#is it a road trip if it lasts less than hour

[rosemariad]

“Hello, boys,” Crowley said sinisterly over the phone.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean roared into the receiver, hurting Sam’s eardrums, but it didn’t seem to bother Crowley. If anything, the demon was probably smiling, smug as ever.

“I gather you’ve caught on to my little scheme?”

“Why?” Sam demanded. “Those people didn’t do anything to you! They’re innocent!”

“I have to punish you somehow. Do you really expect me to stand by as you shut the gates on my kingdom?” Crowley scoffed. “You must be joking! You don’t get to cancel me, darlings! I’m not through until I bloody well say so, and I’m just getting started! I’ll kill every last soul you ever saved up in that godforsaken country you call home until the States are covered in their blood – or…”

Crowley waited for the brothers to take the bait.

Dean inhaled deeply, his jaw so tense he could feel his teeth cracking. “Or what?” He growled.

“You surrender the tablets to me. Both of them.”

“You’ve got to be joking!” Sam said in outrage.

“Only if all those innocent souls are worth less than your mission. But hey, what’s a few broken eggs? Then again, what would daddy dearest say about the precious ‘family business’ aye? ‘Saving people, hunting things,’ Good God, did you really say that, Squirrel?”

Dean, Sam, and Jess all furrowed their eyebrows. Sam was the first to realize it.

“He’s reading the books!” The Winchesters never hated the cursed Edlund book series more until that very moment.

“And that’s why you’re the smart one, Moose. You have four hours until I kill another. Call me back when you’re ready to surrender.” Crowley ended the call right then.

“Fuck!” Dean thundered. He drove as fast as the Impala allowed, racing toward the hometown of Cassie Robinson. Thankfully, they weren’t too far. They arrived at nightfall, and the hunters were dismayed by the state of the Robinson household. The windows and doors had been torn apart and broken. There appeared to have been a small fire that damaged the house some.

“Cassie!” Dean shouted urgently, tripping over the dead body of a stranger. There were a multitude of corpses scattered about the residence as if Crowley had sent a small militia’s worth of demons, all killed in action. All these enemies for one woman?

“Dean,” But it wasn’t the journalist who responded to Dean’s shout. It was –

“Cas?” Dean uttered in surprise as the seraph stood over the bodies. The house was oversaturated with the smell of sulfur. Behind the angel appeared one Cassie Robinson, who had gotten lovelier in the years since Dean had last laid eyes on her.

“Dean,” Cassie said, voice level. “You want to explain why an angel from Heaven had to kill all these demons from Hell?”

Shit. She was mad. Dean swallowed nervously.

“Hey,” Dean said sheepishly. “Long time. You look great!”

“You gonna ignore my question?” Cassie huffed out. Sam smiled despite himself. Jess looked on in quiet confusion, but she liked this woman so far.

“Cassie,” Dean sighed as the tip of Cassie’s right foot began to tap the floor repeatedly in impatience.

Castiel looked awkwardly between Dean and Cassie. Clearing his throat, he tried to spare the elder Winchester some unpleasantness. “Ms. Robinson, I believe I explained–”

“No,” Cassie interrupted sternly, her eyes never moving away from Dean. “I want to hear it from his mouth.” She pointed at the hunter. “Well, c’mon. You better have a damn good explanation.”

“There’s this guy…” Dean started lamely as the others watched him struggle.

“Guy or demon?” Cassie questioned with a harsh tone.

“Demon,” Dean confessed. “It’s a demon. He’s kind of a boss, a douchey boss, who’s been running around killing people off, people Sam and I saved from monsters and such. You remember Sam?” Sam gave a stiff wave.

“I remember,” Cassie said curtly, her eyes focused on Dean like lasers. “Go on.”

“He’s been killing people off because Sammy and I have been working on shutting Hell off for good, and he doesn't like that too much,” Dean added. “He wants us to stop so –”

“He’s gonna keep murdering people until you give him what he wants?” Cassie finished for him. “And what does he want, aside from keeping Hell open?”

Dean exhaled, “There are these really powerful tablets. One of them tells us how to seal Hell down, and the other can rewrite Heaven or something.”

Cassie whipped her head around sharply to look at Castiel, her curly locks bouncing as she moved. “Is he for real?”

“He is telling the truth, yes,” Castiel affirmed.

“And I’m on the list of people to kill off?”

“Yeah,” Dean frowned.

“Because you helped me with my family back in ‘06?”

Dean nodded.

“Fuck,” Cassie hissed angrily. “How are you gonna fix this?” She demanded of Dean.

“Cassie –”

“Mommy?” A little girl showed up from an adjacent room. She had Cassie’s curly brown hair and dark skin, but her eyes were green – the kind of green that matched Dean’s. Sam, Jess, and Dean were stunned.

“Sweetie,” Cassie rushed over to the child and squatted down, wrapping her arms around her daughter. “I told you to stay. Mommy’s not done yet.”

“I’m hungry,” the child whined, her stomach rumbling loudly.

Cassie sighed as she cradled her daughter, keeping her close. “Are you positive we’re safe?” She asked Castiel.

“Yes,” Castiel asserted. “There are no more demons in the area. I can also place warding sigils to prevent their entry into this house.”

“Do that,” Cassie responded, “Alright, baby. Let me make you a sandwich.” She marched off towards the kitchen, daughter in her arms.

Dean charged after her without hesitation. The little girl noticed the large white man following them but wasn’t afraid. Merely curious. It disarmed Dean in ways he wasn’t ready for.

Where there was doubt with Ben, there was no doubt with this little girl. She was Dean’s, for sure. He just needed to hear the words out of Cassie’s mouth.

Cassie set her daughter down on the nearby kitchen table while she pulled out the bread, ham, and cheese from the fridge. Neither she nor her small daughter paid any mind to the dead demons littered about the house. They appeared to be dead for a while.

“Is she mine?” Dean demanded quietly as he approached Cassie immediately. But Cassie was focused on her sandwich making. Dean placed his hand above her own, stilling her movements.

“Is she mine?” he repeated.

Cassie sighed, turning to face the hunter. “Yes. Lest you forget, the last time we were together wasn’t exactly planned by either of us. You didn’t have protection, and I…” Cassie shook her head. “Point is, we made a baby, and I decided to keep her.” Cassie turned to look back at her daughter. She finishes making the sandwich, putting it on a plate, and handing it over to the little girl, who happily digs into the food. Dean watches the interaction, astonished, without a bit of air in his lungs.

A daughter. He has a daughter.

That makes him…

A father.

Cassie walks back over to Dean with a solemn look on her face. “Look. I didn’t contact you because…well, how could I? Doing what you do, always out on the road, fighting those…things. You’re not safe. Given what happened today, we’re not safe either. But something tells me that if you have a relationship with her,” Cassie nodded towards the child, “we’d be worse off. Even killed. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He couldn’t.

“Yeah,” Cassie noted as she held Dean’s miserable gaze. “That’s what I thought. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“For what it’s worth,” Dean heard himself say, “so am I.”

“Her name is Chloe,” Cassie told him. “She’s six years old. She was born on January 31, 2007. I gave her my last name, all things considered. No one’s listed as the father on her birth certificate. I figured it was safer that way. She’s been asking about you. I haven’t really known what to say to her.” Cassie watched her daughter sadly.

“I do,” Dean said as he approached Chloe. The little girl finished her sandwich and noticed the large man approaching her. She looked to her mother, who gave a nod with a wistful expression.

“Hi,” Dean greeted the child as he squatted down before Chloe. “You’re Chloe, right? I’m Dean,” he gulped, “I’m your dad.”

Chloe looked back at her mother. Cassie gave her another nod. Chloe looked upon Dean with excitement and joy. “Daddy!” Chloe launched herself into Dean’s arms and overwhelmed Dean with a wave of emotion. “Where have you been? Why are you never here with me and Mommy?” He could feel his heart breaking.

Clearing his throat, Dean pressed on as best he could. “I got a job. A job that’s more dangerous than a cop and a firefighter combined and takes me all over. Because of that job and what I do, I can’t be with you.”

Chloe’s face fell. “That’s not fair,” she whined, giving him those big green doe eyes. Dean wanted to crawl into a hole, but he soldiered on.

“I had a mom once. She died when I was four. The way she died was horrible, and if I stick around, what got her, what hurt her, will hurt you and your momma. I’d rather you hate me and live and be safe than love me and die.”

Chloe blinked at Dean, processing his words. “Like your momma did?”

Dean nodded sadly. “Yeah.”

Chloe looked as desolate as Dean felt. But there was no hate in her eyes or resentment as Dean or maybe Cassie was expecting. The girl didn’t cry either. She clung to Dean, wrapping her little arms around him tighter. Dean had to fight to suppress the tears, but Cassie did no such thing. Tears fell quietly from her eyes as she observed this moment between father and daughter.

“Tell you what,” Dean said suddenly, bringing Chloe face to face. “When you’re eighteen, I’ll come find you wherever you’re at, and you and I will have a long talk. But until then,” Dean got an idea. He ran out to the Impala, scouring for what he wanted to find. Dean usually would’ve stashed them somewhere else, like in the bunker or a safe deposit box, but given how often Dean was on the move, the hunter preferred to keep them close. He pulled out a set of golden rings – his parents' wedding bands from when they eloped in the 70’s. John had held onto Mary’s ring since her death, and Dean took John’s after his passing. The eldest Winchester kept the rings close ever since, one of the few tokens of his parents he had left. He returned to his daughter and presented the rings.

“I want you to have these,” Dean said, presenting them to his child. Chloe took them in her tiny hand. “They were my parents’ wedding rings. They’re both gone now, but I need you to take care of them for me. Can you do that?”

Chloe looked up at her father. She nodded, her little brown curls bouncing as she did.

“Alright. I’m gonna come back for those, so don’t lose ‘em. Okay?”

“I promise,” Chloe said.

“My girl,” Dean said with a small smile.

Castiel cautiously entered the kitchen. “I’ve finished with the wardings all over the house. They’re invisible to the human eye, so your home won’t look untoward to your neighbors, and I’ve placed several devil’s traps all over the home, particularly your bedrooms. A simple prayer would suffice in calling for my assistance, but if all else fails, call this number,” Castiel held out a card with a number on it, “and help will arrive. All you’d need to do is hold out long enough to be saved.”

“Thank you,” Cassie said to the angel.

“Of course. I know what you mean to Dean,” Castiel said, carefully avoiding Dean’s gaze. “I…I am glad I reached you in time.”

Chloe ran back to her mother, clutching the rings in her tiny fist. She hid behind Cassie’s leg, looking up at Castiel. Chloe giggled. “Your wings are pretty.”

Dean looked at Castiel but couldn’t see what she was talking about. Though it certainly made Dean curious.

“Thank you, Chloe,” Castiel said politely to the little girl. “Allow me to clear the bodies.”

“I’ll help,” Dean volunteered. He followed Castiel’s lead, the angel carrying two bodies for every one that the hunter handled personally.

“How’d you even find them, Cas?” Dean couldn’t resist the urge to ask his angel friend.

“She prayed,” Cas explained. “For the first time in her life, Cassie Robinson prayed out of sheer desperation. When a human gets like that, it can send waves from quite a distance. The name stuck out to me because I recognized her from your memories. I knew that you were once quite…close.” His tone was tinged with a yearning Dean decided best to ignore. “When she mentioned her daughter, I knew I had to drop everything and try to save them.” Cassie and Chloe were visible from the broken window inside. “As I said, I’m glad I got here when I did. If there had been more delay…”

Dean placed a hand on Castiel’s broad shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

“Are you alright?” the angel asked him.

“What?”

“You just learned that you have a daughter. I can sense the emotional storm within you,” Cas pointed out. “I know you’re not one to speak about your sentiments, but you should know that your daughter shares one quality with you.”

“What’s that?” Dean asked tensely.

“Understanding,” Cas said. “She has an incredible sense of empathy for her age that will only grow over time. Mind you, your sense of empathy is askew, given how often you prioritize your brother, but that’s understandable given your circumstances.”

Dean blinked at Castiel’s words, “Okay,” he expressed dubiously.

“My point is that she won’t grow to resent you,” Castiel clarified. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Dean shrugged that off, but Castiel gave him a look that informed the hunter his angel friend knew better.

While Cas and Dean did away with the bodies, Sam was at work using the spell Marion once taught Jess to restore the damage undertaken in the home to everything from the broken windows around the house to the furniture strewn about the interior. Cassie and Chloe watched in amazement as their home was fixed like nothing ever happened.

“Wow,” Cassie remarked to Sam. “So you’re a witch now?”

Sam shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve picked up a few things.” His eyes shifted to the little girl. “So, this is Chloe?”

Cassie gave him a wry smile, “I figured you were listening in.” She ran her hands through her daughter’s hair. “Yeah, this is Chloe.” Chloe looked up shyly at the tall hunter.

“Hi there,” Sam held out a hand. “I’m your Uncle Sam.”

“I have an uncle, too?” Chloe asked in awe.

Cassie and Sam chuckled. “Yes, baby, you have an uncle, too,” Cassie clarified.

Cas and Dean returned from the backyard. Dean watched as Chloe’s little hand fit into Sam’s large one. Sam shook her hand gently.

Castiel cleared his throat. “We finished outside.” The seraph proceeded to give mother and daughter strange Enochian markings meant to protect their bodies from the possession of any demons that would try, dying at the touch of their skin. The spell consumed much of Castiel’s grace, but he was glad to do it—anything to protect Dean’s child.

Dean decided it was time to leave since there was nothing else to do in the house. He figured it better to go now before looking into Chloe’s eyes was too much to bear. Cassie didn’t stop him; her eyes glimmered with guilt and sorrow.

Dean squatted down by Chloe once more, his legs feeling heavy. “I gotta go now.”

Chloe wrapped her tiny arms around her father. “Okay,” she said, sadness edging into her childish voice.

Dean took care to wrap his arms around her. “You take care of those rings, you hear?”

“I won’t lose them, Daddy,” Chloe swore. “I promise.”

Dean blinked and, in what felt like ages, finally let his daughter go. He stood up straight, beelining it for the door. He took one last look, exchanging a somber glance with Cassie.

“Goodbye,” he said but didn’t linger for a response. He retreated to the Impala, waiting for Sam to follow him out.

This super long preview is part of chapter 10 of my fic SPN: Wilderness, a s8 era fic part of a long-running fanfic series, SPN: Roads Untaken, chronicling a canon-divergent take on the Winchesters' story.

[stealthnoodle]

In this chapter, we reach the portion of my outline that begins with "PALACE ADVENTURE GO GO GO," and Ren and Akechi make a new deal.

[enterstellars]

and with that i do believe that my run with interstellar in imax has come to an end.

[oh-no-its-bird]

This is a stupid one so gear up for that, but;

The Akatsuki celebrate Christmas with some sort of secret santa / gift swap thing.

Deidara gets Tobi, and is really mad about it because he'd gotten Tobi last year and ended up being mocked for his shitty gift giving skills (among other things)

This leads him to basically go, "shit ok fine. I will give this motherfucker THE best gift. A gift so good he will have no choice but to shut the hell up and just say thank you"

And so he's agonizing over what to give him, because also Tobi is a fucking weirdo and it's so hard to predict him. Deidara could spend hours of time thinking something up and then and hundreds of ryo actually getting something and the freak would make fun of it somehow, but if he got him a misshapen snail shell off the side of the road he might lose his mind in gratitude.

So this is like, a whole puzzle really

Then, he has it. Isn't there some Konoha nin the guy is not so subtly obsessed with...?

So yeah, Deidara kidnapping Kakashi (possibly roping someone else into helping him) as a surprise Christmas gift for Tobi.

This is about to be the worst most humiliating thing to ever happen to Kakashi.

We're going the itadei route because I love itadei, Deidara somehow ropes Itachi (and Kisame) into helping him kidnap Kakashi.

Deidara originally goes for Kisame for help thinking smthn up to get for Tobi, since they seem to get along, and Kisame is the one to mention his Kakashi obsession.

Deidara is like, "oh fuck???" And announces his new plans

Itachi is within earshot and makes a comment on how that's a stupid fucking idea, and seeing as Deidara couldn't even take him down, he'd count his chances with Kakashi.

(Which. Is a bit of an odd scale but don't think ab it too long)

Deidara is like "bitch??? So you can do better?? Huh???"

And Itachi is like "not that I would want to throw myself into such a useless fight. But yes, I could do infinitely better than you. In a lot of aspects in, frankly."

So this devolves and basically Itachi ends up tripping and falling and accidentally volunteering himself to help kidnap Kakashi.

Which, by the way, is not really something either he OR Deidara wants. But he's here now, so.

(*Itadei noises*)

Kisame also possibly ends up coming along for the ride too

So anyways, these guys head off to kidnap Kakashi !! Good for them.

Umm skipping through the entire adventure, Deidara and Itachi bicker (Deidara much louder than Itachi) Kisame treats this whole thing like it's a free comedy show, things (inevitably) get blown up, and, of course, Kakashi is ambushed

So like. Akatsuki, right? Terrorist organization with a goal of doing nefarious things to Jinchuriki. Obviously, Kakashi is kidnapped by them and assumes the worst.

He's a high ranking jonin, ex ANBU captain, close to multiple Hokages, and they were clearly directly targeting him. So yk, he's on guard. Tries to escape several times over, till Itachi dumps him head first in a genjutsu

(one that he loosens when it's Deidara's turn to keep watch, to give him someone to actually watch over so he can "feel useful" (and to annoy him)) <- this is also very disorienting for Kakashi

But instead of torturing Kakashi, when they arribe at their base they ?? Wrap him in ribbons ?? Like a fucking Christmas gift ???

Kakashi has no idea what is going on.

And then they dump him in what is clearly some guys bedroom ???? Without much else security ?????

Kakashi has no idea whats going on.

They do share a bit, and like, Kakashi picks up on what's happening pretty quick (though it makes the entire thing no less insane)

Apparently one of the Akatsuki members is... really into him...? Which, actually, is incredibly valuable information to have.

In general this entire thing is super educational for Kakashi— Deidara doesn't give a fuck what Akatsuki secrets he may let loose, Itachi is checked out from all of this and doesn't care enough to stop Deidara from running his mouth, and Kisame is somewhere in the realm of "as long as they don't talk about anything of our mission, it's probably fine?"

So like. Kakashi is learning things rn. Valuable things. Names and dynamics and whatever the fuck is happening in Itachi's corner of the world (that last bit he's especially interested in, both bc Konoha defect, Sasuke's older brother, and also just. Hey, he helped train that guy. Team ro nostalgia or whatever. There's something there)

They don't... seem to be interested in harming him...?

So for now, even as they leave him in a room he could maybe escape from if he tried to, he kinda self assigns himself a lowkey infiltration mission. A classic "get into their camps via being a prisoner but spy on them from the inside, since that position sees more than the outside anyways."

Which is to say: he doesn't try to escape.

Instead, he buckles in to wait and see where this takes him

So anyways then Obito gets back from wherever he's been off screen. Doing terrorism, probably. And he's also just in time for the akatsuki Christmas party, yippie

And Deidara is like, swanning around, nose in the air, "oh Tobi you'll NEVER guess what gift I got you... really you'll never guess... but it is GREAT and I am winning Christmas FOREVER after this"

And Obito is kinda curious but not too optimistic (he's like 80% sure it's gonna be another clay sculpture that blows up in his face like last year. Though maybe this year it'll be shaped like something he likes...?)

But he's in Tobi mode so he's giggling and going "omg senpai I can't wait <33 I hope you got me a cool stick teehee"

And then Deidara guides him to his own room, and they have a bit of an audience just from how fucking loud Deidara has been bragging about this (also multiple people at this point know what he did and they want to see the reactions)

And Obito opens his door.

And it's.

Kakashi.

In his room.

On his bed.

In an Akatsuki uniform. Wrapped in ribbons.

And they make eye contact. And Kakashi goes, "Maah, I don't suppose you're—"

Obito closes the door.

Obito opens the door back up again.

"That was a little rude, don't you—"

Obito closes the door.

Obito crouches on the floor, just, head in his hands. He might be hyperventilating a little bit.

Deidara is directly over his shoulder going "Huh? Huh? What do you think? Are you speechless or what? Hey, where's my thanks? Do you know how hard this was to do? I had to deal with fucking Itachi to do this, you know, so—"

And Obito, not in his Tobi voice but in his real, much deeper normal voice, interrupts him with, "I need you to shut the fuck up right now"

Deidara does shut up, actually. Miracle that that is. For all of like 10 seconds and mostly out of shock.

But then he's very much NOT shutting up as he puts his hands on his hips and starts going off about how this was SUPER HARD TO DO and Tobi BETTER BE FUCKING GRATEFUL !!!!!!!!!!

Obito is still crouched on the floor with his head in his hands going through every emotion known to man at once.

Kisame and Itachi are directly behind them eating popcorn w some other misc Akatsuki

Obito finally finds his words, which are "you KIDNAPPED KAkAshi??????!???????"

And Deidara is like "YEAH BITCH SINCE YOURE SUCH A SAPPY LITTLE PUPPY DOG FOR HIM I THOUGHT ID GO ABOVE AND BEYOND AS YOUR SENPAI !!! BUT IF YOURE GONNA BE UNGRATEFUL ABOUT IT THEN MAYBE ILL JUST GIVE HIM TO SOMEONE ELSE THEN!!!!"

and Obito is like "YOU CANT JUST G IV e HIM TO PEOPLE !!! HES— HES KAKASHI—!!!" and then quickly corrects himself with, "I MEAN— HE'S A MAN!!!!!"

and Deidara is like "ILL GIVE ANYONE TO ANYONE I DAMN PLEASE!!!!" and whirls around and points at Kisame and goes "YOU. DO YOU WANT HIM?"

And Kisame, who doesn't want him but thinks this whole thing is very funny, just goes, "he's cute."

Which sets Obito off in an entirely different direction, bc now he's screaming about how NO ONE IS GETTING KAKASHI because they are going to PUT HIM BACK IN KONOHA WHERE HE BELONGS

And Deidara is fully screaming too now because he went through SO MUCH FUCKING WORK TO GET THIS MAN HERE!!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD HE WAS TO CATCH!!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO SUBDUE HIM!!!!! AND HE HAD TO DEAL WITH ITACHI THE WHOLE TIME!!!!!!! THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME!!!!!!!! HIS SMUG ANNOYING ATTITUDE!!!!!!!!!

Itachi continues to eat his popcorn.

Obito and Deidara continue screaming at eachother till Deidara finally goes MOTHERFUCKER YOU ARE NOT WASTING MY HARD WORK and pushes Obito into the room then locks it.

Kakashi, who has heard absoloutley every word that was screamed directly outside his door, and also now feels a lot more safe and secure about his current situation (even as he has come to the tragic conclusion that he was kidnapped by idiots), gives a little bit of a wiggle and goes,

"I don't suppose you could untie me?"

Now. Obito could technically escape, either way kamui or just shifting through the walls

But it would require giving away one of his his trump cards to Kakashi. And also he... well. He does want to, to be clear. He is crawling out of his fucking skin with the desire to be anywhere but here

But at the same time, he... doesn't want to waste this opportunity to just be looked at by Kakashi

Not hiding in the shadows, invisible.

So anyways Obito and Kakashi like, talk idk. Maybe they kiss, who knows.

Kakashi is now fully aware that this guy is apparently a freak about him (and a stalker??? The others mentioned him knowing things he should not know about Kakashi, which is worrying) and he will use this knowledge to his advantage

Obito is not immune to Kakashi taking advantage of him somehow, nor is he immune to potentially letting Kakashi take advantage/trick him somehow, while pretending to be ignorant and keeping that supposed ignorance as a shield to justify to himself why it happened at all

What exactly happens in that room and what happens next is up for the readers to decide, have fun with that

Anyways. Next Christmas Deidara gets Itachi and is, yet again, really fucking mad about it.

He gets way overly invested in giving him the "best" gift, seeing it as an opportunity to "make that bastard be humble and say thank you"

And then because apparently all Deidara seems to know how to fucking do is kidnap people, (tho to be fair, "kidnapping people" is like one of the core foundations of the Akatsuki) he decides a great gift would be kidnapping that little brother of Itachi's for him !!!

He can kill him, torture him, whatever— Deidara doesn't care, he just wants the credit. Man, he's such a good gift giver.

Obviously, handing over the "present" (a terrified Sasuke) goes about as well as Obito's own Christmas gift the previous year. Possibly worse. Itachi is losing his fucking mind but quietly (the most dangerous way to lose it) and on the inside (there are nuclear explosions happening in his brain)

Sasuke is convinced he's about to be murdered and Itachi now has to think of a reason why he can't do that and also hopefully get Sasuke back to Konoha. But also if he just lets him go like he wants to, Deidara will legit lose his fucking mind, which would be annoying.

Hmmm. Torture his brother (again) or deal with Deidara potentiallg throwing a fit because no one ever "appreciates" his hard work in gift giving. What a difficult choice.

Anyways in another world, instead of fucking kidnapping the man, Deidara just made a vaguley horny Kakashi figurine for Tobi and had Sasori help him paint it.

Which ended up getting Obito to spiral and custom commission several more pieces of vaguley horny Kakashi merchandise, till he had a room full of it and could no longer deny the fact he's a certified freak

Umm then Itachi and Deidara make out sloppy style the end

[yslgreen]

The Tides Between Us

Part 1 | Part 2 Pairing: dbf!Joel x fem!Reader | dbf!Tommy x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: The Millers’ beach house was supposed to be a fun getaway : a week of sun, drinks, and celebration for Joel’s 50th birthday. But after that night with Joel, everything’s suddenly… awkward. Joel is cold and distant, because Joel knows better. He won’t cross that line—not with his best friend’s daughter, not when you’re half his age. He’s made his share of mistakes, but this won’t be one of them. But Tommy? Tommy’s never been one for restraint, all too willing to take what Joel won’t.

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI (smut not yet in this chapter, but will happens !), no outbreak au, no ellie, dbf!joel, dbf!tommy, age gap, no use of y/n, angst and tension, forced proximity

A/N : I really wanted to write something with a bit more plot this time, so here we are! This is a multiple-chapter story—probably less than ten chapters. No smut… yet. Don’t worry, there will be. I’m just building up the tension first. The main pairing is Joel x Reader, but there will definitely be some Reader x Tommy moments too because, honestly, I’m greedy like that. I just love both Miller brothers way too much.

Here on AO3 | Wc : 6.4 k

The music in your headphones is loud—too loud, probably. The kind of volume your dad would raise an eyebrow at, launching into that familiar warning about hearing loss and how time has a way of collecting the debts you don’t think about when you’re young. Usually, you’d listen. Not just because he’s right, but because you’re the kind of daughter who tries to be considerate, who keeps him company on long drives, who fills the silence so he doesn’t feel it.

But not today.

Today, you let the music drown everything out. The hum of the car, the crash of the waves in the distance, and even your dad’s occasional small talk that you only half hear. You haven’t spoken much the entire drive. Not because your dad hasn’t tried—he’s been talking on and off for hours about the weather, the beach house, and how crazy it is that Joel’s turning fifty in a few days. You nod when it feels like you should. Offer the occasional "mm-hmm" or "yeah." But you keep your eyes out the window, your fingers curled tight in your lap, and your headphones firmly in place—like they might be enough to block out not just sound, but everything else too.

Your dad, thankfully, doesn’t push. He’s too busy grinning at the open coast, tapping the steering wheel in time with a rhythm only he can hear. He’s excited—really excited—to be here. Like this trip is nothing but sun and friends, and easy laughter. And you? You just wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Almost there,” your dad says, glancing over with a smile.

