#jfk: through the looking glass

[pablolf]

Film Journal

"JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass" by Oliver Stone

[bob-the-movie-man-film-reviews]

JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass (15): Coup D'Etat? You decide in a solid Oliver Stone documentary.

#onemannsmovies #filmreview of "JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass". #JFKRevisited. Oliver Stone revisits JFK. Dense but muddled 3/5.

A One Mann’s Movies review of “JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass” (2021). I saw “JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass” advertised on streaming during my recent US holiday. But I never got time to watch it. So this was top of the list when we got home. Bob the Movie Man Rating: Plot Summary: Oliver Stone directed JFK in 1991 starring Kevin Costner as the District Attorney of New…

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

The Campaign 

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x personal assistant/PR!manager Reader

Synopsis: Hired as Barnes’ personal assistant and PR!manager, he was constantly pushing your buttons when it came to maintaining his public image and managing his day-to-day routines. But as much as he stresses you out, you find yourself falling head over heels over your boss.

Content warnings: fluffy and crack, small angst, swearing, mentions of smoke and drinking, a little steamy but not smutty, no use of y/n, you are so tired of his bs but he loves you, pining, boss x employee relationship, friends to lovers situation

a/n: this might be my favourite piece I have written for Bucky. I also tried to keep it gender-neutral. I also apologize if I get stuff wrong about how voting and congress works, I am not American lol. also i did not proof read this sorry!

word count: 5k (whew)

It was only 7:30 am and you could use a glass of Bourbon and a cigarette. 

You ought to just go radio silent one of these days. Clearly, you were not paid enough to be James Buchanan Barnes’ glorified babysitter. Everyday, there was something new going on with the former Winter Soldier and today was the worst one yet. An early morning call from Sam Wilson always meant bad news, but whatever he had to say gave you a raging migraine and it hasn’t reached 9 am yet.

‘You’re kidding me. What got released to the public?’ you screeched over the phone.

This is how you found yourself marching into your boss’s apartment with a bedhead you barely cared to fix, and a poorly done business causal outfit, with a hefty pile of files bound together with several manila binders under your arm. 

‘James, you open this door right now!’ you hollered, accompanying your anger with an booming knock on his door. 

An exasperated sigh was heard through the thin walls. You were soon met with a tired Bucky Barnes who was wearing nothing but grey sweatpants. ‘Y’know, it’s really unprofessional to address your boss by their first name.’

Shoving the mental image of his delectable half-naked figure in the back of your head, you shoved the man out of the way and stomped into his kitchen island. You were too mad to ogle your boss that you unfortunately found very attractive.

‘You got a Scotch? I could really use a glass right now.’ you murmured, grabbing the nearest glass and scattering the files onto his marbled counter.

Bucky checked his watch on his wrist. ‘The fuck do you need a glass of Scotch for? Sweetheart, it’s only 7:50am!’

You resorted to a cold glass of milk, since there was no liquor to be found. ‘Look at the files I dropped and you tell me, James.’ 

The super soldier shuffled his way toward the pile of paperwork. As he quickly scanned around, a growing smirk grew on his lips. Noticing this, you groaned, rubbing your fingers over the deepening crease on your brows.

‘Do you know what I woke up with, James? I woke up with Captain America panicking over the phone because someone decided to leak the information I worked so hard to bury!’ you fumed. Swirling your glass of milk like it was hard liquor, you gulped it down, trying to calm your steaming head.

Bucky’s vibranium, fingers grazed over the paper and picked it up. It read ‘POTENTIAL CONGRESSMAN JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ASSASSINATION OF JFK?’

He inquisitive tilted his head in confusion. ‘I thought everyone knew this?’

A nice smooth roll of tobacco sounded so good right now. 

‘Are you KIDDING me?! What part of ‘I worked so hard to bury the information’ don’t you understand?!’ you bellowed, startling the man in front of you. Slapping both of your palms on the marbled counter, Bucky could see you heaving and seething from anger.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips. He carefully made his way towards your side and wrapped you with a side hug. His fleshed fingers slowly rubbed your arms up and down in an attempt to soothe your anger. ‘Alright, alright. I guess I slipped up that one interview where I jokingly said ‘the president better watch his back.’ Someone probably took that to heart and found out that I might’ve assassinated JFK.’

You turned your head and squinted. ‘You need to learn how to keep your mouth shut.’

‘Maybe you can shut it for me, sweetheart.’ Bucky teased.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, fighting the growing blush on your cheeks. It was safe to say that your relationship with Bucky has gone past strictly business professional. The two of you grew close for the past year, and you felt that there was something more. But, for the sake of the job nature and your sanity, you couldn’t act upon it.

A gentle smack on his chest caused him to let go of you. ‘Alright you smooth talker. That might've worked during the 40s, but you’re asking to get smacked by women if you say that.’ 

‘But Sam taught me that last week.’ Bucky shrugged.

‘That’s it. I don’t care if he’s Captain America, I’m limiting his visitation hours with you, Mr. Barnes.’ you scoffed. Grabbing the glass that was sitting on the counter, you reached for the milk carton to pour another.

The super soldier gave you a knowing look. ‘Honestly? I’ll be glad if you did. He talks too much sometimes.’

A grin donned your features as you downed another glass of milk. ‘Didn’t expect you to agree to that. Go get dressed Barnes, I called for another press conference at 10am and you better explain yourself.’

‘Yes ma’am.’ he saluted. As he made his way to his room, he paused, and looked back at you. Pursing your lips in anticipation, you expected him to throw a snarky comment at you. And that’s exactly what he did.

‘Y’know, this information coming to the public isn’t that bad. I heard the Gen Z were into that kind of thing.’ Bucky teasingly quipped.

He was met with a flying salt shaker to his head.

✪✪✪

Your ‘Days Bucky doesn’t tarnish his public image’ counter reset to 0 two days later.

A few hours ago, Bucky appeared at a charity gala that was hosted by Stark Industries. It surprised you, knowing the history between his time as the Winter Soldier and him being responsible for the murder of Howard and Maria Stark. Alas, you learned a long time ago that politics was a messy, dirty game, and you were just a personal assistant to yet another political candidate.

Yet, Bucky wasn’t just another politician you assisted, he was basically a dashing 110-year-old dashing man who always found himself leaving a mess wherever he went.

And tonight was one of those nights. It was going so well during the gala, all he had to do was sit pretty and make mindless talk with the other important figures. You knew that he didn’t want to go in the first place, so you made a deal with him; if he went and did not make a commotion, you would treat him to your favourite Shawarma spot in New York. He complied, and was doing so well.

Until you found yourself catering to his wounds back in his apartment.

The super soldier grunted in pain as your fingers pressed antibiotics into his open scratch on his forehead. 

‘Hey, are you trying to hurt me more?’ he whined.

Paying no mind to his complaint, you continued to apply more, digging into the wound even further.

‘Jesus, sweetheart! At this point you’re hurting me more than trying to patch my wounds!’ Bucky moaned, wincing as you finally put a gauze on the wounded area. 

‘Yeah right.’ you finally shot back. ‘You have super soldier serum running through your veins Barnes. You’re a big boy, you can deal with it.’

Looking away from the man, you rummaged through the first aid kit on lap as you searched for more gauze. As your eyes raised up to face him again, Bucky gave you an apologetic stare, like a whimpering puppy.

‘Save it James.’ you huffed, continuing to patch the wound on his flesh arm. ‘You broke your promise, so you’re not getting Shawarma with me tonight.’

‘Aww, come on! I really didn’t mean to!’ he pouted. James Buchanan Barnes. Pouting at his personal assistant. If only the world could see that.

‘Oh really?’ your voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘You didn’t mean to uppercut John Walker in the face in a public event?’

‘Listen sweetheart, he started it!’

‘I find that hard to believe Barnes.’

Bucky pleaded to you with his sky blue eyes. ‘You have to believe me. There’s a reason why I did it.’

A sarcastic laugh escaped your lungs. ‘Do you really live to annoy and stress me out all the time James?’ You bit the medical tape, ripping a piece and placing it on top of the gauze that was placed on his arm.

Silence filled Bucky’s living room before he finally confessed. ‘I didn’t like the way he spoke about you.’

Your eyes widened with his revelation, and halted your actions. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you stared at the super soldier in disbelief. ‘What?’ 

Bucky pursed his lips before he continued. ‘I know, I know. He was taunting me. Walker came to me wanting to make small talk and I guess he was getting cocky and started to talk smack about you. Degrading you and your abilities. Called you names, diminished your accomplishments. I couldn’t stand there and let him do that to you sweetheart.’

It was like Bucky squeezed your heart with his mechanical arm. Blood started to rush towards your ears, with your neck heating up. Your boss cared enough to defend you, even when you were absent.

His eyes gazed down to your hands as he took it with his fleshed ones. ‘I know it seems that I make your life a hundred times harder. Always cleaning up my messes, always making sure that I can win my campaign. It’s the least I can do for you while you do so much for me.’

You continued to stare at him. His confession knocked your breath away. All this time he genuinely cared for you.

He looked up once more and gazed upon your eyes. ‘I’ll fix this myself sweetheart. Go get rest tonight.’

He quietly searched your eyes for some sort of answer, while you continued to sit in silence.

After what seemed an eternity, he was met with your answer.

‘Bucky, you absolute idiot.’ you whispered, with tears pricking your eyes. ‘Thank you. You’re a good friend.’

The word friend stung his heart, but it was for the best. Wanting to pursue a relationship beyond friendship would be selfish on his part. He always wanted to, since he harboured a little crush on you ever since you first entered his life. But Bucky knew, he should know, that he can’t have everything in life. It would be too selfish. After all, he didn’t deserve it.

‘Yeah.’ he croaked. ‘So, am I off the hook now? Can we get some shawarma?’

A shaky sigh escaped your lips. Resuming your task to patch him up, a small smile adorned your lips as you shook your head.

‘After this, change to something casual. By the way, you’re paying.’ you jested.

A low chuckle escaped Bucky’s lungs, and you laughed with him in response. Although you wished for something more, you were content with the way things were right now.

✪✪✪

Tonight was the big day. It was election day. The results of your hard work will determine if it was enough for Bucky to be elected as a congressman. After today, you could finally rest easy, and possibly continue working for him as an assistant to a congressman. After all, you found yourself attached to him after a year of working with him. 

However, as soon as you walked into his apartment, you wished that you worked for someone else.

‘Alright Barnes, are you ready to go? The car is waiting-’ your voice faded as your eyes landed on the frazzled super soldier.

His medium cut hair was a mess, with strands sticking up in every direction. His navy blue blazer was scattered on the floor. The white long sleeve dress shirt he wore was unbuttoned, unironed and stained with red sauce. However, the white wife beater he wore underneath was miraculously unstained. The notebook, which had the speech you wrote, was lying on the counter, smothered with pizza sauce. Most of all, his other arm was missing.

Bucky froze midway from biting a pizza slice as you barged in. His wide eyes stared at you in shock, with the pizza bending down and dripping onto his white garment. He looked down with his mouth hanging open once he realized that he messed up his outfit of the night.

Your feet felt like they were stuck on the ground as you stared at your boss incredulously.

‘James Buchanan Barnes, are you shitting me?! The election gala is in one hour!’ you scolded him. 

Slamming the front door shut, you angrily sauntered into the kitchen area, picking up his fallen blazer and draping it on your arm.

‘Hey sweetheart.’ Bucky said casually, continuing to munch on his pizza as he glazed over the notebook once more. You look stunning.’

‘Sweet talk isn’t going to get me less angry Barnes! I literally got that dress shirt last week, and you stained it!’ you fumed, walking to his side and grabbing the shirt by the collar, forcing him to shed it off of his body, leaving him with just his navy blue dress pants and wife beater. ‘Please don’t tell me this isn’t the only dress shirt you have!’

‘Well, can I wear my black one?’ he innocently asked, gobbling up the last piece into his mouth. Bucky looked at your form, and stepped back as he saw you vibrating with anger.

It was your turn to stare at Bucky Barnes. This man was supposed to be all ready to go for his campaign night. Instead, you were looking at the feared ex-assassin stuffing his cheeks like a chipmunk in his apartment complex. If it wasn’t for the given circumstance, you would’ve laughed and snuck a photo of him.

You let out a loud groan in response, and dialed for a cleaner to expedite an urgent laundry order. Once you finished with the call, Bucky made his way towards you, and stuck out the notebook you made for him.

‘This speech is too long.’ he declared.

‘You had a week to learn it James. Not my fault you were procrastinating.’ Tilting your body to the side, you eyed the area where his vibranium arm should be. ‘Also, where is your arm?’

Bucky nervously pursed his lips shut as your eyes squinted at him. Thinking about where he could’ve placed it, your eyes wandered to the dishwasher behind, seeing it was running a cycle. Putting two and two together in your head, your eyes slowly glanced back at the man in front of you.

‘James-’

‘Listen sweetheart’ he started. His fleshed hand nervously rubbed against the back of his neck.

‘James Buchanan Barnes, did you put your fucking Wakandan-made vibranium arm in your dishwasher?!’ you sputtered in disbelief. 

‘Hear me out! I couldn’t put it in the washing machine, it would tumble around and break it! The dishwasher cleans it very well!’

‘So you casually put Wakandan tech that’s probably millions of dollars in a machine that’s meant for washing dishes?’ A growing headache was creeping up. Good thing you brought Tylenol.

‘I got it for free.’ he mumbled. 

Scoffing in disbelief, you raised your arms in frustration and stomped towards the front door. ‘Whatever! It feels like I’m arguing with a child. You’re a grown man for Pete’s sake!’

‘Technically, I’m 110 years old-’

‘Right. You’re the perfect age to be running for congress.’ you snarked back. It was Bucky's turn to stare at you incredulously. 

The man huffed with exhaustion. You had enough, you were going to leave him be and wait for him in the car. But before you could turn the doorknob, he spoke up. ‘Sweetheart, listen! I’m nervous as hell for tonight. Everything that I worked for, everything you worked for is happening right now, and I don’t want to fuck this up.’ 

Upon hearing his confession, your hand paused midway from grabbing the knob. A deep sigh left your lips while you looked down, before facing him once more. The worried expression in his beautiful bright blue eyes was enough for you to cave in.

Sighing once more, you gently smiled at him. ‘Oh, Bucky. What would you do without me?’ you breathed, walking towards him.

A breathy chuckle came out of his lips as you made your way in front of him. Gently fingers combed his greasy hair, and he glanced down at you, looking at you with unspoken endearment. ‘Not much, I’m afraid. You’re basically the glue holding me together.’

A mischievous glint shone in your irises. ‘I hope you’re not referring to me as your mother figure James.’

Bucky raised his eyebrows. Lowering his head towards your ear, he lightly blew air, causing you to shiver. ‘Oh sweetheart, you’re much much much more than a caretaker for me.’

His words caused a squeezing sensation in your abdomen. Refusing to fall for his lacy words as you had to keep a professional boundary between the two of you (which was blurring by the second), your palms gently pushed him off.

You had to draw the line between you and your boss. ‘Save your sultry words for the event tonight Barnes. Pretty sure there’s some beautiful women who’s willing to throw themselves at you.’ 

Bucky paused, and you saw a storm of emotions brewing in his expressive eyes before he answered. ‘I don’t need that-’ he started, before he cut you off.

‘Tick tock, Barnes! We have to get going here, you’re lucky that the laundromat is willing to do an express order for you!’ you blurted out, trying to extinguish the awkward atmosphere. ‘I’ll head there right now. In the meantime, get dressed, fix your hair, and for God’s sake James, get your fucking arm out of the dishwasher.’

Bucky licked his lips and huffed out of frustration. Shoving his hand in his pocket, he obeyed your command and silently cleaned up the kitchen area. He threw a knowing look towards you, as he watched your figure promptly leave his flat. 

The super soldier made a mental note that tonight was the night he was going to finally make a move, if he won the election.

On the other side of the door, your sweaty palm clenched the fabric of your dress that was covering your chest. Too close, it was too close. You wanted to keep this job, to keep being close to your friend and crush without compromising the ethicality of it. It hurt, but with the given situation, it was the best you could do. You were content with being with him, even if you were just the personal assistant-pr manager-and glorified babysitter of Bucky Barnes.

