hoseok is this close to giving you one.  He has to summon every ounce of his self control to keep his voice and breathing steady. He fists his hands at his sides to keep them from moving.  

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he replies with careful calm.  “You should go to bed.”

“Or what?” you challenge, fingers reaching to unfasten the top buttons of his dress shirt.  Hoseok’s entire body tenses under your touch. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he says between gritted teeth. 

“Checking for a heartbeat,” you murmur. “Looking for signs of life.  Is there a real man in there?”

There’s a real man in here, alright, Hoseok thinks darkly.  Keep pushing me and you’re going to find out.

“Of course not,” you whisper to yourself, snaking one hand into the collar of his shirt. He flinches when your fingertips brush up against the cool metal of his dog tags. “You’re some kind of robot.”

You pull the tags out from under his collar and Hoseok swallows thickly.  

“Just a machine programmed to follow orders, right?  My brother’s orders. The Army’s orders,” you pause to read the embossed letters on his tags.  ‘Isn’t that right, Captain Jung?”

You gasp when Hoseok’s hand comes up to seize yours.  His fingers circle the delicate bones of your wrist and he doesn’t let go, applying a pressure that sure as hell gets your attention.

“People like me follow orders so people like you don’t have to,” Hoseok seethes.  “People like me do the dirty work so people like you can impress rich assholes at stupid parties. People like me stay behind and handle our responsibilities so people like you can walk away from yours.”

Your stare at him for a moment, eyes wide at his outburst.  Then you jerk your wrist out of his hold so violently you nearly fall back with the force of it. 

Hoseok freezes when your robe slides down off your shoulder. He stares when his eyes settle on the jagged scar that runs deep across your collarbone.  

Fucking hell. 

Hoseok traded one bloody business for another when he gave up his rank in the Army for his rank in the Gajog. He’s seen more than his fair share of vicious cuts and nasty wounds. 

Whoever did that to you wanted to make sure you’d have to carry it with you for the rest of your life.

********************

Tomorrow morning, Hoseok is gonna regret a lot of shit that happened tonight. 

He’s going to regret not telling you how beautiful you looked when you walked out of that room.  He’s going to regret going out of his way to hurt you with his words. 

But most of all, he’s going to regret the moment he looked into your face and saw the anger in your eyes change over into pain.

You yank the robe back over your shoulder, cinch the belt tight — and walk away without another word. 

********************

tag list!

@saintjeonofbusan​ @lemonjoonah​ @illnevertrustmyselfagain​ @sunkissed725​ @taetaewonderland​ @shadowhale​ @sugaminyoonjiji​ @jinhitwhore​ @trust-me-im-joly​ @daydreambrliever​  @ultraanonymousey​ @yoon-bug​ @multistantrash17​ @poohsaidhi​ @alyboo-jpeg​ @sahmfanficbts​ @yoongissugarmommy​ @ppersonna​ @p-polaroid​ @vi-hoshi​ @stressedinmedschool247​ @jgissle12​ @ctvrty​ @btsnatalena​ @strawbewymiwk​ @stephleee​ @jjeonjoon

[hypnomicimagines]

☂️Rainy Day Blues☂️[Nurude Sasara]☂️

Oh, how tragedy loved to strike Sasara when he least expected it.

He had been walking to your house with an extra pep in his step, the fresh bouquet he’d picked up along the way only lifting his mood. He was stuck in daydreams even before he reached you, thinking about how lovely you’d look that night and how he couldn’t wait to do the little things like hold your hand as you were on the way to your date destination. He thought that nothing could possibly dampen his happiness, that him finally confessing after years of being in relationship purgatory had made him see the brighter side of any situation, but it seemed he still had blinders on in some aspects. His parade was about to be rained on.

Literally.

Sasara didn’t know where the icy rain had come from but it hit him like a sack of bricks, goosebumps rising on his skin as his leisurely walk turned into a marathon run as he made his way to your apartment complex. He hadn’t checked the weather forecast, who did that anymore? Clearly Sasara’s hubris had upset the weather Gods as he caught sight of himself in a window, no longer looking like your handsome suitor but a sad clown that had just walked through a door with a bucket of water precariously balanced on top of it. The bouquet is just as pathetic as he is, and hey, aren’t flowers supposed to like water? Why were they drooping like that? You’d probably laugh in his face when you saw them.

You did.

He had to get you back somehow for laughing at his plight despite the fact your laughter had quickly washed away every negative emotion he’d previously been feeling. He had to get you back somehow and decided to show you his best ‘wet dog’ impersonation, shaking his hair out in your doorway and giving you a little preview of what it was like outside. The rain had only started to come down harder, thunder and lightning being added to the mix, meaning it was unlikely the date would continue as planned. Not to mention his hair which he had spent an entire three minutes and seven seconds on was now a poofed out mess due to how he chose to dry out his hair, not that you seemed to mind. You laughed again at his saggy bouquet, telling him you loved it no matter how pathetic it looked (he hoped that was the last time he ever heard that).

“We can just spend the night in. Why do you look so excited that I said that? Did you think I’d tell you to walk home?”