Outside the car window, the coastline blurs past. Blue and white and gold. Waves breaking gently against the sand. You press your forehead to the window, the glass warm against your skin. If you close your eyes, you can almost pretend you're somewhere else. You wish you were. You’d almost asked to stay home. Almost faked a reason. Work, a sudden cold, anything. But it’s Joel’s birthday on Saturday, and this trip to the Millers’ beach house has been set in stone for months. There was no getting out of it.

Not without raising questions.

And the last thing you want is to talk about what happened.

The music shifts, softer now. Your playlist seems to know exactly when to turn cruel. You close your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat, hoping the hum of the road and the thrum of the bass will pull you under. Just for a little while. Just long enough to forget where you’re going.

The gravel under the tires changes the sound of the road, and your eyes open before you even think about it. When you open your eyes, you take in the familiar sight. The beach house comes into view,  just beyond the trees like something out of a postcard: weathered wood, wraparound porch, soft white trim. It hasn’t changed much since the last time you were here. A fresh coat of paint, maybe. Some upgrades—knowing the Miller brothers, they've probably fixed a few things over the years.

You wish your dad would keep driving, just keep going past the house and back to Austin. Anywhere but here. Of course, he doesn’t. Instead, he steers the car toward the driveway, where two trucks are already parked. The sound of the tires crunching on the gravel must’ve reached inside the house, because two figures are already waiting on the porch, silhouettes outlined against the fading light.

For a split second, you wonder just how easy it would be to push your dad out of the car, slam the door, and drive away. How much of a scandal would it cause? How far could you get before you couldn’t hear the waves anymore?

But you don’t. Of course you don’t.

You take off your headphones and dare to look toward the men. You see them—Joel and Tommy—waiting. Joel stands with his arms crossed over his chest, broad and unmoving. Tommy leans against one of the porch railings, more relaxed, smiling. Your fingers twitch in your lap.

The car shuts off. “C’mon, kiddo,” your dad calls, already out of the car and waving toward his old friends with that easy, familiar enthusiasm.

You sit frozen in the passenger seat a moment longer. There’s no going back now. You’re here. You open your door, and the smell of the salty air hits you, sharp and bracing. It feels like it might help you breathe a little easier. You trail behind your dad toward the porch, where he’s already wrapped Tommy in a hug, already launching into a story about the drive down and how damn good it is to finally be here.

You glance at Joel, standing slightly apart, arms still folded across his chest like a barrier. “Hey,” you say, quietly, forcing the word out past the knot in your throat. You try to make it sound casual, normal. Like your skin isn’t prickling. Like you didn’t spend the entire drive rehearsing what you’d say to him, and none of it was that one-word greeting.

His eyes flick to yours. One second. That’s all it takes. One second, and you know you shouldn’t have come.

Because in that second, everything that happened two nights ago is right there in the look he gives you—unspoken, sharp, heavy. It lands like a punch to the ribs. His expression doesn’t change, but it doesn’t have to. You feel it. He gives you a nod, barely a dip of his chin, tight-lipped, polite. Like you’re a stranger. Someone he met once and forgot the name of. No recognition. No warmth.

Just distance. And it was your godamn fault.

You go still, your fingers curling into your palms. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or shame or some awful combination of both, but you know you hate it. 

Joel turns to your dad, clapping him on the back, saying something about how good it is to see him. His voice is steady, casual, even warm. Like he didn’t just look at you like he wished you weren’t here. Like he didn’t flinch from the sound of your voice.

You stay where you are, a half-step behind the moment, behind the laughter and ease, suddenly unsure of what to do with your hands or your face or your heart. 

Luckily, you don’t have to think too long—one strong arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug before you can even react. Tommy smells like sun and cedarwood, familiar and warm.

“There’s my girl,” Tommy says warmly, ruffling your hair with the same easy affection he’s always had. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too, Tommy,” you reply, nodding, grateful for the warmth, for the normalcy, even if it’s only from one of the brothers.

“Been too long,” he says with a chuckle, pulling back just enough to give you a full look. “What’s it been—two years?”

“About that,” you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything.

“Yeah, last time was your college graduation party, right?” Tommy grins, shaking his head.

“Surprised you remembered,” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “You were pretty torched.”

Tommy chuckles, looking at you with mock offence. “Let’s not act like you weren’t taking as many shots as me.”

“Well, it was my party,” you say with a smirk. “Couldn’t let you steal the spotlight.”

He laughs, a warm sound that takes some of the tension out of the air, and you both linger in that easy familiarity you always had.

He glances toward the car. “You got a bag?”

“Yeah, let me grab it,” you reply, starting to step toward the car.

But Tommy, always the gentleman, is quicker. He’s already walking toward the backseat, reaching for the handle before you can even move. “Let me get that for you,” he says with an easy smile, pulling it out before you can even protest. You raise an eyebrow but can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “Least I can do,” he adds, looking at you with that teasing glint in his eyes.

You roll your eyes but smile. “Aw, well, thank you,” you reply, playing into the gesture with a hint of reverence, enjoying the ease of his kindness. “Such a gentleman.”

Tommy shrugs nonchalantly, his grin widening. “Hey, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” With one hand firmly holding your bag, his other hand gently finds its way to your back, nudging you lightly forward. “C’mon, let’s get inside.”

You step inside, your footsteps muffled by the worn wood floors, and the familiar scent of salt air and pinewood fills your senses. The Millers have had this house for over a decade now, and over the years, they’ve poured their hearts into turning it into something more than just a beach house. It’s a home.

The once rustic, weather-beaten cottage has transformed into a warm and inviting space—still weathered, still with a bit of that old charm, but now it feels polished, lived-in. The wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, giving the place a rustic yet comfortable feel. A couple of large windows allow the sunlight to flood in, casting soft golden hues across the room, making everything feel just a little bit cozier.

You take it all in, feeling that pang of nostalgia as your eyes drift over the old pieces that have remained untouched—the faded armchair in the corner, the rough-hewn wooden table where you remember so many evenings spent laughing with Sarah. 

Tommy sets your bag down on the couch with a gentle thud before heading toward the open space that leads into the kitchen “You want a drink?” he calls over his shoulder, his voice light.

“I wouldn’t say no to a glass of water,” you reply, the heat still hanging in the air, even though it’s mid-September. It’s not the oppressive heat of Austin, but it’s enough to make you long for something cool.

You follow him into the kitchen, but as you step through the doorway, you freeze. Your dad and Joel are standing against the counter, beers in hand. The casual chatter between them is normal, but the moment you walk in, the air changes.

Joel doesn’t look at you. He shifts his weight, takes a sip from his bottle, and stares somewhere to your left—out the window maybe, or at nothing at all. It’s purposeful. Calculated in the way only Joel Miller can be. You see the clench in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders, the way he keeps his eyes away from yours. And it stings.

Because usually, he’d be the one to welcome you into the house. He’d tease you for probably sleeping the whole ride down, ask what you’ve been up to, and how work’s been treating you lately. He would’ve welcomed you in with his usual gruff but warm presence,and he’d smile—really smile—and say something like, "Glad you made it, sweetheart." And you’d pretend to roll your eyes just for show, even though it always warmed you, always meant more than it should have.

You force yourself to keep moving, your steps steady, your hands a little too tight at your sides. The kitchen feels like a space too small now, the air thicker than it should be. You try to ignore the ache in your chest, pretending like it doesn’t bother you as you walk toward the counter where Tommy’s already filling a glass with water. 

“Want a beer instead?” Tommy asks, flashing a grin as he nods toward your dad and Joel, both already halfway through theirs.

“Water’s fine,” you say, taking the glass from him with a faint, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Tommy raises a brow, his voice playful. “You, turning down a beer? That doesn’t sound like the girl who drank me under the table last time I saw her. You’re sick or something?”

You huff a quiet laugh, about to come up with some clever response, something light to match his tone, but your dad beats you to it, speaking over his bottle rim like it’s just a casual joke.

“Let her be,” your dad says with a laugh. “She’s probably still hungover from a couple of nights ago, right? Should’ve seen her—had to spend all of yesterday holed up in her room.”

You freeze—not visibly, not in a way anyone might call out—but inside, everything goes tight. That night. Two nights ago. You don’t even have to look at Joel to know he heard it too. You do anyway. Your gaze flicks toward him before you can stop it.

You catch the slightest shift in his posture. He’s still leaning against the counter, but now his jaw is clenched tightly, his whole body radiating tension. He takes another sip of his beer, like it might somehow drown out the memory of what just resurfaced. The one you both want to forget, but can’t.

How are you going to survive this week with him acting like you barely exist? The thought tightens your chest, leaves you cold, but you can’t blame anyone but yourself. You’re the one who decided to ruin everything. You were the one who let it all spiral out of control

You force a smile, trying to sound nonchalant. “Let’s just say that,” you reply, keeping your voice casual despite the tightness in your chest. You need to get out of this kitchen—out of this space, away from Joel—and fast. “I should take a nap again, actually,” you add, hoping the excuse sounds believable enough.

Tommy quirks an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his gaze. “That bad, huh?”

You nod, even though it's not the hangover you're running from, “Yeah,” you mumble, already taking a step toward the door. “I’m staying in Sarah’s room, right?”

Tommy gives you a nod. “Yeah, let me show you.”

You raise a hand, shaking your head lightly as you start to walk away. “It’s cool, I remember where it is. Thanks, though. See you in a bit.”

Tommy doesn’t press, letting you slip past him. Your dad’s voice drifts in from the kitchen, making some lighthearted remark about something you don’t quite catch, but it doesn’t matter. You can barely focus on anything but the knot in your stomach.

You grab your bag off the couch, feeling its weight a little heavier than you expect. You take the stairs two at a time, eager to get as far away from the kitchen, from them, as possible. The rhythmic thud of your footsteps echoes through the house as you push yourself upward, hoping that getting out of their sight will ease the nervous beating of your heart. As you head upstairs, you feel the weight of someone’s gaze lingering on you. You don’t pause long enough to figure out whose it is.

The room looks just as you remembered it. The large bed, a quiet space that’s only yours until Sarah arrives in a couple of days. After retrieving your headphones from your bag, you toss it on the floor, not caring where it lands. You fall onto the bed with a soft thud, immediately pressing play on whatever music was playing earlier. The familiar hum of the song slips into your ears, the first few notes trying to drown out the thoughts clawing at your mind.

You close your eyes and try to focus on something—anything—that isn’t that night. But you can’t escape it. You can’t forget it.

You still see him outside the bar, waiting for you like he had so many times before—leaning against his truck, arms crossed, that soft smile pulling at his mouth when he saw you. You still hear the low rumble of the engine, still feel the warmth inside the cab, the way his presence always seemed to fill the space beside you.

The ride had felt so normal at first. Comfortable. Familiar. You’d been drunk—more than you wanted to admit.

“Shouldn’t drink so much, sweetheart,” he had said, voice low, gently teasing. And God, you wish you’d listened. Because if you had, you wouldn’t be hiding in your room right now, trying to forget the way everything went wrong the moment his truck pulled into the driveway.

You roll over, burying your face in the pillow like it might push the thoughts out for good. You try to think of anything else—what the ocean looked like on the drive down, how Tommy hugged you, how the sun felt on your arms earlier—but it’s no use. Eventually, sleep takes you, but it’s restless, fragile. Even in your dreams, Joel's voice follows.

You’re pulled from sleep by the sound of knocking—soft, measured, just persistent enough to cut through the low hum of music still playing in your headphones. It takes a second for your eyes to open, longer for your brain to catch up. The room is dim, cast in the fading blue light of early evening, and for a moment, you forget where you are, the comfort of the bed unfamiliar.

“Yeah?” your voice croaks out, rough with sleep as you tug the headphones off and let them fall to your collarbones.

The door opens a crack, and Tommy’s voice follows—low, familiar, gentle in the way people speak when they know you’ve just been asleep. “Hey. Dinner’s ready. You hungry?”

You blink at him, still caught between dreaming and now. Part of you wants to say no—the idea of going back downstairs, of seeing Joel sit in your chest like a weight. But your stomach decides for you, a low, traitorous rumble breaking the silence.

“Kinda,” you mutter, sitting up and brushing a hand through your hair, trying to shake off the sleep.

Tommy leans casually against the doorframe, his smile easy as his eyes flick over you. “You look like hell,” he teases, not unkindly, nodding toward your mess of tangled hair and sleep-flushed cheeks.

You roll your eyes. “Thanks.”

He grins, unfazed. “Still pretty though.”

You pause, caught off guard. Tommy’s never been shy about giving out compliments, always quick with a warm word or a wink, the kind of guy who says what he thinks without thinking too hard about what it might mean. 

You manage a soft, awkward laugh, brushing a hand through your hair again just to have something to do. “You’re full of shit.”

“Maybe,” he says with a smirk, “but I’m not wrong. Come down when you’re ready—we ordered pizza.”

You nod, offering a quiet, “Okay.”

Tommy gives you one last glance before disappearing down the hall, the door left slightly ajar behind him. His footsteps fade, and the house slips back into silence, save for the muffled hum of conversation and music downstairs.

You sit there for a while longer, staring at the wall, your heart beating just a little too loudly in your chest. You don’t want to face Joel. But you’ll have to. You can’t hide in this room for the rest of the trip. No matter how badly you want to.

The low hum of conversation grows louder with each step as you head downstairs, laughter spilling from the dining room into the hallway. You square your shoulders, pull on your best game face, and step into the room.

The three men are already seated around the table, mid-conversation, half-empty beer bottles and scattered plates marking the relaxed chaos of a shared meal. The last seat is next to Tommy, right across from Joel.

Of course.

You slip into the chair quietly, murmuring a soft “Hey” to no one in particular. As you glance up, your gaze catches Joel’s for just a second, just long enough for your heart to skip a beat before he looks away quickly, his expression unreadable.

“Here’s my sleeping beauty,” your dad says with a grin, his voice light as he opens one of the pizza boxes, the aroma filling the air. He slides it to the center of the table. “Thought we lost you to that nap.”

You manage a smile, tossing in a half-hearted eye roll. “Just resting my eyes.”

“To think you’ll still be able to sleep in a few hours,” he adds playfully. “Ah, to be young.”

Tommy reaches over, taking your plate and effortlessly piling a few slices of pizza onto it. You murmur a quiet “thanks” as he slides it back toward you, but just as your fingers hover above your plate, Joel’s hand moves with surprising speed. Without a word, he plucks one of the slices off your plate and adds it to his own.

Tommy raises an eyebrow toward his brother, a curious look flickering across his face, but Joel doesn’t even spare you a glance as he responds, his voice matter-of-fact: “She doesn’t like mushrooms.”

It’s such a small thing. So trivial. But somehow, the fact that he remembered something like that, something so insignificant, makes your breathing a bit heavier. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the flutter of emotions. This shouldn’t be a big deal, but somehow, it is.

You force your attention back to Tommy, who’s now looking at you, waiting for confirmation. “Yeah,” you say, trying to shake off the sudden tightness in your chest, “I still don’t understand why anyone would like them.”

“Been picking them out of her plate forever,” your dad chimes in with a grin, shaking his head. “You’d think that with age she’d learn to like them.”

You shrug, grabbing your plate and resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “You should be happy. More for you guys, right?”

Your dad chuckles, pointing his slice at you like it’s a moral victory. “You’re right, hon. More for us. Well, more for Joel right now.” Joel doesn’t say anything, just takes a bite of the slice he stole from your plate, indifferent.

Your dad reaches for another slice, glancing across the table. “So, when’s Sarah joining us?”

“I'm picking her up early Saturday morning,” Joel says, and there’s an instant softness in his voice, that particular warmth that only shows up when he talks about his daughter. A quiet pride you’ve always found yourself drawn to.

“Great!” your dad says, lighting up. “You know what you wanna do Saturday night? Anything planned to celebrate your birthday?”

Joel shrugs, lips tilting just slightly. “Nothin’ fancy. Barbecue, some beer. Keep it simple.”

Tommy snorts. “You say that every year, and every year you end up grilling enough to feed half the damn neighborhood.”

Joel smirks. “That’s ‘cause your ass keeps inviting everyone.”

The table bursts into easy laughter, and you join in, trying your best to seem casual. Like nothing’s wrong. Like your heart isn’t hammering a little too hard in your chest every time Joel lifts his eyes—though he still hasn’t looked at you once.

“Can’t believe you’re turnin’ fifty,” Tommy says, shaking his head like it’s the most unbelievable thing in the world.

Fifty.

The number echoes louder in your head than it should. Joel will literally be twice your age on Saturday. Not that you’ve counted. Not that you’ve done that math more than once. Not that it ever mattered when you looked at him.

Joel huffs a soft breath through his nose, unbothered. “Believe it. My back sure does. It’s gonna be your turn soon anyway,” Joel adds, tipping his head toward Tommy with a smirk.

Tommy snorts. “Still got a few years to enjoy before I hit the old man club, thank you very much.” He lifts his beer in mock celebration. “To youth.”

“To denial,” Joel mutters, earning another laugh from your dad.

You smile automatically, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your gaze drifts back to Joel—again—before you can stop yourself. He still isn’t looking at you. His jaw’s tight in that way you’ve started to recognize, and his eyes stay fixed on his plate like there’s something deeply fascinating about pepperoni and mushrooms.

If everything was normal, if that night hadn’t happened, you’d have already jumped in—teasing him about his age, asking if you need to start talking louder so his old ears can hear you, calling him old man like you liked to do. You would’ve leaned into the way he always gave it right back to you, sharp and playful. But now the words stay stuck behind your teeth. 

The rest of dinner unfolds quietly, the conversation staying light and safe. You barely speak, and when you do, it’s only to your dad or Tommy—never to Joel. He mirrors you perfectly, carefully steering clear of any moments that might force a glance or a word between the two of you. It’s almost surreal how easily you both slip into this unspoken truce, acting like strangers sharing a meal rather than two people who have known each other for years—two people who, until just a few days ago, would have been playfully teasing each other about nothing and everything.

When everyone finishes eating, you seize the chance to escape the table. You gather the plates, insisting you should at least help with the dishes since you didn’t contribute much during dinner. Your dad waves off your concern with a grin. “Ordering pizza doesn’t need much help”, but thank you when you insist. In the kitchen, you drop the plates into the sink and turn on the water, letting it run warm as you grab the sponge. You’re grateful for the simple task—scrubbing at dried cheese and crust instead of sitting in silence across from Joel. It’s a relief to be doing something, anything.

You barely hear the footsteps behind you before a voice speaks up, low and easy.

“You rinse, I dry?”

You glance over your shoulder to find Tommy standing beside you with a dish towel in hand and a smile on his face. You smile back, grateful it’s him and not—

“Deal,” you say softly, passing him the first rinsed plate.

You fall into an easy rhythm, the clinking of ceramic and the soft splash of water filling the space between you. If Tommy noticed how quiet you were during dinner, he doesn’t mention it. He just dries the plates with casual efficiency, stacking them neatly beside him.

“How’s work been?” he asks, as you pass him a glass. “It’s nice you got some time off to come out here.”

You nod, rinsing off the soap. “It’s been good. Busy. I had a bunch of vacation days piling up, figured I should finally use them.”

“Glad you did,” he says with a smile. “It’s nice having everyone together. Joel won’t admit it, but I know he’s real damn grateful you came.”

Your hands pause just for a second under the running water before you force a casual nod. “Yeah. It’s nice.” You try to keep your voice steady, your expression neutral.

Tommy doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just gives you the grace of pretending not to. He moves on easily, drying another plate.

“Can’t wait to see Sarah,” you add, maybe a little too quickly.

Tommy grins. “You and me both. She’s been goin’ on about this trip for weeks. I think she’s more excited to see you than us old guys.”

You laugh softly. “She actually texted me earlier, asking if we’d gotten here yet. Said she wishes she was already here.”

“Damn shame she couldn’t cut out a few days early,” Tommy says, shaking his head.

You gasp, mock-offended. “You want her to skip class? She just started college, Tommy. What kind of terrible influence are you?”

Tommy smirks, tossing the dish towel over his shoulder. “Fun’s part of the college experience, ain’t it? I’m just helpin’ her get the full package.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Yeah, pretty sure skipping class and listening to her drunk uncle isn’t in the college brochure.”

He lets out a low laugh. “Drunk uncle? You wound me.”

“If the shoe fits,” you shoot back with a grin.

Tommy leans a hip against the counter, crossing his arms with mock offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m not just the guy who got too drunk at your graduation party. I’m a man of many facets.”

You scoff. “Says the man who once tried to convince me tequila was a form of hydration.”

He holds up a finger. “In my defense, it was very hot that day. Heat stroke was a real threat.”

You both break into laughter, the sound echoing off the kitchen tiles, easy and warm. Tommy was in his forties, but he’s never once treated you like a kid—not since the first time you met him, back during your freshman year of college, when you came out to the beach house for the first time. From the second you met him, it had just clicked. He’d made you laugh within five minutes, offered you a beer ten minutes after that, and by the end of the first night, you were already teasing each other like old friends.

You didn’t see each other often—vacations, holidays, the occasional long weekend—but it didn’t matter. Every time Tommy was there, you knew it was going to be a good time. He was your friend—older, sure, but a good one. One you were glad to have around for the next few days.

As if reading your thoughts, he nudges you gently with a grin. “Anyway, you’re gonna be stuck with us for the next few days until she arrives. Be nicer, and I just might keep you company,” he teases.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Keep me company, huh? Sounds like a threat wrapped in a promise.”

“Rude,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Come on, what else are you gonna do without me? Go fishin’ with your old man and Joel?”

You keep scrubbing the dishes, hoping not to freeze every time you hear Joel’s name.

“Why, because you’re not gonna go with them?”

“Not if you ask me to stay with you.”

You glance at him, smirking. “You don’t like fishin’, do you?”

“Can’t stand it.”

“So I’m just your excuse, huh?” You grin.

He shrugs with a smirk. “I’d say it’s a mutual arrangement. But hey, what did you have planned for the next few days anyway?”

“Goin’ to the beach,” you say, nodding toward the sea outside like it’s the most obvious plan in the world. “Tan next to the pool, maybe?”

Tommy grins, shaking his head. “Great. You’re definitely gonna need help with sunscreen.”

You scoff, “I’m not a kid, I can handle that myself.”

He leans in a little, voice dropping just enough for you to notice. “Doesn’t mean I can’t help you anyway.”

You shoot him a look, catching that familiar smile tugging at his lips—the one that’s always there, warm and easy. For a moment, you wonder if there’s something more behind it than just friendly teasing. Your eyes linger on him, taking in the way his brown eyes hold yours, steady and something just a little softer. His dark curls fall just so, still thick and mostly untouched by grey—unlike Joel’s salt-and-pepper hair. You bite the inside of your cheek, stopping yourself before your thoughts drift too far toward the older Miller brother. Forcing your eyes away, you focus on the last few dishes in the sink, grateful for the distraction.

“Stop slacking off and keep drying,” you order with a smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, flashing you a grin before picking up another plate.

You roll your eyes at the “ma’am” and reach for a spoon sitting in a used coffee mug in the sink. Without thinking, you dip it too fast under the running water—and a splash flicks out, dribbling over both of you. Mostly Tommy, who blinks in surprise as droplets trickle down his cheek.

He looks up at you, a slow, mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Is that how it’s gonna be?” he teases, one brow arching.

Before you can even open your mouth to protest, he scoops up a handful of water and flicks it right back at you. You yelp, startled, and duck just as the splash hits your cheek and drips down your neck.

“Now it’s on,” you warn, readying your own counterattack.

But before you can move, the fridge door swings open. You hadn’t even heard Joel come in. He grabs a beer, his eyes flickering between Tommy and you—mostly settling on Tommy, like he can’t quite bring himself to hold your gaze for more than a second. The tightness in your chest returns.

“You guys know there’s a dishwasher, right?” Joel finally speaks. You hadn’t expected him to say anything.

Tommy just chuckles. “Eh, where’s the fun in that?” he replies, shrugging.

Joel says nothing, only giving a brief nod before heading back to the dining room with your father. Tommy’s gaze flickers between Joel and you, then back, like he’s about to say something—but he doesn’t.

“Let’s finish this,” he says finally, breaking the quiet.

You both fall into a comfortable rhythm, moving through the last dishes with easy motions. Tommy starts talking about the perfect weather forecast for the weekend. “Perfect to get that tan going,” he says with a grin just as you finish rinsing the last plate.

You can’t help but smile, the tension in your chest loosening just a bit. It’s good to have Tommy here. Its easy with him. 

After talking a while longer in the kitchen, he finally says goodnight, rubbing the back of his neck and explaining he arrived early this morning and really needs to catch up on sleep.

When he asks if you’re heading to bed too, you shake your head and tell him you’re going to stay up a bit longer, wanting to steal some quiet time before the next day. He smiles warmly, that easy grin that always makes you feel a little lighter, and says again how glad he is you’re here. 

You watch him disappear up the stairs, the sound of his footsteps fading away. For a moment, you stand there, listening to the quiet hum of the house settling down for the night. Then your gaze drifts outside to the small terrace just beyond the kitchen door, which leads to the pool, and beyond that, the beach.

Without really thinking, you step outside and settle into one of the lounge chairs int the corner, your eyes immediately drawn to the distant horizon where the ocean meets the night sky. The slow, rhythmic crash of the waves reaches you, barely visible but clearly heard. The salty air is cool against your skin, carrying the scent of seaweed and the faintest hint of summer.

You lean back, letting the chair cradle you, the steady rise and fall of the waves becomes a steady rhythm to anchor your thoughts. You stay there for a long while, watching the dark water shift and shimmer under the moonlight, letting the night wrap around you like a soft blanket. 

Your moment of quiet is broken when the door creaks open, and there he is—the source of your anxiety—stepping out into the night air. Joel takes a few slow steps forward and leans against the railing, his gaze fixed out toward the dark sea. He doesn’t see you—thankfully.

You watch him without really thinking, as you always do when the chance comes. The way the salt-and-pepper strands of his hair catch the cool ocean breeze, tousled just enough to soften his usually rugged look. His broad shoulders ease into the lighter, softer fabric of the button-down shirt he’s traded for the familiar flannel—something different, but in a good way. You find yourself wishing things were normal enough for you to have said it the moment you arrived: Lookin’ good, Miller.

Your eyes stay fixed on his profile as he pulls a cigarette from a pack, lighting it with practiced ease. The small flicker of flame dances over his sharp features, momentarily illuminating the shadows on his face. It’s been a while since you saw him do that.

“I thought you quit smoking,” you say before you can stop yourself. 

You immediately catch the way he freezes at the sound of your voice—his shoulders stiffen, the casual ease he carried just moments ago vanishing in an instant. Maybe you should’ve stayed silent, but you knew he would’ve noticed you sooner or later. You watch as he hesitates, the faintest flicker of uncertainty crossing his face before he finally turns around.

You wait, the silence stretching between you, expecting him to say something—anything. Maybe a sharp comment about why he’s out here, smoking, when you both know he promised Sarah he’d quit over a year ago. “Stop smoking or I swear, I’ll do every drug I can find in college.” You’d been surprised it actually worked. You hadn’t seen him with a cigarette since.

But he just stands there, cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and unreadable. For a moment, you want to shrink back, disappear into the shadows of the terrace. There’s a hardness in his gaze, icy and distant.The kind that clearly says you’re not welcome here.