Shaking your head out of your thoughts, you slapped both your cheeks together, then made your way towards the elevator at the end of the hall.

You deserved a smooth glass of Bourbon tonight.

✪✪✪

He won.

He actually won. A little part of you didn’t believe it, but Bucky won a seat at the congress. The former Winter Soldier who probably assassinated a dozen American politicians and presidents, was now a politician himself. Now that you thought about it, it was ironic, but nevertheless the way American politics worked.

You were also sure that Gen Z voters were solely responsible for his win. After all, no one could resist a handsome and buff super soldier running for congress. It was like offering the best piece of candy to a child.

But now that your task was complete, you weren’t sure whether you would continue your job as his personal assistant and PR manager. With all things considered, you were the perfect person for the job. You knew his routine and schedule with the back of his hand. Sure, there were moments that caused you to rip your hair out from stress, but in the end, you genuinely enjoyed being by Bucky’s side.

With your cheek on your palm as it rested on the window of the car, you zoned out as your eyes followed the streetlights. You were so deep in thought that you failed to notice that Bucky was grazing his real hand over yours, which was resting on the leather seat. He glanced at you, with eyes wavering with concern.

‘You alright sweetheart?’ Bucky murmured, gently caressing your hand.

‘Hn? Yeah, just tired.’ you answered listlessly, still not noticing his touch.

The rest of the car ride back to his apartment complex was silent. Once the two of you made it inside, Bucky carefully closed the front door shut as you shrugged off your coat and plopped yourself on his couch. You stretched your neck back and looked up to the ceiling and sighed with exhaustion.

The super soldier let out a chuckle at this sight of you. He had never seen you this exhausted, and honestly found it cute.

‘Long day?’ he quipped, sitting beside you.

You felt the couch dip to your left. ‘Tell me about it.’ you sighed.

Blinking your eyes open, you turned your head to face your boss. Gazing softly into his eyes, you smiled. ‘Congratulation on your win Bucky. You deserved it.’

Bucky’s eyes crinkled with a smile. ‘It was all thanks to you sweetheart. Couldn’t have done it without you.’

The two of you laughed, then sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company.

You looked down at your lap and nervously rubbed your fingers. Pursing your lips, you gained the courage to let him know that you wanted to continue your work as his assistant. 

While you were lost in your head trying to figure out the words, Bucky was in his own personal debate. It was either tonight or never. He had to let you know how he felt.

After a lingering silence, you spoke up first.

‘James, I want-’

‘You’re fired.’ he said bluntly. 

The words faded from your lips, slowly reeling in the words he had said. Your eyes widened in shock, with the corner of your eyes prickling with tears.

‘Fired?’ you echoed back. ‘You’re firing me?’

Your worst fear came true. He didn’t want you anymore. You trembled with anxiety, taking in the sinking feeling that you weren’t needed anymore.

Realizing that his words were coming out wrong, Bucky tried to explain himself. ‘Wait! Sweetheart let me explain-!’

Rage filled your being as the usually endearing nickname rolled off his tongue. ‘You have the balls to call me sweetheart when you’re firing me?! After all I have done for you Barnes! The sleepless nights, the anxiety I endured for your stupid campaign! You’re just going to throw me aside now that you’ve won?! I can’t believe-’ you exploded as you got up from the couch and started pacing around the living room.

Bucky growled your name in frustration, causing your rambling to stop. Walking up to you, he placed a firm hold on your shoulders as he directed you to come face to face. His pupils wavered as you bore his eyes straight into yours, with tears starting to prick in the bottom of his eyelids.

‘I’m firing you because I’m in love with you.’ Bucky quietly professed.

A tidal wave of emotions washed over you upon hearing his words. The angry expression that you wore immediately melted into confusion, mixed with hope.

‘You’re firing me because you’re in love with me?’ you slowly drawled.

An exasperated airless chuckle left his lungs. ‘I know how stupid it sounds. God, sweetheart, you make me so stupid with love.’ A gently warm hand cupped your cheek carefully.

Bucky’s eyes stared into yours with a longing expression. ‘This past year, all you’ve done is take care of me. You fixed my fuck ups. Made sure I was well rested and prepared. I would be lying if I said I would’ve gone through this gruelling campaign without you. Because my love, you held me together, even when I wanted to fall apart.’

Your lips slowly parted, with your eyes glossy with tears. ‘Bucky-’ you muttered, before he cut you off.

Bucky rested his forehead into yours as he shut his eyes. You could feel his hot breath nervously wavering as he continued his confession. ‘Sweetheart, you took care of me this whole time, even when I didn’t deserve it. Now it’s my turn to take care of you, and the only way to do that is to fire you.’

His eyes opened once more, revealing his sky blue eyes that were now glossy. When you didn’t answer him back, he heaved a heavy sigh, his pupils wavering even more as he tried to look for your answer in your eyes.. ‘Please say something.’ he begged.

Finally convinced that you weren’t daydreaming, you gave Bucky an answer.

Leaning your head close to his, your lips gently grazed over his plush ones, sweetly pressing your lips on him. He slowly returned your kiss, lips parting slightly to capture his over your bottom lip. Your hands wandered to his blazer, grabbing the collar as you brought him close to your body. His vibranium arm cradled the back of your head, inhaling deeply as you parted your own lips to kiss him once more. 

Bucky tilted his head and partially opened his lips, urging you to open your mouth as he poked his tongue through, licking your teeth in the process. A low moan escaped his throat as he messily massaged his tongue against yours.

Maybe you did deserve this after dealing with his bullshit for a year.

However, while the two of you were busy inhaling one another, his pressing weight was causing you to lose your balance. Once you realized however, it was too late. You and Bucky broke the kiss as you tumbled onto the carpeted floor, with him falling on top of you.

‘Woah!’ you yelped, expecting your head to hit the ground. Your eyes squeezed shut, expecting an impact, but was met with Bucky’s warm hand cradling the back of your head, absorbing the fall.

He may have cushioned your fall, but his body landed on yours, knocking the wind from your lung in the process. Bucky’s chest rumbled with laughter as you squeaked in discomfort. ‘You’re heavy, James.’

‘Sorry.’ he hummed amusingly. The super soldier brought himself off of you, lifting his body inches away from yours as his elbows rested on your sides.

If you told your past self that a year from now, that your boss confessed to you the night he won his election campaign, they would’ve slapped you silly, telling you that you’re delusional. But here you were, gazing into his eyes lovingly while he stroked your head endearingly. 

‘So.’ you started.

‘So.’ he mimed back.

‘Now that I’m unemployed thanks to you, you’re going to help me find a new job.’

Bucky pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. ‘Already done and taken care of.’

Your eyebrow shot up. ‘What did you do now, James?’

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. ‘I cashed in a favour from Sam. You’re going to be his PR manager now.’

Your face twisted into frustration. ‘Oh god. Working for him might be slightly worse than working for you.’

‘Excuse me!’ he scoffed out of offence. ‘Working with me is a pleasure!’

You sniffed in sarcasm as you pushed him off to sit up. Bucky took it as an opportunity to tackle you into the floor once more.

‘Bucky stop it!’ you shrieked as he poked his fingers to your sides.

‘Nope.’ he said, popping the ‘P’ on his tongue.

The super soldier found himself facing you once more, and peppered your face with kisses. His stubbled beard tickled you.

‘You know Bucky, there were several times where I wanted to quit working for you because you were unbearable.’ you joked as he continued to smother you.

‘Well,’ he started between kisses. ‘Now that I fired you and promoted you to my partner, you’re stuck with me. I’ll be taking care of you now.’

A bright smile appeared on your lips. Bucky took notice and mirrored the same smile as he dipped down to kiss your lips once more.

What was thought to be the most stressful night of your life ended up with you sprawled out on the floor with your ex-boss-turned boyfriend. 

Not that you could complain. For once in your life you were glad that you got fired from your job. The average working person would never say that.

But then again, your boss was far from average. He was an unbearable and incredibly sassy 110 year old super soldier turned politician who consistently pushed your buttons when it came to setting him straight for the sake of his political career.

With all things considered, it was no wonder that you fell in love with him. And you couldn't have had it any other way.

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right - A.H

a/n: my girl sabrina can do no wrong and i have been listening to this song on repeat since it came out so i just absolutely needed to write a fic about it

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: aaron hotchner is a busy man and he tends to disappoint you by missing important events

warnings: angst (sorry in advance), aaron is like not a great husband, reader is also an imperfect character, reader is a girl boss though

wc: 1.2k

You were in your best dress. More expensive than you'd ever think about buying for yourself, but it had been a gift from Aaron. You had fought him on it, scolding him for spending so much on a dress you were sure to only wear once. But he had insisted, telling you that this opportunity was once in a lifetime and that it would be a sin for it to not be celebrated with a dress that made you shine like a ruby.

He was right, partly, you were shining--glowing, sparkling, glittering--as you moved through the library. It was beautiful, to say the least--all opulence and history that was almost too much to absorb. The marble floors almost seemed to amplify the conversations around you, the clinking of glasses, the swish of overpriced gowns and tuxedos.

Your eyes settled on the tiered desks fitted with bronze reading lamps, now repurposed as a station for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The circular arrangement of desks, once centered around knowledge, now facilitated hushed gossip and the discreet laughter of society's finest.

You could almost hear what they were thinking: there she is again without her husband, that poor thing always by herself, and your personal favorite—does he even exist?

You wanted to be angry, to scold their prying eyes, for putting their noses into something that had nothing to do with them whatsoever. But could you really blame them? Every event you attended you told the same story--my husband is a busy man with an important job--a line you had grown tired of repeating. 

And that was all true. He devoted most of his time to saving lives--how could you find fault in that? How could you complain to having a husband whose very essence was self-sacrifice and heroism?

This evening was set to be an exception; he was in New York for a case, and the Pulitzer Prize ceremony was not something he would miss. He had given you his word.

You understood his passion for his job, completely, because you held that same passion for your own. You dedicated years of your life to your journalism, investigating corruption at its highest levels. This is exactly how you ended up here tonight, nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for that very work. A Pulitzer Prize.

The term once seemed like a fantastical concept to you, a lofty accolade reserved for the likes of JFK, Bob Dylan, Robert Frost--icons, not someone as ordinary as you. Yet, against all odds, you find yourself among the select few, a nominee for an honor that has only been won by 1,512 individuals since 1917, a fact Spencer had supplied you with.

Someone was speaking to you, saying your name. Almost without thinking, your hand found a flute of champagne, taking a generous sip before turning to face them.

"You look stunning, and a well-deserved congratulations are in order. Everyone back at the office is cheering for you." It was your boss, her stilettos adding inches to her already imposing frame.

The flattery didn't quite mask her usual coldness, it was all too artificial. She wasn't your biggest fan, and she had made that clear from your first day. Still, you mustered a smile and thanked her anyway, taking another sip of champagne, hoping to drown away her nauseating voice.

"It's too bad your husband couldn't be here," she began, and you had to resist the urge to rip out her extensions. "This is an incredible accomplishment, but he's quite the busy man, as you say."

"Yes, he is busy, but he'll be here tonight," you replied, flashing her your best smile as you smoothed the red fabric that suddenly felt too tight. "He's actually here in New York on a case."

"Oh, how great. I can't wait to put a face to the name." You could tell by the look she shot her own husband that she didn't believe a word from your mouth. "Anyway, I have to go speak with an academy representative, but I'll see you and your husband at the ceremony?"

You responded with a nod, not dignifying her with words as she left, her giggles a bitter sound. You hated her. And you were ready to make her eat her words when your husband, who looked absolutely incredibly in a suit, showed up.

But then it was dinner, and you found yourself alone, surrounded by a table of important people whose names you couldn't remember. The seat beside you was empty and suddenly that omnipotent, cloud-nine feeling you had vanished with the time that passed.

The text you sent piled up, feeling a little juvenile, like you were back in high school again getting stood up at prom.

Let me know when you're close!

Is everything going okay?

Call me if you can.

An onslaught of anxious thoughts skyrocketed around your mind as you mechanically chewed the fancy food that only seemed to upset your stomach further. What if something happened? Was he okay? Did the case go wrong? Did he get in a car accident on the way here?

You were a bundle of nerves, gnawing on the inside of your mouth as your heel tapped up and down against the floor. But this wasn't borne from concern for his well-being; deep down, you were certain he was fine. The truth was simpler and sharper: he wasn't coming.

You should have been prepared, should have braced for this, but you were convinced that this time, this occasion would be an exception.

You name was being called, but this time not by someone wanting to extract prying information or stir speculation, no, this time it was carried across the crowed, wrapped in the microphone's static hum.

Your head snapped up, fingers ceasing their fidgeting as you struggled to mask the shock and avoid the gaping, breathless look of a fish out of water.

You had won.

People were clapped, but it seemed far away as you made your way to the stage, hands coming from all directions to offer pats on the back and handshakes of congratulations.

You had won.

Your feet were carrying you up a small set of stairs. You were trying to remember how to walk--left, right, heel, toe. There was a bright light on you now, prompting a slight squint and you worked to keep a smile on your face as you accepted the award.

You had to be dreaming. Had to be. There was no other explanation.

You were on display now, under the intense stage lights. Your body was on autopilot, stepping behind the podium, words flowing out of your mouth--a speech you had rehearsed over and over again in the slim chance that you would win. And here you are.

But the more you spoke the more you seemed to deviate from the script.

You paused, voice catching as you tried your best not to let the tears fall--your makeup was too pristine for smears.

"But tonight, as I accept this honor, I am reminded that while we may seek comfort in the presence of others, our truest strength comes from within." Your eyes dart around the audience, clinging to the slim chance he's there, that he showed up. "It comes from knowing that when we step into the moment, we step in with conviction, with passion, and sometimes, with a singularity that says we are enough."

The final words of your speech hang in the air, a brittle hope that disappears as quickly as it surfaced. He proved them right, and no amount of applause can drown out the sound of your heart breaking just a little.

part 2

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179

[suuuupernovaaa]

confession

Pedro is convinced to confess his feelings for you, despite being sure you don’t return the sentiment.

Fluff, age gap, HEA

MASTERLIST

Just tell her - what’s the absolute worst that could happen? You keep avoiding her?

Lena’s voice rattles around in his head, day and night, and he’s so annoyed that she’s right.

He’s been avoiding you. For weeks now. And it hasn’t really been that hard, he’s been on the road for most of the last month, doing press and red carpets, but he’s about to return home for a long stretch between projects.

New York is big but somehow, you two always find each other. He knows it’s inevitable.

As he waits to board a plane to from LAX to JFK, his phone pings with a text.

From you.

When are you coming home? it reads.

He takes his glasses off and runs his hand down his face, groaning. He should ignore it. It wouldn’t work out anyway, and he can’t stand the thought of just being friends any longer. Something’s got to give.

But he’s stupid when it comes to you, so he replies anyway. About to board, dinner tonight at my place?

You reply with a heard and a smile, and he wants to die.

xxx

He’s been in his head all day. One minute, he’s decided to bury the feelings down deep and continue being friends. The next, he’s decided he’ll see you tonight and then never again. And between those two terrible ideas, he imagines what you might say if he did confess. If he did say those words.

There was a time, he thinks, when you had feelings for him - but that was a few boyfriends ago, and wouldn’t you have said something by now?

Then again, he hasn’t.

He orders dinner in the car on the way home, something from your favorite pizza place in the neighborhood you share.

He has just enough time to shower and dress before you’re ringing the doorbell - and he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

xxx

You take the pizza from the delivery boy’s hands after the front desk assures him you do indeed know the intended recipient, and make your way to the top floor of the Pedro’s apartment building.

He answers quickly after you knock, and you hold the pizza up. “What are the chances! I figured this was for us. If not, you owe a neighbor an apology.”

Pedro laughs that warm, enveloping laugh that you miss so much when he’s gone, and you shut the door behind you after you enter his place.

He follows you to the kitchen, watching you navigate his apartment with comfort and ease. It’s spring in New York - still a little chilly, but warm enough for you to be wearing a floral dress under a jacket, which you shed after setting down the pizza.