“I’d never accuse you of something so cold-hearted!”

“Good, I’m glad to see the rain hasn’t washed away your remaining brain cell. Come in and change your clothes, too, as much as I love seeing you be a complete eyesore, I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Shouldn’t you stripping me of my clothes wait until after dinner? Not that I mind.”

“You know what… Maybe walking home in the rain is just what you need. Maybe you’ll get struck by lightning and have some sort of epiphany that’ll make you funny.”

“Now you really sound like Rosho,” Sasara sighed out, fighting the smile that wanted to break out on his face so he could keep up the ‘hurt’ façade he was putting on, “To think that the person I love most would say such things to me… I’ll go back outside to hide my tears!”

“Bye.”

You closed the door behind him as he stepped into your apartment, heading straight to your bedroom and thinking about how he had essentially done a speed run of the date. He hadn’t suspected he’d be here until a little bit later but he couldn’t say he was complaining as you joined him, digging through your drawers for some spare clothes that he had left behind the various other times he’d stayed over on a whim. He purposely left his clothes with you just so you’d always have something to remember him by, weaseling his way into your heart first and now your home, hoping that he might even get a whole draw just for his stuff one day. His apartment was certainly the winner with its scenic view but since you had yet to talk about the whole ‘moving in’ thing, he decided he’d get you used to the idea by leaving random things of his behind so you were used to it when it finally did happen.

“Here you go.” You set the clothes down on the counter, taking a second to admire how cute he looked with a wet mop of hair on his head, reaching over to run your fingers through it just for good measure, “I’d say take a shower but I don’t actually want you struck by lightning.”

“But you seem to like my hair so much… It could become a permanent fixture with the help of electricity.”

“I do like it,” You confirmed, smiling as you stroked his hair fondly, Sasara’s heart pounding loudly in his chest, “Almost as much as I like you. Get changed while I try to find some candles. I can’t imagine we’re going to have power too long so…”

You spoke the unfortunate lightning strike into existence that completely knocked out anything electrical in the apartment building and part of Sasara wonders if you had spoken the rain into existence, too. Had this been your plan all along? Had you wanted to just trap him in your room from the get-go, using him for your own needs and then discarding him afterward? Sasara considered suggesting that type of supervillain roleplay on a less romantic night but for now his head was still in the clouds, wanting to do simple things like hold your hand and cuddle against you, sucking the warmth out of you as he had no spare warmth to give at this point.

“Y-You’re cold!” Sasara had reached out to touch you when the lights had first gone out, wanting to assure you were still there and okay first, “Just be careful as you get changed! I’ll be right back!”

You’re only gone about ten minutes but it’s so painfully lonely in the bathroom without you, Sasara already thinking about the letter he’d write to you if you had gone off to war. He would be the lonely maiden waiting by the window, longing to see their love again, dramatically falling to the ground as he received the news that you had passed away. He was already thinking about how he’d meet your ghost in the afterlife to confirm he never fell in love again when you entered the bathroom, face highlighted by a small candle that he’s almost positive he had gifted you.

“Come on, come on! It’s a little better in the living room and the blankets are all out.” You moved the candle to one hand and reached down to grab his, fingers lacing together without words having to even be exchanged. “I don’t want you getting lost.”

“The only place I’ll get lost is in your eyes, beautiful.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re lucky you’re cute? Because you’re sooo lucky you’re cute!” He can tell from your tone that there’s a wide smile on your face, the one that made him feel like the most successful comedian in the world. Getting you to laugh was no easy task and you had never been one to show him even a dollop of mercy when it came to his material but it made it all the more worth it when he got to hear you laugh. Every time you laughed an angel grew its wings, that’s how the saying went, right? It doesn’t matter as his brain is entirely centered around you and only you, especially as the two of you seat yourselves on your ridiculously comfortable couch.

“I don’t know what we’ll eat… It’s gonna be cold and sad.”

“As long as we’re not cold and sad, it’s fine, right?”

“Fair enough.”

His arm wrapped around you as you threw your legs across his lap, the blanket quickly following suit as you curled up into his side. You wondered how many people would be surprised that Mr. Tragic Comedy was not only a total romantic but a stage five clinger, unlikely to give you a moment alone now that you had both finally settled in together. Sasara valued his privacy from time to time but when it came to you, it seemed his social battery could never run out; he wanted to be around you, to be with you, to be touching you and talking to you as much as he possibly could.

“What should we do?” Sasara quickly grew uncomfortable with the silence and you felt bad for your boyfriend, knowing his anxiety tended to spike in the silence. You wished you had something to act as white noise in the background but it seemed all you could do to distract him was talk, or listen to a slew of jokes that would have you standing in the rain rather than being in your own apartment if they were on par with the normal puns he liked to deliver.

“Tell me about your day before you got here. Did you talk to Rosho about your birthday plans?”

Sasara is grateful for the conversation starter as once he’s begun to talk, he’s adept at not shutting up again.  

It was going to be a long, rainy night, but at least you got to spend it together.