This is the first time all day he’s really looked at you, not the quick, passing glances. Usually, when Joel’s eyes meet yours, it stirs something warm beneath your skin, a familiar comfort. But tonight? It sends a different kind of shiver, one that sinks deep and unsettles you. You see the quiet judgment in his eyes, the disappointment. 

You hesitate but force the words out. “Can we talk?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he takes a long, slow drag from the cigarette, the smoke curling around him. His jaw tightens as he exhales, the ember glowing brighter for a moment before he flicks it off the railing with a sharp motion.

“Nothing to talk about,” he says coldy. There’s no warmth. No hesitation. No trace of the Joel you knew. Without another word, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot, his eyes not even meeting yours as he turns away.

You watch him disappear through the door, the image sinking deep into your chest. Somehow, it pulls you right back to two nights ago, when all you could do was stand frozen, helpless, as he walked away from you. That same ache rises now, the desperate urge to call him back, to stop him before he is out of reach.

But just like then, you don’t move. You don’t say a word. Because you know, deep down, this mess is yours. You’re the reason he doesn’t want to stick around—because you couldn’t keep the way he makes you feel under control. Because you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting what you couldn’t have.

[loganjameshowlett]

SWALLOWTAIL

01: PRAHA

pairing: joaquín torres/ex-widow!reader summary: sam, bucky, and joaquín find you with a proposal word count: 7.4k+ series masterlist | next installment

The man is unremarkable. 

Slate hair on an expedition away from his forehead, though combed into a respectable style. Grey-blue eyes as murky and opaque as the waters of the Vltava. A long face, sharp chin angled into the upturned collar of his dark jacket. The café is crowded, and he does not strike you as particularly observant, sitting as he is with his eyes on his latte and a yellowed paperback whose cover has been half torn off. Foolish. New to the game, perhaps, though that is hard to picture, given his age. Maybe just new to the field. A desk jockey on his first field assignment. Could be a midlife crisis situation, you muse. Easy money, whatever the case. Laughable. 

But then again, you’d take laughable gratefully after the ringer the last few had put you through. 

He had made his way into the café two hours ago, and was still nursing the same cup of coffee he ordered when he came in. He rarely changed positions, skinny left leg thrown crossed over the right at the knee, elbows decorously kept off the table even as he held his book up in front of his face. He bored you within five minutes of watching him. Within three, you had realized he wouldn’t need very close watching at all, and you allowed yourself the luxury of letting your mind wander away from your mark. The couple at the table to your left was arguing in Czech– he had promised to accompany her on a trip to Sofia to visit her family and was now trying to beg off due to work– and the old man with cute tortoiseshell glasses a few tables in front of you was talking warmly to his grandchildren in gravelly-voiced Italian. The couple argued for the better part of an hour, which, at least,  helped you pass the time. 

When the unremarkable man stands from his unremarkable table inside of this unremarkable café beneath the watchful shadow of Prague Castle, you drain the rest of your mug. The door doesn’t have time to close before you’ve slipped out behind him. The man tracks down the road with his hands in his pocket, and boards a tram headed down the hill and across the river into the heart of Old Town. He sits in the front– you can’t believe your eyes when he hardly glances at the other passengers before sitting down– and you sit in the back, head catty cornered in the curve of the wall in order to watch him and everyone else. 

The Red Room hasn’t caught onto the fact that you’ve made base in Prague, as far as you know. Most of your work you did outside of the city, and largely outside of Czechia altogether. Frankly, it annoyed you that one of theirs was toddling around your city, and such an obvious dunce at that. Though it did make the job easier. Less travel, if nothing else. 

He gets off the tram in Old Town and starts ambling his way toward the Astronomical Clock. Heading towards the most touristy piazza in the city. Obvious, but not a bad move. Would be easier for him to lose a tail there than in most other parts of the city. It also, fortunately for you, made your job a lot easier. 

The Red Room hadn’t entrusted him with any crucial information, obviously. They did this kind of thing sometimes, letting a desk jockey get the taste of the field when they had something menial that needed to get done and didn’t care if the operative got themselves killed. Usually low level information trade offs between Widow handlers, which is exactly what Unremarkable Man is doing in your city. It boiled down to glorified elementary school note passing, essentially. But the coded message he was carrying on a usb hung like dog tags around his neck would tell you where Solenne Rousseau would be carrying out her next mission. And with any luck, you’d be there to intercept and break her conditioning. 

Seven ex-Widows were free to move about the world as they liked, armed with new identities and new lives, because of the work you’d been doing since you became a free agent two years ago. Your extensive knowledge of how the Red Room operated, even if said knowledge is a little dated these days, made your attempts to break Widow brainwashing more successful than other’s; your brief time working with SHIELD before they imploded gave you the skills and connections you needed to spirit the newly freed women away to lives where they can make their own choices and live in relative safety. The work was never done– The Red Room stole and trained up little girls faster than you could blink– but it’s the only worthwhile thing you could think to do with your life. Especially now, free from the Red Room as you are but severed from the only people you had come to trust since your Widow days. 

In the thick of the crowd beneath the astronomical clock, it is easy for you to sidle right up to Unremarkable Man’s back. Your fingers are swift as they unclip the chain around his neck, and you nudge him into the path of a large group of French tourists. Their disgruntled jostling and sidestepping allows you to pull the usb and chain out from beneath his sweater without his noticing. Within seconds, the crowd has swelled between the two of you, taking you out of the range of his sight. In another few seconds, you’re out of the square entirely, taking a meandering route home. It’s a beautiful day after all, unseasonably warm for early spring, and with the day’s one task being such a cinch, you had a stretch of languid time to actually enjoy it. 

You rent a two-room flat in Prague 2, close enough to your favorite part of the city, Old Town, without having to deal with the worst of the thronging tourists. The street is cobbled and tree-lined, and the building a pleasantly bright, white-painted limestone. Kids fill it with laughter and shouting on their way home from school every day, and your windows get full sun. You’ve spent the last six months trying to convince your mind to see the place as home after more than fifteen years without one, but you’re starting to think that home might be a concept too alien for you to comprehend. 

You are six blocks away from your building when things start to feel wrong. 

A prickle on the back of your neck, the unmistakable feeling of someone watching you. The street was just busy enough to mask anyone obviously following you at a quick glance, and looking about any more thoroughly than that would tip off any pursuers that you were onto them, so no can do. Maintaining a leisurely pace, you take a left, moving away from your building and towards a shopping street that you know is always crowded. 

You’ve considered this scenario before, of course. Being who you are, it was only a matter of time before someone came after you. You try to keep on the move, lay low, continuously update your cache of false documents. The mistake you made was deciding that you could stay in Prague just because you like it. Just because it felt like a place you could one day think of as your own. Even rookies know that staying put might as well be a death sentence. Is it the Red Room closing in on you now? Somebody you went after in your SHIELD days? 

The possibilities twist through your mind in a tumult as you use the crowd for cover from your pursuer. You slip into a deli that you know has a back exit, emptying into a wide alley inhabited by dumpsters and questionable puddles. You meld into the shadows at the back of the alley just in time for the door you just came out of to bang open once again. Three men pour out onto the cobblestones, taking a few steps before realizing that the freedom of direction once leaving the alley would make their mark impossible to follow now. 

It takes a second for you to place the taller two, but once you do, you sigh, hand dropping from the gun holstered beneath your jacket. 

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” you ask, stepping forward and crossing your arms over your chest. All three men whip around to face you. The dark-haired one all the way to the left hisses out a shit, hand coming up to his heart. 

“Good to see you, too,” Sam Wilson says, your name warm and bright from his mouth. You scowl. 

“Wilson. Barnes. Did you come all the way to Europe just to stalk me through my neighborhood?” You ask, leveling a decidedly unimpressed stare at the pair of them, and the wide-eyed kid they seemed to have acquired since the last time you saw them. 

“We need to talk,” Bucky says, face and voice serious. You’ve always appreciated his ability to cut right to the chase. “And not in this alley.” 

You have known Sam and Bucky to historically get into some bullshit, but you also know they wouldn’t have come all the way to Czechia if it wasn’t dire. It’s probably something you don’t want to hear. Something that will distract you from your own work, almost assuredly. Unfortunately, they are also two of the only people you still currently trust on Earth, and for that they deserve an audience, if nothing else. 

“Fine,” you decide. “Come on.” 

—

Your flat is the most airtight place you could take them to talk, but that’s not saying much. You sweep it regularly, of course: no bugs, no cameras. You looked into all of your neighbors when you moved in, and you do as extensive a dive as you can into each person that moves in after you. Still, it’s an old Central European apartment building. The walls are thin, and anyway, you’re only one person. Thorough as you are, there’s always the chance that you missed something. 

But there isn’t a better alternative, so you herd the three men up four flights of stairs and into your tiny apartment. The tall ceilings help to accommodate them, but even so, you feel kind of squished. You’ve never had so many people in here before. You’ve never had anyone in here before. 

“This the kid wearing your old wings?” you ask Sam, gesturing at Brown Eyes, who had immediately begun pacing the limited floor space upon entering your apartment, clearly brimming with unshed energy. His steps falter with your question, and he casts a startled kind of glance over at Sam. 

“You keeping tabs on me?” Sam asks, voice sly. 

“You’re Captain fucking America, Sam. I’d have to work harder to not know what you’re up to.”

“That’s Joaquín Torres, and yes, he does wear the wings now,” Sam says. 

“Nice to meet you,” Joaquín says brightly, extending a hand. You glance down at it and then back up to his face, before relenting to one curt shake. “I don’t just wear the wings, I’m the new Falcon.”

“No, you’re not,” Sam interjects. 

You tell Joaquín your name, trying out the whole polite, small talk thing he seems pretty eager to partake in. “They call me Swallowtail in the field.” 

It was a name Maria Hill had given you, after breaking your Red Room conditioning and taking you under her wing at SHIELD, however briefly. You wear it with a pride not reserved for many other things. 

“Oh, shit, you’re Swallowtail?” Joaquín asks, eyes widening. “The ops you did with Agent Hill are legendary, dude. It’s an honor.” 

Your eyes narrow at him as you try to assess, for about the half-dozenth time since he busted into the alley, what his deal is. Giving up the ghost, you set your sights on Bucky instead. “What are you doing here?” 

“We need your help,” he says, and the gravity of his tone stops the first response that comes to your head from actually leaving your mouth. They deserved to at least have you hear them out, you had decided. You’ll follow through on that, even if you are already bursting to just say no and be done with it.

“A piece of modified Stark technology resurfaced a few days ago,” Sam starts in. “The Aetos Device. Heard of it?”

When you shake your head in the negative, he carries on. “Stark thought it up during the very early Iron Man days. It’s a power nullifier– disrupts essentially any kind of power, from Hulk’s gamma radiation situation, to newly-awakened Inhuman genes, to every kind of mutation a mutant could be born with. In the end, Tony never built it– too much like playing God even for him, I guess– but the schematics were recently discovered to be among several dozen stolen by HYDRA during their infiltration of SHIELD.”

“Two nights ago, a teenage mutant was killed with the device as part of a demonstration for prospective buyers,” Bucky cuts in. “His mutation was too essential to the basic workings of his biology, so it didn’t just depower him– it murdered him. Slowly and painfully. They watched as he suffered a deadly heart attack in front of them.”

Your chest constricts at the thought. The ability to depower any superhero at any time is enough to bring the world to a halt, or give Hydra the upper hand they would need to take over the world, or whatever it is they want to do these days. But the effect the device had on this mutant? Hydra could deploy a mutant genocide at any time. 

“The three of you are hunting it down?” you ask, surfacing from your thoughts. 

“Hoping it’ll be the four of us,” Sam answers. “None of us have powers, which gives us an advantage. They can’t take our skill sets away– it has to be us. You have the most active connections and up-to-date intel on the happenings in Europe, too, which we’ll need. My source tracked someone useful to us right here, in Prague.” 

“You know I don’t do teams, Sam.”

“Seems like a waste,” Joaquín says pointedly. His body language– arms crossed over his chest, chin dipped so he’s looking down his nose at you– makes you want to squirm. You know what he’s thinking, and he’d be right: no hero like the ones he’s used to would do anything in this situation except climb aboard right away. To do anything else would be selfish. 

“We know how you feel about teams,” Sam cedes. 

“So, then–” you start, but Bucky cuts you off. 

“You trusted us before. Helped us out of more than a few binds when we were on the run. It wasn’t that long ago that we had each other’s backs. Seems kind of like a team, doesn’t it?” 

“I could’ve left you idiots to fend for yourselves,” you say, feeling defensive. 

“But you didn’t,” Sam responds, like you’re making his point for him. “And being a member of a team didn’t kill you then, did it?”

A beat of silence as you glare at each of them in turn, thinking. 

“I think you wanna help,” Sam declares. 

“Oh yeah, seems like historically you do wanna help,” Joaquín tacks on. 

“Fine,” you say, stepping towards Sam and jabbing your pointer finger at him. “One mission. Then I go back to what I’ve been doing here.” 

“One mission,” Sam echoes, looking at you with that stupid smile on his face. 

— 

It only took about ten more minutes to decide that you wanted to punch Sam Wilson in the head. 

Your simple question of what next? was met with the admission that the intel they were working with and the safehouse they were working out of were both courtesy of Contessa de Fontaine. Not exactly the most trustworthy fucking person to rely on for information or safety of any kind, no matter what excuses came out of Sam’s mouth. 

“I am well aware of the Contessa’s past. I don’t even trust her as far as I can throw her, believe me, but her intel hasn’t led us astray once,” Sam defends. The angrier you look, the less able to stop talking he seems to be. Good, you’d like to sit here and see how he tries to talk himself out of this one. 

“You’ve relied on her intel how many times?” you ask. Bucky shoots you a stern look in the rearview mirror of the car they had led you to once you agreed to join up, like he’s asking you to let up a little on Sam. Not a fucking chance. 

“A few! It’s been accurate every time. There’s no reason to think this time would be different.” 

“It’s fucking stupid is what it is,” you mutter. Outside the tinted window, the crowded streets of red-roofed buildings thin into newer, sadder looking apartment blocks. Prague holds more charm than it knows what to do with usually, but sometimes this sad, Soviet remnant peaks through in communist architecture, or a certain feeling tied to a sparse, gray-skied winter day. Despite the sun, you’re feeling grim. 

Joaquín shifts from the other side of the back seat, scooting forward and reaching over the console to turn the radio on, twirling the volume knob until some obnoxious slavic pop song fills the taut silence. He offers a sheepish smile and a shrug in return to the look you shoot him as he settles back into his seat. 

Guess we’re done talking about that, then. 

The safehouse is in a largely derelict apartment building on the outskirts of the city, close, Bucky tells you, to the private airstrip where things will be going down later in the night. The plan seems pretty simple: Jan Novotny, a pretty well-known black market arms dealer, is meeting a mysterious buyer who the Contessa claims has information on the Aetos Device. Apparently Joaquín is some kind of tech genius, and all the four of you need to do is get into the hangar, incapacitate the mysterious buyer’s guards long enough to copy shit over from his drive, and get out. With any luck, the guy will have the Aetos Device’s location stored somewhere on his drive, and the rest of the mission will be as straightforward as going and getting it. 

“Seems like a longshot,” you say, when they finish explaining the plan. Your voice echoes in the apartment, which is mostly empty except for a table strewn with various supplies and a makeshift tech center you assume is for Joaquín set up haphazardly in the corner. 

“Maybe, but we don’t have anything better,” Bucky says. “The guy’s not gonna have the device on him. Getting the intel like this is our most pain-free option, and will hopefully let us continue flying under the radar for a little while longer.”

“Right,” you nod. “Then we better make sure to stay under the radar tonight. If they realize we’re on them it might spook them into changing their plans and moving the device faster.” 

“Why do I feel like you’re saying that because you don’t think we can manage incognito?” Sam asks. 

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him and Bucky in turn. “I remember Linz. And Basel. Do you?” 

“Touché,” Sam cedes. “We have a few hours to kill until we can gear up and get going.”

“I want the–” Before you can finish your sentence, Bucky is already thrusting a manila folder, the edges dotted with silver paper clips, toward you. You take it with a thank you, flipping it open immediately. The intel is sparse, only a dozen papers inside at most. A few CCTV stills printed on glossy paper are paper clipped to the front of the folder, and a rundown on Novotny complete with a mugshot of his long, scar-pocked face waits for you at the top of the pile. Glancing up, you spot a dingy plastic chair shoved haphazardly against the wall near the tech set up, and you cross the room in a few quick strides, planting yourself on the seat. You’re hoping to commit most of this stuff to memory before you get out in the field. 

A few minutes later, Joaquín settles down in front of the field laptop and turns it on. The screen’s glow is the brightest thing in the dank apartment, and washes the plains of his face in pale blue. Every couple of minutes or so, you feel his eyes shift from the screen to you, lingering a few moments before turning back to whatever he is tapping away at. The fifth time he does this, you look up and meet his eyes. He freezes for a moment before glancing back at his screen, that same sheepish smile from the car spreading across his face. In the screen glow, you can just barely see the heat in his cheeks. 

A few minutes later, Joaquín seems to finish whatever he was doing on the computer. Across the room, Sam and Bucky are bickering about something while Bucky cleans a gun and Sam leisurely packs things from the table into a compact duffel bag. Joaquín’s hands go to his lap, his right foot tapping rhythmically on the floor. His fidgety energy has your hackles up for no good reason. 

“What was it like, working with Maria Hill?” Joaquín asks suddenly. You glance up at his face– open and expectant– before glancing down at the page you are in the middle of reading, and then back up at him again. His brown eyes seem to literally be sparkling despite the lack of real light in the room. 

You apparently sit silently for too long, because Joaquín presses onward. “I mean, she’s like, mythological. Is she really that much of a badass?” 

“I doubt that the things you’ve heard even come close to the truth of Agent Hill,” you tell him, before pointedly returning your eyes to the intel in your hands. 

“Cool,” Joaquín says, voice colored by genuine awe. You can feel him wanting to ask more questions, but your eyes stay studiously on the folder in front of you. Eventually he gives up, standing and joining Bucky and Sam over by the gear. 

When you finish reading, you snap the folder shut and stand, joining the rest of them. You hand it back to Bucky, who, in turn, hands you a pistol with a silencer affixed to the muzzle. You nod to him, grabbing a thigh holster from the mess of things on the table. 

The boys are loud as they gear up for the mission, banter coming easily and non-stop between them. You stand to the side, fastening the pistol holster over your clothes and checking that your throwing knives are all present and accounted for. You observe them as you do this: the way Joaquín manages to pull a small smile out of Bucky, the casual, affectionate touches Bucky and Sam share. Sam ruffles Joaquín’s hair, and Joaquín elbows him toothlessly in the stomach in return. It all feels… well, kind of foreign to you. Maria was the best mentor you could have asked for and you wouldn’t change a thing about your time with her, but, like her mentor before her, she was always rather distant. Eyes on the mission, always. It’s the reason she was so good at her job, but it didn’t make much room for bonding moments between the two of you. Not that you were ever trying to bridge that gap. The only social skills the Red Room ever taught you were the fraudulent kind, meant to snare marks and do little else. The trio seem to catch onto your uneasiness, because they don’t try to touch you or tease you or fold you into their easy rapport. Fastening the pistol into its holster, you steadfastly ignore the part of you that wishes they would. 

— 

The airstrip is small, just a hangar with a couple small planes parked on the tarmac and a singular runway. It’s nestled within a group of fields still halfway dry and winter-yellow. The city lights wink along the horizon, all the warmth Prague has to offer out of reach. The group of you had walked two miles in the dark from the safehouse to get here, a feat that was much easier for Bucky and yourself than it was for Sam and Joaquín, burdened by the Captain and Falcon suits as they are. Joaquín had spent the entire walk complaining about how heavy the wing pack got after five minutes of wearing it, and Sam had begun threatening to relieve him of his duties before the apartment building was even out of sight. 

“Okay, you two need to shut up now,” you say, voice low as you turn to face them in the dark. “Sam, you’re hanging back in the treeline, ready to provide aerial support if we need it. Buck, you’re scouting ahead so we know what to expect. The buyer’s plane is the only black one on the tarmac, and lucky for us, it looks to be parked farther away from the mouth of the hangar. Joaquín and I should be able to get in with minimal fuss and get in and out with the intel. We clear?” 

“Yes ma’am,” Joaquín says, and you roll your eyes. 

“Don’t get yourselves killed,” Sam says, already walking backwards toward the seam where field meets forest. 

“Bucky’ll make sure we don’t,” you assure Sam. “I intend to put that metal arm to good use.” Sam laughs, and turns his back on the three of you, moving to assume position. Bucky heads toward the hangar next, while you and Joaquín hang back, waiting to hear what to expect. 

Next to you, Joaquín rocks steadily from heels to toes, orange visor alternating between catching his face in the moonlight and hiding it in the shadows. When he catches you staring he cocks his head to the side, observing you right back. 

“Jus’ a little nervous. Aren’t you?” he asks. 

“I am not,” you reply, sweeping your gaze back toward the airstrip. 

“Come on, everyone gets nervous,” Joaquín insists. 

“The last time I was nervous before a mission, Mother locked me in solitary confinement for three days as punishment for my hesitation. I don’t get nervous anymore,” you tell him. Before he can reply, Bucky’s voice crackles to life in your earpiece, alerting the two of you that there are two guards stationed within and directly outside of the buyer’s plane. You nod and immediately start heading for the airstrip, but you can feel Joaquín’s eyes on you all the while. 

Only about half of the lights seem to be on in the hangar and on the tarmac, casting the whole business half in shadow. A smallish group of people cluster within the hanger– you assume it’s where the deal is going down. Large, imposing men with larger guns loosely clutched in their hands mill about between the planes. It is immediately clear to you that the present company does not expect any surprises, and the guns and guards are more about showing off might than anything else. 

You move forward, quick and silent in the dark, trusting that Joaquín will be behind you. He makes more noise than you, what with the wing pack, but not enough to get you into trouble. You dodge through the shadows until you are within a few dozen feet of the black plane. At this point you stop and pull Joaquín down with you behind a stack of crates. You need to observe the buyer’s guards for a few moments, get your bearings with who they are and what to expect before you jump in. 

Beside you, Joaquín is watching you again. You kind of respect that he doesn’t try to hide his curious observations, and strangely, having his eyes on you is already starting to feel run of the mill. 

“You always look at people like you’re trying to decide whether to disappear or stick a knife in their ribs,” he voices, though the words are pitched low enough you know that nobody else will hear him. 

Because I am. “Guess which one I’m thinking when I look at you,” you mutter, but the words lack any real bite. 

He grins. “You’ll warm up to me.” 

“Maybe if you don’t kill us first with the yapping on the job,” you respond, turning around to shoot a glare in his direction. Really, all the talking is bad form. You assume Joaquín is more used to being up in the air with Sam these days than pulling any kind of stealth on the ground. 

The two men stationed at the bottom of the plane’s stairs are more fat than muscle– all you and Joaquín will need to do is come up behind them and administer a handy little nerve pinch. They’ll be down for the count long enough for you to get in and get out, and quietly, too. You hope. You can’t get a good look at the pair inside the plane, but you should be able to use surprise and the close quarters to your advantage. You share as much with Joaquín. 

“Dibs on the baldy,” Joaquín says, and that’s that. You glance back at him once more to make sure he’s ready, before melting backwards into the shadows at the edges of the tarmac. You take the long way around the plane, ducking beneath the smooth cylinder of its body until you are directly behind the pair of guards. Quick as a cat, you reach around him and pinch his ulnar nerve, hard. As he goes down, you grab his gun before it can clatter to the asphalt. Joaquín’s bald man drops to the ground a moment later, Joaquín nearly tripping on the man’s legs as he struggles to yank up the gun before it can make any noise. When he catches your unimpressed face, he sends you a wordless thumbs-up. 

You mount the short flight of stairs up into the private jet first, pausing a few steps up until Joaquín is right behind you. You can see a shadow moving in the light of the cabin, indicating a guard on your left hand side, but you can’t see where the other one is. You pause for a moment, waiting to see if the other guard telegraphs their location, but you’re not lucky enough for that. 

“Go left. I got your six,”Joaquín says, voice a low murmur over your shoulder. You nod once and resume your ascent. It’s nice, you suppose– you might be going in half blind, but you’re not alone this time. Not like you usually are. And goofy as he is, your gut has been telling you that you can trust him basically since you met him. No better time than the present to test out if the feeling’s right or not. 

You move quickly once you get to the doorway: the first guard is seemingly on his way to the seats further down the cabin when he comes face-to-face with you. Shock flits across his features, but before he can do anything more, you grab the long body of his gun and ram the butt into the underside of his jaw, hard. Stunned, he takes a faltering step back, and you take the opportunity of his janky equilibrium to grab the gun and use it to spin him around. Once he’s facing away from you, disoriented, it’s easy to pull the gun up against his throat with both hands and choke him out. He drops like a sack of potatoes. 

You didn’t see the second guard standing at the bar behind him until he dropped, and by the time you have eyes on him, he has his gun trained on you. There’s no time to think, and muscle memory moves your dominant hand to your shoulder sheath. A second later, your throwing knife finds its mark in the hollow of the guy’s throat, and he goes down. You sigh and move further into the cabin, stepping over the incapacitated one to dislodge your knife from the dying man’s throat. You wipe his blood off the blade on the fabric of his pants and resheath it. 

When you turn around, Joaquín is looking at you, mouth slightly agape behind that stupid orange visor. And there you go again, hackles back up like you have something to prove. When he trains his gaze on you like this, you find that it feels like he’s looking inside of you, at all the blood-soaked bits hidden away in the dark. 

“He would have shot me,” you say sharply, feeling bizarrely desperate to explain and pissed that you’re explaining anything all at once. 

Joaquín holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “That was so badass,” he says, and there’s something like awe in his voice.

“Can you go do what you need to do so we can get out of here before I have to kill anyone else?” you ask, gesturing behind him. There’s an expensive looking laptop on one of the plush seats that you’re sure must be the buyers. 

“Oh! Right, yeah,” Joaquín nods. He turns from you and heads down the aisle, dropping into one of the seats and opening the laptop, before producing a small drive from somewhere in his suit and jabbing it into one of the laptop’s side ports. You glance out one of the small windows: from what you can see, things still seem business as usual over by the hangar. For the moment, at least. But you can feel the clock ticking. 

“How long is this going to take?” you ask, turning back to the cabin’s interior and taking a couple steps toward Joaquín. 

“Not too long, if– yes, there we go,” he mutters, more to himself than you as his fingers clatter across the keyboard. He pauses to turn his face up and shoot you a teasing smirk that is far too reminiscent of Sam’s. “Would go faster if you don’t ask questions, though.” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest and turning away from him to keep an eye on the door. 

Half a minute later, your comm unit crackles to life in your ear, and Sam’s voice comes ringing through. “Shit, guys, you got company. Coming in from the west.” 

“I have eyes on ‘em– they’re comin’ in hot, we gotta get out of here now,” Bucky responds, voice grim and urgent. You turn around in time to see Joaquín pulling the usb from the laptop and secreting it back into his suit. 

“I got what we came for,” he says into his comm. “Swallowtail and I are out. Heading for the rendezvous point.”

With confirmation that the job is done, you pick your way back to the door. Before you can even glance outside, you hear rapid gunfire far too close for comfort. You veer to the side of the door and opt for looking out windows on either side of the plane first, trying to get your bearings. 

“I see at least ten or twelve of them moving toward the hangar. Machine guns, all of ‘em,” you report to Joaquín. 