“New dress?” he asks, and you wonder if you imagined how nervous his voice sounded when he asked you that.

“Yes! Do you like it? Mom sent it to me actually. Usually the stuff she picks is uh, not good. But this one is nice!”

“You look beautiful,” he says, and your chest heats up, a warmth spreading through you.

Beautiful, Pedro says. You had hoped he would feel that way, even if he doesn’t mean it the way you want him to.

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him. He’s been away for work, and you’ve been so busy at the firm, you wouldn’t have been able to see him even if he hadn’t been.

But you’ve thought about him every day. Saved every picture and selfie he’d sent you to look at later. Wondered if he’d been thinking of you too.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile, and he takes a few steps to you.

The atmosphere between you feels strange. Usually, it’s nothing but comfort and laughter when you’re with Pedro, but something feels off today. Something hangs heavy in the air, and you stare at him for a moment.

He stares back.

It’s too quiet. Pedro is never quiet. Pedro can’t stand silence, he loves to fill it.

But he’s quiet now, and you’re the one who can’t stand it, so you say the first thing on your mind.

“I want to date you.”

Oh fuck. Oh shit. I want to date you? What a dumbass thing to say to a 50-year-old man who almost certainly doesn’t see you that way.

You’re just his former-neighbor turned friend, one of many close friends he has, certainly nothing special, and definitely not someone he wants to date, like a teenager.

His jaw is slack, his eyes wide, and the silence before was awkward, but now, it’s unbearable.

“You want to date me?” he asks finally, and removes his glasses.

You try to think of what to say next to convince him you said this as a joke, but your mouth is dry and your tongue is tied.

And simply, you don’t want to lie to your dear friend.

“Oh, shit. That was a stupid way to say it. And if you don’t feel the same, please don’t worry. We can just continue being friends. I didn’t mean to blurt it you like that.” You’re wringing your sweaty hands together in front of you, and Pedro takes another step forward, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. “I just, like, I missed you so much this last month and I thought of you every day and your friendship means so much to me but I just feel…”

The words are coming so fast but you don’t even know what you’re saying, and your throat is constricting in a way that warns you you’re about to cry.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?” Pedro says, and the tone is a little bit teasing, but not in an unkind way. A smile is on his face. He’s closed the gap between you completely now, and you wipe your clammy hands on your dress.

“Is that stupid? I’m sorry.”

He reaches for you, one hand on your waist and the other on your cheek, and his smile grows wider.

“I’d love to be your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. What a silly label between adults, but it also makes joy bloom in your chest.

Boyfriend. Pedro wants to be your boyfriend - in fact, he’d love to.

“Are you teasing me?” you ask quietly, and he brushes away a stray tear with his thumb.

“No. I wouldn’t do that, my love.”

You lean forward, the tension leaving your shoulders as you press your cheek to his strong chest and he wraps his arms around you.

“Because I mean it, Pedro. I don’t want to scare you, but I’m all in here,” you say into his chest, and his arms squeeze you tighter.

After a moment, he leans back just a little, and tilts your chin up so that your gaze meets his.

“That’s good, because so am I. You’re mine, I’m yours.”

He leans down and you close your eyes as finally, for the first time, Pedro presses a soft kiss to your lips.

It feels delicate and new, and it sends shivers up and down your spine. You fist his shirt in your hands, and he runs his palms over the soft fabric of your dress.

When you pull away, breathless and smiling, he kisses each cheek, and then your nose, so light and soft, and then his lips ghost across yours one more time.

“Can I take you on a real first date tomorrow? Somewhere really nice?”

You reach up and brush a curl back from his eyes. “I want this to be our first date. Pizza at your place, maybe we watch a movie.”

“And then I ravish you,” he says with a teasing smile, and you throw your head back with laughter.

“Yes, and then you ravish me.”

[zepskies]

RED-EYE

Pairing: Jason Teague x Reader

Summary: Your best friend is getting married. Naturally, you’re running late for your flight back home to good old Smallville, Kansas, and so is the handsome stranger who saves you.

AN: Here’s my second to last entry for @jacklesversebingo!

**Remember that Smallville was circa early 2000s, the time of flip phones, physical clocks, and paper airplane tickets. Also, this story is going to be AU in certain ways from the season 4 storyline with Jason. (You’ll see.)

Jacklesverse Bingo Prompt: Running late for the same flight.

Posted on Patreon: 3/24/3025

Song Inspo: “First Time” by Lifehouse – in true 2000s alt-rock fashion.

Word Count: 4.8K

Tags/Warnings: Meet cute, fluff and hijinks, hint of college woes, twist ending~

Despite all your meticulous plans, you still managed to be late to the airport.

But you’d been prepared, damn it! Packed to perfection as you made sure you had everything for your trip with all your luggage laid out and ready to go for your flight.

You even had a sandwich waiting on the kitchen counter, along with a thermos full of ice-cold water and an apple for extra nutrition and sustenance. You were so damn prepared that you got cocky.

Smiling and inwardly patting yourself on the back for a job well done, but also bone tired from said preparing, you decided to reward yourself with a quick nap. You fairly face-planted on your bed and released a sigh that you felt in every muscle of your body melting into the mattress.

Ten minutes. Twenty, tops. Then you’d wake up refreshed and ready to get a taxi over to JFK.

Three hours later, you woke up like the parents in Home Alone, bolting upright frazzled and confused. Then you checked the clock on your nightstand.

Oh, SHIT.

You scrambled out of bed and nearly twisted your ankle in the mess of blankets.

It was lucky for you that you lived in a city that never slept. Within ten minutes, the taxi you called pulled up to the curb outside your apartment building. You had your carry-on bag slung over your shoulder, basically resting on your back as you heaved your monumental suitcase down the concrete steps. Those last ten were easy, compared to the first few flights from your third-floor apartment unit.

Getting this thing back up there is gonna be a bitch when I come home, you realized, but that was a Future You problem. Present You had enough shit to deal with.

It wasn’t until you settled in the backseat of the taxi with a huff that you remembered what you forgot: your sandwich. Thermos. Apple. Health all gone out the window.

Perfect.

You’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on, came the thought that suspiciously sounded like your best friend. You didn’t think that was exactly fair though, considering she got into way more trouble than you on a frighteningly consistent basis—and way worse than nearly missing your flight back home.

You got to the John F. Kennedy International Airport at 11:30 at night for a flight that was supposed to leave at exactly 12:15 a.m. Yes, red-eyes suck, but it was the best you could afford that didn’t have any layovers. Living by yourself in Manhattan wasn’t easy, and not just financially. Somehow though, you were doing it.

You were proving your parents wrong, along with everyone who said smalltown girls couldn’t make it in big cities.

You stormed into the airport through a pair of heavy glass doors, lugging your purse and carry-on over one shoulder and the handle of your suitcase in hand. You were halfway to the line to get your ticket verified and your bag checked, when the weight you were dragging behind you suddenly felt much lighter. You stumbled in your ankle boots.

You looked down and realized you were holding a broken plastic handle in your hand. With wide eyes, you turned back and found your suitcase lying on the floor, a sad monstrosity on its side, now with two prongs of black metal poking out without a handle. The damn thing fucking broke.

“You gotta be shitting me!” you groaned as you struggled to pick up your suitcase by one of the now jagged beams coming out of it. “You can’t just give up, dude! You’re killin’ me here.”

To be fair, the suitcase was heavy as hell. You’d probably overpacked.

“Uh, you need some help?”

You looked up at the question, meeting a pair of green eyes and the handsome face of a young man. His short, blondish hair caught on the overhead lighting, brandishing the ends of it golden. He was dressed down in some dark wash jeans, a forest green shirt, and a sporty looking jacket. He looked preppy, like the jocks you used to avoid like the plague in college, but his concern seemed genuine. He held a green duffel bag casually strapped over his shoulder.

“Uh, thanks, I’m good,” you said, your face warming in embarrassment. With a valiant heave, you got your suitcase up on its little wheels and dragged it rolling behind you by one of the broken extended parts. You paused, looking down at your other hand where the severed handle lied. Shaking your head and not knowing what else to do with it, you tossed it into your purse.

Preppy Guy graciously let you get in line ahead of him. You nodded at him in thanks with a brief smile, not quite able to look him in the eyes through your embarrassment.

Another few minutes, and you made it to the front of the line. Iris read the name tag of the woman at the reception desk. She greeted you with a bland smile at best. You didn’t blame her. It was almost midnight, and your flight was set to take off in less than half an hour.

“I’m going to need your ticket and ID, hun,” she said.

“Of course.” You were already digging through your purse, nodding, but you stopped short. You found your wallet with your driver’s license, but where the hell was your ticket?

“Oh my God,” you uttered, more furiously digging through your purse. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

When you still came up empty, you began rifling through your little duffle bag next.

“Miss,” Iris tried, but you held up a hand.

“Wait, I have a ticket. Coach, Seat B12, Gate 9. I know because I printed it off and put it in here just a few hours ago…”

You gasped when it dawned on you.

You’d switched purses, opting for your messenger bag that could hold more stuff. You sort of remembered a folded-up piece of paper getting tossed to the floor when you stuffed the smaller, cuter purse in your suitcase.

“I forgot it. I can’t believe it,” you breathed. “I forgot my ticket. Oh God, I can’t miss this flight! My best friend is getting married tomorrow. I’m the Maid of Honor!”

“Okay, miss, calm down. It’s…cutting it close, but we might still have a seat available on this flight,” said Iris. She checked her computer screen again after typing in something. Her brown eyes narrowed on the screen. “Okay, wow, we actually do have a couple of seats left.”

“Great! I’ll take it,” you said, shaking your head. You were going to be out an extra $200 at least.

“They’re in first class,” she said. Her eyes met yours, and your face fell.

“And how much is one of those?” you asked dryly. Her face remained unreadable, but considering your broken and frayed ten-year-old suitcase on the platform, you both knew the answer. Too damn much.

“That’s going to be $1,000 with the late booking fee,” she replied.

You gaped. “Excuse me? $1,000 for a three-hour flight?! What, are you gonna tattoo the seat number on my ass? Is the fake leather chair actually made out of gold?”

Iris inhaled a deep breath, like she was just barely holding herself back from rolling her eyes. You knew you were being that bitch right now, and part of you hated yourself for it. You just couldn’t help it. You loved your friend like your own sister, but there was no way you could justify forking over what little savings you had to cover this, even if you were staying with your parents to save money while you were in Smallville. 

“Ah, excuse me,” a smooth voice interjected.

Once again, you found yourself staring into the eyes of a stranger—the same Preppy Guy from earlier. He was still behind you in line, but now closer, hovering a respectful distance to your left. He raised a hand that said, I come in peace.

“I couldn’t help but, um, overhear,” he said, making you frown. Your cheeks lit aflame with embarrassment, but before you could offer a sharp retort, he shocked you with an offer. “I’ve got like, a bunch of frequent flyer miles. I can help you out, use ‘em to get you a ticket.”

You shook your head. “Oh, no. Look, I can’t ask you to do that—”

“Well, good thing you’re not asking,” he said. He gave you a smile infused with boyish charm. “Really, it’s no trouble. Also considering I’m on the same flight, and it’s about to take off in…”

He checked the silver Rolex on his wrist. “About twenty minutes.”

Your frown dropped in shock. Fuck! You needed to get through security and to your gate before the plane took off without you.

You debated internally with yourself for a moment, chewing on your lower lip. Was this guy for real? Or was he just trying to hook you in, like a man who thought you’d owe him something extra just because he decided to buy you a drink at the bar. And this was a little bit more than a $10 cocktail.

Ultimately though, the man’s earnest demeanor and his kind green eyes won you over. You thanked him profusely while he paid for the ticket, and again afterward, when Iris handed it over to you. It may as well have been made of shining gold, like you were gaining admission into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

“I’m Jason,” he said, and shook your adrenaline-trembling hand after you gave him your name in return. His smile could probably melt butter. If not, the cut of his jaw would slice right through it. 

You held the ticket tightly in your hand, still somewhat in shock as you and your savior jogged together over to Security. You checked your big suitcase after he paid for the ticket, which left you with just your carry-on messenger bag.

“I still can’t believe you did that for me. Thank you,” you said, trying to regain your breath while you set down your things in a bin to get through the security checkpoint.

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t kidding about those miles…mostly,” he said, while taking off his jacket, followed by his shoes. The man was tall, with broad shoulders to match despite his lithe frame. Your gaze couldn’t help but follow the movement of his muscles flexing under the thin shirt and jacket. He looked…athletic. Your instinct was probably right about the preppy jock thing.

“Sure,” you said, beginning to smile.

The two of you managed to make it without hassle through the security checkpoint. All you needed was your belongings to come through on the conveyor belt, like groceries you already owned.

“I’ve never flown first class,” you admitted.

He chuckled and glanced over at you. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me. You know what is?”

“What?”

“Good company,” he said. A hint of flirtatious charm in his eyes made your insides flip with butterflies, despite your lips pursing.

“Ooh, buddy. What exactly do you think you’re getting out of this? I’m grateful, but I’m not that grateful,” you warned. You grabbed up your stuff from the bin and quickly put your sweater back on and your bag over your shoulder.

Jason faltered, his brows furrowing, but his smile won out. “Okay, not what I meant.”

His bin slid toward him, and he grabbed his jacket and other things quickly as well. You two had about ten minutes before the flight was set to take off. They were still boarding from what you could hear on the intercom.

“It’ll just be nice to have someone to talk to. I usually fly alone,” he said.

“Yeah, me too,” you said after a moment, offering him a smile. At the end of the day, he did just save you from disappointing your best friend and missing her wedding. His returning smile for you made your chest fill with warmth. You studied him while you hastened to the gate.

Okay, so he was attractive beyond belief. You also seemed to have been sucked into the first twenty minutes of a romcom, complete with a crazy, ridiculous, would-never-happen-in-real-life meet cute. Except that somehow, this was your real life.

But life isn’t a movie, you stubbornly reminded yourself. And you weren’t about to stick around if it took a turn from 50 First Dates to an episode of Law & Order.

Meaning, you still didn’t know if you believed Jason’s motives as a Good Samaritan just yet. So, you wouldn’t drop your guard. You tugged your sweater up higher on your neck, but you also found yourself discreetly checking your reflection on your tiny phone screen. Your clothes were a bit wrinkled and your hair was on the frizzy side, thanks to all the hustle just to get to this seat before takeoff. At least you’d managed to throw on some makeup before you scrambled out of the apartment.

Hopefully being first class meant you could actually relax on this flight.

“It better come with unlimited peanuts,” you said.

You couldn’t stop the flood of girlish giggles, and it was all Jason’s fault. While most of the plane was trying to sleep on the red-eye, your ex-college pro football companion was too busy telling you story after story of all the crazy stuff he’d had to do in freshman year to appease his buddies on the football team.

Like getting overripe fruit from the cafeteria and coating the floor of their coach’s office, so every time he entered, he’d have to squish on something just to get to his chair. (That one earned him an entire week of wind sprints.) Or your personal favorite: a mental image of Jason streaking through the quad wearing nothing but a plastic bowl filled with whipped cream, placed strategically in front of him. Very interesting when he stopped in front of the sorority house. 

“So you were good, huh?” you said.

“Weeell,” he shrugged, smiling impishly.

Your lips curved. “What position did you play?”

“Quarterback,” he admitted. Your brows rose, and you whistled softly.

“Look at you,” you said. “Mr. Quarterback. Mr. ‘I’ve got sorority girls at my beck and call.’”

He laughed at your teasing, taking it in good stride.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t quite like that. I, uh…I actually only played for about a year before I got hurt,” he said.

You sobered then. He was keeping it light, but you noticed the change in his demeanor, like there was genuine regret and old disappointment well-hidden behind his eyes. You asked the predictable question.

“What happened?”  

A wry smile tugged at his lips, but he told you.

“Tore my rotator cuff,” he said. “NFL recruiters tend to frown on that sort of thing. Disappeared like bong smoke.”

So just like that, the future he thought he was building for himself was over. It made you think about all those “meatheads” you sort of used to make fun of back in college. It made you feel a bit guilty, and it gave you some new perspective, wondering how hard they were working, knowing they were putting their all into something that could potentially be taken away from them in a single game.

“What’re you doing now?” you asked. Already an hour into the flight, by now Jason Teague had told you he was from Metropolis. He even played for Metropolis University back then.

“Working for my father’s law firm,” he said, though he didn’t seem all that happy about it as he retrieved a bag of M&Ms he’d set on his fold-out tray. “I managed to fight off the law degree. Got one in business to compromise. He still thinks I should get some experience, learn from him, so I’m shadowing him, essentially.”

You frowned. “Shadowing him? For a career you clearly have no interest in?”

Jason sighed with a rueful, humorless kind of laugh.

“Yeah, trust me, I tried the whole rebellion thing. Didn’t really work well for me,” he said.

You were kind of sad for him, if you were honest. Daddy’s money could buy a lot of things, but it couldn’t buy you passion, or love for that matter. It sounded like his father was trying to control him with it.

Though you now felt less bad about Jason buying your ticket.

“Well, look, it’s not like I have my life figured out either,” you confessed. “My parents think I’m wasting my life and my money in New York.”

“Yeah, but you’re a musician. At least you get good tips,” he said, a bit of his flirtatious teasing returning as he popped a peanut M&M into his mouth. He offered you the bag, and you took a couple of M&Ms for yourself. You spoke around thoughtful chewing.

“Oh sure, I play in musty clubs and hope even one person’s paying attention while they get shitfaced at the bar,” you say, chuckling. “That’s exactly how I imagined my life when I got a degree in music composition.”

“From NYU,” Jason pointed out.

You inclined your head in acknowledgement. “Okay, yes, I got to go to one of the best schools in New York. I’m grateful for that. Honestly, I am. But they don’t tell you how hard it’s going to be to even get a job after college, let alone something you’re passionate about. God forbid you can make money doing something you love.”

Jason nodded in commiseration, stuffing his face with a few more M&Ms. You sipped at the cocktail he got you, despite your protests. He’d grinned and flashed his silvery company card before handing it to the flight attendant.

“I’m not giving up though,” you said, after a beat. “If something’s worth it, you hold onto it. That’s what my dad always told me…even if it bit him in the ass later when I said I wanted to leave Smallville.”

Jason chuckled, tipping his head back. He eyed you in amusement, and something else, like this was a moment he was trying to commit to memory.

“Smalltown girl, huh?” he remarked. “Livin’ in a lonely world.”

A smile threatened your lips. Now he was quoting Journey at you?

“City boy, huh?” you countered. “Born and raised in…Metropolis.” You laughed at your own lameness. “Blech. That doesn’t work, does it? Maybe I should’ve thought harder about that whole career as a songwriter thing.”

He joined you with some laughter of his own, and it was a rich sound that showed off his charming smile.

An hour later, the tremor and bouncing of turbulence startled you awake. Jason grasped your hand, since you’d grabbed his arm on reflex.

“It’s okay, we’re just landing,” he said.

You cleared your throat and paused, realizing that you’d been sleeping with your head resting on his shoulder. Your face was mere inches from his, your lips parting in surprise. He looked back at you softly, his gaze briefly lowering to your lips, and back to your eyes.

You leaned back while embarrassment began to make your face and neck flush.

“God, I’m so sorry,” you said bashfully.

Jason’s smile returned, lighting up his eyes now that the overhead lights had turned back on.

“It’s okay. The drool will probably come out of the jacket,” he replied.

You gasped and checked his jacket sleeve, but it was clean. You bit your lip against a smile and lightly smacked his arm in retaliation.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” you said.

“I think I’m adorable,” he replied, leveling you with a grin.

“Hmph.” You crossed your arms, but you couldn’t quite stamp down that smile.

Because he was damn right.

Even though he didn’t even check a bag, Jason hung out with you in baggage claim after the plane landed. When you two made it outside the airport, you each hailed a cab. He made sure to give you his cell phone number.

“If you ever have some time to grab dinner while you’re here, or hey, even just a cup of coffee, let me know,” he’d said, with a certain gleam in his eyes. “If not, we’ll always have First Class.”

His cheesiness made you laugh. You hadn’t taken him for a Casablanca kind of guy, but you liked that. Your heart was kind of hurting though. Your return flight was the morning after the wedding, and you highly doubted you’d have time for more than raiding the mini fridge in your hotel room, let alone another meet-up. Or a date…

Besides that, Jason told you that he didn’t live in New York. He’d just been there for a business he didn’t even like. Your life and your dreams were in New York. You weren’t likely to see this man ever again.

So before he turned to leave, heading toward the taxi parked at the curb, you found yourself rushing forward to stop him. You leaned up on your toes and pulled him into a hug, circling your arms around his neck while the wind nipped at you both in the early morning darkness.

“Thank you,” you whispered near his ear. “Thank you so much. You really don’t know what you did for me.”

Jason’s smile was warm when he finally released you. He tucked a wind-swept strand of hair behind your ear, letting his thumb brush your warming cheek.

“Can’t let you forget me, can I?” he said. “Hope you have fun at the wedding. Just be careful. You know, bridezillas and all the uh, hairspray.”

He mimed getting blasted in the face with a spray can, with an exaggerated grimace.

Your smile pulled at the corners. Like you’d ever forget the man who bought you a first-class plane ticket without even knowing you.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll remember that,” you laughed.

You turned to head back to your waiting taxi, but something made you turn back around. Jason did too, as if he was as reluctant as you were to end whatever this was.

“I forgot to ask. What’re you up to here in Metropolis? Coming home?” you called to him.

“Yes and no,” he called back with a shrug. “Mostly just attending to some business.”

You shook your head. “That’s not vague at all.”

Jason chuckled and gave you a wave.

“This isn’t goodbye. I’ll see you someday soon,” he said with a wink.

You shook your head, unable to temper your smile. What a flirt.

You laughed as you let him spin you again. The skirt of your bridesmaid’s dress billowed out in shades of lavender and violet. Jason drew you back into him smoothly with one hand curled in yours, and the other wrapping back around your waist. He pulled you flush against his chest, looking down at you with a subtle smile when you gasped lightly.

You stared up into his eyes shook your head. Someday soon, my ass.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were the Best Man?” you said, laughing incredulously.

Jason drew his plush lower lip between his teeth, and he dipped you. The move was sudden enough to get a squeal out of you, but he held you securely, bringing you back up with his usual charming (and slightly mischievous) grin.

“Now where’s the fun in that, sweetheart?” he replied.

You shook your head breathlessly. You caught sight of Lois and Clark passing by as they made their rounds, greeting guests. Jason spared a hand to slap Clark’s back in a brotherly gesture. The other man turned around with a bright smile, as did Lois. You blew her a kiss, becoming somewhat teary-eyed.

She was beautiful, and it had been too long since you’d seen her in person. Video chats just weren’t the same, but you were so grateful to be able to share this day with her. You’d been best friends with Lois since you were kids, fellow army brats who met in some dusty town in Arizona. When your father retired and settled back in Smallville, you became friends with Chloe, her cousin, but you and Lois never stopped writing, emailing, and later Instant Messaging and Skyping.

And while you were friendly with Clark, you'd never met his "mysterious" college friend from Metropolis...who apparently was an excellent dancer.

“I see you guys hit it off!” Lois called out across the dance floor, boldly teasing and not caring how many people heard her (including your parents).

You gave her an incredulous look, but she just laughed at you and went back to holding Clark’s arm. He looked at her like she was his sunny sky.

Your smile softened. You drew your attention back up to Jason’s face. He’d slowed things down to gentle swaying, now that the band was playing something softer, “Everything” by Lifehouse.

“You know, you look beautiful tonight,” he said. His gaze drew down your form in your dress, back up to your eyes. He cleaned up well himself in the charcoal black suit and gray tie.

“Thank you,” you said softly, a slight smile curving your lips. “Better than some old joggers and a ratty sweater.”

He smiled too. “Nah, it was a good look. Now I already know what it’s gonna be like when we’re five, six months in. Me in my sweatpants that have holes in all the wrong places, and you with that messy bun on your head, no makeup, potentially no underwear.”

You smacked his arm for that last bit, even though he was making you laugh already.

“Just chillin’ together on the couch with How I Met Your Mother playing on the TV, couple of beers, and one hot, pepperoni pizza,” he said. He squeezed your waist on the word hot.

You couldn’t prevent your sillier, giddier laugh from escaping. But then, reality just had to check in.

“I hate to roll the credits on your feel-good sitcom, but…I live in New York,” you said, even as the words tugged sharply at your heart. “I barely have the money to get back to Kansas once every six months, let alone for…”

Jason gave you a gentler look, if still with that mischievous gleam. “That business trip I had? It was to scope out locations for a New York branch of my father’s firm. He’s finally trusting me to handle the management side of things. Comes with a potential relocation…if that’s what I want.”

He gazed at you meaningfully. “I figure, maybe it gives us a chance to grab that cup of coffee. So I’m thinking…Monday morning, before your shift. I can take you to this little café I know in Little Italy.”

Your shock overtook you. But slowly, ever slowly, it faded away. You smiled. Your hands slid over his shoulders and up the back of his neck, your fingers carding through his dirty blonde hair at the nape of his neck. He guided you even closer to him, until you were sharing a breath. His lips became mere inches from yours.

“You sure know how to paint a picture,” you said, almost a whisper.

“Yeah?” Jason quirked his head slightly. “Let me try one more.”

He leaned in slow, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. Your breath caught, but you let him touch his lips to yours, soft and plush and warm.

You melted into his second kiss even faster than the first, tightening your fingers in his hair and tilting your head. It gave him a better angle to cup your cheek and deepen the kiss. He held you gently, but strong and secure at the same time.

You couldn’t see it, but his brows were furrowed. You didn’t know it, but Jason’s heart felt full, even though he’d just met you. Each new sweet kiss with you was like he was taking his first real breath in years. 

For you, it felt like the first good thing you’d had in months, and yes, even years of struggle trying to build your career. His voice, his lips, his touch, it all was like heady wine, making proverbial tannins prickle under your skin, then dissolve warm and honeyed in your body.

Just then, you didn’t care who was watching or what music was playing.

Whatever this was, and whatever it could be, maybe it was worth holding onto for longer than tonight.

AN: I've been holding onto this little fic for quite a while, so it's so nice to finally share some more Jason with you guys! I would like to write more of him in the future. ❤️ In the first half of season 4, he just gives me such "Dean if he got to go to college" vibes. 🥰

In the meantime, let me know what you thought of this little adventure in AU Smallville!

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories; send me requests, and more!

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[withthecolorizedkennedys]

Plaese make a jfk x reader smut

A Night At The Opera

synopsis: jack kennedy invited you to the opera for a night of high culture. but between the velvet seats and heavy curtains, his idea of refinement turned out to be far more hands-on.

word count: 1.8k

pairing: john f. kennedy x reader

rating: 18+; includes depictions of fingering and handjobs

author's note: sorry this took a little longer! i couldn't think of a good scenario that was not done already or a bit generic...

The theatre’s gilded dome shimmered above, a relic of old-world splendor that stirred something familiar—a memory of Vienna, not in likeness, but in feeling. You’d walked halls like this before, heard music rise beneath glittering chandeliers. But London's Royal Opera House had a weight all its own. The chandeliers hung lower here, the velvet seats felt deeper, heavier. And beside you, Jack Kennedy sat beside you with his program folded into precise quarters, his attention already wandering before the curtain had risen.

You'd known Jack for nearly a year now, ever since his father's appointment as Ambassador to the Court of St. James's. At twenty-one, Jack was restless energy personified, his lean frame never quite at ease in formal settings. Tonight was no exception. La Traviata had been his suggestion—a surprise, given his usual indifference to music that wasn't played in dance halls.

"My father says I should cultivate an appreciation for the finer things," he'd explained when he invited you. "And I can't think of anything finer than spending an evening with you."

Now, as Violetta's aria filled the theater, Jack's knee bounced with barely contained energy. His fingers drummed silently against the program in his lap. You placed your hand over his to still them, and he turned to you with that smile that made something in your chest flutter.

"Is it terribly boring?" you whispered.

"Not boring," he whispered back, leaning close enough that his breath warmed your ear. "Just... predictable. She'll die tragically. They always do in these things."

You suppressed a laugh. "That's rather the point of tragedy, Jack."

His hand turned beneath yours, his fingers intertwining with your own. "I prefer comedies," he said. "Or at least stories where people get what they want before the curtain falls."

The way he looked at you then made heat rise to your cheeks. You'd been careful with Jack Kennedy—the Ambassador's son wasn't someone to trifle with, and despite his casual charm, you knew his family had expectations. But there was something in his gaze tonight that made your careful boundaries seem suddenly arbitrary.

The box seats had been his father's idea—or so Jack claimed. "Dad insists we maintain a certain appearance," he'd said with an eye roll as he helped you up the private staircase. Now, with the theater lights dimmed and the box's heavy curtains partially drawn, you understood the true advantage of such privacy.

Jack's hand slipped from yours, coming to rest lightly on your knee. The touch was innocent enough, but the intent in his eyes was anything but. You gave him a warning look, which he answered with feigned innocence.

"Jack," you whispered, "behave yourself."

"I'm being perfectly well-behaved," he replied, his fingers making small circles on your knee through the silk of your dress. "I'm appreciating the finer things, just as I promised."

His hand inched higher, and you caught it with your own. "We're in public."

"We're in a box seat," he corrected, his voice a low murmur that somehow cut through Violetta's soaring notes. "No one can see us unless they're in the opposite box with opera glasses trained directly on us."

You glanced across the theater. The box opposite was occupied by an elderly couple, both seemingly entranced by the performance.

"Still," you insisted, though with less conviction.

Jack leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing your ear. "Still what? Still worried someone might notice how your breath catches when I touch you? How your cheeks flush?" His hand moved again, sliding just slightly higher. "How you press your thighs together when you want more?"

Your breath did catch then, and you hated how well he knew you. Three months of stolen kisses in gardens, of hands wandering during cinema matinees, of whispered promises in the back seats of chauffeur-driven cars—it wasn't nearly enough, but it was enough for him to learn your tells.

"Jack, please," you whispered, not entirely sure if you were asking him to stop or continue.

He seemed to interpret it as the latter. His hand slipped higher, fingers tracing patterns on your inner thigh. On stage, Violetta was rejecting Alfredo's advances, citing the impossibility of their love. The irony wasn't lost on you.

"Tell me to stop," Jack said, his voice husky, "and I will."

You should have. You knew you should have. Instead, you found yourself shifting slightly, allowing his hand to move higher beneath the cover of your dress.

"No one will see," he promised again, his fingers finding the edge of your stockings, then the warm skin above. "Just keep watching the stage. Enjoy the music."

It was impossible to focus on anything but the sensation of his touch. His fingers traced the edge of your underwear, teasing but not yet crossing that final boundary. You bit your lip, your eyes fixed unseeing on the stage.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his lips now against your temple. "So ready for me."

When his fingers finally slipped beneath the silk of your underwear, you had to stifle a gasp. Jack's smile was triumphant against your skin.

"Jack," you said softly, "we shouldn't—"

"We absolutely should," he countered, his finger sliding through your wetness with practiced ease. "God, you're perfect."

The orchestra swelled as Alfredo declared his love, and Jack's finger pressed inside you in perfect time with the crescendo. Your hand gripped the armrest, knuckles white.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice barely audible over the music. "Just like that. No one knows. No one but me."

You turned your face toward him, seeking his mouth, needing something to silence the sounds threatening to escape your lips. He met you halfway, his kiss deep and consuming as his fingers worked steadily between your legs.

"You drive me mad, you know that?" he confessed against your mouth. "Every time. Every damn time. The way you look at me, the way you press against me when no one’s looking. Christ, I can’t sit beside you without wanting to touch you..."

His thumb found your most sensitive spot, circling with deliberate pressure as his finger curled inside you. Your hips shifted involuntarily, seeking more.

"Jack," you gasped, breaking the kiss. "I can't—not here—"

"Yes, here," he insisted, adding a second finger, stretching you deliciously. "Right here, while they sing about impossible love and tragic endings. Show me how it feels. Show me what I do to you."