His face is grimmer than you’ve ever seen it. “We’re gonna have to make a run for it. Once we’re far enough, I can fly us out without getting us both shot down and killed.”

“Hang on–” you start, but Joaquín is already in the doorway and counting down from five. You get behind him, ready for the two of you to stay close and move fast. 

Down on the tarmac, gunfire lights up the night. All of the guards who had previously been milling around the planes are gone, running to the chaos near the hangar. Good for the two of you– should make slipping away a little easier. You’re a little more reckless this time around, Joaquín foregoing the shadows you had traveled through previously for a more straightforward path. All you need to do is get to the treeline at the edge of the tarmac; the rendezvous point is a little further into the woods, but it will be a lot harder for any of these goons to follow you or shoot you through the darkness of the nighttime forest. 

But to get there, you first have to pass by the heart of the fighting. 

If you have any luck, everything going on will be too much for anyone to notice the two of you fleeing. But there’s a lot of guys on the field, and Joaquín isn’t exactly dressed in an incognito way. 

You’re almost there when a man shouts something in Czech. You only half catch it through the other noise, but you’re sure he’s talking about the two of you, calling attention to your escape. You turn to look behind you even as you keep running: there’s a black-suited man with a machine gun bounding down the steps of a private jet far closer to the two of you than the rest of the fighting. Within shooting range. 

Time slows as you watch the man turn the machine gun on the pair of you. You’ve done a lot of death-defying things in the past, a lot of turning up broken but breathing when you should be six feet under, but you’re out in the wide open with a machine gun pointed at you fifty feet away. In the stretched out fraction of a second, you think you should start trying to accept death before you meet it. 

The machine gun starts shooting. You scrunch your eyes closed, not even able to find it within yourself to hate the cowardice of not meeting your death in the eye. But no bullets find your flesh. Dazed from the adrenaline and confused by the fact that you’re still alive, you crack your eyes open and are met with a slate of gray in front of you instead of the tarmac. It takes a second for you to realize that it’s one of Joaquín’s wings, slammed down and embedded in the asphalt, the only thing standing between yourself and gruesome death. 

Joaquín’s face is inches away from your own when you turn around, pale and drawn, his brown eyes wide. You’re both breathing heavily, and one of Joaquín’s arms is curled protectively around you, making sure to keep you behind the shield of his wing. 

“Hold onto me and do not let go,” he instructs, his voice clearer and more commanding than it’s been all day. You comply wordlessly, locking your arms around his neck and ducking your head to his shoulder. You can feel the quick but steady thread of his pulse where your temple is pressed against the hot skin of his neck. As soon as both of his arms are fastened securely around your waist, he turns away from the gunfight and launches you into the air. 

The feeling of sudden weightlessness sends your stomach into your throat and you cling tighter to Joaquín, eyes shut tightly against the frigid rush of the wind. Considering you haven’t been shot out of the air already, you have to assume Joaquín has taken you way high, way fast. You don’t actually want to know how true that is, so you opt to keep your eyes shut. 

“We’re good, okay?” Joaquín’s voice comes in crisply through your earpiece despite the strength of the wind. “I got you.”

You nod against his neck, feeling a little frantic. The flying thing right after the almost being shot to death thing was doing a lot for your complete discombobulation. 

“Sam, we’re coming into the rendezvous site aerially. Thirty seconds out,” Joaquín says into the comms. You hear Sam’s voice come through, but you don’t catch what he sees with how intensely you’re focusing on not throwing up on the Falcon suit. Despite all your training, sudden, violent movements have never exactly agreed with your composition. 

As promised, roughly thirty seconds later you feel a dip that must indicate Joaquín is descending. The actual landing is much gentler than you expect; Joaquín takes the brunt of it before setting you on your own feet. You take a reflective step back from once your feet touch the ground, but being not entirely oriented, you stumble a half step. Joaquín’s hands tighten on your waist for a moment, making sure you can remain steady on your own before he withdraws. 

“You good?” he asks. 

“Yeah. Thank you for that,” you nod, finally starting to feel normal again now that you’re out of the air. 

“You two alright?” Bucky asks, emerging through the trees to the right of you. You can see the brighter colors of Sam’s suit a few paces behind him. 

You nod again. “Joaquín saved both our asses. We’re okay.” 

“Attaboy,” Sam says, clearly trying to lighten the mood after such a near-miss, but the relief on his face is palpable. 

“Just all in a day’s work for the Falcon, am I right?” he asks Sam, who rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t push your luck, Torres.”

You’re all in for quite the walk back to the safehouse, the roundabout, forested route about twice as long as the one you took to get to the airstrip. It’s worth it to make sure none of the machine gun-toting goons are able to track you back, but the adrenaline crash after almost dying makes it tough. Sam leads the way and Bucky brings up the rear, with you and Joaquín trudging along in the middle of the formation. The silence between all of you is taut but not tense, as you listen for any signs of pursuit amidst the bucolic noises of the spring night. After a mile or so, you’re pretty sure the four of you are in the clear. 

“So, the throwing knives,” Joaquín says, the first words spoken for over twenty minutes. “They’re your ‘thing’?”

“I’m trained expertly in over two dozen forms of weapons,” you inform him. 

“Yeah, but you had the knives on you today before we even found you. They’re totally your favorite.” 

You shrug. “They’re easy to conceal and cheap to replace.”

“Good reasons for favoritism,” Joaquín nods sagely. He has taken his helmet off, and the damp waves of his dark hair catch and reflect the bright moonlight. Surprisingly, Joaquín’s idle chatter seems to immediately work on subduing your post-near-death experience anxiety. Usually, you’d sooner knock someone out cold and drag them back to the safehouse than endure all this conversation. The response raises all kinds of red flags in your brain. 

— 

It’s well into the night by the time you finally reach the safehouse. Joaquín looks like he could drop where he stands, which doesn’t stop Sam from putting him to work straight away. 

“Start running that information through our filters now. We need the device’s location,” Sam commands him. Joaquín lets out a tired sigh, but nods nonetheless. He frees himself from the wing pack, dropping it and his helmet on the table in the center of the room before settling down in front of his tech station. As he begins to work, Sam and Bucky start shedding gear on the table and methodically packing it into duffel bags. You opt to keep your throwing knives, of course– they essentially never leave your person– and the pistol Bucky had given you earlier in the day. 

“Got it!” Joaquín says, then cows himself as if shocked by his own volume. “Vienna. The device and its schematics were last tracked to Vienna, but it’s not there anymore. There’s details of a deal that went down less than forty-eight hours ago. A man by the name of Anton Babjak is identified as the buyer.”

“Babjak,” you mutter, gathering the name in your thoughts. “He’s known as the Bobcat in darker circles. He was an assassin back in the day, but he’s been operating solely as an arms dealer since I joined with SHIELD, as far as I know.”

“We need to figure out his next move,” Sam says, face serious as you’ve ever seen it. 

“I know someone who can help. We need to go to Madripoor,” you announce.

[daniiiboo]

love letters- lh43

summary- luke leaves for his roadie, but he writes little notes around the house for you to find.

trigger warnings- reader is a little sad Luke left, but nothin elsee

dani's thoughts- ive been so busy, i havent had time to finish this fic, but I'm so happy with how it turned out!!

word count- 1.3k

Luke had left earlier this morning to make it on time to leave with his team. The road trip schedule was booked solid, and even though he promised to call and text as frequently as he could, the apartment nevertheless felt too very empty without him, even though he was gone for a couple hours.

You woke up to sunlight filtering through the curtains, the sharp sting of late winter air that sent shivers down your spine. Without Luke's warmth beside you, the bed felt cavernous. You rolled onto your back, letting out a breath, but then your eye was caught on something , a little wadded-up ball of paper on his pillow.

In his unmistakable handwriting, it read:

Good morning, love. I'm sure you're missing my obnoxious snoring about now. Have a good day and know that I'm thinking of you.

A smile tugged at your lips. It was so characteristic of Luke , sweet, thoughtful, and goofily charming. You clutched the note to your chest, his words seeping into your heart like a warm hug.

After dragging yourself out of bed, you went to make coffee. But when you opened the cupboard, another note fell down.

Don't forget, you make the best coffee in the world. I love you more than my morning cup. And that's saying something.

You smiled to yourself, imagining his sheepish grin as he wrote it. The apartment no longer felt so empty.

Throughout the day, the notes seemed like little explosions of Luke's presence. On the floor beneath the remote on the coffee table was another one:

I'm not there to pick the movie, but I have faith in you to make the right choice. Unless you pick a rom-com. Then we'll need to have words.

By lunchtime, you found a note on the fridge:

I know you're probably waiting here, suffering from takeout agony. But remember the way I bragged when you got that pasta recipe right? You can do this, baby.

You took his advice, smiling to yourself as you cooked. It wasn't perfect, but with Luke's belief in you, it was all the sweeter.

You'd spent the hour leading up to lunch attempting to prepare, but then you had to get things accomplished. Fold laundry, one of them being. And there, among the clothes, was another note shoved into Luke's hoodie pocket.

Miss me yet? Don't worry, this hoodie still smells like me. Bonus cuddle material. But remember, I'm the real deal.

You buried your face in the hoodie, taking a whiff of the top notes of his cologne on the fabric. It stung less.

Later, while cleaning the bathroom, you found a small sticky note taped to the mirror:

Look at that beautiful face. Even the toothpaste splatters can't detract from how beautiful you are. Smile for me, love.

You rolled your eyes, smiling, playfully blowing a kiss to yourself.

While grabbing a book from the bookshelf in the living room, yet another note floated to the floor.

I'm sure you've read this one a dozen times already, but did you know that I adore the way your eyes sparkle when you reach your favorite part? It's the sweetest thing.

That night, the sun fell below the horizon, and lights in the apartments shone golden. You curled up on the couch, at last giving in to a rom-com you knew Luke would roll his eyes over. But at the end credits, you missed his laughter, the teasing way he'd deride the plot.

And then, as you reached for the blanket, another note protruded.

Hi, if you're seeing one of those sappy movies when I'm not around, I hope you're recalling all the times I pretended that I didn't like them. Spoiler: I secretly love them if it's for the opportunity to watch them with you.

Your eyes watered with tears — not tears of sadness, but of the emotional warmth his words brought. Luke was not present in body, but his love was everywhere.

At bedtime, your phone buzzed with a FaceTime call. His face appeared on the screen, his smile wide even though he was obviously exhausted.

"Hey, love," he whispered.

"Hey," you replied, the warmth of his letters still coursing through you. "I've found all your letters. You're the sweetest, you know that?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, a flush climbing to his cheeks.

"I just wanted you to know that I was still here."

"You were," you replied. "You always are."

Later in the evening, after your phone call had concluded, you got back into bed. As you snuggled into the blankets, one final note poked out from beneath his pillow.

I miss you so very much. Any empty hotel bed makes me homesick, just to be under your arms in our home again. But that will happen. I love you, forevermore and always. Sweet dreams.

You held the note to your chest. Luke's love reached every nook ,the messages he wrote, the memories filling your home, and the reassurance that all too soon, he'd be where he should be. At home. With you.

[niallhorxns]

Niall Horan x Reader: Worth Fighting For

Prompt: The distance while he's on tour is difficult, you and Niall try to make it work.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi all!! So excited to be writing again. Please enjoy this slightly angsty, short fic. And please feel free to send any / all Niall requests my way :)

Niall’s contact photo pops up on your phone. The ringer interrupts the song you were playing through your car speakers, but before you even slide to answer, you already know the sound of his voice is going to be way better than whatever poppy tune had been on.  

“Hey babe,” you smile widely, trying to balance your phone between your ear and shoulder as you drive home from work. The fact that you would be seeing Niall tonight has been the only thing keeping you smiling throughout the day. Not even the heavy traffic can interfere with your good mood.  

Since you’ve been together, you’ve dealt with Niall spending long hours at the studio– and occasionally taking long weekend trips to Ireland or New York. But this tour was so much more difficult than any of that. 

When Niall left for his latest tour, you both were dedicated to making things work. You planned FaceTimes and phone calls and flew in to see him whenever you could. However, the last few months had been harder than you could have ever anticipated, and the distance had definitely taken a toll on your relationship. 

But right now, none of that mattered, because Niall would be home tonight.  

“Hey there,” Niall says back. You can hear chatter in the background and briefly wonder if he’s landed yet.  

“Are you almost home?” You ask, hopeful.

There’s a brief pause, then Niall sighs. “That’s actually what I was calling about—“

“Oh no,” you interrupt. “Was the flight delayed?”

“No…” he clears his throat, “I’m actually still in New York.”

The moment he says the words, your coffee canister slips from your hands, spilling over your lap and car. The heat immediately seeps through your skirt. You’re lucky you don’t crash as you try to wipe it up with the napkins stuffed in your cup holder.  

“Shit,” you gasp, your thighs burning from the hot beverage. “Shit, shit, shit—“  

“Baby?” You hear his worried voice through the line. 

You flip your blinker on and pull over on the side of the road. You wipe up the remainder of the coffee, ignoring Niall asking if everything was okay on the other end of the line.  

Once your legs no longer feel like they’re on fire, you pick your phone back up, and already on the verge of tears resume your conversation.

“Are you serious?” You ask. “I thought you had three nights off.”

“I know– I do, but we got the opportunity to play on Fallon, my agent booked it–“ 

You can tell he’s trying to dodge a fight, which you’ve been doing a lot of lately. Last week you were mad when he canceled your FaceTime date to go out with bandmates instead. The week before that, he was frustrated that you declined his offer to fly you out to Denver with less than a day's notice.

Seeing each other today has been what you were both holding onto. Or at least that’s what you thought.

“Why do you have to play Fallon, Niall? It’s not like you’re desperate to grow your image–”

“I know, but it’s a good opportunity to expand to other listeners–”

You sigh, and without raising your voice say,  “I just… We’ve had these dinner plans for so long— I mean my parents have been talking about this for weeks.“

“I know, I know, I know—“ he says frantically, “I’m so sorry, believe me, I’d much rather be there than here… this place is nuts.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, and close your eyes, listening to the sound of traffic rushing by your parked vehicle.  

“Okay,” you sigh, feeling so defeated and drained all of a sudden. “Okay, well, we’ll miss you.”

“I know, tell everyone I say I’m sorry for not being there.”

“Yeah, alright,” you agree.  

“So we’ll just talk later then?” He asks, the noise in the background getting louder.  

“Okay,” you say before hanging up. 

You can’t help but notice that the “I love you’s” were skipped.  

You drive the rest of the way home with your fingers tightly clutching the steering wheel. Your knuckles are white by the time you pull into the driveway. You drag your bag and coffee-stained self into the house to change and get ready for dinner with your family.  

You try convincing yourself that the night will be fun, regardless of the fact that Niall bailed.  But the moment you sit around the table at the restaurant and count that you are in fact the ninth wheel of the family, you know things are doomed. Plus you can’t shake the achy feeling inside your chest that makes you fear for your relationship with Niall. You’d been holding onto this weekend together with everything you had. It’s kept you grounded, and reminded you that this distance between you and Niall won’t last forever– that this tour will eventually end. 

Except now, you have nothing to hold on to.  

“Where’s Niall?” Your mother immediately asked. Of course she does– because your family loves Niall. 

Without even thinking, you lie, “His flight got delayed. Bad weather. Tornadoes, I think—“  you’re not sure why you don’t tell the truth. Denial, maybe. Embarrassment that his job would always come before you.

“Bad weather?” Your brother asks, “Where is he?”

“New York,“ you say quickly. 

Your brother pulls out his phone. After a moment his brows furrow. “Huh, weird. The weather app says it’s sunny and clear there.”

Instantly you feel your face turning red. “Yeah… weird,” you say. 

Your brother opens his mouth– probably to ask more questions, but his girlfriend elbows him, indicating for him to shut his mouth. You give her a soft smile in appreciation.

You stay quiet for the majority of the meal, and you don’t feel much like eating. You try to listen to your dad talk about golf, but all you can focus on is how Niall might chime into the conversation. You try to listen to your older brother when he complains about his meal, but all you can imagine is how Niall would nudge your leg and offer you a sly smile, knowing how much that annoyed you. 

You can’t be present because all you can do is think about how much you miss him– you miss his laugh, and the smell of his aftershave. You miss how warm hands always are, and how they’re always touching you– every chance he can get. You miss the way he can always lighten the mood, and how safe you feel just knowing he’s around. You miss him with everything inside of you– and his absence tonight only makes you miss him more. 

All-in-all, you’re relieved when everyone is ready to head home.  

“Hey,” your brother’s girlfriend catches up to you before you can head to your car.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Is everything okay? I just— I wanted to make sure, because you do know New York doesn’t really have tornados, right?”

You nod and let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I know. And Niall’s flight never got delayed,” you take a deep breath, “I guess that just sounded better than the fact that he didn’t even get on his flight. Got caught up at work,” you explain.

She sighs empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just—“ you feel the tears starting to fill your eyes and you wipe them away, embarrassed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh no,” she says empathetically.

“The distance is just, really, really hard. Way harder than I ever thought—“ Even you can tell how choked up your voice sounds. “And I just don’t see it ending anytime soon. I mean, sure, this tour will end. But he loves his job, so I know there will just be another one. And another. And can’t ask him to give that up. But I can’t compete with it. I just don’t know if I can do it—”

“Maybe you should talk to him about this,” she suggests, as she soothingly rubs your shoulder. “Tell him how much it’s bothering you. Be honest.”

You nod. “Yeah you’re probably right.” You wipe your runny nose on your sleeve.  

“Let us know if you need anything, okay?”

You nod, thanking her and hugging her goodbye. She’s right. You do need to talk to Niall. But that’s a conversation you wish you could just keep on the back burner, ignoring until everything ignited. You dreaded it the whole way home.  

When you did finally arrive home, you puttered around the house– put the dishes away, washed your face, got into your pajamas, all as an effort to stall. Finally, you curled up on the couch. With no more excuses to delay the inevitable, you pulled out your phone and clicked on Niall’s contact. You hated this– everything about it. You hated that you hated it– hated that you were dreading calling your favorite person in the entire world… the only person who made you feel whole. 

The phone rang three times before Niall answered. “Hey baby,” he said cheerfully. “How’re you?”

“Okay,” you said quietly. “How was Fallon?” 

“Not bad– that guy from the TV show you like… the one on HBO? God, I can’t remember the name of it now. But he was there. Made me think of you. The crowd was fun– a few people actually knew the words. How was dinner?” He asks.  

“It was fine—“ you lie, not really wanting to fake small talk. “Everyone missed you.”

“Yeah, I wish I could’ve been there.”

You clear your throat as you anxiously pick at the skin around your thumb.  

“Listen, Niall. We need to talk—“

“Babe,” he protests, like he knows where this is going. “I already apologized for not being there— I wanted to, but I couldn’t say no after they booked the gig–”

You don’t want another fight. You’re too tired, too drained, too sad to fight. You love Niall– so much so that you wanted him around all the time– needed him. And you know Niall loves you too. But Niall also loves music, and touring. One was always going to interfere with the other, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. And suddenly, the realization that this just isn’t going to work hits you like a ton of bricks.

“I know…” you say as non-confrontational as possible, “I know it’s your job, I understand that, but I— I need you here, Niall. And maybe that’s selfish of me, or whatever, but it’s true. I need you here. And I don’t know if I can do this distance thing, I thought I could, but I don’t think I can. It’s… Honestly, it’s killing me.”

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Niall asks. “I mean, what do you want me to do? Quit? Do you want me to quit the tour?”

You squeeze your eyes shut in anticipation of what’s about to happen.  

“No, I don’t want that,” you say, your voice becoming thick with tears. You could never take performing away from Niall– you wouldn’t be the thing that came between him and his passion. “I hate that this is through the phone, but I don’t think we should do this anymore. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

A long, heavy silence settles over the air. It sends waves of blood pumping to your ears. It’s deafening. 

You begin wondering if you should provide more of an explanation, but then Niall speaks. 

“Baby—“ he pleads, his voice suddenly full of desperation. “Please, I know you’re mad about tonight but I can fix this—“

“I’m not mad,” you tell him honestly, pushing the emotion in your voice down and trying to muscle through. “I understand that you couldn’t say no. I know you wanted to be here but couldn’t. But I come second to your job, Niall. And I always will. And that’s not your fault. But it’s not my fault either. And I– I just think that I need more than that.”

He’s stammering incoherently on the other end, and you imagine what his face looks like right now. Is he crying? Are his eyebrows all scrunched up?

He tries protesting again, but you can’t think about anything other than getting off the phone.  

“I’m really sorry this isn’t in person, you deserve that. But I just can’t keep doing this,” you explain. “When you’re back in LA, shoot me a text and I can get your stuff together.”

“Baby–” he pleads. 

But you cut him off. “Goodbye,” you whisper, hitting the end button before he can convince you to change your mind. As soon as the line goes dead, you break out into uncontrollable sobs.  The weight on your shoulders that you thought would be lifted only felt heavier as you let yourself fall back against the cushions of the couch you bought together.

Your chest aches. Desperately, you clutch your arm around yourself, trying to hold everything together. 

It hurts like fucking hell. 

It’s the kind of pain you know will leave lasting scars– the kind you know you’ll carry with you forever. And the only person you’d ever want to call to help you through it is the one you just broke up with. 

Broke up. 

You and Niall broke up. 

You cry harder. 

You cry and cry and cry– until there’s nothing left inside of you, until you’re pretty sure if you cried anymore, you’d need an IV to replace all the fluids. You cry until finally, you drift off into an uneasy sleep, curled up on the couch with Netflix playing on the TV, the screen lighting up the otherwise dark living room. 

The clock below the TV reads 7 am when you wake to the sound of the front door opening.  

Your first instinct is to scream, but you catch a glimpse of the familiar, dark haired man crossing the room before that can happen.

“Niall?” You say groggily, rubbing your tired eyes. “What are you doing?” You feel like you might still be dreaming.

“I know you probably don’t want me here,” he says, he’s out of breath, panting, even– like he ran across the country overnight to be here. That’s when it hits you that Niall is really here– not across the country in New York, but standing in your shared living room in LA. 

“Just hear me out—” He begs. When you don’t protest, he continues. “I love my job,” he states. “Playing music has always been my dream, and then that dream came true. I love touring– I love performing.I love being able travel around so much—“

You let your eyes wander to the floor, wondering where this all is going.

“But none of that compares to how much I love you,” he says, his shoulders finally deflating.  “And I’ll quit in a heartbeat if that’s what it takes. Please, please don’t be mad– I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, I swear.”

It had been so long since Niall had told you he loved you, that you feared it might no longer be true. But as soon as he says the words with such honesty and passion, your face scrunches up and the tears start to fall, because you immediately believe him. For a moment, you forget that you’d practically broken up with him over the phone.

All you care about is that he’s here. Niall is here, standing in front of you in real life for the first time in so long. As soon as he sees your face crumple, he’s crossing the room in two quick strides. Before you can protest, he’s kneeling in front of you on the couch. 

Your knees– you think. But then one of Niall’s hands is cradling your cheek softly while the other rests on your thigh, and all you can think about is how grateful you are that he’s home. 

“I’m not mad, I just… I– I miss you–” you sob before leaning forward, arms winding around his neck while you crash into him. “I miss you so much, all the time.” 

His arms wind around you tightly. He smells so familiar, and when he tightens his grip around you, you immediately feel safe and secure and whole again– the way only Niall can make you feel.   

You’re not sure how long you stay like that. But you’re afraid that the minute you let go, things will fall apart again.  

“I miss you too,” he whispers, hand coming up to stroke through your hair. “God, I missed you so much.”

You lean into his touch, try to memorize the feel of it. Then, you sigh into his neck. “I could never ask you to quit your job. You love your job more than anything. You’d be so unhappy and I’d hate myself for making you unhappy.”

Niall pulls you away from himself– holding you out in front of him. “You come before my job, okay? It’s not even close. If I quit music, I’d miss it. Of course I would. But I can write songs here– play my guitar here. Eventually, it’d feel okay. But if I lost you–” Niall shakes his head, like the thought alone is too unbearable. “I don’t know if I’d ever be able to be happy again. You come first, okay? Always.” 

You give Niall the best attempt at a smile that you can come up with, enough to show him that you appreciate his gesture. It’s nice actually hearing how much Niall cares for you. He smiles back, it’s weak and doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s a smile all the same. And it’s Niall’s. 

But then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a slight frown before he says, “What if you came with me?”

Taken aback, you immediately shake your head. “What? On tour?”

He nods, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Yeah, why not?”  

You open your mouth, presumably to list the reasons why that would be such a bad idea. But your mind is blank. 

“You can bring your laptop– work from the bus, or hotel or whatever. We could travel around, see things. Just be together.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’d get sick of me–”

“Are you kidding? I’m sick of being away from you.”

“Niall– there’s no way. I have work– what about the apartment?”

“It’s an apartment, not a dog. It doesn’t need food or water. Plus, I won’t be touring all the time. Just for a few more months. We’d get through it, then figure out what to do next. But we’d be together.”

The more he talked, the more you realize that maybe it isn’t such a bad idea. Like he said, it’s only a few months. Maybe it really could work. 

And in that moment, on top of admiration and love and endearment, you feel hopeful– hopeful for the first time in a long time. Because even though things between you and Niall are far from perfect, you love him and he loves you. And that’s worth fighting for.  

[usoinked]

Hii! I love your last jey fic with him being possessive! Could you pls do one where he & the reader get into a fight over her being insecure with his story line with Rhea so he keeps her in their hotel for a whole weekend to show her who he truly wants. Maybe some toxic comments like "you think she gets this dick ma? Nah only you"

Love your writing!! Hope this makes sense haha <3

Omggg thank you so much and ofc!! Y’all know I love writing about Jey 🫶🏽🌚

CW: Toxicity, Arguing, Begging, Praising 18+ MDNI, SMUT, cursing, use of n word, unprotected p in v, creampie

Word Count: 5.4k+

You and Jey Uso were in a 2 year relationship, going on 3 years and for the most part everything was fine….was. There were always the usual bumps—scheduling conflicts, long road trips, and the occasional argument—but you had always managed to work through them. The love between you both was solid, built on mutual respect and understanding. That was, until the recent storyline with Rhea Ripley started to change everything.

At first, you could brush it off. You knew that wrestling was just that—wrestling. A scripted, fictionalized world where interactions were meant to stir emotions and get fans invested in the show. You were okay with that. You understood the boundaries and had even joked about how you’d have to share Jey with his fans and his colleagues. But something felt different this time. Rhea wasn’t just a colleague—there was something in the way she interacted with Jey that rubbed you the wrong way. It wasn’t just friendly banter; it was flirtation, and you couldn’t ignore it.

It started small—a teasing smile, a lighthearted comment during interviews, or the occasional touch on his arm after a segment. You told yourself it was just for the cameras. But the more you watched, the more it became clear that there was more to it than that. Every time Jey was near Rhea, he would act differently—more animated, more playful, more engaged. The two of them seemed to have a connection that went beyond the usual working relationship, and it left you feeling…uneasy.

Weeks passed, and the playful flirtation continued. Rhea would smile at him in a way that made you feel like you weren’t even in the room. The way her eyes lingered on him, the way her hand would rest on his shoulder a little too long, the way she laughed at his jokes—it wasn’t normal. It felt personal, and you started to feel like you were on the outside looking in. The jealousy was subtle at first, but as time went on, it began to eat at you more and more. You couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more between them, something you weren’t being told.