The tension was building rapidly, your body responding to his skilled touch despite the public setting—or perhaps because of it. The risk, the impropriety of it all, only heightened every sensation.

"That's it," Jack encouraged, his forehead pressed to your temple, his breath hot against your cheek. "Let go. I've got you."

The climax hit you with unexpected force. You turned your face into Jack's shoulder, muffling your cry against the fine wool of his jacket. His fingers worked you through it, drawing out every tremor until you were boneless beside him.

When you finally lifted your head, the stage was transitioning to a new scene. You'd missed Violetta's decision entirely.

"Welcome back," Jack murmured, pressing a kiss to your flushed cheek. His hand withdrew slowly, and you watched, mesmerized, as he discreetly wiped his fingers on his handkerchief.

"You're awful," you whispered, though there was no heat in the accusation.

"Awfully in need," he corrected, taking your hand and guiding it to his lap. The hard ridge beneath his trousers was unmistakable. "See what you do to me?"

You hesitated only briefly before your fingers traced his length through the fabric. His sharp intake of breath was deeply satisfying.

"Now who's being awful?" he whispered, his voice strained.

"I learned from the best." You squeezed gently, and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

With newfound boldness, you worked at his trouser fastenings, your movements hidden by the dim lighting and the angle of your bodies. When your fingers finally wrapped around his length, Jack's head fell back against the seat.

"Christ," he sighed. "Your hands are so soft."

You stroked him slowly, reveling in the way his composure fractured. Jack Kennedy, with his Harvard education and his social pedigree, reduced to silent gasps and aborted thrusts by your touch.

"Is this what you wanted?" you whispered, your confidence growing with each stroke. "To sit here in your father's box, with half of London society below us, while I make you come?"

His laugh was strained. "I didn't plan quite this far ahead, but God, yes."

You increased your pace, your thumb circling the sensitive tip just as he had done to you minutes before. His hand covered yours, guiding your movements, showing you exactly how he liked to be touched.

"Like this?" you asked, twisting your wrist slightly on the upstroke.

"Exactly like that," he groaned, too loudly. An elderly woman in the next box glanced in your direction, and Jack immediately straightened, adopting an expression of intense interest in the opera. You continued your ministrations beneath the cover of darkness, biting back a smile at his struggle to maintain composure.

When the woman's attention returned to the stage, Jack sagged in relief. "You'll be the death of me," he whispered.

"A tragedy worthy of Verdi," you replied, squeezing him firmly.

His breathing grew more ragged, his hips shifting restlessly against the seat. You knew he was close. With your free hand, you reached for his discarded handkerchief, anticipating the mess.

"Look at me," you commanded softly, and his eyes—dark with desire—met yours. "I want to see your face."

That seemed to push him over the edge. His expression contorted in pleasure, his mouth opening in a silent cry as he spilled over your hand. You caught most of it with the handkerchief, your strokes gentling as he shuddered through his release.

When it was over, Jack slumped against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder. "Jesus," he breathed. "That was..."

"Worth sitting through the opera?" you suggested, carefully cleaning your hand and helping him tuck himself away.

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your neck before straightening. "Worth sitting through a thousand operas."

On stage, Violetta was singing of sacrifice and societal expectations. Jack's hand found yours again, his thumb tracing circles on your palm.

"We should do this again," he said, his tone casual but his eyes serious. "The opera, I mean."

You smiled, knowing he meant much more than that. "I'd like that."

"Next time," he added, his voice dropping to that register that made your stomach flip, "we could skip the performance entirely. My father's residence has plenty of private rooms."

The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through you. "Ambassador Kennedy might notice our absence."

Jack's smile turned wicked. "Let him. I'm cultivating an appreciation for the finer things, just as he wanted."

[notakugelblitz]

DELORES PART 1 • Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

something sweet to soothe your anger dearest brellies 🥰 takes place during season 4 episode 1, no warning all safe. enjoy !

Y/N had worked with Five at the Commission. She was with him on the day of JFK's assassination, and when he mentioned the possibility of escaping the company, she thought, why not? The Handler still hadn't given her the promotion she'd been promised 15 years ago, and the health insurance was worthless by then ...

Y/N followed Five through three apocalypses, becoming a teenager again. At least she no longer had the beginnings of arthritis, which she was more grateful for than her colleague. The Hargreeves quickly took Y/N under their wing, appreciating her a lot, especially since she had the gift of shutting Five up.

Y/N and Five became very good friends. Once the umbrella Academy lost their powers in this new timeline, Y/N chose to open a bookstore, while Five became a CIA agent. They met from time to time, enjoying each other's company over a black coffee on a terrace. In six years, nothing ambiguous had happened between them. Y/N wasn't sure if she wanted it to or not—it was a strange feeling. But now, with her new life started, she had time. If Five was interested, he would make a move; if not, so be it. But this was the calm before the storm...

Five entered the secret meeting set in an apartment with a classy, dimly lit atmosphere. The place was spacious, hosting about thirty people. Five smoothed his mustache, grabbed a glass of champagne from the buffet, and scanned the room. Just as he thought he recognized Lila, another young woman caught his attention. She was leaning against the balcony, her face hidden as she stood with her back to him. She had long, straight auburn hair, styled with a yellow beret. She was wearing a white shirt with black polka dots, neatly tucked into her pencil skirt.

Five felt a drop of sweat trickle down his temple and took a deep breath before joining her. He also leaned on the balcony, just like she did, barely daring to look at her.

"Beautiful night, isn’t it?" Y/N murmured, a simple smile on her lips.

She didn’t meet his gaze either, which slightly irritated Five. He finally turned his head and recognized Y/N.

"What the hell are you doing ..."

The words escaped his mouth when he noticed the name on her nametag : Delores. Five almost choked on his champagne.

"Yeah, the champagne is disgusting, I agree. But the hors d'oeuvres are delicious though. You should try them!" "What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re part of this ridiculous support group ..."

Y/N burst into laughter, shaking her head.

"Oh no, no ... I came with "Nancy" so Diego wouldn’t ask too many questions. But this wig is seriously itching. It's awful." Y/N explained, amused, scratching her scalp.

She then turned her attention to Five and looked at his nametag.

"Jerome? That doesn’t suit you very well. I wonder where you got that name..." "It wasn’t my choice. And where did you get yours?" he retorted, frowning.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden cold and somewhat aggressive tone.

"I like that name." Y/N simply said. "And that shirt—do you like it too? It’s hideous." "I found it in a thrift shop—it seemed nice... hey! What’s gotten into you?" Y/N finally exclaimed. "Bullshit." "Five what the hell!"

Y/N seemed sincere. She had no idea what her cover name meant to him. After all these years, he had never told her about Delores. Instead of apologizing, he downed his glass of champagne.

"So, those hors d'oeuvres?" Five asked.

Y/N laughed lightly, understanding it was his awkward way of apologizing. Just as she was about to praise the treats, Jean and Gene appeared, announcing the start of the meeting.

What followed was a very eventful evening. The Umbrella Effect, interacting with Jean and Gene, dining with Lila and Five, Viktor's kidnapping... it felt like the old days! And throughout it all, Five kept giving Y/N odd looks. Why had fate embedded the love of his life so clearly in his friend and colleague? Five didn’t believe in coincidences; he never had.

Y/N had noticed those supposedly discreet glances, which intrigued her a lot. Especially since she could feel her cheeks flush like a 16-year-old girl.

Despite everything, the Hargreeves ended their evening at an Asian restaurant to debrief. Having retrieved the Marigold thanks to Sy, most of them decided not to take it. This surprised Y/N a lot. Powers... that was the dream, wasn’t it?

While Ben was in the bathroom, Y/N leaned toward Five.

"Imagine what you could do for the CIA with your teleportation..." she whispered. "Shut up, Y/N." Five murmured. "No, but seriously! I don’t know what I’d give to be special like you guys were! If it were up to me, I’d drink that jar dry!"

Five chuckled sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"If you think this is one of those stupid Marvel movies, think again. Having powers comes with great responsibilities, sure—the responsibility to control them and not cause an apocalypse." "Killjoy..." Y/N sighed. "And for your information..." Five hesitated before continuing in a lower voice, leaning a bit closer to her. "You don’t need that to be... special."

Coming from his mouth, it sounded weird. Reaching her ears, it sounded weird. Y/N sat up straight and silently thanked some higher force when Ben arrived with a tray of eight shots. While everyone found an excuse to leave, Ben convinced them to drink. "For old time's sake," he said.

Everyone gave in, and when Y/N realized she didn’t have a glass, she felt disheartened.

"Can’t I celebrate our reunion?" she asked. "You're not part of the family." Ben snapped. "Wow, Ben, that’s rude!" Luther exclaimed. "Y/N is more family than you ever were." Five groaned, pointing a threatening finger at him. "No, it's fine, let it go, Five." Y/N sighed, though Five’s words had touched her.

She stepped aside, letting them toast. Just as everyone raised their glasses to their lips, Klaus nudged Y/N and handed her his glass.

"OnJanuary 15th, it'll be 3 years that I am sober. Tonight’s not the night I’ll mess that up, and certainly not for old time's sake." Klaus whispered. "I can’t accept that ..." Y/N politely refused. "Oh, come on, down it or I’ll tell everyone you slept with Five at Luther’s wedding."

Y/N gasped, grabbed the glass, drank it down in record time, and handed it back to Klaus. No one seemed to notice the trick, and that was just as well.

Y/N still had that awful taste in her mouth. Maybe she shouldn’t have drunk that glass. After all, Klaus was lying. Wasn’t he? It was true she had a total blackout that night, but... her and Five? No... right?

Once outside, everyone said their goodbyes. As Y/N tried to figure out where Klaus had gone so she could question him, a car pulled up next to her. The passenger window rolled down, and she bent down to see the driver. It was Five.

"I’ll give you a ride." "No, it’s okay, I’m not far..." "That wasn’t a question," Five said, leaning over to open the passenger door.

Y/N sighed but couldn’t help smiling. She got in, buckled up, and Five started the car.

"Be honest with me, Y/N." he said seriously, focusing on the road. "Mmh?" "Why Delores? And why that damn polka dot shirt?"

Y/N widened her eyes.

"You're still hung up on that!" she exclaimed. "I’ve changed since then..." "Stop it right now, Y/N. This isn’t funny," he growled. "Look, Five, I don’t understand! You’re completely crazy!" "Why Delores?" "I don’t know, okay?" she yelled back. "I don’t know."

She repeated the sentence silently to herself.

"The name just came to me, and the shirt was the cheapest... I swear, Five, I’ve never been more honest with you..."

Five finally looked at her and realized she was telling the truth. When they arrived at the bookstore, he parked on the side of the road.

"I’m sorry, Y/N... it’s just that... I knew a Delores a long time ago, and... she looked just like you."

Y/N, surprised, met his gaze and tilted her head to the side.

"I never thought the famous Five Hargreeves had a romance," she breathed.

Five nodded , locking eyes with her sparkling ones. He had always loved that color, though he would never admit it. He looked away, eyes fixed on the steering-wheel. Fortunately Y/N didn't know Delores was a mannequin. Five kept silent, thinking about this damn coincidence and its probable meaning.

Y/N didn’t know what to say so she got out of the car, feeling unsettled. As she headed towards the bookstore, she suddenly stopped, turned around, and walked back to the car, leaning against the window on Five’s side.

“Be honest with me, Five.” she said seriously.

Five chuckled softly, amused by this ongoing joke, and nodded, signaling her to continue.

“What happened at Luther’s wedding?” she asked suddenly.

Five frowned. Why was she asking about that now?

“They got married,” he said simply. “Haha, very funny. No, seriously, between us... did something happen?”

Five discreetly swallowed and started the car.

“You should go home, it’s getting late.”

Y/N groaned and walked around the front of the car again so that he couldn't leave, suddenly opening the passenger door and sitting down.

“What are you doing…?” “You agreed to be honest with me. And you’re not. So I won’t move until…” “Fine.” "Oh, that was quick."

Five immediately started driving and continued in silence.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” “No.” “So, is this a kidnapping?” “Call it whatever you want. You learned how to jump out of a moving car at the Commission, so if your ass is still in that seat, it means you don’t really want to leave.”

Point for him. The silence was fine at the beginning, but it grew heavier and heavier minutes after minutes. Y/N was relieved when she recognized the streets as they were arriving at the parking lot of Five's apartment. He turned off the car and slumped further into his seat. Y/N could tell he was hiding something.

“So. Did we sleep together that night?” she asked bluntly.

Five’s eyes widened.

“What! Who told you that nonsense?” he exclaimed with an amused tone. “Klaus… he…” “You know Klaus always exaggerates, Y/N…”

Y/N lowered her eyes, embarrassed for having believed it so easily. Five noticed her distress and sighed. He rummaged through an inner pocket of his jacket, hesitating before pulling out a Polaroid photo. He handed it to Y/N nonchalantly. She looked at him, then at the photo, which she took with apprehension. It was taken at Luther’s wedding. Y/N and Five were on stage. A microphone stand separated them, only a few centimeters from each other's face. They looked completely drunk, which explained why they were singing so close and why Y/N had no memory of it.

“Just imagine eyes like moon rise, a voice like music, lips like wine.” Five muttered, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Y/N looked up at him. Those were the lyrics to a love song by Frank Sinatra, yet it sounded oddly different coming from his mouth.

“Please, tell me…” she whispered.

Five sighed, knowing full well he had reached a point of no return.

“We overdid it on the alcohol that night. And with the apocalypse looming... it makes you do things you wouldn’t normally be capable of.”

He paused, but Y/N smiled, encouraging him to continue.

“You seemed different that night. You had no filter. You never had one when it came to annoying me, but for saying nice things, well... and you were really beautiful. And without thinking, I grabbed that mic and sang that stupid Sinatra song. And you looked at me with those eyes. They sparkled like… like the Kugelblitz. Almost more. And you joined me, and we made quite the duo, I must say. I can't fucking remember the name of the song as we were only babbling incomprehensible lyrics.”

Y/N was speechless.

“So…” “No sex. Pure fluff, even though it’s a disgusting word to say.”

Y/N chuckled.

“And you kissed me,” Five finally said, emotionless.

Everything seemed so unreal, yet he looked sincere.

“Why didn’t you tell me for six years?” she asked, shocked. “I… I chickened out. You didn’t remember, so it gave you the chance to start fresh.”

Suddenly, Y/N slapped him across the face, the sound of the slap echoing through Dallas. Five didn't blink, feeling like it was deserved somehow.

“You’re such an idiot.” “I know.”

They remained silent for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. If any member of the Umbrella Academy had the power to read minds, they would’ve run away, given the turmoil that stirred within them.

Y/N thought back to all those moments spent with Five, and of course, they had a different flavor than those shared with an actual colleague. Despite their constant teasing, Five had always been there for Y/N, and vice versa. They understood each other, given their age and experience. Everything suddenly became clear.

And then, in perfect synchronization, they kissed passionately, Y/N placing her hands on Five’s cheeks while he firmly gripped her waist. It was a fiery kiss, making up for all the lost time due to misplaced pride. Out of breath, Y/N pulled back slightly to look at him, a smirk on her lips.

“What? Don’t make me regret what just happened…” Five chuckled. “Firsy things first, secretly keeping a picture of me is weird. Secondly, the song by Sinatra ... It is named Dolores. Just saying…” Y/N laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear that had fallen over his bright eyes.

"Shut it." he groaned, pecking your lips to make you silent. But then , he approaches his lips to your ear, whispering.

“It seems that no matter the timeline, I’m destined to have a Delores getting in my way.”

Y/N burst out laughing, and Five couldn’t help but smile sincerely. It felt good to come out of his shell, especially for Y/N. Five invited Y/N to spend the night at his place. This sudden happiness seemed surreal, yet it was very real. The idea of a normal life together seemed so pleasant. If only they knew ...

here it is, i really hope you liked it ! sorry if you spotted some mistakes, English isn’t my first language.

would you be interested in a part 2 now that Y/N swallowed up a shot of marigold ? just sayin’ … 😏

[amirawrah]

⭐︎Through my lens

with IBRAHIMA KONATE⭐︎ second and last part of the two part series first part

synopsis: When a spontaneous weekend work trip brings her to liverpool, a photographer from New York finds herself swept up in the energy of the match, the city, and the quiet gravity of the man she's been missing.

amirah: last part...

You don’t cry when you drop him off at JFK. You don’t let yourself. Not when his arm is slung lazily around your shoulder like it always does when he’s trying to stretch out the moment. Not when he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot in that familiar way that says he doesn’t want to leave either. You just breathe in his scent one more time—that perfect mix of oud and warmth and home—and smile.

“Flight’s boarding, Ibou.” He kisses your forehead. “Call me when you’re back home,” you say. “You’ll hear from me before the wheels leave the ground.” He says it lightly, but the weight behind his words is real. And when he disappears past security, his tall frame finally swallowed by the crowd, that’s when the ache creeps in. Not all at once—just a quiet throb in your chest that will grow louder once the apartment door clicks behind you.

When you get back home, the mug he used is still on your kitchen counter. The hoodie he left for you is still draped over the arm of your couch. He took the bigger suitcase but forgot one of his chargers, so it feels like he’s half-still here, and you hate how comforting and cruel that is all at once.

You don’t unpack your feelings for a few days. You keep busy—editing, writing, deadlines, meetings. You pretend that the soft buzz of your phone lighting up with his name is enough. And sometimes, it is. When he sends voice notes, TikToks, or selfies from training, or when he calls you half-asleep because he “wanted to hear what your day sounded like.” But the time zones still stretch between you like stubborn glass. Some mornings, you wake up missing him before you’re even fully conscious. And on those nights when the city noise fades, and you're washing your face with your playlist humming in the background, you turn slightly, half-expecting him to be there beside you, making fun of how long your routine is. He always stayed until the last serum. Now you fall asleep before finishing the steps.

Long distance with Ibou is strange—it’s not cold or distant. He’s warm, present, consistent. He doesn’t go days without checking in or disappear into his schedule. No, he shows up. On FaceTime during his recovery. With late-night texts about your safety in the city. With packages sent to your door—once a bouquet of flowers that looked like something out of a dream, another hoodie that smelled like him, still. He keeps showing up. But love, even when nurtured with effort, aches when you can’t touch it. When you can’t reach over in the middle of a bad day and bury yourself in their chest. When celebration dinners and slow mornings are spent apart. When silence between texts stretches because he’s in a team meeting, and you’re at a shoot, and life just doesn’t slow down for either of you. It’s not anyone’s fault—it’s just reality.

There are days when you fight the urge to say, “I miss you,” because you don’t want it to sound like a complaint. There are days when he calls you looking tired, and you feel guilty for saying you’re overwhelmed. “I wish I could be there,” he says once, quietly, after you talk about a rough week. You wish that too, but you don’t say it. Instead, you nod and ask if he’s eaten, and he smiles because that’s become your way of loving each other from across oceans—gentle, daily care. Your friends ask if it’s hard. You don’t know how to answer without sounding dramatic. Because yes, it’s hard. But no, you wouldn’t leave. You’re not trying to survive the distance, you’re trying to build within it. You’re trying to make love feel like something that doesn’t depend on geography.

Some nights, he sends you pictures of the sunset in Liverpool. “Doesn’t beat New York’s,” he types. “But almost.” You send one back from your rooftop. “Still better,” you tease. It becomes a quiet ritual—sunsets shared, miles apart. You didn’t know you’d learn new ways of loving someone through a screen, but you do. And on his days off, when the time zones align just enough, you both watch movies synced together. He always ends up snoring halfway through. You let him. The sound comforts you more than the movie anyway.

But there are harder moments. Like when you're invited to a gallery event and you're alone. When couples walk past you laughing and your chest aches—not with jealousy but with longing. You want that. Not all the time, just tonight. Or when he's at a team dinner and you see photos before you hear from him, and your heart stings not because you don’t trust him, but because you just wish you were there, in the seat next to him, hearing the joke that made him throw his head back laughing.

You write about him sometimes. Not for work—just for yourself. Little notes in your journal. Fragments of days you spent together. Inside jokes you’re afraid you’ll forget. One day, you write, “He makes the distance feel like something soft. Not painless, but not unbearable. Like missing the sun at night but knowing it always rises.” You don’t send that one. Some things feel too sacred to text.

And then one Friday, you're at a café working when your phone buzzes. A screenshot of flight details. From Liverpool to JFK. This weekend. Your heart skips. You don’t ask why he’s coming—you know. Sometimes love just needs to breathe in the same room again. That weekend, you pick him up from the airport in a hoodie he left behind. He grins when he sees you. “You missed me that much?” “Don’t flatter yourself,” you say. But you’re already in his arms before the words finish.

This time, he doesn’t stay in a hotel. He stays with you (guest room tho) And you realize something: the ache didn’t mean something was broken. It meant it was real. That night, you both fall asleep on the couch, both of you exhausted but unwilling to waste a minute apart. His hand strokes your back like he’s grounding himself in the fact that you’re actually here.

You spend the weekend doing nothing and everything. Grocery shopping. Cooking while music plays. Watching him fold your laundry and grumble about your tiny closet while you roll your eyes. You take pictures of him pouring coffee, sitting by your window, reading your comics and novels.

On Sunday night, he packs again. “It doesn’t get easier,” you admit. “No,” he says. “But I’ll keep coming back.” He kisses your forehead like he means it. And when he’s gone again, you don’t cry at the door this time. Because now, you know what it feels like when distance is just a space to be filled with love, day by day, call by call, trip by trip. He’s not just a visitor anymore. He’s home, wherever he is. And you’ll keep building that home—until the day the airport goodbyes finally become one long, uninterrupted hello.

The crowd around you is roaring, but all you can hear is your heartbeat.

You’re in the stands at Anfield, wrapped in a scarf that still smells like his cologne, eyes fixed on the pitch as if it were a movie and you were holding your breath during the climax. You flew in on Friday, told him you had work this weekend—technically not a lie, you had your camera with you, you’d shot the city, enough to justify the plane ticket. But the real reason was this. Him. This moment. Seeing him in his element, in the place that he loved, the place that demanded so much of him, and watching him meet it head-on like he always did. With quiet strength. With grace. With power.

Your seat isn’t in the VIP section. It’s not tucked behind tinted glass. It’s amongst the fans, amongst chants and clapping hands, and it’s perfect. You wanted to be part of the chaos, the adrenaline, the rush. You wanted to feel the anfield atmosphere the way he always described it to you in voice notes and calls. You’re not sure if you’re trembling from the cold or the excitement, but either way, you don’t care. Your eyes stay locked on him.

There he is. Ibrahima Konaté. Your Ibou.

He's focused, sharp, body poised and alert. You know his rhythm now—how he taps his boot before he settles into position, how he turns his head to scan the pitch every few seconds like a strategist. And still, watching him like this, it feels new. Like you're seeing him for the first time again. Except this time, your heart knows what it’s like to fall asleep next to his. It knows the weight of his arm thrown over you, knows the softness of his voice when he whispers that he loves you more than anything. And here he is now, the same man, under stadium lights.

And they win the match. Of course they do.

It’s not even the kind of win that feels lucky—it’s the kind they earn. The kind that makes you proud even though you did nothing but stand there and cheer. You find yourself smiling like a fool when he lifts his arms in victory, when he hugs his teammates, when he turns toward the crowd and offers that rare grin you know better than anyone. You know that grin. You’ve seen it at airports.

You wait.

You don’t want to text him yet. You want to let him find you. You want him to feel that quiet buzz of surprise and realisation the moment he sees you. So you drift toward the player’s entrance after the crowd thins, bag over your shoulder. There’s a small group of fans still lingering, and you blend in easily. You’re not dressed for attention. You’re dressed for him. Comfortable. Familiar.

When he steps out, it takes him a second. He signs a few things, poses for a picture, nods politely. And then his eyes shift. They scan. And they catch on you.

His whole body halts.

You don’t say anything. Just smile softly, biting your lip the way he always says makes him weak. You lift your hand, not to wave, just a small raise—enough to say, I’m here.

And then he’s moving.

“I’m here,” you say simply. “Surprise.”

He exhales like he’s been holding it in all week. His arms wrap around you instantly, lifting you off the ground a little, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go too quickly.

Later, you sit across from each other in the booth of a quiet restaurant tucked away from the madness. It’s warm inside, the kind of warmth that hugs your bones and softens your thoughts. He orders for both of you like he always does, picking what he knows you’ll love. Your shoes are kicked off under the table. His foot brushes yours, deliberate, cheeky. He’s watching you, the way he always does—like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

“ I cant believe you didn’t tell me you were coming,” he says again, smiling like he still can’t believe it.

“I know,” you reply, smiling. “I wanted to see your reaction.”

“It was... a lot.” He chuckles, then adds, “A good lot.”

You play with the straw in your glass. “I’ve been missing you, Ibou.”

His gaze softens. “Me too. It’s different on the phone. I mean... I still feel you. But this?” He reaches across the table and laces his fingers through yours. “This is better.”

When you get back to his place, everything smells like him. The house is dim, cozy, familiar despite the distance. He tosses your bag in the corner like it doesn’t matter and pulls you into him. You stand there for a long time, swaying gently in the middle of his living room, his hand on your waist, your face tucked against his chest.

“Do you have to leave soon?” he asks after a while, voice muffled in your hair.

“Not till Monday.”

He exhales. “That’s enough. That’s good. We can make that feel like a week.”

And you do.

You fall asleep on his chest that night, the TV playing some random show you both ignore. His fingers trace patterns on your back, his other hand wrapped around yours. The next day you wake up to the scent of fresh toast and coffee, to the sound of him humming as he moves around the kitchen barefoot, shirtless, the early sunlight casting soft shadows across his back.

You spend the day walking around the city, camera slung over your shoulder, capturing little things—street art, reflections in windows, the way your fingers keep brushing and tangling. He points out corners he likes. You snap photos of him when he’s not looking. You eat chips on a bench and share a drink like you’re in high school again. You laugh so much your cheeks hurt.

In the evening, he sits on the couch editing the photos with you. His hand on your thigh. Your head on his shoulder. “That one,” he says when he sees a picture of you looking away, the wind catching your hair just slightly. “Frame that.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because you look beautiful.”

You pause. “How do you feel when you’re around me?”

He turns to you, not smiling this time. Just soft. Real. “Like I’m home.”

When you go to bed that night, neither of you talk about the flight Monday morning. You let it be. You wrap yourself around him and fall asleep knowing that you’ll carry this weekend in your heart long after the goodbyes. Because what you’re building—between cities, across time zones—is real. And it’s worth every mile in between.

[ladylooch]

Bones - Part 5 - [Mack x David]

A/N: I want to say big, huge thank you to @wardlow and @casualhilarity for being so supportive and kind when I asked them if they would read the first 5 chapters of the series for me. I was really struggling on if this was good, flowing, made sense etc. Both of you showed up for me, even though you're so busy, and gave great feedback! I love you soooo much! A million forehead smooches to you! I could not have gotten through these first few parts without you both 💜

& I have to shout out my favorite little sister, @missjomarch. Part of this angst was your idea in the making. You little writer you 😘 I love you! Thank you for dreaming about these two with me.

Okay, now, without further ado.... let's get into it 🔥

Word Count: 5.0k

Silence.

Not even the hum of the refrigerator or a chirping bird to break it. It’s too heavy, blanketed in fresh snow and the stillness of the morning after a big storm. 

Inside her family’s cabin, Mack slowly brings a cup of fresh, hot coffee to her lips. She stares out the window, ignoring her blurry reflection in the glass. The pines are practically bent in half from all the snow the area has seen this winter. Normally, she may have been hesitant about driving into the Alps alone in these conditions, but nothing about now is normal. 

Mack shakes her head, trying not to think about the circumstances that brought her here. Or how she walked into JFK three days ago with a ticket bound for Ireland, but didn’t get on that plane. Instead she transferred it to a one way ticket to Zurich then rented a car to get up here without disturbing her parents. Although with the security cameras on the cabin, they know she is here. 

Everything okay? Her mom had texted her.

Yeah. Just need a break and some solitude. 

Okay. Love you 😘 

One corner of the blanket across her shoulders falls down to her elbow. Mack grabs it, putting it back into place and curling more into herself. Nothing about the cabin is cold. It’s modern and fancy with high end heating elements, but it is no match for the chill of a broken heart. 

A lump forms in Mack’s throat.

What the hell did she do?

She should call him. She should apologize immediately, but her limbs and fingers won’t move. They won’t grab the phone to her left and press his name to ring across the world. The muscles of her face can’t possibly move her mouth, and her brain is blank for the words she should say to him. 

But Mack knows exactly what happened, an 8 hour plane ride helped her quickly realize it.

She got scared. Plain and simple.

It was too good. All of it. To the point that the darkness in the corners of her brain lured her into the comforting old habit of being the one who cares less. Her deep seeded beliefs that she doesn’t need anyone to live on this earth. Survival depends on your ability to exist alone and she could feel herself depending on him.

She broke all of her rules for him- she dated him, fell in love with him, spent weeks on his farm, turned down assignments. Then the trade rumors swirled and he acted like they didn’t exist when her whole world was turned upside down with the what ifs. What if he left New York? What would she do? But David's silence made it seem so simple. She would go with him. And when it came to the next steps he was starting to talk about, and want, Mack couldn’t do it. She liked the way things were and him wanting more is a need Mack doesn’t believe she can provide for him.

Because he deserves so much better than this. Wasn’t that what she was trying to show him by leaving? Look at how much better your life is when I’m not in it. Simple. No one running across the world, chasing after who knows what. He deserved someone who would follow him anywhere and put roots down. That’s not her.

It can’t be her. 

But when he came barreling into his apartment, looking at her like she was shredding his hearts to pieces, she almost faltered. She almost stayed. And that reaction scared her more than anything else did. It was a blimp, but she could see herself in Seattle or fucking Dallas. For him. But what is in those cities for her? Is that who she is now? 

No. 

No matter how much she loves him, she can’t do it this way.

Mack jolts up from the chair, shaking away these thoughts. She is done with this merry-go-round of nothing. She has work to do.

Later in the morning, Mack is deep in rewriting her next piece for the magazine when a loud pop jolts her away from her computer screen. She smacks her ankle on the leg of the table, yowling out in pain. Then she whips her head towards the front door where the sound came from. She glares in frustration until the reality of how alone she really is out here settles in. What was that? She gets up, tiptoeing over towards the door with her blanket flowing like a cape behind her. She looks out at the U shaped drive way, seeing her dad pulling out a Louis Vuitton duffle bag from his shiny Mercedes. 

Mack’s grip on the blanket tightens.

Her mom did not believe her. If she did, she wouldn’t have sent in the big guns.

Mack sighs, then unlocks the door, opening it for her dad as he steps on the porch.

“Mom sent me.” He shrugs then greets her with a hug. “But also I wanted to come. Lucie called.”

Lucie. Fuck. In Mack’s haste to leave New York, and David, she didn’t think about her older sister. David must have told her. Guilt pierces her thoughts again. Lucie is going to be so angry with her. Connor too. This is why she should have never started down this road to begin with.

“Oh.” Mack responds blankly to her dad.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Her dad assures her. Mack nods in agreement, looking down as a sting fills her eyes. 

Nico walks into the cabin behind her, setting his duffle bag on the couch. Mack touches two fingers to the corners of her eyes, collecting the wetness there discreetly.

“Um, there is still coffee in the carafe over there.”

“No, thanks. I got some on the drive up.”

Mack nods, then pads over to the chair in the living room. Her dad takes the couch, stretching out his long legs onto the coffee table. He crosses his feet at his ankles, then laces his fingers at the back of his head. 

“How is work?” Mack shrugs. Probably not good considering she didn’t get onto the flight she agreed to be on. She did text Sonja that a family emergency was calling her home to Switzerland and received an instant response for her to take all the time she needed. “Lucie seemed to think you were going to Ireland?”

“I was.” Mack acknowledges. She reaches up to her nose, scratching a non-existent itch to avoid his gaze.

“Ah, she is a true Swiss girl. She traded luck for snow.” He chuckles. Mack smiles at his corny attempt to make her laugh, then curls her legs tighter up onto the chair. She swallows hard, looking at the fireplace embers blackened from last night's fire.