You were currently at the apartment you both shared when you saw a segment on your screen involving Jey and Rhea Ripley…again….she was cool at first until Jey and her started flirting back and forth. You knew that this was his job, but that still didn’t make you any less jealous…insecure even. The way she smiled at him when he made the motion to call him, the way she looked him up and down while smiling at him because of his appearance alone, and especially them being that close….it was enough to make you want to turn your tv off. You wanted to watch your man wrestle and look good but not while he was flirting with another female. Fuck no. Not only was it pissing you off, but Jey wasn’t answering his phone after the show ended. Granted you did give him a 30 minute grace period in case he had any dark matches or needed to pack up anything extra…but then it became 45….then an hour…then two hours. You might’ve been born at night but not last night.

Jey had always made an effort to check in after the show, even if it was late. He’d send you a text, make sure you were okay, let you know that he was thinking of you. But recently, that was happening less and less. He’d be busy after the shows—either with the crew or on his phone—and by the time you tried to reach him, his phone was either off or set to “Do Not Disturb.” You tried not to overthink it, but the frustration was building. And the anger was showing.

You sent him a long grueling text message full of swearing making sure he knew how pissed off you were. As much as you were pissed, you were also hurt. Ever since he’d started that storyline with Rhea, it began to seem like the same game over and over again. They would both flirt with each other on camera and then Jey’s plans of calling you after the show seemed to never have existed to begin with. Your face got hotter and hotter every time you thought about it and soon enough, came the tears. Your eyes began to water and slightly sting as the tears fell down your face. You made your way to the bathroom, the cool tiles under your feet offering little comfort as you moved. You grabbed your blue washcloth and ran warm water over it, squeezing out the excess before pressing it gently to your face. The warmth helped to soothe the sting in your eyes, but it didn’t take away the emotions swirling inside of you. You needed to feel something else, anything else. “Stupid ass nigga bruh” you sighed out after taking the rag off your face gently and putting your pink shower cap on, stuffing your braids underneath it.

Turning the water on for the shower, you let the steam fill the room. The sound of the water hitting the tiles was oddly calming, a gentle rhythm that drowned out everything else. You undressed slowly, as if peeling away the layers of frustration and hurt with each item of clothing that hit the floor. Stepping into the shower, the hot water cascaded down over your body, washing away the lingering tension in your muscles but not the ache in your heart.

As you stood there under the spray, you let the water pour over your face, the heat sinking into your skin. It felt like the shower was a way to cleanse not just your body but your mind. The emotions of the night—the jealousy, the anger, the hurt—flooded out of you, but they didn’t leave. They just sat there, heavy, under the surface, simmering quietly. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts of Jey and Rhea out of your head, even for just a moment.

The sound of the water became a small comfort, but it couldn’t block the pain that lingered behind it. Your mind kept drifting back to him, to the moments when you’d felt ignored, pushed aside. Why didn’t he understand? Why didn’t he see how this was affecting you? You didn’t want to keep playing this game, but it felt like he wasn’t even trying to meet you halfway.

You finished your shower with a deep sigh, letting the water wash the worst of your frustration away. But the truth still stung—no matter how many times you scrubbed away the tears or the pain, it was still there. And that feeling, the one that came when you felt like you were losing something you cared about, lingered as you stepped out and wrapped yourself in a towel. It wasn’t just about Rhea or the flirtations—it was about the space that had been growing between you and Jey for what seemed like weeks now.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. And it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

The next morning hit you like a brick. You woke up to an empty bed and as you ran your hands onto the smooth cotton sheets, they found an empty space next to you. Sometimes you’d wake up and Jey would be there because he’d arrive early and surprise you but not this time. In times like this, you gave yourself therapy which was doing an entire skin care routine. You needed your mind off Jey especially since your phone notifications were just as empty as the space next to you.

As you got out of bed, the soft stretch of your limbs was accompanied by the satisfying sound of your muscles cracking, easing the tension from the long night. You rubbed your eyes, still groggy, and slowly made your way to the bathroom. With a quiet click, you flipped the light switch on, filling the room with a warm, comforting glow. You grabbed your blue washcloth, running warm water over it before wringing out the excess and gently pressing it to your face. The warmth felt soothing against your skin, helping to wake you up as you sighed deeply, mentally preparing for the day ahead.

You started your morning skincare routine, reaching for your cleanser first. The gentle formula lathered as you massaged it into your skin, focusing on any areas where you felt the remnants of makeup or the wear of sleep still lingering. After rinsing it off, you followed up with a toner, its refreshing scent and cooling effect instantly tightening your pores and balancing your skin’s pH. You swiped it across your face with a cotton pad, feeling the freshness settle in.

Next, you reached for your serum. A few drops went onto your fingertips, and you pressed it into your skin, allowing it to absorb deeply. The light texture and the nourishing ingredients felt like a treat, giving your skin that healthy, radiant glow you always craved. You followed up with a delicate application of eye cream, tapping it gently around the sensitive skin beneath your eyes, trying to reduce the slight puffiness and dark circles from the late-night argument.

After a few moments, you smoothed on your moisturizer, letting the rich cream hydrate your skin and lock in the previous layers. It felt thick enough to give your face a protective barrier but light enough to absorb quickly, leaving your skin plump and soft. Then you finished with a few drops of face oil, massaging it into your skin to lock in moisture and give you that dewy, healthy glow that lasted throughout the day. Finally, you topped it off with broad-spectrum SPF 30 sunscreen, making sure to cover every inch of exposed skin, knowing how important it was to protect yourself from the sun’s harsh rays.

Before you finished up, you reached for your toothbrush. You carefully brushed your teeth, the minty freshness of the paste helping to awaken you even more as you scrubbed away the remnants of sleep. After rinsing, you took a moment to check your reflection, satisfied with the glowing, refreshed version of yourself staring back at you.

Around 2:30 in the afternoon, you were sitting at the kitchen table, finishing up a fresh Caesar salad you had thrown together. The quiet hum of the apartment was interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open, followed by Jey’s heavy footsteps. You didn’t need to look up to know it was him; his presence was felt before he even reached the doorway. His bag was slung over his shoulder, and his furrowed brows and tense posture told you everything you needed to know—he was upset.

“What the hell is yo problem Y/N? You texting my phone and shit buggin’ out!

“Whatchu mean buggin’ out? You literally on camera flirting with another woman!”

“That’s my job! You knew that when we got together!”

“I ain’t know another bitch was gonna be all over you and then your ass wasn’t gonna be answering the phone! Joshua yo notifications were silent, you didn’t call me, and yo shit was on do not disturb bruh! Y’all have been flirting on the show for weeks! What? You had her in your hotel room too huh?!”

“It my fuckin’ job Y/N! Me and Rhea are friends outside of the ring and in the ring, but this is just a storyline! The most we’ve done is hug on camera! As far as me not answering my phone, my ass was tired! Tired as fuck and you on my ass for that cuz you think somethin’ going on! Hotel?! You think she was at my hotel f’real?! Ight, I tell you what. Come wit me on the road and see who I got in the hotel room.” He said stepping towards you. “Cause you ain’t gon find shit!”

“I don’t know she might be! Y’all might as well be fucking each other with the way y’all look at each other! Everybody on the net see that shit! You got a whole girlfriend at home Joshua!” You said taking a step towards him where the tension between you both grew even worse.

“That’s yo problem! Yo ass stay on the net Y/N, that don’t got nothin’ to do with me! With us!”

“You want me to come with you on the road? Bet!” You said before dissolving the tension completely due to storming to your shared bedroom and grabbing a few clothes from your closet starting to sort them on your bed. “You not finna have me looking fucking crazy nigga” you mumbled before grabbing your pink suitcase and beginning to throw your clothes inside of it. You were fuming, the argument didn’t make it any better and Jey not even attempting to understand where you were coming from made you even more pissed than you already were.

The drive to Smackdown was a long and quiet one. The silence between you and Jey stretched on, thick and heavy, like an unspoken wall you both couldn’t seem to break. Seven hours on the road with the person who had left you feeling so alone, was torture in its own right. The miles seemed to stretch endlessly, each passing minute feeling like a reminder of everything that had gone unsaid between you two. The hum of the tires on the highway was the only sound, broken only by the occasional change of gears and the low growl of Jey’s engine. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white, and his jaw remained clenched, as if holding in a thousand words that neither of you had the energy to speak.

Every time you looked over at him, there was that flash of gold from his fang teeth when he briefly parted his lips. His dark eyes remained locked on the road ahead, never meeting yours, and you wondered if he even realized how much it hurt that he hadn’t tried to reach out in any meaningful way. There was something about the way he held himself—so guarded, so distant—that only made the frustration and anger you’d been feeling more tangible.

The hours passed with nothing but the occasional hum of the radio and the drone of the road. The tension between you two seemed to increase with every mile, a pressure that built up with every unsaid word. Even though you were sitting next to each other, it felt as though you were on entirely different planets. You tried to push the swirling thoughts in your head away, but they kept coming back—thoughts of Rhea, of Jey’s evasiveness, of your own growing doubts. You couldn’t ignore it any longer.

When the GPS signaled that you were nearing your destination, Jey took the exit for the Marriott. The hotel looked standard—modern, with sleek lines and a minimalist design that spoke of business rather than comfort. The large glass windows caught the last few rays of sunlight, making the building look polished and professional. As Jey parked the car and cut the engine, you both got out in silence. The stillness in the air was deafening as you walked towards the entrance. Neither of you made eye contact, and the shared understanding that this trip—like everything else between you two at the moment—was shrouded in unresolved tension, hung in the air like a thick fog. As Jey got his bangs and your suitcase out of the car and handed the key off to valet, you took some time to examine the lobby. Securing your Pink Christian Dior bag on your shoulder, you made your way inside.

The lobby was bright and clean, with polished floors and neutral-colored decor that didn’t seem to offer much warmth. The hum of the air conditioning and soft murmur of other guests checking in was the only sound in the space. The reception desk was manned by a young woman with a friendly smile, her eyes lighting up when she saw Jey. Despite the tension you felt, a knot twisted in your stomach at the way she greeted him, too eager, too familiar. You couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it than just politeness.

Jey didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. His demeanor was casual as he approached the counter, flashing the woman a quick smile before grabbing the room key. You stood off to the side, feeling the bitterness rising again. You knew it was irrational—he was friendly with people, that was just part of his job. But something about the way the woman looked at him felt too personal, too much like an insider joke, something you weren’t part of.

You followed him through the lobby, your steps slow as you tried to ignore the discomfort building inside you. The elevator ride was equally silent, the small space between you and Jey seemingly amplifying the emotional distance. He didn’t look at you once as he pressed the button for the floor, the ding of the elevator breaking the quiet as it moved upward.

When the doors opened, you both stepped out into the hallway, and Jey led the way to your room. The keycard swiped easily into the door, and it clicked open. You entered the room, and the soft, neutral tones of the decor did little to soothe your frazzled nerves. The king-sized bed was made neatly, the sheets crisply white, and the space felt sterile. There was a desk by the window and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The curtains were drawn, casting a soft shadow over the room, but even the quiet comfort of the space couldn’t ease the tension that followed you inside.

Jey set his bag down on the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, but there was still no attempt to break the silence. You stood by the door, your body tense, wondering if you should say something or just let the silence settle. But the words didn’t come. There was too much to say, too much that had been left unsaid for far too long.

Instead, you took a deep breath and walked over to the bathroom, needing a moment to collect yourself. The hotel room, with its impersonal design and sterile comfort, seemed to reflect the state of your relationship with Jey—something that was once warm, but now felt cold. The mirror in the bathroom caught your reflection, and you sighed. You didn’t even recognize the woman staring back at you. She looked tired—worn out from the constant emotional back-and-forth.

You ran your hands through your braids, staring at your reflection. What am I doing? You thought as you sat your bag down, but the answer was unclear. On one hand you thought that maybe you were reading into things too much because Jey had never actually cheated on you throughout your relationship or given you a reason to believe he was going anywhere. But on the other hand, the amount of insecurity and jealousy you had seemed to be taking over you all because you thought your man was entertaining other women…especially Rhea.

The sound of Jey moving around in the other room broke the silence again, but it didn’t bring any comfort. To find some form of therapy, you grabbed your bonnet out of your bag and put it on, stuffing all of your braids underneath the silk fabric before turning the shower on, hoping the sound of the water would give you a moment of peace, a moment to think. But you knew it wouldn’t. You wanted things to feel right again, but it was starting to feel like you were living in a version of reality that didn’t belong to you anymore.

As you undressed and stepped into the shower, the water rushed over you, but it couldn’t wash away the unease. The more the hot water streamed over you, the more you felt the weight of everything—of the confusion, the jealousy, the hurt. Even the soap and small bubbles couldn’t cleanse your mind. And when you stepped out and dried off, you knew it wasn’t just the hotel room that felt empty. It was the space between you and Jey.

After stepping out of the bathroom, you grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around yourself, the soft cotton providing little comfort against the swirl of emotions that still clung to you. You dropped the clothes you’d been wearing earlier into the laundry bag you found tucked in the corner of the closet, the fabric brushing against your legs as your mind raced. When you turned around, your gaze immediately landed on Jey. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands tightly intertwined in front of him. His posture was tense, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared at you with those dark eyes that seemed to carry all the weight of unspoken words.

It was clear he was upset, but instead of speaking, he just watched you—his jaw set, his gaze unwavering. The tension in the room thickened with every passing second, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were being scrutinized under a microscope. His silence spoke louder than any argument, and it was almost like he was daring you to say something. It was as if he wanted you to stay quiet and let him carry the weight of whatever this was, to allow him to make the rules for the weekend—rules that seemed to say you were his and this trip was a way to show you that.

“Is there somethin’ you wanna say?”

“Do you see anybody in here?”

“This still don’t prove anything, why would she be here when I’m here. And again you and her are all over the net.”

“See what I’m sayin’, yo ass trippin for no reason. Ain’t nobody coming up in here. You always listening to what people on the net saying and letting them get inside yo head and shit.” He said before kissing his teeth and taking the remote turning on Peacock and putting on a random Raw taping to play in the background.

You were too in your feelings to notice it and ended up looking at him with straight anger. “Nah Joshua, you look at her like you way too comfortable. It ain’t about listenin’ to no net shit, it’s bout what I see nigga. And what I see is my man flirting with another female like he really wanna be in between her legs f’real.”

Jey let out a soft chuckle, his golden grills on his fangs lining up perfectly with his bottom teeth, but that wasn’t a funny laugh. That was a ‘I’m getting sick of this shit’ laugh and you knew it all too well. “You think I wanna be in between her legs?” He said as he turned to you and started walking toward you no longer laughing but looking deadass serious. His voice dropped a bit having the same deepness from when he was in the bloodline.

“We finna be here all weekend Y/N and you still convinced I got another woman coming to my hotel room and that I wanna be in between her legs and shit. Let me show you who legs I’m really tryna be in between since you think you know everything” he said backing you into the wall pinning both his hands on each side of you trapping you right in front of him. He then leaned forward before planting a rough but passionate kiss on your lips.

At first you gave a bit of hesitation but with the feelings and thoughts from earlier slowly starting to dissipate with his tongue sliding over your bottom lip, you gave in as you opened your mouth allowing him inside of your cavern. Your tongue collided with his as your arms wrapped around his neck deepening the exchange between you two.

With one swift motion Jey’s hands left the wall and made their way to your towel instead snatching it off your body as well as your bonnet letting your most of your braids fall down your back as some fell to the sides of your face. As you began to run out of air, you slowly pulled away before taking Jey’s shirt off revealing the beautiful work of art underneath. His tribal tattoos were never failed to catch your attention, especially with how they contorted when he was mad due to his muscles tensing. Dammit Jey. You were too busy admiring him that you didn’t even notice him picking you up before your attention suddenly snapped back to him as your back hit the soft fabric of the king sized bed.

Jey kicked off his low panda dunks before crawling on top of you, you both getting into another passionate make out session before this time it was him who pulled away as he made his way to your neck. His kisses and his teeth grazing your skin made your body shudder as you leaned your head back to give him more room, while soft moans slipped from your lips. Jey’s hands glided down your waist and to your legs pushing them open as he slowly kissed down your chest, then to your stomach, and stopping just above your entrance. Now he could’ve dived right into it but he wanted to make you…wait. He placed tender kisses between your thighs making sure to go agonizingly slow before dragging his tongue between your folds and up to your clit. His hands gripped onto your legs, as he slowly dragged his tongue over your folds again.

What started out as anticipation and soft moans of pleasure quickly turned into full on moans, inappropriate sounds, and squirming. His tongue started to twist and slide through your folds and over your clit as you could do nothing but squirm as your legs began to shake. You bucked your hips as your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you. “Ughhh!” You couldn’t help yourself, you knew you two were in a hotel and the walls were paper thin but that didn’t stop you from letting out those sounds Jey loved so much.

“Hell nah ma, none of that runnin’ shit” he murmured pulling away just slightly before pushing your hips down and going back to putting his tongue to work. God. He moved that tongue so well. There was no way you could stay mad at him when he was making you feel this good. You couldn’t buck your hips so you were forced to literally endure the feeling of the knot in your stomach tightening along with your legs shaking. The slurping and lapping sounds of Jey eating you out didn’t help the situation as your nails found their way into his scalp. “J-Jey!” You moaned out his name as a slew of curse words left your lips due to your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave, your body jolting as it did so. Gasps of air left your lips as Jey still didn’t let up knowing you loved to be overstimulated.

“S-Shit! I c-can’t, I can’t!” You said feeling another knot build up, still not fully recovered from your previous orgasm. “One more time” was all he mumbled against your folds as you suddenly felt two of his fingers enter your walls beginning to pump in and out of you. The pleasure was becoming more overwhelming by the second, with one curl of those two fingers against your g-spot you completely broke, spilling all over his fingers and his mouth. His moans beneath and the fact he was cleaning up the aftermath caused your legs to almost completely go numb, they were shaking already still reeling from the massive orgasm you just had. But it was nowhere near over yet.

Jey slowly pulled away not minding that some of your juices dripped down his beard. With one quick wipe with his hands, it was gone. With one swift finger motion, he beckoned you over as you obeyed and swung your legs to the side positioning yourself on your knees before connecting your lips with his. The taste of yourself on his tongue was driving you crazy because it was you and no one else. He returned the kiss and you being the sneaky girl you were decided to get a feel of that Samoan dick you missed so much. It was so hard, large, and you could tell he was eager based on the precum leaking from the head of it. A low growl slipped from his lips before Jey pulled away from the kiss and gently put you in doggy style position where you were facing the TV before getting behind you grabbing your hips. “You wanna feel this dick don’t you?” he asked before starting to rub his dick against your throbbing pussy, it was drenched due to the orgasms you had from earlier and that was all the lube he needed. He pushed inside of you with a quick thrust of his hips as he immediately let out a low moan with a mixture of a grunt. “God damn, baby you tight as fuck f’real” he said easing his way deeper into you which evoked a moan from you. “Yeah take all this in, all f’ me” he praised.

Your walls clenched around Jey as his soft and gentle movements turned into much more rough and faster ones. Jey was paying full attention to you right now and that’s how you liked it. He was too busy giving you back shots to think about anyone or anything else. This was how it was suppose to be. He was showing you who he truly wanted, and your body was reciprocating it. Your pussy was the one thing Jey would always get drunk off of, you’d end up in different positions afterwards and today was no different. The faster and rougher his thrusts got, the more your walls gripped him with desperation.

Your eyes were rolling in the back of your head as one minute you were letting out loud gasps and the next your nails were digging into the bed as Jey was pounding you from behind before forcing you to look at the tv screen in front of you. On the screen was Rhea and Damian currently attempting to take on the judgement day with just the two of them. But the numbers game was too much, you heard the YEET chants from the crowd but with Jey’s dick inside of you, it was nothing but background noise. You remembered this RAW, a lot of people expected him to be there due to the storyline. In reality he wasn’t there because they were prolonging it. But even though this was an old taping, your mind went to him not being there due to the events currently unfolding in your shared hotel room and the fact that he chose you over Rhea. Something about Rhea being dominated by the judgement day and your man being behind you made your pussy throb and your walls completely clench around Jey. “Look at that” he said while taking a hand full of your box braids into his hands. “You think she gets this dick ma, nah only you do” he said as his movement in his hips sped up and he made it a point to purposely brush over that spot of yours which caused your body to shake all over. “Uh huh, found that shit didn’t I? Doin’ all that yellin’ for no reason just to end up like this under me” he muttered before suddenly nailing that spot straight away being completely satisfied by the loud moan that left your lips. “J-Jey! P-Please…” you begged as the sound of flesh slapping against each other filled the room along with your moans and his grunts. Your braids slowly fell back down over your face as Jey’s hand let go of your hair but slowly wrapped his hand around your neck instead lifting your head back making you look up at him instead. “Please what? Look at me when you talk to me ma” he said as he hit that spot over and over again. “Ughhh! F-Fuck!” You moaned up doing your best to attempt to look at Jey but the pleasure was too much. “Whatchu say ma? You ain’t telling me nothin’” he said as his strokes drove you wild. The knot in your stomach was becoming tighter and your pussy was becoming wetter and wetter. “P-Please c-cum inside me!” You screamed out, your voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes from the pleasure. “You want me to nut in this pussy huh?” He said as his thrusts started to become sloppy indicating he was close. “Y-Yes Daddy!” You screamed as you came undone all over his cock unable to hold yourself back. Seeing you come undone was enough to send Jey over the edge as he let out a number of curse words, slamming into you one final time letting his seed cover your walls. “God damn, mmm” he said before letting out a sigh of pleasure.

Your body was slowly coming down from its third orgasm of the day before you looked at Jey panting. “We ain’t done right?” You asked not being able to help yourself.

“Done? Hell nah. We got all weekend.”

♡

Note: I really hope you liked it! 💕 also if there’s any spelling errors I’m so sorry😭

Divider credits: @enchanthings & @anitalenia

Taglist: @punksyeet @binnieaddict @sheaabuttaababyy (if I did not tag you, it would not let me and you will have to comment!)

[jakesaverse]

EXHIBIT A: HEARTBREAK | JAKE SIM (01) ON HOLD

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synopsis: a high-profile case pulls you back to Korea, forcing you to confront the past you’ve spent two years avoiding—including the man who once shut you out. With old wounds reopening and a career-defining opportunity on the line, you must decide whether to keep hiding in the background or finally take center stage.

pairings: jake x reader; jay x reader (??) ; a couple of strangers

genre: friends to lovers ; exes to possible lovers; angsttttt; fluff ; slow burn (sorry); swearing; lots of falling outs

warnings/notes: Hi there! Thanks for giving this story a chance! This is sort of an introduction before the chaos hits. There’s not much to warn about this chapter except mentions of friendship dynamics and favoritism 😑.

DISCLAIMER: I obviously have no idea how everything works in a legal setting so please don’t say I’m writing it completely wrong (I know). This just pure fiction 😅

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The shrill ring of your phone cut through the haze of sleep. Groggily, you fumbled around your nightstand before finally grabbing it and bringing it to your ear.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Jay’s amused voice greeted you.

You groaned, rolling onto your side as you squinted at the clock. Your heart dropped.

“Jay” you hissed, already throwing off your blanket. “Why are you calling me?!”

“Because I knew you’d sleep through your alarm,” he replied smoothly. “Mock trial’s in less than an hour, Y/N. You’re welcome.”

Your brain barely had time to process the words before pure panic set in.

“Oh my god—Jay, why didn’t you call me earlier?!”

Jay’s laugh was lighthearted but entirely unhelpful. “Because this is funnier.”

You hung up on him.

Still tangled in your sheets, you scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet as you bolted toward the bathroom. Toothbrush in one hand, blazer in the other, you moved as quickly as humanly possible, mentally cursing yourself for staying up so late preparing for today.

At least—at least—you had laid out your clothes last night. One less thing to worry about.

Not even five minutes later, you were already sprinting out of your apartment, only to skid to a stop at the sight of Jay’s car idling by the curb. He leaned against the driver’s side, arms crossed over his chest, grinning as if this was the most entertaining thing he had ever seen.

“Did you drive here?” you asked, still slightly breathless.

“Figured you’d need a ride,” he said, opening the passenger door. “Hurry up. We’re gonna be late.”

Muttering a string of curses under your breath, you slid into the seat, tossing your bag at your feet as you fasten your seatbelt.

Jay barely gave you a second before glancing over, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “Might want to fix yourself before Jungwon sees you.”

You shot him a glare through the mirror as you attempted to tame your hair. “I hate you.”

Jay laughed as he pulled onto the main road. “No, you don’t.”

—————————————————————————————

The car ride was quiet at first, both of you too focused on the day ahead. You flipped through the case file, double-checking every detail, making sure there weren’t any loose ends.

Then, something caught your eye.

“Wait—Jay, this doesn’t line up,” you said, tapping a page.

Jay glanced over, his brows furrowing. “What doesn’t?”

You pointed. “The witness testimony. The defense claimed their client was at work during the time of the incident, but the timestamp on their own document says otherwise. This completely undercuts their alibi.”

Jay blinked.

Then he grinned. “Nice catch, Y/N. You just made my job ten times easier.”

You shrugged, but inside, you felt the tiniest bit of pride.

Jay continued driving, but you noticed the way his fingers tapped against the wheel—a nervous tic you had never really seen from him before.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing at him.

Jay exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “Yeah. Just—” He hesitated, which was also unusual. “I don’t know. I guess I feel weirdly… off today.”

That made you pause. Jay was always confident. Always sure of himself. Seeing him like this was…new.

“Jay, you’re gonna do great,” you said, nudging him slightly. “You always do.”

He gave you a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

But something in his voice told you that, for once, he needed reassurance.

—————————————————————————————

The air in the conference room was thick with anticipation. Even though this was just a mock trial, the weight of it felt real. The associates who had gathered to observe were seated in rows behind you, whispering among themselves as Jungwon settled into his seat at the head of the room.

Jungwon adjusted his suit jacket and cleared his throat, his expression cool and unreadable. “Court is now in session,” he announced, his voice carrying easily over the low murmur of the room. “This is a mock trial, but I expect the same level of professionalism and diligence as if we were in a real courtroom. Counsel, are you ready to proceed?”

Jay rose to his feet, buttoning his jacket in one smooth motion. He was composed, radiating confidence like he had done this a thousand times before which, technically, he had.

“Ready, Your Honor,” he said, sending Jungwon a playful smirk.

Jungwon merely raised a brow. “We’ll see about that.” Then, he turned his attention to the opposing counsel, Takahiro, who straightened his tie before nodding stiffly.

Jay glanced at you, and you gave him a subtle nod in return. You had already gone over the case files with him, making sure he was fully prepared. But still, you couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of nerves as you held the documents in your hands.

This wasn’t your moment to speak, but it was your job to make sure everything went perfectly.

Jungwon gestured for Jay to begin.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury—” Jay started, his voice smooth and commanding as he began his opening statement. He moved fluidly, walking a few steps before turning back toward the table, his eyes flicking toward the associates in the room who were playing the role of the jury.

The case was centered around a high-profile contract dispute, something that, in reality, could make or break a firm’s reputation. Jay laid out the facts with precision, his argument strong and calculated.

But Takahiro was just as sharp.

The moment Jay finished his introduction, Takahiro pushed to his feet with an easy smirk.

“Objection, Your Honor,” he drawled, casting a look toward Jungwon. “Counsel is making sweeping statements without citing any direct evidence.”

Jay barely blinked. “Your Honor, I’m merely setting the stage. The evidence will speak for itself when the time comes.”