“I just… couldn’t go.” She whispers. Her bottom lip is scraped into her mouth by her top teeth before she sighs. She meets his patient gaze again. “What did Lucie tell you?” Mack asks. His arms cross over his chest.

“That you left for Ireland on an assignment after breaking things off with David.” Mack drops her gaze back to the cream carpet. “Is that true?” Mack nods. “I’m sorry, sweets.” He murmurs. “Will you tell me what happened?”

Shame fills Mack’s throat as she assumes her dad means ‘what did David do?' Because nothing. All he did was fall in love with a scared and timid woman, who ran at the first real sign of trouble. How can she tell her dad the truth? How could he not be extremely disappointed in her?

“I fucked up.” She chokes through a sob. Her bottom lip trembles like the breath she sucks in. This admission surprises her as much as her father who raises his thick eyebrows. She begins to pant heavily, trying to suck in big breaths to stop crying. “He is perfect and I am a mess.” 

“Mack, you are the furthest thing from a mess.” He assures her. He opens his right arm out towards the empty couch cushion next to him. Mack gets up and folds herself into his body, sighing into his chest as more tears fall down her face.

“He’s never going to forgive me for this. He shouldn’t. I deserve whatever happens after this.” Mack closes her eyes, letting herself be comforted by her dad’s hands wrapping around her back. She sniffs. “I got scared. It all felt so good. So perfect. And this monster inside of me flipped the table when rumors started about him being traded. He never told me anything about them, but kept like making plans for us and this wasn’t supposed to be anything like what it was. We were just supposed to…” She trails off. 

“Hang out?” Her dad fills in. 

“Yeah.” 

“Baby, nothing about what mama and I saw when we were in New York was hanging out.” He rubs her back comfortingly. “You are in love with each other. I can’t imagine that all could have blown up in a few weeks, or because of some rumors.”

“No, it didn’t.” She shakes her head. “I wrapped dynamite around it and blew it up instead because I don’t know how to be in love like that. And I don’t think I wanna be.” 

“You don’t want to be with someone who loves you? Mack?”

Mack pauses, then pulls away to look at his face.

“What?”

“You don’t know how to be in love like that, so you blew it up because you don’t want to be in love?” He rephrases. Mack still looks confused. Is her reasoning that wild or does she not understand what he is saying? “Did you talk to David about any of this before you strapped the dynamite to it?” 

“No.” She shakes her head. Bigger tears fill her eyes. “Why do you make it sound so simple?”

“Because I’ve been in love with your mom for almost 30 years. I’ve had some practice.” He removes a slice of hair from her wet cheek. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’ll figure out more of this as you go through life with him.” Mack’s bottom lip wobbles.

“No. He’s… never going to forgive me. You didn’t see his face. He tried to talk to me. He tried to save us and I wouldn’t let him.”

“Sweets, this all comes down to a simple conversation. Get on the same page. If you don’t want to move if he gets traded, say that. Or if you want to go with him, say that. Give him the opportunity to meet you where you are, so you can grow together into the next stage.”

“He deserves better than someone who is unsure.”

“You don’t get to decide that for him.” His reminder is gentle but deeply true. “He does.” Mack nods, looking down at where her tears have splotched into his gray sweatshirt. “You do get to decide for yourself if this is what you need though. It’s okay if he is perfect, and loves you the way that you deserve, and you still don’t want it right now.” Mack starts to cry again, shaking her head no.

“No I really, really, really want it. I love him and all I did was hurt us both.”

Nico pulls her back into his chest again becoming the safe space she needs to feel everything catch up with her. It’s long, painful sobs that threaten the collapse of her chest. When her tears dry on her cheeks, and her body stops quivering from emotion, her and Nico sit in the same silence that was here before he arrived. Light snow begins to fall outside again and they both watch the flakes settle into the white ground from their perch. 

The only thing Mack can think about is how badly she wishes David was the one holding her right now.

Mack sniffs, wiping at her nose with her thumb.

“I’m going to go back.” She nods. “Face whatever is waiting for me there.” 

If she doesn’t try to fix this, she’ll never have him again. She owes it to herself, and to him, to try.

“I like that choice.” Her dad smiles gently, squeezing her tighter to his chest for a moment. It’s almost like he is trying to imprint this moment into his skin. “Maybe we could go back home though? Spend some time with mama? I know she would love to get her hands on you too.”

Mack smiles through her leftover tears and nods. 

Going home is exactly what she needs.

- - - & - - -

Back in New York 10 days later, Mack sits on the familiar espresso brown couch in David’s living room. The leather is cool beneath her leggings as falling snow drifts down in icy, zigzag swirls through the black night.

20 minutes.

In 20 minutes, David should walk through that apartment door.

Butterflies dive in Mack’s stomach, threatening to send her to the bathroom to spill the contents of her light dinner. She ate a salad from the market down the street, but half of it is discarded in the kitchen trash. Every time she started to chew the limp greens, her mouth filled with saliva while her stomach twisted painfully. She can’t remember a time she was this nervous, especially about David.

Mack brings her hands up to her hair, collecting the long brown strands into a pony tail at the top of her head. She sighs heavily, checking her phone again. Only a minute has passed. She calculates the exact timing she thinks she can expect David from the airport. The team has been on a road trip since right after she fled the city. His plane already touched down from what Mack could track off the itinerary he had forwarded to her before their demise. 

Her arrival in New York is planned, though later than she really wanted it to be. David left not long after she did for a road trip. The thought of returning home and him not being here made it too painful. So Mack hung around Switzerland with her parents. She visited Sophie at school, who clearly knew not to ask about David. She drank way too much German beer and ate too many baked goods. In the midst of all that, she thought about David the entire time. During those long days, Mack had held her phone in her hand so many times to call him, but each time doubt had her closing out the phone app before she could, especially when he never called her. Silly of her to expect that, she knows, but it felt like more confirmation of her consequences.

Mack inhales nervously when she hears the key in the lock. She looks towards the door, watching the lock flip, then the door handle turn. She stays sitting cross legged on the couch as he opens the door. He walks in wearing black dress pants and coat, a white shirt and a dark gray tie loosened from around his throat. He wheels in his black, hard cover luggage with his duffle bag on top.

He is looking down at his hand where he juggles his keys, wallet and phone. The phone screen has lit up against his fingers and she can see it’s the same picture of them from Christmas morning a few weeks ago. She is silent as he walks over to the bowl on the skinny entry room table that collects his things. There, he sees her purse resting too. Next to it, he finds her corn cob key chain in the bowl. He stares at it, then looks over his shoulder to where she is on the couch. 

Tears blur him as her throat swells with a lump. She practiced this moment at least fifty times on the long plane ride over here. But now that he is in front of her, Mack can’t find the will to speak. He looks tired and worn out- exhausted even- as his green eyes soak her in like dry land after a steady rain. And the words that Mack came up with on the plane don’t seem like enough. There is nothing she can say to him to make up for what she’s done to them. 

“Hi baby.” He greets her tenderly. 

“Oh.” She croaks out.

Mack covers her face with her hands and collapses forward, immediately sobbing. She hears the clattering of items into porcelain and the roll of a bag being placed off to the side. Then she feels the big hands of her man wrap around her body. They lift her easily into his lap as David settles himself into the couch cushion behind him. One hand is wrapped around her hips, pressing her into him while the other cradles her head to his chest.

“I’m so sorry.” She sobs. 

“It’s okay.” 

“It’s not okay!!!” She wails. 

“It is. Because you’re here now. You came home to me. Nothing else matters.” Mack fists the lapels of his coat, breathing him in, letting him take over her senses. She has been back in New York for hours, but now she is home.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispers again, shaking in his embrace from both remorse and relief.

"I know. You got scared."

“Damn it, don’t be so understanding.” He’s totally already forgiven her. Mack can feel it in his touch that the second he saw her it was all resolved. 

"We're okay, honey.” Mack winds her fingers up his chest to his neck, tangling in the hair at the base. David turns, kissing her forehead. Mack focuses on his lips plumped on her skin, willing herself to say some of the words she thought of on the plane.

“You’re right. I was really scared and I freaked out.” She inhales deeply, trying to stop the croaking of her voice so she can speak clearly. “I should have told you that. You would have understood.”

“Yeah.” He acknowledges then grabs her chin so her face is primed for him to kiss. It’s achingly beautiful and brimmed with love. Their greedy lips soak up the taste of their lovers without the desire to pull apart for air. Mack’s tongue laps at David’s as she hoists herself closer to him. His palms press harder into her until not even lint could slide between their bodies. When they pull apart, David groans in relief.

“I went home.” Mack blurts, suddenly finding her voice. 

“I know. Lucie told me.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t.” His lips purse and he laughs a bit.

“I knew you wouldn’t. You were long gone the second that door shut behind you.” 

“I-"

“Baby, we can talk in the morning, but I am dead tired right now. Just come to bed with me.”

Mack would do anything he asked of her right now, as long as they are doing it together.

In bed, after stripping naked and collapsing into each other’s arms, David’s hands run down her back to her ass. He pulls her flush with him then uses her cheeks to raise her left breast to his lips. He sucks her deep into his mouth as a few fingers slide against her entrance from behind. 

Too tired to talk, but never too tired to make love to her. 

His lips work them both up into a state of arousal that needs to be cured. Between their bodies, Mack reaches for his thick cock, rubbing it through her slit as he continues to play with her nipples- one in his mouth and the other pinched by two fingers. 

“Mmm.” She grunts, then bites her lip as she pushes just his swollen head inside of her. David breaks away, needing to see her face as she fills herself with him. 

“Perfect.” He compliments her quietly as she takes him without resistance. “My perfect fucking girl.” He nips at her breast, then maneuvers himself into place. His hips give her slow, deep thrusts. 

His mouth collects her moans as he makes her come undone on his cock, like it’s like the first time all over again.

He spills into her greedily, marking her neck when he does.

Then they fall asleep curled deeper into each other than they’ve ever been before.

- - - & - - -

The next morning, a car alarm jolts Mack and David awake at the same time. David squeezes Mack tighter to him, lifting his head to pinpoint the noise. When he registers the alarm, he loosens his grip. Mack slowly opens her eyes, glancing up at him. All she can see is the underside of his chin. She runs her eyes along the waves of his growing out stubble, then tilts up to kiss along a particularly swirly patch. David hums beneath her lips. It isn’t long before David’s fingers running along her back have her falling back to sleep. When she wakes again, David is gone but the sounds of him rummaging in the kitchen float into the bedroom.

Mack pads out to join him after doing her morning routine of skin care and brushing her teeth. She stretches her arms above her head, swaying left and right to force the stretch further down her back. David looks over his shoulder, smiling at her. Mack bites her lip, taking in the deep groves of his muscular shoulders as his arms filter through his pantry. 

“We should talk.” Mack murmurs, tucking her hair behind her ear. She puts her forearms on the counter, folding her hands together.

“About what?” He asks, taking out a box of pre-made mix for waffles or pancakes. Mack stills. Is he serious?

“About me… leaving.”

“You’re back though?” He scratches at his nose, flipping the box to the back and reading the directions. “Do I have eggs?” He murmurs to himself, moving towards the fridge. He pops the doors open. “I do.” He grins back at her, wiggling his eyebrows. “Do you want waffles or pancakes?”

Mack sucks her cheeks in as he begins to bring out bowls, a whisk and measuring cups. With intention, she pushes off from the counter and comes to intercept him before he can get to the fridge for water. 

“What?” He chuckles as she weaves her arms around his waist.

“I don’t want waffles or pancakes. I want us to talk about me leaving.” David stills, eyes finding hers and tracing the brown irises. 

“Okay.” He sets the measuring cups behind her on the counter. His hands collect on her lower back and he waits expectantly. 

“I feel like you don’t want to?”

“No, not really. It’s over, ya know? You’re here.”

“Right but…” Mack trails off, staring at him, trying to find the words. She inhales to start, then stops again, clearing her throat. “I left you…” Surprisingly, David chuckles genuinely.

“Baby, you ran away from a lot of things, but you came back for me.” She stares at him. “Right?” Mack nods. “Then, again, I don’t know what else we have to talk about here.”

“I’m scared if we don’t talk more about this that it’s going to leave a big crack in our foundation.” She shakes her head slightly, looking away. 

“If you’ve got things you feel you need to say to me, go ahead. I just want you to know, before you even start, that from my perspective, everything is okay. Now and in the future.” Mack pauses, considering, then she nervously chews on her bottom lip. She swallows hard, tilting her head down to look at the hairs in the middle of his chest. He trimmed them recently, probably right after she left. She brings a hand up, stroking his pecs.

“I got scared.” She mumbles then forces her teeth into her bottom lip again to stop from crying. “I got scared that some organization’s decision could wreck my whole life. I still don’t think I’m cut out for relationships, but I love you so much, it’s like there is nothing I wouldn’t try for you. That scared me too. That I want to be here in New York. That I don’t want to go on long assignments that take me away from here for weeks at a time. That I feel this pull to come home when New York was never supposed to be home for me.” 

“You’ve changed everything for me.” She continues. “Not because you asked for it to change or forced me into anything. It’s just happened. And I woke up a few weeks ago with all this news and chatter and you wouldn’t talk to me and…” He brushes his thumbs under her eyes to collect her tears. “That wasn’t wrong of you, but suddenly I was thinking about moving to Dallas with you. And getting a place together because that makes more sense than having two places, if I was going to move to another state with you. And do they have an international airport close by? Or do I have to do multiple flights and it was too much. My life no longer was mine. It was completely consumed by someone else.” 

David says nothing, but his eyebrows pull tight together. His hands grip her hips harder, pulling her in more so they’re completely pressed together.

“I was in fight or flight. And I told myself that you deserved so much better than this. So much better than someone who had one foot out the door the first time something goes wrong. So the old habits that die hard, hit harder than ever before, and I was packing my bag the second you left for lunch with Connor. I felt like I was drowning and exploding all at the same time. I couldn’t stop the spiral to think about who that person was that had filled my life up. Or rationalize with myself about how lonely and unhappy I was before you. You have changed everything, but it’s been for the better.” She closes her eyes, letting the tears stream down for him to catch again. 

“When you came home while I was packing…” She shudders, trying not to sob. “I anticipated you would do so many things, but not that you would tell me to go. It was like I wanted you to tell me to stay, but then you told me to go. And I’m stubborn as hell so I did.”

“Mack, I couldn’t ask you to stay. I need things too and I needed you to stay without me telling you to. I won’t hold you back. I won’t tether you down or clip your wings. You are free to choose. And when you came back last night, you choose me. That’s all I need to move past all this. I just hope you keep choosing me… Forever.”

It’s the boldest David has ever been with his plans for them. Forever. Mack gnaws her bottom lip, causing it to plump and redden. 

“Forever?” She repeats. 

“Mhm.” He mumbles into her lips. He kisses her deeply, fusing her lips with his until she has to gasp for another breath. “You gonna run if I let go of you?” The deep smirk on his lips makes her understand he is joking.

“No!” She laughs, slapping his chest. “God, of course you’re already joking about this.” He runs a hand down her hip to her ass, giving it a healthy squeeze. He levels her with a serious stare, then kisses her again.

“Waffles or pancakes?” 

“Waffles.” She decides immediately. 

“Chocolate chips or strawberries?”

“Both?”

“Yessss. I was hoping you would say that.” He kisses her nose, then releases her to grab the other two ingredients. “Hey, we are going to Connor and Lucie’s tonight for dinner.” Mack stares back at David with an anxious, wide-eyed expression.

“I haven’t talked to Lucie yet.” She admits. That is definitely a conversation she is still avoiding.

“Nice.” David chuckles. “What could possibly go wrong?”

- - - & - - -

“Heeeee-YAH! MACK!” Lucie’s smile fades instantly when she sees her younger sister. “Nice.” She snaps at her, crossing her arms and blocking the doorway.

“I saw mom and dad in Switzerland. They say hi… I-I have chocolate for Stell!” Mack tries to smooth her sister’s angry scowl immediately.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lucie snarls in Swiss German. “Get in here.” She wraps a hand around her wrist then tugs her into a hug. “You scared the shit out of me and I’m fucking pregnant!”