Jungwon leaned forward slightly. “Sustained. Stick to the facts, Mr. Park.”

You watched Jay’s jaw tighten briefly before he gave Jungwon a curt nod. “Of course, Your Honor.”

Takahiro shot you a glance as he sat back down, his smirk never fading. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He was enjoying this way too much.

The mock trial continued, the back-and-forth between Jay and Takahiro growing more intense. Jay was handling it well, countering every argument with his usual wit and confidence. But as you flipped through the case files once more, your eyes caught on something from earlier.

A discrepancy.

A mistake in the opposing counsel’s documents.

Your breath hitched. It was small, but significant, something that could unravel their entire argument.

Heart pounding, you leaned closer to Jay and slid the document from earlier towards him, discreetly tapping the section in question.

Jay’s eyes flicked to the page, scanning it quickly. Then, a slow, almost imperceptible grin spread across his lips.

He turned back toward the front of the room. “Your Honor, if I may redirect your attention to Exhibit C,” Jay said smoothly, lifting the document. “There appears to be an inconsistency in the opposing counsel’s timeline.”

Takahiro’s smirk faltered.

You could practically hear the breath he sucked in through his teeth as Jay continued.

“If we follow their claim, their client would have needed to be in two places at once.” Jay paused, letting the weight of the statement settle in the room. “Now, unless they have evidence proving their client is capable of bending time and space, I’d say this argument falls apart.”

A few chuckles echoed from the observing associates. Even Jungwon let out a small, amused exhale before composing himself.

Takahiro scrambled to counter, but the damage was already done. You could see it in his clenched jaw, the slight twitch of his fingers as he shuffled through his own notes.

Jay turned to you, tapping the document once in silent appreciation. You gave him the smallest nod back, a flicker of satisfaction swelling in your chest.

Jungwon straightened, glancing between both sides before speaking. “Given the circumstances, I believe we have our decision.” His gaze landed on Takahiro. “The defense has failed to provide a strong enough argument. The plaintiffs win this round.”

A rush of relief washed over you as the room filled with murmurs. Jay let out a breath and rolled his shoulders back, looking pleased.

But Takahiro?

He was already watching you.

And you knew—this wasn’t over.

—————————————————————————————

After the mock trial wrapped up, you expected Jungwon to call it a day, maybe give a quick rundown of what went well and what needed improvement before dismissing everyone. But instead, he remained standing at the front of the conference room, scanning the room with that composed, calculating expression that made you nervous for what was to come.

Jay shot you a knowing glance, sensing something was coming. You leaned slightly toward him, speaking under your breath. “He’s got that face on.”

Jay smirked but kept his voice low. “Yeah, this is definitely about to turn into something bigger.”

Jungwon’s voice finally cut through the murmur of the room. “Good job today, everyone. Some of you handled the pressure well. Some of you—” his eyes briefly flickered to the opposing counsel, who was still fuming from the trial’s outcome— “not so much. But that’s why we practice.”

Takahiro let out a small, disgruntled scoff, his frustration clearly simmering, but you chose to ignore him, focusing on Jungwon.

“Now, let’s talk about what’s next,” Jungwon continued, his tone becoming more serious. “We’ve got a real case—a high-stakes one—and it requires a very specific, carefully selected team. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been deciding who’s best suited for this, and after today’s mock trial, I’m confident in my choice.”

The room went silent. The tension was palpable. You felt your breath catch in your throat, already anticipating the news.

Jungwon’s gaze swept over the room before landing directly on you and Jay. “I’ll be leading a small team for this, and the two people who will be taking the lead under my supervision are Jay and Y/N.”

A long beat of silence followed. Then, the murmurs started.

Takahiro scoffed again, this time louder. “Of course,” he muttered, his voice thick with bitterness.

You ignored him, keeping your focus on Jungwon, who was still as calm as ever.

Jay, sitting next to you, exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair. “Well, guess we’re going to Korea.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach—not from nerves about the case, but from what Korea meant. From what Jake meant. Your chest tightened, but you held it in.

Jungwon wasn’t finished. His tone remained steady, but there was an underlying sharpness. “Before anyone asks—no, this wasn’t favoritism. The decision was based on skill, performance, and how you handled yourselves today. It’s clear to me who is the most capable, and I don’t make these choices lightly.”

Takahiro’s face twisted, but he didn’t dare speak up. He simply clenched his jaw and stared at the table.

“However,” Jungwon added, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “this isn’t set in stone. Things can change. Roles can shift depending on how well everyone performs from here on out. If anyone doesn’t meet expectations, if there are any issues, I won’t hesitate to pull you from the team or reassign your role in the case. This is a high-pressure situation, and I need the best from everyone involved.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Jungwon’s words settling over everyone. No one dared speak, but there was an undercurrent of discomfort.

Jay raised an eyebrow, clearly processing what Jungwon had said, but stayed silent.

You, on the other hand, felt a slight unease twist in your stomach. The uncertainty was there, if something went wrong, the roles could change at any moment. It wasn’t just about winning the case anymore. It was about proving yourself every step of the way.

Jungwon continued, his voice unwavering. “This will be a huge case—international, high-profile. We’ll be handling corporate giants, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. But, and this is important,” he emphasized, “this will be under Hastings’ orders. So, even though you two,” he gestured to you and Jay, “will be in the spotlight, don’t expect this to be a clear-cut win. Hastings will undermine everything he can, and we’ll have to fight harder than we’ve ever had to. Understand?”

Jay exhaled, his lips pressing together in frustration at the mention of Hastings, but he didn’t say anything.

Seojin, who had been quietly observing, couldn’t hold back her thoughts. “Of course,” she said in a mocking tone, her voice carrying across the room. “Jay and Y/N, always the favorites.”

Her words felt like an unwanted sting, and it wasn’t the first time she had said something like that. She leaned back in her chair, a smug look on her face, clearly enjoying the tension.

You shot her a glance but didn’t respond. Jay looked at you, a flicker of discomfort in his expression, but he kept his voice low. “They’re always going to think that. Don’t let it get to you.”

“Seems like you two always get the high-profile cases,” Minseok added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s new?”

Seojin chuckled softly, the sound almost too sweet to be sincere. Then, her voice dropped to a whisper, just loud enough for you and Jay to hear. “Guess it’s nice being the boss’s pets, huh?”

The quiet jab didn’t escape you, and the weight of it hung heavy in the air. Jay’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone neutral when he spoke next, his voice soft but clear enough for Seojin to hear. “People are always going to talk, Seojin. It’s how you handle it that matters.”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of frustration. “We’ve worked just as hard as anyone else here,” you murmured under your breath, “and none of this was handed to us.”

“I’m sure you think that,” Seojin replied, her voice almost too sweet, “but the higher you climb, the harder it is to stay on top.”

Her words were like a cold jab, and you could feel the eyes of the room lingering on you. It wasn’t the first time they’d questioned your worth, but this time it felt different.

Jungwon didn’t acknowledge the whispers. His eyes scanned the room one more time, a small shift in his posture signaling the end of the conversation. “Now, as I said, everyone here will play a part. You all have a role to play, even if you’re not on the ground with us. Everyone will be involved in strategy, intel, resources. The case is bigger than just the people in Korea. But, make no mistake this is a performance-based team. I expect nothing less than excellence from everyone.”

He paused, letting that hang in the air for a moment. “And remember, things can change. No one’s role is guaranteed. If you want to stay on this team, if you want to be a part of this case, you have to prove yourself every day.”

The room was quiet, everyone now fully aware of the stakes. You felt the weight of Jungwon’s words, a quiet determination settling inside you. There was no turning back now.

Jay leaned closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper, “We’ve got this. Just don’t let them get in your head.”

You nodded, but a part of you couldn’t shake the tension. “We’ll see. Let’s just get through it.”

Seojin’s faint chuckle echoed in the background, but you ignored it. This was bigger than anything she could say. You had a case to win.

—————————————————————————————

The moment you stepped into your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Jay followed close behind, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves, while Jungwon entered last, his expression as calm and composed as ever. But underneath that cool exterior, you could sense something—a subtle tension that had been lingering ever since the meeting wrapped up.

You and Jay exchanged a glance, both of you picking up on it. You weren’t blind. The whispers from the room had followed you all the way here. Takahiro’s barely concealed grumbles, Seojin’s sharp comments, and the undercurrent of discontent from everyone who hadn’t been selected for the Korea case—it was all still fresh in the air.

And then it happened.

Jay let out a small snort, the tension finally breaking, and you couldn’t help it. You burst into laughter.

The sound of your laughter echoed through the apartment, and Jay joined in, both of you completely unable to stop. For a moment, the weight of the day, of the whispers, the resentment, and everything else, seemed to vanish.

“Did you see his face?” you wheezed, clutching your stomach as you leaned into Jay, who was just as gone as you were. “He looked like—like someone just told him his entire career was a lie!”

Jay, barely able to catch his breath between laughs, gasped out, “I thought— I thought he was gonna combust right then and there!”

Jungwon, who had been standing silently in the kitchen unpacking takeout, shook his head as he set down the bags. His voice was dry, but there was a hint of amusement in it. “You two are children,” he muttered.

That only made you and Jay laugh harder, the sound filling the space between you.

Jay wiped his eyes, still grinning from ear to ear. “No, but seriously, you—” he pointed at you, his voice cracking with laughter— “I swear I’ve never seen someone ruin another person’s entire day with just a few words. The way you slid that document to me like some secret weapon? Flawless.”

You rolled your eyes, but the small sense of pride flickered in your chest. “It was nothing,” you said, waving him off. “Just doing my job.”

Jungwon scoffed, finally giving in and taking a seat across from you. “If that’s what ‘just doing your job’ looks like, then I need more people like you at this firm.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze steady. “But seriously, Takahiro won’t forget this.”

Jay clicked his tongue, his grin widening. “Good. Maybe next time he’ll check his own damn evidence before trying to play dirty.”

You let out a content sigh, the adrenaline from earlier still lingering but now settling into something lighter. Being here, laughing like this, felt like the right antidote to the stress of the day.

Jungwon eyed the two of you, arms crossed. “By the way, you do realize we can’t exactly be seen eating out together, right?” His tone was casual, but there was that underlying reminder: public appearances mattered. “You know, considering… well, everything.”

You nodded, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Hence why my lovely home is your dining hall for the night.”

Jay smirked, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping the table. “Wouldn’t want the firm to think Jungwon has favorites.”

Jungwon shot him a pointed look, and for a split second, you could swear there was a flicker of something soft in his eyes. “You are my favorites. That’s the problem.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence after that, and the weight of his words settled in, unspoken but clear. No one at the firm knew how long you three had known each other. No one knew about the group you used to be a part of—before you moved to Japan, before you became a paralegal at one of the most prestigious firms in the city. A group that, at one point, included Jake.

Your smile faltered for just a second, the memory creeping in before you could stop it. You quickly shook it off, determined not to let it ruin the moment.

Jay noticed the shift immediately, his expression softening. He didn’t ask, didn’t pry he just reached over and stole one of your fries.

You blinked at him. “Excuse you?”

Jay popped the fry into his mouth without a care. “I’m comforting you. You’re welcome.”

Jungwon sighed, shaking his head as he opened his own food. “Unbelievable.”

But you didn’t let the weight of your thoughts drag you down. Not now. Not here. Right now, it was just you, Jay, and Jungwon in this moment, and that was enough.

For now.

—————————————————————————————

The sound of clinking dishes echoed through the apartment as Jay scrubbed away at the stack of plates. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with a mixture of amusement and mild confusion.

“You didn’t have to do that, Jay,” you said with a chuckle. “I was going to clean them later.”

Jay shot you an exaggerated look. “Later? You’re just trying to pull that trick on me again. And here I am, stuck doing your dishes again.”

You smirked. “Maybe I’ll just leave them for you from now on. I’m sure you don’t mind. You’re always here anyway.”

Jay paused, hands stilling on the dishes as he looked at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, I’m starting to think I should just make a permanent spot here. Might as well bring my stuff, since I’m basically living here at this point.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Yeah, because it’s totally not weird to have your friend live here just because he eats all your food.”

Jay grinned back, completely unphased. “Hey, I cook too. It’s practically an arrangement. I bring the cooking skills, you bring the taste testing. A fair deal, if you ask me.”

Before you could respond, Jungwon entered the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at the two of you. “What’s this I’m hearing about Jay moving in?” he asked, crossing his arms with a smirk.

You looked at Jay, who shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I mean, I’m already here half the time. Might as well make it official.”

You shot Jungwon a teasing look. “Maybe you should think about moving in too. You know, join the official team here.”

Jungwon chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll pass, thanks. I have enough of my own responsibilities, you know? But you two really make it sound like an actual living arrangement.”

Jay waved his hand dramatically. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. It’s a pretty sweet deal. Plus, it’s always nice having company after a long day. You should join us more often.”

You snorted, laughing at how easily Jay slipped into his usual charm. “Yeah, you’re so busy with all your important cases, Jungwon. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be here, hanging out and eating takeout.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. “I’m just saying, you guys seem to have your routine. But if I did move in, I’d probably have to take over the cooking. Jay would just end up burning everything.”

Jay threw him a playful glare. “Not true! My stir-fry is legendary, thank you very much.”

You snickered. “The same stir-fry that almost set off the smoke alarm?”

“I’m proud of that,” Jay said with a grin, clearly unbothered. “It’s called adding flavor to the process.”

Jungwon leaned against the counter with a chuckle. “You two are ridiculous.”

You looked between them, feeling the familiar ease of this banter. “Well, if Jay ever does end up moving in, I’m going to need a second fridge just for all the food he’s stealing.”

Jay shrugged with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll just bring my own fridge then. But it’ll be half mine, right?”

You both laughed, the playful mood lightening the air. Even Jungwon’s smile lingered a little longer than usual.

But then Jungwon, with a more thoughtful look, glanced between the two of you. “But seriously… I can’t remember the last time we all hung out like this, without worrying about something else. Seems like you two have this whole… routine now. Guess I miss that. Just… a bigger group, not as much on our plates.”

Jay didn’t miss a beat. “Well, you’re always invited, Jungwon. You know that. We just don’t want to drag you away from all your important work.”

Jungwon sighed softly, leaning back slightly. “I know. But I don’t know… there’s something nice about just being able to kick back, no responsibilities. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, teasing. “You? Wanting to kick back? Since when?”

Jungwon’s smile was wistful as he shrugged. “I used to… a long time ago. Before everything got so complicated.”

Jay turned his attention back to drying the dishes, a little softer now. “I get it. We all do. But hey, you’re always welcome to join us anytime. We could use your sarcasm at the dinner table.”

You grinned, flicking Jay lightly on the shoulder. “And by using your sarcasm, he means he needs someone to compete with him in that department.”

Jungwon laughed lightly, his usual composure slipping just a bit. “Right, I’d be a perfect fit then.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between the three of you as Jay finished drying the last plate. You leaned against the counter, watching them both. This—these small, fleeting moments of ease—was the kind of thing you all needed more of. Even if it was just the two of them sneaking into your kitchen and arguing over who made the best stir-fry. It was enough.

—————————————————————————————

After a while, the conversation slowly died down, the kitchen quiet except for the faint sounds of utensils clinking and the soft hum of the refrigerator. You leaned against the counter, feeling that familiar sense of distance between you and the others, the kind you hadn’t noticed until now. It wasn’t just the space between you and Jay or Jungwon—it was the way things had changed. You hadn’t really spent time like this in a while, without distractions, without the weight of everything else hanging over you.

You hesitated, trying to push the feeling of loneliness away, but it was hard to ignore. “Hey… you guys wanna sleep over tonight?”

Jay raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto his face. “A sleepover? What, you’re tired of your own company?”

You chuckled, but there was a subtle nervousness behind the smile. “No, it’s just… I don’t know. I’ve been feeling kinda distant lately. Like, we’ve all been so busy and it’s been a while since we just hung out. So, I thought… why not?”

Jungwon’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and to your surprise, he didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I’d like that. I miss this. I miss you guys.” His voice was a little quieter than usual, the weight of his words hitting you in a way you weren’t expecting.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden openness from him. “Really? You’re up for it?”

Jungwon gave you a small but genuine smile. “Yeah. It’s been too long. I think we could all use some time to just… be.”

Jay nodded in agreement. “I’ll admit, I’ve missed these kinds of nights. Just hanging out, no work or anything else to worry about.”

You smiled, relieved by their response. It felt good to know that even if things had been complicated lately, they were still willing to share this space with you.

“Well, I’m glad you guys are up for it,” you said with a grin. “But fair warning—if you’re staying over, I do have extra pajamas you can wear.” You paused before continuing, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “They’re… well, they’re Jake’s. I never threw his stuff out.”

There was a brief moment of silence as both Jay and Jungwon exchanged a confused look. “Jake’s stuff?” Jay repeated, eyebrow raised. “Like, Jake Jake?”

You nodded, trying to keep your voice light despite the unexpected tension that filled the air for just a second. “Yeah, I mean, I couldn’t really bring myself to throw out his stuff after he left. Don’t judge, okay? I was feeling sentimental.”

Jungwon chuckled softly, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “I mean, we all have our things we hold onto, right? It’s no big deal.”

Jay, surprisingly, didn’t press further either, just letting out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I guess I can’t judge. I’m still wearing the same hoodie I’ve had since… forever.”

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders at their nonjudgmental responses. They didn’t push you for more, just moved on like it was nothing. The space between the three of you felt comfortable again.

“Well, anyway,” you said, trying to change the subject, “I’ll go grab the pajamas. You two figure out who’s sleeping where. I’m not fighting over the couch this time.”

Jungwon smiled, his usual calm demeanor back. “Deal. But if I end up on the floor, I’m blaming you.”

You chuckled, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in.

Maybe things weren’t how they used to be, but for now, with Jay and Jungwon there, it was like you had found your way back to something that resembled normal.

Or that was until your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your daydreaming. Glancing down at the notification, you saw the familiar name flash across the screen: Heeseung.

A sharp pang of discomfort hit you. The subject line read: Wedding Invitation – Heeseung & Hana. You felt your stomach churn, and for a moment, you thought about ignoring it. But curiosity and maybe a little bit of the old, unresolved pain made you click.

The message was brief, almost to the point of being impersonal.

Please feel free to bring a plus one. No hard feelings about the guest list, but I’ve had to limit the invitations.

You stared at the words, the meaning behind them settling into your bones like cold stone. You weren’t expecting to be invited, but somehow, it still stung. The lack of warmth, the formality, the clear divide between what once was and what now felt so distant—it all came rushing back.

————————————————————————————-

Thanks for reading till the end ☺️ feel free to lmk if you want to be added to the taglist :)

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[marasmadness]

soft dom regina mills x fem reader smut where reader has a praise kink & a mommy kink <333

Midnights With The Mayor || Regina Mills x Reader

CW: smut, strap ons, praise kink, mommy kink, blindfolds, biting, magic during sex bc why not 🤷‍♀️, dom/sub dynamics

WC: 2.5K

“Granny’s Diner, this is Ruby speaking.”

Regina heard the pop of her gum through the phone as she pinched her phone between her ear and shoulder so she could flip through the papers on her desk. As usual, she was the last one in the town hall. It was long after the sun had set and all the other office lights had gone out. “ Ruby, it’s Regina. I know it’s late, but would you mind swinging by with an order on your way home after your shift? I’m at my office and I’ll pay you extra.”

Ruby scrambled for her order pad in the pocket of her apron while simultaneously filling the coffee mugs of the diner’s last lingering customers. “Let me close up, and it’ll be there around 1 o’clock. Your usual order, I assume?”

“Yes, thank you Ruby.” They hung up, and Regina continued with her work. Regina had shown slightly more softness toward Ruby than the other residents of Storybrooke. She had been one of the first to forgive Regina along with Emma, was great with Henry, and even supported her return to the position of Storybrooke’s mayor.

She quickly returned to work, plowing through the seemingly never-ending pile of town proposals or updated budgeted plans. No matter how much she accomplished, her workload also replenished itself by the next morning. She made an effort to cram out a little extra on Friday nights so that she could spend most of her weekend with Henry without having to pick up extra phone calls or bring work with her to his activities. Half an hour later, Regina heard a knock on the double oak doors echo through the hall’s tiled corridors. “ Door’s open; come on up Ruby.” She had yet to look up when the door creaked open, but the tentative footsteps across the marble caught her attention.

She looked up to spot someone unfamiliar, who was not Ruby but wore the same uniform. You lingered tentatively in the doorway of the mayor’s office, holding up her takeout bag. “Two orders of apple cinnamon pancakes?”

She nodded, confirming you had the right place. It took her a moment to address you. You threw her off. She knew every face in Storybrooke, or at least she did, before you showed up. She had been distracted, less focused on Storybrooke’s border, and using less magic recently anyway in order to gain the town’s trust.

You began to fidget under her gaze when she approached you. Her heels clicked against the floor with long, fluid steps, and she reached her hand out toward you. For a brief moment you forgot you held your order in her hand and stared at her outstretched hand. Quickly realizing what she was reaching out for, you placed the brown paper bag in her hand, dropping your head to hide the slight blush that tinged your cheeks.

“Regina Mills, May-”

“Mayor of Storybrooke. Of course I know who you are, Miss Mills,” you finished with a soft smile.

She raised her eyebrow, glad to hear her reputation still reached as far as it did when she was the evil queen. “And you are?” She asked, prodding for a name, as she rested her hand on her hip against the smooth fabric of her pencil skirt.

You gave her your name, explaining that you went to school with Ruby, and she invited you to spend the summer with her here in Storybrooke rather than in Boston, where you lived.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Storybrooke.” She turned around, leaning over her desk to grab her wallet. Your guilty eyes roved over her body while she was turned and distracted. You had heard plenty about Regina Mills from Ruby during your road trip to her hometown, but she had failed to account for the fact that with a single brief interaction, she had your palms sweaty, which you attempted to hide behind your back. Regina wore a red silk blouse tucked in her skirt, with a few unhooked buttons near the top that revealed the slightest curve of her cleavage. It was obvious she had been running her hands through her dark, silky hair, which was slightly tousled.

You attempted to loosen your tense shoulders and offer a casual smile as she turned back around toward you. Your lips parted in surprise as she grabbed your wrist, placing a stack of cash in your palm. “Here, for the late-night visit. I appreciate it. Sorry for keeping you up.” Her voice was soft; there was no need for volume when she was as close to you as she was. A subtle smirk crossed her red-painted lips as she closed your fingers around the money.

“ Oh really, it was no extra trouble at all. I would’ve been up if I wasn’t working anyway. Terrible sleeper.” You rambled nervously, trying to make your visit seem like as little of a hassle as possible to the woman.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You swore she could’ve winked with the statement, but the light surrounding the two of you was too dim to tell.

You turned around, closing her office door slowly behind you. “Have a goodnight, Miss Mills.”

…

The next morning, Regina sauntered in bright and early to Granny’s Diner. Only a few regulars had beat her here, silently sipping on their coffee in a corner booth.

Ruby spotted her surveying the room with a purpose and smirked. “ Regina! Back so soon? What can I get you? Or who can I get for you?” She raised her eyebrows, twirling a red pen between her fingers.

Regina hollowed her cheeks into a petulant expression, annoyed that Ruby could read her that quickly. “Where is she Ruby?”

The girl clicked her tongue, pointing towards the curtain that led to a back section of the restaurant. “Back by the laundry. There was a coffee spill.”

The mayor strode through the quaint Storybrooke staple before Ruby had finished, slipping away from the smell of hot coffee and homemade syrup.

Rolling her tongue across the tip of her teeth, her introduction rolled off her tongue when she found you leaning against the washing machine, your shirt splayed out in front of you as you scrubbed at a coffee stain. She held her breath, letting her eyes soak in your bare skin before you noticed your presence.

“Mayor Mills, eager for our reunion to be so soon?” You commented without turning around to face her, hiding the small smile as you tucked your chin to your chest.

Regina withheld the instinct to flinch in surprise. “How did you know it was me?” She questioned, now more intrigued than shocked.

“You’re not the only one with powers around here.”

The color drained from the sorceress’s face, fearing the worst until innocent pink tendrils flowed from your fingertips, erasing the previously unrelenting stain from your shirt.

Regina crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re not just here for summer break.”

“ Nope.” Shrugging your shirt back over your shoulders, you buttoned it up and retired your apron over it. “ Ruby’s been trying to get me to come out here ever since we were freshman roommates and she sensed I had magic. I’ve never bothered to learn more than party tricks.”

“She wanted you to learn from me,” Regina finished, putting the pieces together.

Hopping up onto the drier, you crossed your legs and shot her an eager smile. “So, teach me?”

Regina wasn’t sure what suddenly made her so agreeable, but she found herself saying yes before she could hesitate. She had a possessive death grip over her powers and was never quick to reveal her secrets, but the feelings that were luring her to you made her willing to sacrifice the slightest bit of control in order to keep you around. “Meet me tonight at 9; come prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” You asked, scrambling after her as she pivoted around.

“ Anything.” You froze, watching her leave and knowing you weren’t going to get anything more from her right now. Her hips swayed slightly beneath her red blazer as she left with the same confidence she walked in with.

Despite not having an address, the mayor’s house was not hard to find. It took all of 15 minutes to travel from one end of Storybrooke to the other. Even with Ruby’s vague instructions, you ended up right in front of Regina’s house. It was the biggest one on the block, with pristine white siding, an eye-catching red door, and an impressive collection of apple trees beside it.

The door swung open before you could even knock, revealing Regina, still dressed for work, minus the blazer. She let you in, glancing up and down the street before she closed the door behind you. She invited you to sit on a bar stool in her kitchen. You had been out for a drink for Ruby and were still dressed for it. The older woman’s eyes darted to your lap as you attempted to pull the hem of your dress farther down your thighs as you sat down.

She leaned against the countertop across from you, pouring two glasses of wine. “So what have you worked with before?”

You shrugged, tapping your fingers against the bottom of the glass. “Mostly small objects I guess, never anything powerful. I’ve used it to grab things across the room, plenty of laundry.

Regina tilted her head. A smile crossed her face, amused at your innocence. “You’re a witch, and you use your powers for... laundry.”

You laughed airily. “I’m not a witch. I’m not out here cursing people.”

“ Ruby really taught you nothing. You don’t have to be evil or cursing people to be a witch. You practice magic; you’re a witch. You don’t see me out here cursing people, well, anymore.”

You raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, but she dismissed it with a dark stare. “So, what do you do with your powers?”

“Whatever I wish. Though I am trying to use them less due to a history of a…. magic high, if you will. Let’s start with teaching you how to work with humans. It feels different from objects and requires more strength. You have to sense their skin, touch, or blood if you’re working with dark magic.

You stood up slowly, raising a hand. “I am not working with-”

“Relax.” Regina waved her hand and your arm well back to your side.

You looked down to where your fingers rested against your hip without you placing them there. “ Woah.”

Regina walked around the counter, placing herself in front of you. “I usually get a more impressive response than “ Woah,” but we’ll work on it.”

Your eyes brightened with a hunger that Regina recognized in her younger self when she had first been opposed to magic more powerful than her own. “What else can you do?”

Regina’s eyes raked over your body in thought before she raised two fingers, curling them into her palm. Controlled purple light sparked from her fingertips, wrapping itself around your wrists. You gasped in surprise as she lifted them above your head without a single touch. Stumbling backwards, you looked up to find your hands pinned above your head and Regina hovering over you with a single glide.

Her voice husked in your ear, the sweet wine still scenting her breath. “Do you still need further demonstration that magic can feel good?”

Tilting your head brought your mouth closer to her lips, and you found her dark, unflinching stare. “Yes,” you whispered, daring her to go further.

With your word, she hooked her finger on your collar, practically dragging you around the corner. You found yourself in her bedroom, and she pushed you down on her mattress. You watched attentively as you kicked her heels off and strode over to her nightstand, digging through it for something.

She revealed a blindfold before wrapping the piece of silk around her palm. You looked up at her curiously as she kneeled into the mattress before your vision went dark.

From the movement of the mattress, you sensed her settling onto the bed a few feet away. You flinched when her raspy voice entered your ear, and you picked up immediately that she was using her powers to project her voice across the space between you.

Our powers come to the surface best when we’re desperate, so use yours, and I’ll fuck you. It’s that simple.” You could hear the grin in her voice as you sat frozen in a moment of shock.

Working based off what Regina had done with her voice, you attempted to extend your sense of touch past where your arm lay still beside you. You were hesitant to use your magic, fearful of losing control. A soft pink glow from your touch eventually reached out and wrapped around her waist, eliciting a soft smile of satisfaction from the older woman. “Good girl, keep going.”

Guiding your sensations lower, you found her belt buckle and loosened it until you heard it click where it felt beside her. While brushing over the fabric of her slacks, you faltered as your touch latched around her belt loop and, to your surprise, rested on a curved bulge straining beneath the fabric. Regina chuckled at your reaction. “Mommy’s taught you well.”

She must have finally been satisfied with your display of powers because you heard her shuffling around, stripping herself of her clothes. Your fingers itched to remove the blindfold so you could soak in the goddess-like state of the woman kneeling in front of you.

You felt her hands on the back of your head working to undo the knot, and then your vision came back to you. Regina loomed over you, her hands on each side of your head. After teasingly grazing her fingertips along the length of your body, she lined up her thick red strap, dragging the tip across your folds. “ Already soaked,” she hummed softly.

She brought her hand up over your mouth, and before you had time to react, she was pounding deep inside you, reveling in the vibrations she could feel underneath her fingertips from your moans and screams. The room filled with the sounds of slapping skins and heavy breaths.

Regina lowered her mouth to your chest, sinking her teeth into the soft flesh with restraint. You dropped your head back into the pillows, closing your eyes in an attempt to fight the dazedness that was starting to cloud your head. Sure to leave a scatter of marks, Regina’s lips latched onto your skin, only releasing it to circle your nipple with her tongue.

You let out a guttural gasp as the woman bent your legs over her shoulders, brushing her faux cock against your throbbing clit. “Come for me baby,” Regina whispered just as she drew you over the edge into a blinding orgasm. Your thighs tensed and quivered as you coated her cock with your cum. Her pace slowed down as your euphoria faded and sleepiness washed over you. Regina climbed up, satisfied, and grabbed a warm washcloth. Sitting on the bottom of the bed, she smiled, watching the starry-eyed look you wore as she cleaned you up. “So, lesson tomorrow?”

[oncasette]

song lyric prompts : “it’s hard to steer when you’re breathing in my ear but i got both hands on the wheel while you got both hands on my gears.” + jake seresin!! (*kicking my feet and squealing*)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗦 𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗗𝗘

jake seresin x fem!reader

summary: 1k

You can feel the rumble of his voice before he asks, “Whatcha up to, Sugar?”

“Giving you a taste of your own medicine,” you whisper and you revel in the shudder that washes over his body as you bring one of your hands down to rest on his belt buckle. 

or the one where jake works you up enough that you feel the need to retaliate.

warnings: not beta’d, smut, road head (m! recieving), blue balls i guess

masterlist | taglist

You’re two hours into your road trip–a vacation you’d hands planned for months, at this point–when you crack. And it was all Jake’s fault, too. You were going to shoulder exactly zero percent of the blame even if you were the first one to break. 

You’d been huffy since the two of you had left your apartment, arms crossed over your chest and your teeth grinding all the while your boyfriend was showing off all his pearly whites in the biggest, toothiest smile he’d sported since you’d agreed to go out with him for the first time. 

He’d taken your suitcase from you with little more than a delicate pinch at your hip, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth after he got all of your luggage situated in the trunk of the car and moved around to open the passenger door for you. You’d thanked him, of course, but it’d been short and quiet and much less appreciative than it usually sounded when he did those kinds of small acts of kindness for you. 

But it wasn’t your fault, okay, not when he’d been denying you the only thing you’d been asking for all damn morning. He’d started by waking you up from one of your very indulgent dreams about him–a side effect of having a boyfriend that went on missions that sometimes lasted longer than just a couple days–after coming home at 3:30 in the morning. Then, he’d had the gall to work you up with his fingers dipping into the waistband of your sleep shorts moments after you’d been dragged from your sleep, only to leave you high and dry when he opted to take a quick shower instead. Alone. Then, to top it all off, he’d worn the tiniest, itty-bittiest t-shirt known to man. 

Now, here you were, knees and thighs clenched so tight together in the front seat of his truck that you think they were completely stuck together with his right hand pressing into the meat of your leg. 

You can’t take it anymore. Shifting your eyes around your periphery, you make sure the road is deserted enough before you lean onto the center console with the bulk of your weight. He glances over at you for a split second, one eyebrow quirked in question, before he refocuses on the interstate ahead of him. You push up just enough so that your lips are touching the shell of his ear. 

You can feel the rumble of his voice before he asks, “Whatcha up to, Sugar?”

“Giving you a taste of your own medicine,” you whisper and you revel in the shudder that washes over his body as you bring one of your hands down to rest on his belt buckle. 

A very gutteral groan escapes him as you begin to undo it. He brings the hand previously resting on your thigh to white knuckle the wheel. He’s tense. Good. 

Your hand slips in, completely bypassing his briefs, once you’ve got the belt undone enough and the zipper down. You can feel him growing under your touch. Hot and pulsing as you drag your palm over his sensitive skin. 

“Baby?” he asks. Offering him a hum in response, you grip him fully. “Are you sure about this?”

You watch his eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror. 

“Yep.”

He swallows. 

You’re content to stroke his length as he hardens in your grip, beads of his pre-cum pearling at the tip and aiding in your journey up and down his twitching cock. He bucks his hips once and you’re quick to pull your hand out of his pants completely. You swear to god you hear the man whine. 

Despite his previous apprehension, he lifts his hips when you begin tugging his pants and boxer briefs down. Just enough for his dick to spring out, red and angry at the head as it rests against his stomach. You test the waters as you lean down to lick the slit. 

“Eyes on the road, Handsome,” you say when his head falls back against the headrest. His speed had begun to fluctuate significantly, and you’re glad you’d only seen three or so other cars in the last half hour. 

“Fuck,” he grumbles when you take his tip between your lips. One of your hands wraps around his base, gathering the bit of drool already dripping down the sides of him as you begin to shallowly pump what wasn’t in your mouth. God, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get over just how big he was. You hollow out your cheeks as you begin to take him deeper, deep enough that you feel him pressing into the back of your throat. Your tongue lazily grazes against the thick vein running along the underside of his cock. 

“Oh, shit,” he moans. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

The comment has you humming around him, an action that sharply shoots his hips up. Pulling off of him, you use your hand to collect the saliva that had pooled as you raggedly catch your breath. It’s only a few seconds, though, until you’re swirling your tongue around the head again. His hand comes down to rest at the back of your head. Not pushing, or guiding, just following your movements. 

You keep up with your ministrations, your other hand coming in to gently hold onto his thigh, until Jake says, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

It’s only then that you pull away completely, thumb coming up to swipe away the string of spit still connecting you to his dick and you watch with a newfound glint in your eye as his cock twitches helplessly against his stomach. 

“What- Fuck,” he heaves. 

“You started this,” you say, and it takes him a second in his haze, but you can see him recollect the puddle he’d left you in that morning. 

“You’re satan, you know that?” he asks as you tuck him back into his underwear. “Whatever you say, handsome.” You offer him a kiss at the corner of his mouth. 

“Satan,” he says again. “And you are so in for it when we get to the hotel.” “I would hope so,” you say. 

[amethystarachnid]

For your love event, how about ‘Romantic Road Trip’ for Pietro Maximoff (MCU) x fem!reader? There’re so many possibilities; stopping at little off-road diners and view points, taking turns driving, enjoying the scenery. And of course, some ‘alone time’ in little motels or in the car. 😘 Whatever comes to mind for you. Have a good one. 👋

ROAD TRIP

⤷ PIETRO MAXIMOFF

ᯓ★ Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): some spicy scenes , nothing too explicit

ᯓ★ I love Pietro so much, please request more of him lol <3

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The road stretches out before you, endless and open, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through rolling hills and golden fields. The sky above is a vast expanse of blue, streaked with wisps of white clouds, the kind that seem to drift lazily despite the world moving at its own steady pace. But beside you, in the driver’s seat, there is no laziness, no patience—just restless energy contained in the shape of Pietro Maximoff.

His fingers tap against the steering wheel, drumming a rhythm to the music humming softly from the radio. His foot bounces against the floorboard, betraying his natural instinct to move faster than the world allows. The speedometer remains at a legal pace, but you can tell it’s taking every ounce of restraint for him to keep it that way.

You glance at him, watching as he shifts in his seat, silver hair catching in the sunlight. He’s beautiful like this, in the daylight, in the quiet moments where there are no fights to be fought, no missions to complete—just him, just you, just the road. His lips curve into a smirk when he catches you staring.

“Something on my face, dragă?” he teases, his Sokovian accent wrapping around the affectionate word.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Just making sure you’re actually paying attention to the road and not daydreaming about running instead.”

He scoffs, feigning offense. “I am an excellent driver. You wound me.”

You snort. “You almost ran a red light back in the last town.”

Pietro grins, shrugging one shoulder. “Almost. But I didn’t.”

You shake your head, leaning back into your seat, letting the warmth of the sun seep into your skin through the window. The car hums along the road, the engine a steady presence beneath you. It’s been hours since you left the city behind, and now the landscape is shifting—less concrete, more green, trees growing taller, nature reclaiming the space around you.

It was your idea to take this road trip. To get away from everything, even just for a while. No deadlines, no responsibilities, no running from danger or racing toward a crisis. Just the two of you, exploring, getting lost, taking the long way if you felt like it. Pietro, surprisingly, agreed without argument. You suspect it’s because he’d go anywhere with you, so long as you were by his side.

His hand suddenly reaches over, fingers lacing through yours. His skin is warm, always slightly buzzing, a contrast to the cool metal of the rings on your fingers. You squeeze his hand gently, and he brings yours up to his lips, pressing a kiss against your knuckles before resting your joined hands on his thigh.

“You still sure you can handle driving for this long?” you ask, tilting your head toward him. “I mean, it’s got to be torture for you.”

Pietro chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s worth it. If I run, you miss the journey. And I would rather be stuck in slow motion forever than miss a single second of this with you.”

Your chest tightens at his words, at the sincerity in his voice. No matter how much he jokes, no matter how much he acts like everything is easy and carefree, there’s a depth to his love that always leaves you breathless.

“You’re such a sap,” you murmur, but you don’t pull away.

“Only for you, iubirea mea.”

The road continues on, winding through forests and valleys, past lakes that glitter in the afternoon sun. You make stops whenever something catches your eye—a roadside fruit stand where you buy fresh peaches and cherries, a scenic overlook where the world stretches out beneath you, an expanse of green and gold, mountains rising in the distance.

Pietro leans against the railing, arms crossed, eyes scanning the view. “I could run to the top of that mountain in two seconds.”

You elbow him lightly. “But would you actually take the time to enjoy it?”

He turns to you, considering. “With you? Yes.”

The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers. The world is so quiet here, the only sounds the distant call of birds, the rustle of leaves in the breeze. It’s a kind of peace you don’t often get, and you let it settle over you, grounding you.

Pietro’s fingers brush against your arm, trailing up until he cups your cheek, tilting your face toward him. His eyes, impossibly blue, study you for a long moment before he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. You taste the sweetness of the cherries he stole from the bag in the car, the warmth of the sun still clinging to his skin.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “This is nice,” he murmurs.

You hum in agreement. “Yeah. It really is.”

And for once, neither of you are in a hurry to move.

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the road as you and Pietro drive further into the countryside. You’re somewhere between one small town and the next, where the only signs of life are the occasional farmhouse, distant cows grazing in open fields, and the towering trees lining the highway.

Your stomach rumbles, and Pietro’s sharp ears don’t miss it. He smirks, squeezing your hand. “Hungry already? We had those peaches an hour ago.”

You groan, pressing a hand to your stomach. “Peaches aren’t a meal, Piet. We need real food.”

As if on cue, a neon sign flashes in the distance—a little roadside diner sitting just off the main road. It looks like it belongs in a different time, with its red-and-white checkered exterior, a neon sign in the shape of a coffee cup blinking in and out, and a row of motorcycles parked out front. It’s the kind of place that probably serves greasy burgers and thick milkshakes, the kind that sticks to your ribs in the best way.

Pietro slows the car as you grin, pointing excitedly. “Look! Let’s stop here.”

He chuckles, pulling into the small gravel parking lot. “If that’s what my love wants, then who am I to deny her?”

The inside of the diner is exactly what you expect—red vinyl booths, a jukebox playing an old rock song, and the scent of coffee and fried food hanging in the air. A few patrons sit scattered across the space—an elderly couple sipping coffee by the window, a group of bikers chatting in a booth, and a waitress leaning against the counter, flipping through a magazine.

She looks up when you walk in, offering a friendly smile. “Take a seat wherever you’d like, hon. I’ll be right with you.”

You slide into a booth by the window, and Pietro sits across from you, already reaching for one of the menus tucked behind the napkin dispenser. He flips through it at lightning speed before tossing it down. “I want everything.”

You snort. “Try to pace yourself, Speedy.”

The waitress, whose name tag reads Linda, walks over with two glasses of water. She eyes Pietro with amusement. “You look like you could eat a whole cow, sugar.”

He grins. “Would that be an option?”

She laughs, shaking her head as she pulls out a notepad. “What’ll it be?”

You skim the menu, biting your lip. “I’ll take the cheeseburger with fries, please.”

“And a vanilla milkshake,” Pietro adds for you, winking.

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. He knows you too well.

Linda turns to Pietro. “And for you?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Two bacon cheeseburgers, extra-large fries, and… let’s make it two milkshakes. One chocolate, one strawberry.”

Linda whistles, jotting it all down. “Damn, boy. Where do you put it all?”

Pietro smirks, tapping his stomach. “Fast metabolism.”

She shakes her head, amused, before heading off to place the order.

As you wait for the food, you watch the sun dip lower outside, the sky melting into warm oranges and purples. The glow reflects in Pietro’s eyes as he leans back in the booth, stretching his arms behind his head.

“This is nice,” you murmur, sipping your water.

He raises an eyebrow. “You say that like you expected it not to be.”

You shrug. “It’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I forget how good it feels to just be normal. No missions, no running, no near-death experiences. Just… burgers in a diner with you.”

Pietro’s expression softens. He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. “Then we’ll do this more often.”

Your heart swells as you squeeze his fingers.

Linda returns, setting down your plates with a practiced ease. “Here you go, lovebirds. Enjoy.”

You waste no time digging in, and neither does Pietro. The food is exactly what you hoped for—greasy, messy, and delicious. The milkshake is thick and creamy, and you’re pretty sure you’ll be full for days, but it’s worth it.

Pietro finishes his burgers in record time and steals some of your fries when he thinks you’re not looking. You swat at his hand, but he only grins, unrepentant.

When the check comes, Pietro pulls out his wallet, but you snatch it before he can. “I’m paying.”

He pouts. “You never let me pay.”

You smirk. “Then maybe you should be faster.”

His eyes narrow playfully. “That’s a challenge.”

You laugh, handing Linda the cash before he can argue further. She chuckles, shaking her head. “You two are somethin’ else.”

Once you’re back in the car, you stretch your arms with a content sigh. “Alright, switch. I’m driving.”

Pietro frowns. “You sure?”

“Yes.” You shoot him a look. “You’ve been good, but I can see how much you’re struggling not to speed.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you raise an eyebrow, daring him to argue. He huffs but gets out of the car, moving to the passenger seat. “Fine. But if you get tired—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” you promise, starting the engine.

The road stretches on as the sky darkens, and soon, the neon glow of the diner fades behind you. The world becomes quieter, the hum of the tires against the pavement the only sound besides the occasional song playing on the radio. Pietro fidgets beside you, tapping his fingers against his knee, but he doesn’t complain.

The air outside cools, the scent of rain lingering faintly. The road winds through dense trees now, and the headlights cast long shadows. It’s almost eerie how empty the road is—no cars, no signs of life, just the two of you moving through the dark.

Eventually, a flickering sign appears ahead—a small, rundown motel sitting at the edge of the highway. It’s one of those places that probably hasn’t been updated in decades, the kind you’d see in an old movie. The neon sign buzzes, letters half-burned out so that “VACANCY” is the only word visible.

Pietro gives it a once-over and groans. “This is where we’re staying?”

You park and unbuckle your seatbelt. “It’s all we’ve got until the next town, unless you really want to sleep in the car.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. But if I hear even one weird noise, I’m running us to a five-star hotel.”

You grin, taking his hand as you walk to the front desk. The inside is just as outdated as the outside—musty carpet, wood-paneled walls, and a sleepy-looking man behind the desk watching an old TV.

You check in quickly, grabbing the key for your room. The hallway smells like stale air freshener, and the walls are a questionable shade of yellow. Your room isn’t much better—a creaky bed, dim lighting, and a tiny TV that looks like it hasn’t worked in years.

Pietro looks around, unimpressed. “I think I would prefer the car.”

You laugh, tossing your bag onto the bed. “Oh, shut up. It’s fine.”

He flops down on the mattress, testing the springs. “Barely.”

You roll your eyes, kicking off your shoes before joining him. The bed dips under his weight, and he immediately wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. His body is warm, comforting. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

After a moment, he murmurs, “This is still nice.”

You smile against his shirt. “Yeah. It really is.”

And despite the flickering light outside, the slightly creepy motel, and the worn-down room, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

The motel room is dimly lit, the single lamp on the nightstand casting a warm glow over the faded wallpaper. The air is cool from the rattling AC unit in the corner, but Pietro’s body is warm beside you, his arm draped lazily across your waist.

You shift slightly, adjusting against the lumpy mattress, and Pietro hums, his lips brushing against your temple. “Comfortable?”

You snort. “Not really. But I’ve slept in worse.”

He chuckles, fingers tracing idle patterns on your hip. “We could always find somewhere else.”

You sigh, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “No, it’s fine. We’re only here for the night.”

His hand slides lower, teasing at the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming your skin. “Then we should make the most of it, iubirea mea.”

You roll onto your side, facing him, your noses barely an inch apart. His blue eyes darken, lips quirking in that cocky smirk that always makes your stomach flip. “Oh?” you murmur, voice playful.

He doesn’t bother answering with words. Instead, he leans in, kissing you slow and deep, fingers gripping your waist. His other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. You melt against him, sighing as his lips move down your jaw, to that spot on your neck that always makes you shiver.

Pietro grins against your skin. “I love how responsive you are, dragă.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, threading your fingers into his silver hair and pulling him back to your lips. He groans softly, his body pressing more firmly against yours, and you shift beneath him, feeling heat coil in your stomach.

Then—

Creeeak.

The bed lets out a loud, high-pitched squeak as Pietro moves, the old mattress springs groaning in protest.

You both freeze.

Pietro lifts his head, brows furrowing. “Did that—?”

Before he can finish, he adjusts his weight again—

SCREEEEEEAK.

You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle your laugh. Pietro, however, looks deeply offended, as if the bed has personally betrayed him.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, shifting again just to test it.

The bed responds with another loud, obnoxious squeal.

You lose it, burying your face in his shoulder as laughter bubbles out of you. Pietro groans, flopping onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “This is the worst motel in existence.”

As if on cue, there’s a loud bang against the wall from the room next door, followed by a gruff voice yelling, “Hey! Whatever you’re doing, cut it out!”

You slap a hand over your mouth again, eyes wide. Pietro stares at you, then at the wall, then back at you. His lips twitch.

“Are we being cockblocked by a motel wall?”

That’s it. You break into uncontrollable laughter, curling into his side as you struggle to breathe. Pietro groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate this place.”

Another bang on the wall. “I mean it! Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Pietro glares at the wall, sitting up. “Some of us are trying to live, old man!” he yells back.

You grab his arm, still laughing. “Oh my God, Pietro—”

“What?” He gestures to the bed in frustration. “This is a crime against romance! This bed is cursed!”

You wipe at your eyes, still giggling. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

He groans dramatically, flopping back onto the mattress. “Fine. But I’m holding a grudge against this motel forever.”

You snuggle into his side, still smiling. He wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I promise, next time, we find a place with better structural integrity.”

“Deal.”

Despite the rough mattress and the squeaky bed, sleep comes easier than expected. You drift off to the steady rise and fall of Pietro’s breathing, the warmth of his body grounding you.

But sometime in the middle of the night, the weight of everything crashes over you.

You wake up suddenly, your heart pounding, an ache settling in your chest like a stone. The dark motel room feels suffocating, memories creeping in like shadows. The road trip was meant to be an escape—a chance to leave everything behind—but no matter how far you drive, the past clings to you.

Pietro stirs beside you, instantly attuned to your change in breathing. “Dragă?” His voice is thick with sleep, but laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow hard, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just… bad dreams.”

He doesn’t buy it. He never does. Instead of pressing, he just tightens his grip around you, holding you closer, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “I’m here,” he murmurs.

And somehow, that helps.

You focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and steady. His fingers trace gentle circles on your back, soothing you without words.

Eventually, your breathing evens out, and you let yourself sink into him, letting the weight of his presence push away the heaviness in your chest.

The next morning, you wake to the golden light of sunrise filtering through the curtains. Pietro is already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. When he notices you stirring, he turns, offering a small smile. “Morning, iubirea mea.”

You sit up, stretching. “Morning. How long have you been up?”

“Not long.” He watches you for a moment before brushing a thumb across your cheek. “How are you feeling?”

You hesitate, then exhale. “Better.”

He nods, satisfied, and stands. “Good. Because I say we get the hell out of this cursed motel and find somewhere with real breakfast.”

You laugh, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Sounds like a plan.”

After a quick shower and a mediocre cup of motel coffee, you check out, handing the key back to the front desk. The man barely acknowledges you, too engrossed in his morning news program.

Pietro mutters under his breath as you walk back to the car. “Worst night of my life.”

You elbow him playfully. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

He levels you with a flat look. “We were interrupted by an angry neighbor, the bed sounded like it was screaming, and I didn’t get to ravish my beautiful girlfriend.”

You snicker, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Tragic.”

He sighs, dramatic as ever, before leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Drive, iubirea mea. Take me far away from this place.”

With a smile, you start the engine, the open road stretching ahead of you once more.

The road trip continues with a comfortable rhythm—music playing softly, Pietro’s hand resting on your thigh, and the landscape rolling by in a blur of green and gold. The air smells fresher out here, far from the city, just endless roads and nature stretching for miles.

Pietro keeps himself entertained by messing with the radio, flipping through stations at lightning speed. You swat at his hand when the static becomes unbearable.

“Pietro, pick a station and leave it.”

He smirks, finally settling on an oldies station. “Better?”

You sigh. “I’ll take it.”

A few hours pass with pit stops at random places—a general store where Pietro buys an obscene amount of snacks, a giant roadside statue of a cowboy that he insists on taking a selfie with, and a gas station where he challenges you to a race around the lot (he wins, obviously, but you demand a rematch in a place where he can’t use his speed).

Then, as the afternoon heat begins to settle in, you spot it—a shimmering blue lake peeking through the trees just off the highway.

You gasp, grabbing Pietro’s arm. “A lake!”

He raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And we have swimsuits.”

Pietro’s grin is instant. “Say no more.”

The lake is as perfect as it looked from the road—clear water, sunlit ripples, and a peaceful quiet only interrupted by the sound of birds and rustling leaves. It’s practically begging for you to dive in.

Pietro, being himself, is changed in seconds, already bare-chested in his swim trunks before you even finish fishing your swimsuit out of your bag.

You blink, momentarily distracted.

You’ve always known your boyfriend is obscenely attractive, but something about seeing him out in nature, all golden skin and sculpted muscles, makes your brain short-circuit. His silver hair is messily tousled from the wind, his sharp jawline catching the sunlight just right.

He catches you staring and smirks. “Like what you see, dragă?”

You roll your eyes, pretending to be unimpressed. “Meh.”

He gasps in exaggerated offense. “Meh?”

Before you can react, he uses his speed to scoop you up and spin you around. You yelp, laughing as he carries you toward the water.

“Pietro! Put me down!”

“Oh, I will.”

He wades into the lake and, without warning, drops you into the cool water.

You resurface, sputtering, and glare at him. “You absolute menace!”

He’s grinning like a devil, standing waist-deep in the water. “I’m sorry, iubirea mea. You were taking too long.”

Narrowing your eyes, you lunge at him, attempting revenge. Pietro, of course, dodges effortlessly, but he’s laughing, arms out as if daring you to try again.

Eventually, after some playful splashing and a failed attempt to dunk him, you both just float in the water, the sun warming your skin as you relax.

Pietro swims closer, tilting his head as his eyes roam over you. “You know, I was about to make fun of you for staring at me earlier…”

You raise an eyebrow. “But?”

He smirks, gaze lingering on your body. “Now I’m the one staring.”

A flush spreads across your skin, but you try to play it cool. “You’re so obvious.”

His hands find your waist under the water, pulling you closer. “Only for you.”

You rest your arms on his shoulders, fingers threading into his wet hair. He kisses you—slow and deep, tasting like lake water and sunlight.

The moment stretches, warm and perfect, until—

HONK!

Both of you jump as a car horn blares from the road nearby. You whip your head around, spotting an RV parked on the shoulder. A group of older women leans out of the windows, cheering.

“LOOK AT THE LOVE BIRDS!” one of them hollers.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, covering your face.

Pietro, on the other hand, grins and waves. “Hello, beautiful ladies!”

More honking. More cheering. One woman even whistles.

You groan, sinking lower into the water. “Can we go before they start giving relationship advice?”

Pietro snickers but obliges, grabbing your hand as you wade back to shore.

Once you’re dried off and back in the car, the post-swim drowsiness settles in. The sun is beginning to dip, the air cooler now, the road stretching ahead in golden light.

You and Pietro decide to rest for a while, pulling over at a scenic overlook with a breathtaking view of the forest below.

The backseat of the car is surprisingly comfortable, seats pushed back just enough to lounge in. You curl up against Pietro, both of you still warm from the sun and water.

His fingers trace gentle circles on your thigh, a lazy rhythm. “This is nice.”

You hum in agreement, eyes half-closed. “Yeah. It really is.”

There’s a pause. Then—

“You know,” Pietro murmurs, voice lower now, “we still haven’t made up for last night.”

You blink, turning your head to look at him. His blue eyes are heavy-lidded, his smirk wicked.

Heat blooms in your stomach instantly. “Oh?”

His fingers slide up your thigh, slow and teasing. “Mmm.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your jaw. “And I don’t hear any squeaky motel beds or angry neighbors.”

Your heart pounds. The way he’s looking at you—like he’s about to devour you—sends a thrill down your spine.

You swallow. “We’re in a car.”

His smirk grows. “Exactly.”

There’s something so Pietro about this—his impatience, his need to make up for lost time. And honestly? You’re not about to stop him.

The car windows fog up as his hands explore your body, pulling you into his lap, his lips moving against yours with desperate hunger.

The rest of the world fades away—the lake, the road, everything outside this little bubble of heat and need.

And this time?

No one interrupts.

The sun has fully set by the time you and Pietro find yourselves back on the road, your bodies still thrumming from what just happened in the backseat. The car smells faintly of sweat and lake water, the windows still slightly fogged despite your best efforts to clear them.

Pietro has the smuggest grin on his face, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel as he glances at you. “Feeling good, iubirea mea?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the satisfied smile on your lips. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles, tapping his fingers against the dashboard. “And yet, you love me.”

You shake your head, pretending to be exasperated, but the truth is, you do love him. Everything about him. Even when he’s being an insufferable tease.

Your stomach grumbles suddenly, ruining the moment. Pietro raises an eyebrow, amused. “Looks like someone worked up an appetite.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Well, maybe if someone hadn’t distracted me—”

“Oh, please, you were just as eager as I was.”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, you spot a neon-lit diner glowing in the distance. It’s the kind of place that looks like it hasn’t changed since the ‘50s—chrome details, red vinyl booths, a flickering OPEN sign.

You point to it. “There. Food.”

Pietro hums, pulling into the lot. “Fine, but only because I don’t want you fainting on me before round two.”

Your cheeks heat up, but you ignore him as you hop out of the car, stretching your legs. The air is cool now, a welcome contrast to the earlier heat.

Inside, the diner is exactly what you expected—old-fashioned, cozy, and smelling like fresh coffee and greasy food. A waitress with a beehive hairdo greets you with a tired but kind smile, gesturing toward an empty booth by the window.

Pietro slides in across from you, instantly stealing a menu from your side. “Let’s see… What’s the biggest thing on this menu?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like you’re about to make this an eating contest?”

He grins. “Because you know me so well.”

The waitress returns, and Pietro doesn’t hesitate before ordering a double cheeseburger, a plate of chili fries, and a milkshake. You opt for a regular burger and fries, shaking your head at his ridiculous metabolism.

As you wait for the food, Pietro’s fingers find yours across the table, absentmindedly tracing patterns over your skin. It’s a small thing, but it makes your chest feel warm.

“You know,” he says, tilting his head, “we could just sleep in the car tonight. Avoid any more cursed motel beds.”

You smirk. “And miss out on an actual bed after what we just did? No way.”

Pietro groans. “But what if we end up next to another angry old man?”

“Well,” you tease, “we just have to be quieter this time.”

He leans forward, voice dropping to a low murmur. “I don’t do quiet, dragă.”

Heat coils in your stomach at the promise in his tone, but before you can respond, the waitress arrives with your food. You both dig in, conversation flowing easily between bites—stories from past travels, dumb jokes, Pietro complaining about how slow the food service is even though it’s only been five minutes.

By the time you finish, you’re pleasantly full, stretching your arms as Pietro leaves a generous tip and grabs your hand, pulling you toward the exit.

“Alright,” he sighs as you step back outside, “let’s go find this hopefully-not-terrible motel.”

The motel you end up at is marginally better than the last one.

It’s still a little rundown, but the bed looks sturdy, the sheets actually smell clean, and—most importantly—there are no suspicious stains or noises coming from the next room.

Pietro eyes it warily as you set your bags down. “Well… I guess this will do.”

You snort, kicking off your shoes. “You’re such a diva.”

“I have standards, iubirea mea.”

Rolling your eyes, you flop onto the bed, testing it. It creaks slightly, but nothing like the nightmare from last night. “See? This one isn’t that bad.”

Pietro stretches, his shirt riding up just enough to tease a glimpse of his toned stomach. “I suppose I can make it work…”

You catch his smirk just before he pounces, landing beside you with that mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know,” he murmurs, “we did say we’d make up for last night.”

Your pulse quickens. “That we did.”

His fingers skim along your arm, feather-light, before trailing lower, tracing the hem of your shirt. “And you were right,” he adds, voice husky, “an actual bed does sound nice after all.”

Before you can respond, he flips you onto your back, hovering over you with a wicked grin. His lips find your throat, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

You sigh, tilting your head to give him more access. “Pietro…”

He hums against your collarbone. “Mmm?”

“You really don’t do quiet, do you?”

He lifts his head, grinning. “Not a chance.”

Then he kisses you—deep, hungry, possessive. His hands slide under your shirt, fingers splaying against your bare skin as he moves lower, his breath warm against your neck.

The rest of the world ceases to exist.

No motel beds creaking too loudly. No angry neighbors.

Just him. Just you. Just the way your bodies move together, tangled in sheets that, for once, don’t feel cursed.

This time, the only sounds filling the room are soft gasps, whispered praises, and Pietro’s name falling from your lips like a prayer.

The rest of the road trip is like something out of a dream.

After the very satisfying night at the motel, you and Pietro wake up in a tangle of limbs, warm and content. He’s already wide awake, of course—his body clock runs as fast as the rest of him—but he doesn’t move right away. Instead, he just watches you, fingertips tracing lazy circles over your hip as the morning light filters through the cheap curtains.

“Morning, iubirea mea,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

You sigh happily, stretching. “Morning.”

He smirks, voice still thick with sleep. “So, was that a decent night of passion, or do we need to find another motel just to be sure?”

You laugh, nudging his chest. “I think we confirmed it multiple times.”

He grins, rolling onto his back with a satisfied groan. “Good. Because I’m feeling very accomplished.”

The next few days are a perfect blur of long drives, roadside attractions, and stolen kisses whenever Pietro thinks you’re not paying attention (or when he just wants your attention, which is always).

You stop at a sunflower field along the way, running through the golden stalks as Pietro speeds ahead, picking the biggest, brightest flower and tucking it behind your ear. He pulls you in for a slow kiss, murmuring against your lips, “You’re still prettier.”

You roll your eyes. “Smooth.”

“Always.”

Another day, you come across an abandoned train yard, the rusted tracks twisting through overgrown grass. Pietro challenges you to a balance contest, walking along the rails with perfect ease while you wobble like a newborn deer. He catches you when you stumble, laughing as he scoops you up.

“You’re terrible at this,” he teases.

“I don’t have super speed to cheat with!”

He grins. “Then you better hold on tight.”

Before you can protest, he takes off with you in his arms, zipping through the train cars, the wind whipping past as you laugh breathlessly.

There’s a late-night stop at an all-night diner, where Pietro orders an obscene amount of pancakes just to “see how many he can eat before he gets bored.” (The answer is fifteen, but he insists he could’ve gone for twenty if you hadn’t distracted him with a milkshake to the nose.)

There’s a tiny bookstore in a small town where you browse the shelves while Pietro sits in an armchair, flipping through a random book at super speed before dramatically declaring, “I’ve read them all. Let’s go.”

You groan. “You are the worst person to bring to a bookstore.”

And then there’s the night you find a secluded little hilltop overlooking a valley, the stars sprawled endlessly above you. Pietro spreads out a blanket, pulling you into his lap as you both sip cheap gas station wine and make up ridiculous constellations.

“That one looks like a very handsome man who is incredibly fast,” Pietro says smugly, pointing at a random cluster of stars.

You squint. “It looks like a potato.”

He gasps in mock offense. “You wound me.”

You grin, leaning against him. “It’s a very sexy potato, though.”

He hums, arms tightening around you. “I’ll accept it.”

And for a while, everything is perfect. Just you, Pietro, and the open road, with no responsibilities pulling you back.

Until your phone rings.

It happens on the fifth day, just as you’re fueling up at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.

You’re standing by the car, stretching your arms after a long drive, while Pietro is inside, raiding the snack aisle for the fifth time that day. The sun is warm on your skin, the air still and quiet.

Then—your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull it out, frowning when you see the caller ID.

TONY STARK.

Your stomach drops.

You hesitate for half a second before answering. “Hey, Tony.”

“Hey, kid,” comes the familiar voice on the other end. “Hope you’re enjoying your little romantic getaway, but I need you and Speedy back at HQ. Now.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

“It’s a mission. Big one. And we need both of you. So wrap up your little road trip, make out one last time, and get moving.”

You groan, rubbing your forehead. “Tony, we’re literally in the middle of nowhere—”

“Then run. You’ve got a human rocket for a boyfriend.”

Before you can argue, he hangs up.

You stare at your phone for a moment, processing.

Then, with a sigh, you turn toward the gas station just as Pietro comes bounding out, arms full of snacks.

“I got us more gummy bears, and I found those weird chips you like—” He pauses when he sees your expression, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”

You exhale. “We have to go back.”

Pietro frowns. “What? Why?”

“Tony just called. There’s a mission. He needs us both.”

Pietro groans, dramatically dropping his snacks onto the hood of the car. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

He drags a hand down his face. “Of course Stark ruins our fun.”

You step closer, placing a hand on his chest. “I know. I don’t want to leave either. But… we have to.”

Pietro sighs, running his fingers through his silver hair. He looks at you, blue eyes flickering with frustration before softening.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But next time? We take a vacation where no one can call us.”

You smile. “Deal.”

He huffs, then gestures for you to climb onto his back. “Alright, dragă. Hold on tight.”

You do, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he secures you in his grip.

Then, in a blink, the world blurs around you.

The road trip is over.

And the real world comes rushing back.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main Part 9

My apology for the earlier mishap. Hope you like it!

Masterpost

A few hours later, a fourth of the way home, they start arguing about who should drive the next shift. There seem to be two main arguments. The first is between Dick and Bruce on whether Bruce even needs a break.The second is between Dick and Tim about who should take over for Bruce.

Bruce has been driving for four hours, and it’s now about midnight, so he should take a break to sleep. Dick had napped for about an hour after the panicked stop when Jason’s ectoplasm had gone haywire, and he was the only one who had slept so far. He’s winning the argument between him and Bruce. Because he was the only one who had napped so far, and apparently Tim had been awake for a terrible amount of time, Dick is also winning the argument between him and Tim.

Danny is pretty sure even sleep deprived most people would drive better than his father, and he doesn’t have a driver’s license so he keeps quiet. It’s funny how intense they get in their arguments without ever becoming serious. Danny appreciates that no matter how intense they get there’s never any anger in their voices.

“Tim, you haven’t slept more than five hours in the last two days, you are not driving this car. There is no way you are driving this car. Neither of us are going to let you.”

“Bruce has been awake for 23 hours straight!” Tim argues.

“Which is why Bruce should also not be driving anymore!”

“Tim you are definitely not driving, go to sleep. Dick, If we switch drivers we have to stop and we can’t afford to stop and waste time. We’ll switch drivers when we need gas next.” Bruce states rationally. Danny thinks this is a good argument really.

“If we crash and die we’ll also waste time.” Tim points out, sulking.

“Switching drivers will take all of two seconds and so help me If I am not driving in the next two minutes I am commandeering the radio for the rest of the trip and you know neither of you will be able to stop me.”

Danny isn’t sure why that is so serious of a threat, but that shut both Bruce and Tim up immediately. Bruce pulls over and they do a quick seating change. Since Bruce and Tim need to sleep so one of them can drive later, Danny switches into the passenger seat while Dick slips into the driver's seat. That way Bruce and Tim can stretch out in the back.

“What do you listen to that they dislike so much?” Danny asks a little later. Danny can’t tell if either of them are sleeping, but neither of them have moved at all in the last ten minutes. He’s quiet just in case.

“I mean, I like a lot of music. They just know that I can put on circus music for hours. I grew up in a circus, so I'll even enjoy doing it. It annoys them after like three songs at most though.”

Danny has a moment where all he can think of is Freakshow’s circus, but he shakes it off.

“Did all of you grow up in the circus?” Danny could have sworn Bruce was more like Vlad. Grew up wealthy, ran a business (less illegally, he thinks, but that's not hard considering), and went to parties and stuff. Dick laughs at his question.

“No, only me, I’m afraid.” Dick glances at the back seat, before refocusing on the road. “Bruce adopted all of us, except for Damian. But even Damian grew up with his mother before coming to live with Bruce. So all of us have very different upbringings actually. Circus for me. Jason was next, he had a hard life before Bruce found him, and after too. He’s been through a lot. Tim had rich parents, they loved him but weren't around much. Duke was adopted after his parents died but he was raised by both of them, he had the most normal life growing up.”

“Tim and Damian both found Bruce more than the other way around. Damian’s mom… loves him a lot, but she was in a dangerous situation and wanted Damian to be safe. So she dropped him off with us.” You could hear the love in Dick’s voice as he spoke about his family.

“Your family seems happy. Nice. I mean, you all dropped everything to drive me home. I appreciate it.” Danny thought carefully for a moment, he didn't want to learn too much second hand. He'd rather get to know Jason personally. But some things only family can tell you. “Do you think Jason and I will get along? From what I've heard I know we have similar senses of humor, at least relating to our own deaths. And, well, we have that experience to bond over. But our lives seem like they've been very different.”

Dick’s face softens. “I think that Jason has spent his whole life fighting. For anything and everything. He's not going to stop now. You guys’ll figure it out.”

Danny looks at him. “Have you met your soulmate?”

Dick’s whole face lights up. “I have. We knew each other before the switch, but.. it was still a lot of drama and awkwardness at first. I think Bruce almost had a heart attack when it happened, and then an aneurysm when he found out who it was. That was hilarious.”

Dick glances at Danny, saw him biting his lip and twisting his hands together, eyes in his lap. “We had met, but we still had a lot to learn about each other. Getting to know him has been one of the best parts of my life. He’s my best friend.”

Dick reaches over and ruffles Danny’s hair. “Why don't you try to sleep Danny. You'll be meeting him soon.”

Danny nodded, giving Dick a light smile and settling himself into his chair.

[otissbluebearshirt]

Can we get an Only 1 Bed fic- for whoever you first think of

The Motel - [ Sonny Carisi ]

Summary: You and Sonny arrive at your motel only to find out that your room…only has one bed

Word Count: 2435

Warnings: female!reader, fluff

Masterlist | Sonny Masterlist

It was late by the time you and Sonny arrived in Pennsylvania. Too late to do anything other than check into the nearest, cheapest motel and hopefully get a few hours of sleep before you had to head off again to track down your suspect. Normally in cases like this, you’d have both gotten your own rooms to venture off to sleep in, despite having been partners for years and experienced a hell of a lot more together than a simple slumber party.

However this time, things were a little bit different in that particular department. For starters, the motel you’d come across was small. Like a mere handful of rooms, kind of small, meaning that by the time you had arrived and checked in, there was only a single room left on the entirety of the property.

It wasn’t that surprising honestly, given that it was the time of year when everyone was venturing off on their road-trip vacations and stopping to sleep in every single town they passed through. It didn’t bother you either. You were that exhausted you could have happily slept on a log on the side of the road if it meant getting to close your eyes for even just a brief minute.

Luckily, that wasn’t the case here as you’d managed to secure that last room for yourselves. There was only one slight problem, though. One you didn’t see coming and one the check-in clerk had seemingly forgotten to mention. Or he had simply assumed you and Sonny were a couple therefore neglected to, and that was…

There was only one bed.

“The check-in guy didn’t think to mention that?” Sonny muttered with a minor grievance the second he followed you inside the rather stagnant motel room, closing the door behind him and sliding the safety chain securely into place.

By the time he turned around, you had already set your bag on the large double bed and taken your coat and shoes off, your toes wiggling against the worn-out old carpet as you stretched them out from being stuck in your boots for almost a full twenty-four hours. He glanced around him as you did, his lips falling minutely as he reluctantly set his bag atop the small, barely even a couch, loveseat that he gazed questionably at.

Now there’s something that would be less comfortable than a roadside log, that much he was certain of.

“I guess I’ll take the couch,” Sonny exhaled, slipping his arms from within the soft warmth of his coat as you spun around to face him, your brow furrowing deeply as your eyes landed on the ‘couch’ in question.

You let out a laugh, “Sonny, are you crazy? You’re like seven feet tall, there’s no way that will be comfortable… You take the bed, let me sleep there.”

Lifting your bag from the bed, you moved towards him and picked his up from the arm of the chair, holding it out for him to take. He refused, causing you to sigh exasperatedly as you shook it, widening your eyes to try and encourage his stubborn ass to take it from you.

“Absolutely not,” Sonny protested, raising his hands up as though he were surrendering — when in reality it was simply to stop you from shoving the bag into them. “My mother would smack me upside the head if she found out that I made you sleep there.”

“Who’s gonna tell her?” You tilted your head questionably, finding amusement when Sonny simply frowned in response. He hadn’t thought about that. You set the bag down, its weight from whatever the hell was in it causing your arm to grow numb, and you chuckled, “That’s what I thought. Now move your skinny ass, okay, I’m perfectly capable of sleeping on a couch for a couple of hours.”

Like a child, Sonny shook his head and refused to move so much as an inch away from the couch. He even shoved you away and instead directed you back over to the bed, the back of your legs hitting against it frame and causing you to lose your balance. You fell onto it softly, the springs squeaking beneath you as you straightened and did nothing but watch Sonny lift a blanket from the back of the couch and begin unfold it.

Even the blanket didn’t look big enough to fully cover him, and you knew he wouldn’t sleep so much as a wink tonight if he stayed there. But you also knew it would be pointless to keep arguing with him. He was stubborn, and proud, and you were far, far too tired to keep going relentlessly back and forth with him. So instead you gave in, unzipping your bag with a quiet sigh and grabbing what you needed before heading for the bathroom.

When you ventured back out after doing your nightly routine as best you could, Sonny was already lying rigid on the couch, like he was afraid to move so much as an inch incase the blanket slipped off the small part of him it actually covered. You deposited your stuff into your bag in silence then sat down on the edge of the bed, folding your arms as you drew your eyes along the entire length of his body.

“Sonny, seriously…” You began, gaining his attention and noticing the way he seemed surprised to see you. As though he’d been hoping to be ‘asleep’ by the time you got back in order to avoid the very conversation you were about to begin. “The entire lower half of your legs are hanging over the arm of that couch, will you please let me sleep there?”

“No way, alright? I’m fine,” Sonny replied, almost sternly as he shuffled a little more then sighed contently — which was obviously forced as boy was he uncomfortable. “See, I’ve already got myself settled.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, it really looks like it.”

“Will you just forget about me and get some sleep, please?” Sonny gestured to the bed, “You’re running on fumes and besides, we’ll only be here for a couple hours anyway.”

“Fine,” You sighed, standing up from the bed and rounding it to the side furthest from the door.

You pulled back the covers, giving the bottom sheet a quick once over for any stains or creepy crawlies that may be lurking beneath it. You were honestly tempted to pull out a black light and check it properly, but then again you’d rather not think about what that would reveal and instead, decided to just bite the bullet and get into it. Only, before you could slip in between the cold, crisp sheets, you caught sight of Sonny stretching. He let out a rather rough sounding groan as he did…then nearly wrecked the coffee table by almost falling off the couch.

“If this is how it’s going to be with you all night, then I’m going to go out and sleep in the car,” You said, folding your arms as you peered over at him, watching as he fixed himself back into the cushions and glanced towards you apologetically. He then grew stiff as a board — as though he were afraid to move should you shout at him again. You let out a soft sigh, your shoulders sinking as you dropped your arms back down to your sides. “Sorry, I get cranky when I’m tired.”

“I know,” Sonny said, shifting a little and trying his hardest not to showcase it. But you saw him. He wasn’t at all subtle and you could easily notice the slight grimace to his features when he moved the wrong way and his calf began to tense up.

“Sonny, you’re clearly uncomfortable,” You said, fiddling with the sleeves of the hoodie you always wore to bed at the thought of speaking your next words out loud. But you knew you had to. You wouldn’t sleep at all if you knew he would be spending the entire night like this. “If you’re not gonna let me take the couch, then… Why don’t you join me?”

Sonny nearly choked on his own saliva, “I’m sorry?”

“Sleep in the bed with me. It’s big enough,” You said, gesturing to the large bed that would be far more comfortable for a man of his height. And Sonny knew it. He’d been eyeing it up from the moment he entered the room, yet he still almost looked like he was about to throw up. At that you raised your eyebrow, your tone turning playful so quickly, it almost gave you whiplash. “What? Are you scared your mother might find out you’re sleeping with a girl?”

“My mother? Nah, but my grandma…” Sonny widened his eyes a little as he shook his head, not even wanting to imagine his grandmothers reaction. “She’s a lot more traditional than I am and sleeping in the same bed as a woman I’m not seeing is…

“Against her Catholic beliefs?”

Sonny scoffed, “You have no idea.”

“Well I’m not gonna tell her,” You said, climbing into the bed and resting on your knees. “And I know you’re definitely not gonna tell her, so why not? We’re both adults. We’re perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed together if it means we both actually get a few decent hours of sleep.”

“I mean… I guess,” Sonny said hesitantly, scratching at the back of his head as he sat up, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered terribly at the thought of finally getting to sleep beside you. He stood up, his heart warming at the unintentionally sweet smile you gave him as he crossed the room towards you in a few long strides. He pulled back the other side of the covers, waiting until you’d settled yourself before he made his move to climb in beside you, where he immediately joked, “You better keep your hands to yourself otherwise I’m arresting you.”

You chucked softly, “I think I can manage that.”

Sonny couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as he fell deeper into the sheets that covered you both. He already felt about a hundred times comfier than he had been on the couch, exactly like you’d guessed he would be now that he could stretch out fully. Even despite the poor quality of mattress the two of you lay side-by-side atop, the middle of which was completely free of space with the way you both hugged the edge of it, as though you were afraid to so much as brush fingers given the unspoken feelings you both had for one another.

It wasn’t that you were purposely keeping them to yourselves for the sake of misery, it was more of a… Neither of you fully realised that the other one felt the same. Everyone else did, though, it wasn’t hard to. You were both practically a couple already despite your hesitance to share a motel room, yet the two of you were simply too blind to see it. But that didn’t mean you both couldn’t feel it. It was so thick in the air around you that it would be impossible not to, but whether or not you both truly picked up on it whilst conscious was the the sixty-four million dollar question.

Subconsciously, however, well… That was a completely different story and not at all a surprising one.

You didn’t realise it until you woke up about four hours later, but you had drifted dangerously close to Sonny in your sleep. Or he’d drifted closer to you. Maybe even both. You weren’t overly sure who was at fault here. All you knew was that you were both now smack bang in the middle of the bed, your legs somehow tangled together and Sonny’s long arm draped loosely over your body. Even your head was resting on his chest, feeling as it gently rose and fell beneath you with each quiet, slumber-ridden breath he took.

You felt your cheeks heat up the split second you realised what — who — your pillow was. You had no idea how you’d even managed to grow so close to him. You were normally a pretty still sleeper so to find yourself so far from where you’d started was honestly somewhat of a shock to you. All you really knew was that you needed to move before Sonny woke up and found you like this, otherwise you’d never live down the embarrassment you’d get over him realising that you’d all but used him as a teddy bear.

“What’s going on?” Sonny mumbled, his sudden, sleepy voice making you freeze in your attempts at untangling yourself from his long and lanky limbs. He cracked open one eye, glancing down at you with such a softness that you almost melted against him, a wave of…God, literally everything you could feel at once washing over you at being caught in this position. “You tryna escape me, darlin’?”

Darlin’. Fuck, if you hadn’t been melting already, you certainly would be now.

“I don’t know how I ended up so close to you, I’m sorry,” You mumbled almost frantically, attempting to pull yourself away from him only for Sonny to tighten his arms around you.

“Don’t go anywhere,” He whispered, seemingly wide awake now as he raised his hand, drawing his knuckles lightly down the side of your face. “Stay with me.”

“Sonny, I don’t…”

“Stay,” His thumb landed on your lips and you fell silent, his eyes gazing into yours in a way that gave you such intense butterflies. “Please.”

All you could in response was nod your head and smile as you didn’t trust your own voice not to give you away, especially with the thick lump that was currently trying to force itself up your throat and escape out into the air. Sonny’s own lips curled up softly as he easily tugged you closer to him, feeling as your arm tightened across his chest and you positioned your head beneath his chin. He tilted his own down to glance at you, nothing but the top of your head visible to his tired eyes and even in that moment…

Even with him being half asleep and out of his mind, just having you this close to him without him even having to try hard to get you there, was like his entire heart had exploded in his chest. He smiled again, leaning down and without taking so much as a single second to think about it, he placed a soft kiss to the top of your head and whispered,

“Perhaps one bed isn’t so bad, after all.”

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[roosterforme]

Does darlin ever catch Jake off guard? And make him come prematurely? If she does, why does she like it so much?

As soon as I read this, I imagined them taking a road trip in his truck. Maybe he has to go up to Lemoore for work, and since she's on a school break, she rides up with him... (smut ahead)

Jake let you pick out the snacks and the playlist while he did all the driving. You spent hours serenading him quite badly and eating M&Ms and chips while he sang quite nicely and ate an apple.

When the sun started to set, he removed his Ray-Bans and asked you to put them away in the glovebox for him. As soon as you opened the latch, you felt the truck swerve.

"What happened?" you asked as Jake reached out and tried to close the glovebox with a lot of frustration on his face.

"You can just leave the sunglasses on the dash," he grunted, still trying to close the compartment while he drove up the highway. But you swatted his hand away as soon as you saw a flat box from a jewelry store in Coronado in there.

"What's this?" you asked, tapping it with your index finger as his face turned red. "Is it for me?" When he kept his eyes focused straight ahead and didn't answer, you asked, "Or is it for your other girlfriend?"

"What?!" he asked in surprise, glancing at you as he swerved a bit again. "Jesus, Darlin'. Yes. Of course it's for you. Okay? Are you happy? It's a necklace for you. It was supposed to be a surprise, and I forgot I moved it there."

Your heart felt like it was going to burst into a million pieces. "You got me a necklace?" you whispered, already opening the box. "Oh my god."

There was a dainty gold chain and a tiny charm that said Darlin' hanging from it, and you wanted to fling yourself at your boyfriend.

"Well?" he asked, voice still a little gruff at you having accidentally ruined the surprise. "You like it?"

"I'm obsessed," you told him, already putting it around your neck. It fell right to the top of the swell of your breasts, and you desperately wanted to thank him, but he was still driving up the highway.

"Good," he murmured, and then you reached across the bench seat for the zipper of his jeans. "What are you doing?"

You bit you lips and eased the zipper down so you were able to feel him through his boxer briefs. "Saying thank you."

"While I'm driving?" he asked, making absolutely no move to stop you.

"Mmhmm."

Once you had your bare hand wrapped around his cock, he groaned your name. He was hard and clearly excited as you gave him a handjob while he drove. Occasionally he muttered "fuck" or "that's good", but he mostly let you do whatever you wanted to him. You cupped his balls with your right hand and jerked your hand up and down his cock with your left, and all the while, your pretty necklace caught the last rays of the setting sun.

"Shit," he groaned. "Darlin', slow down. I'm about to cum."

"Already? That was fast," you replied with a smirk.

"You caught me off guard, Smartass," he growled, looking around frantically. "I need to pull over and fuck you before I make a mess everywhere."

"You won't make a mess."

You leaned down at the last minute, wrapped your lips around his cock, and let him fill your mouth with cum while he groaned and moaned. "God, that feels incredible."

Then you licked him clean, kissed his cock before tucking it back inside his underwear, and muttered, "See? No mess."

Once again, he didn't give you a verbal response as he shook his head while he drove, but he did reach for your hand to hold it.

"I really do like my necklace," you promised with a smile. "And I liked making you cum in less than three minutes."

"Smartass."