“I’m sorry, Luc.” Mack closes her eyes, squeezing her older sister tightly. The pregnancy is not a surprise at all to her considering last time she saw Lucie. “Congratulations. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You hurt him.” Mack nods then steps out from their hug. 

“I know.” Mack whispers back. Lucie sighs, then steps around her to hug David.

“Go easy on my girl, Luc.” David murmurs to Lucie but looks at Mack while he says it. 

“Welcome home, Mack.” Connor murmurs from behind her. He tosses an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side. Mack looks up at him. “You two good?” He motions between her and David. They both nod. “Then this group is good too.” He says decidedly. “Now tell me about this chocolate you brought for Stell. She has a dad tax to pay, even on gifts.”

They all laugh then move further into the apartment. Lucie and Connor go back into the kitchen together. Mack knows her and Lucie will discuss more later, when it's just the two of them. She'll cross that bridge when they get there.

David puts a hand on the small of Mack’s back to guide her into the living room. Stella is bouncing between various activities in the living room, but stops everything and dives at Mack for a hug. Mack smooches her cheeks, then allows her past to David. 

“What are we playing tonight, Stelly?” He asks her. 

Mack knows exactly why she ran. 

But this right here, is exactly why she never will again.

Read more Mack and David here.

[pie-of-flames]

11 for the writing prompt!

Thank you so much for the request! I didn't know if I'd get any! This turned into something longer than a drabble.

11 Warm Soup and Fresh Bread (from January prompts here)

The trees in Central Park were stark black against the snow as Paul, laden with packages, emerged from a taxi on 72nd Street. He pulled his scarf close against the wind gusting down the broad avenue, pelting snow in his face. There was still a Christmas tree in the high arched entryway to John’s building, he noticed, as the doorman tipped his hat toward him. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. McCartney,” the man murmured, unimpressed by a world-famous rock star, probably since John and Yoko owned half the building. “I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Paul nodded and hurried inside to escape from the blowing snow. In a burst of optimistic nostalgia, Paul had decided to stop in at the Dakota first thing, even before checking into his hotel. Something about the harsh winter weather, maybe a bit of loneliness from leaving Linda and the kids back in the UK, or perhaps the holidays stirring up wistful feelings of missing John. In any case, something had propelled him to the Upper West Side directly from JFK and he’d hurriedly picked up some gifts on the way so he wouldn’t arrive empty-handed. 

Despite his sense of purpose, Paul felt some trepidation and his heart thudded as the elevator carried him up to John’s place. John might not even be here. Might not even want to see Paul, what with his ever-fickle moods. Paul tried to throw off his nervousness. It was just John, wasn’t it? The key was mentally erasing the last few years like they never happened. Good luck with that, he thought.

A lackey opened the door and ushered Paul into the blinding white living room as he took the packages from him. Pulse racing, Paul glanced around, looking for signs of John or Yoko. “Is, uh, John here?”

“I’ll let him know you’re here,” the lackey said, then disappeared into the apartment. 

When he heard a familiar Liverpool voice, Paul was smoking a desperately needed cigarette, checking out the art and wondering whether the lackey’s failure to mention Yoko meant she wasn’t here.

“What’re you doing here?” Feet bare. John was in a tattered T-shirt and pajama pants. “About to watch me favorite game show.” Smoke floated up from a cigarette in his hand and the sweet, acrid scent of weed emanated from him.

Not exactly welcoming. Paul giggled nervously. “I brought gifts,” he said, as if that would explain his presence. “F.A.O. Schwartz. For Sean.” He peered at John’s eyes behind the granny glasses, trying to figure out if John was on anything else. You never knew.

John glanced at the pile of packages. “Oh, so you did.” He gave Paul a watery smile. “Kind of you.”

They eyed each other warily. Applied themselves energetically to the act of smoking. Putting the cigarette between their lips, sucking and blowing out. There was a familiarity to it, smoking with John, the rhythm soothing.

But Paul’s sense of discomfort remained. “Maybe I should go.” He couldn’t read John at all. This was the worst idea ever. He’d made an appearance, gone through the motions, he could leave now, no harm done.

“No, no, no. Come on, sit.” John sat on the white couch, pulled over a glass ashtray sitting on the coffee table and gestured to an armchair opposite him. 

“Okay.” Paul perched on the edge of the chair, still tense. He tapped ash into a green porcelain ashtray on the side table next to him. Looked out the window at the severe black and white landscape of the park, empty in the inhospitable weather. “Yoko and Sean here?”

John shook his head. “Out on the island. Yoko hates the city during the holidays. Too many people.”

“Ah.” Something in Paul softened and let go, knowing Yoko wasn’t here. “Would’ve liked to have seen Sean. How’s he doing?”

John’s face broke out in a bright smile and Paul’s heart melted. “You should see him, man. He’s amazing. The things he says. Could listen to him all day. Sometimes I do.” John chuckled ruefully.

“Smart, eh?” Maybe he’d stay after all, Paul thought.

They shared a grin. All parents think their kids are the best.

“And adorable,” John added. 

“Of course,” Paul said. “He’s got you for a father.” Oops. That was a bit much. 

John rolled his eyes. “Nothing to do with me.”

“You should send me some pictures some time.” 

John’s gaze shifted away. “Yeah, I should.”

Silence rose again. Puff, blow out; puff, blow out. Now the park wasn’t even visible, the snow falling thickly. John crossed his legs and looked out at what was quickly becoming a blizzard, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. 

Paul smashed out his cigarette, then jumped up and headed toward the window, escaping the feeble conversation. He contemplated the flurries, still wondering if this had been a good idea. After a moment, there was a brief touch on his shoulder, then John’s warm presence closed in right behind him. Paul inhaled sharply and tried to relax.

“Getting bad out there,” John said. 

“Yeah. Glad my plane got in before it got worse.” 

“You came from the airport?” John said with a note of incredulity. 

Paul flushed, glad he wasn’t facing John. “Yeah. Spur of the moment.” 

“Linda and the kids?”

“Back home. Linda said she needed a break from traveling and I had to deal with some business here.”

“Huh.” John stepped up next to Paul. Both continued to stare at the swirling whiteness outside. John rocked on his bare feet. “She let you off the leash, then? Trusts you in the big city?” With a smirk, he knocked his shoulder against Paul’s. 

“Could say the same of you.”

“Oh, Yoko definitely doesn’t trust me,” John said. “She has her ways of keeping tabs on me, don’t ask me how.”

“You okay with that?” Paul asked. “I guess so, you’re here.” 

John’s mouth tightened. “We have our arrangements.”

“The inscrutable Ono Lennons.”

“That’s right, got to keep things mysterious. Don’t want the public to get any ideas about what really goes on here, after all.”

“Just the happy house husband, I hear.” Paul looked askance at John.

“Ain’t it the truth.” John snorted.

Paul wasn’t sure what that meant. It was hard to imagine John being happy, well, at all, much less sitting at home taking care of a toddler all day. “Seriously, are you happy?”

Skirting the question, John said, “Actually, I bake a mean loaf of bread these days. Been perfecting my baking skills.”

Paul burst out laughing. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“No, I’m not!” John sounded genuinely offended. “What’s so surprising about that?” 

“Uh, because the most complicated thing I’ve ever seen you make is toast.”

“Turns out homemade bread makes the best toast.” He grabbed Paul’s arm and hauled him away from the window. “I’ll show you.”

As he led Paul to the kitchen, John said, “I’ve had some dough rising all afternoon. You’re just in time for the sublime experience of smelling bread baking. And then eating it!” He flashed Paul a big grin and it had the same effect on Paul that it always did: a surge of warmth in his chest, the feeling that despite everything, all the heartache and disappointments, there was only one John and Paul was damn lucky to have met him.

The kitchen felt much more lived-in than the austere living room, mugs of old tea sitting around, green plants at the window, old cat food in a bowl on the floor. As soon as they entered, Paul was hit with the yeasty scent of bread dough. “I can smell it,” he said.

“Fantastic, right?” John rubbed his hands together. “Make you a cuppa while we wait?”

“Ta.” Paul could feel the tension in his body release.

*

Over the next hour, the apartment gradually become suffused with the homey scent of baking bread, something Paul never would’ve associated with John Lennon. They’d had some tea, then wandered back to the living room when John wanted to play some records for Paul. Paul sifted through the stack and found his most recent album. He pulled it out and showed it to John with a raised eyebrow, his pulse surprisingly elevated.

“Yeah, yeah, you found me out, I’ve been listening to it,” John admitted.

“So you don’t hate it?”

John sighed and adopted a put-upon look. “Some of the songs aren’t half bad.”

Internally, Paul yelled, “YES.” Outwardly, he said, “Huh,” in a noncommittal fashion and put the record back in the pile. He’d take what he could get.

As they listened and chatted about the music, their conversation got more animated. It felt like old times as they got excited about certain tracks. “The bass line on that one…did you hear what he did? That little lick at the end of the phrase,” Paul said. “Need to remember that.”

“Yeah, but what about the rhythm in the piano? And when the chorus comes, it’s like POW, hits you right in the chest,” John replied. “That chord change…”

“…on the bridge,” Paul finished.

“Yeah, that one! Love it.”

*

A little while later, John pulled the bread out of the oven and inspected it for doneness. “Perfect,” he pronounced and set it on a rack to cool.

Paul picked up an oven mitt. “World’s Best Dad?” he read out loud. 

John’s pale complexion took on a bit more color. “Birthday gift from Yoko. Kind of a joke.”

“Uh huh.”

“Anyway, moving on…” John rummaged in the refrigerator. “Got something to show you.” He grabbed some ingredients. Paul noticed a block of tofu and a tub of miso.

“Bestill my heart. Are you going to make fucking miso soup? You, John Lennon?” Paul put his hand on his chest as if he were having a heart attack.

“Shut up, you,” John said mildly, as he pulled out a cutting board and started preparing the ingredients. “I’m a proper househusband, I am. Don’t you believe the papers?” He winked at Paul.

“Oh right, of course.” They both knew the papers were rarely accurate when reporting anything about the Beatles. Especially when it was a Beatle himself putting out the BS. John and Yoko had been doing that for years. Which was why Paul never knew what was really going on with him. This was a unicorn moment, getting to spend so much time alone with John. Paul had been a bit down over the holidays, probably drinking too much, but now he could feel the darkness lifting a bit. 

*

“You’re right. Toast from homemade bread is something else,” Paul said when they finally got to eat the bread, slathering a slice with butter and taking a big bite.

“Told you,” John said through a mouthful of toast.

Bowls of steaming, golden miso soup were laid in front of them, garnished with delicate bits of tofu and seaweed that Mr. John Lennon had cut up himself. The fragrant loaf of wholemeal bread was on a board, several slices cut and ready to devour. They’d moved on to beer, their glasses on the table half drunk. 

Paul looked at the spread and said, “You know what? You’re not a half-bad househusband, after all.” He smiled at John, filled with a sense of well-being. “Thanks. Everything’s delicious.”

John beamed at him. Then he wiped a pretend tear from his eye. “Gosh, Mr. McCartney, I never thought I’d hear you say that.” He batted his eyes. “I guess the saying is true, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Paul threw the World’s Best Dad mitt at him. Then he picked it up from where it had fallen next to John’s chair and as he got up, he whispered into John’s ear, “You always had my heart, silly bugger.” With the mitt, he swept his hand over John’s head as John stared at him, mouth slightly open. Then he ruffled John’s hair like he didn’t mean it, as if he could take back the words, breaking the moment.

Part 2 here

[changingobsessions88]

Goldeneye - chapter 1

It had been a long few months leading up to the premiere. Travis had been criss crossing the globe for over 3 months. You couldn’t be prouder of him and what he has achieved. Topped with his NFL commitments, and it was a very hard few months. You would have loved to have been there with him, but you couldn’t leave for that amount of time. Facetime became your best friend, as well as the internet. You actually couldn’t breath when you saw the pictures of him from Cannes. There was a very steamy Facetime session the day after you saw him in that white jacket. There may have been a little Bond role play that night. He always took it in his stride, and it made you love him even more that he indulged you in that fantasy. 

You had organized two weeks off work once Travis had finished press, so it could just be the two of you. Finally a holiday and some time together. Travis had organized everything about the trip. All you knew was that you were leaving on Monday night and he was going to meet you at the airport. He was coming straight from the last press day, so you wouldn’t see him before. Once you arrived at the airport, you were ushered into the first class lounge for British Airways. You looked around the busy room until your eyes landed on him. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched him for a moment. He was on his phone, in his own little world. As if he could feel you enter the room, he looked up and locked eyes with you. Your knees went weak as he produced one of the best smiles on Travis you have ever seen. Once your legs agreed with your brain, you made your way over to where he was sitting. He had two glasses of champagne, as well as a cheese board waiting. 

‘Hey sweetie, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes’, Travis said as he ushered you to sit down next to him. Even with the Facetime, there was nothing like hearing him speak in the flesh. That voice does all types of things to you.

“I have missed you so much” you whisper, gripping his shirt as you pull him in for a huge hug. Lips are drawn together and for a moment you both forget where you are. Hell, you haven’t seen each other for 3 months, you are lucky you don’t strip off in the middle of the lounge and go at it like rabbits. 

‘Are you going to tell me where we are going” you say as you make yourself comfortable and sip on the champagne.

‘Well I can’t keep the flight a surprise can I? Travis replies with a smirk. 

‘What are you up to?” you don’t trust that look.

“Nothing sweetie, I just want it to be a surprise” he says back to you as he also picks up his glass of champagne. 

“To us and our adventure” Travis toasts. You clink glasses and stare into each other’s eyes. You are really regretting not seeing him before now – you don’t know how you are going to keep your hands off him. 

Soon an announcement comes across the lounge for first class boarding to New York. Travis stands and holds his hand out for you. 

“That’s us – come on”. You stare at him with your mouth open. 

“We are going to New York” you squeal, starting to bounce in your seat. 

“Well we are heading through New York” he says, with that smirk on his face again. You were too excited to realize the meaning of his words, as you head toward the boarding gate. 

10 hours later and you land at JFK. You were never a good flyer, so you didn’t get any sleep on the plane. Travis is a seasoned traveller, so he was able to get some shut eye and relax as you flew across the Atlantic. You started to head towards the baggage claim when Travis pulled you in the opposite direction. 

“What are you doing, we need to get our bags” you say, a little shorter than you meant to. Sleep deprivation will do that to you. 

Travis smiles at you tenderly and takes your hand, “Don’t you remember sweetie, I said we were heading through New York”. 

You look at him confused, “what do you mean, we aren’t having our holiday in New York?”. 

“Nope”. You wait for him to continue his sentence, but he doesn’t say another word. Just takes your hand in his and gently pulls you towards the private terminal. 

Travis takes control of the situation and ushers you through the private doors into a little boarding gate. Asking you to take a seat, he walks up to the counter and has a conversation with the flight staff. You can’t hear what he is saying, but you don’t mind. You are just happy to stare at your gorgeous boyfriend for a while. He turns round and catches you. A blush rising on your cheeks. Travis drops another megawatt smile, and again you are happy you are sitting down. He saunders over to you and holds out his hand. 

‘I promise this is the last leg” he can see how tired you are. He hates to see you like this, but knows that it will all be worth it in the end. 

“Alright, but are you going to tell me where we are going now?

“I’ll give you a clue. Bond, James Bond” he says and hits you with a cheshire smile and eyes crinkling. Again, glad you are sitting down cause you would be a puddle on the floor with that look. You look at him like a confused puppy with a head tilt. “What?” your tired brain can’t keep up. “Trust me sweetie. All will be revealed very soon”. He leads you out of the terminal and onto a private jet. You have never been on one before, so Travis is keen to see how you react.

“Did you do all this for me? You know I don’t have to have all these luxuries.”

“I know, but now I can spend a little time with you, and the best thing, there is a bed in the back.” You give him a look that could turn fire to ice. You had been away from each other for months, but sex was the last thing you were thinking of right now. You couldn’t even think straight you were so tired. “Nothing like that” he chuckles, “I just know that you haven’t slept and we have another 5 hours or so. Come on love, let’s get some sleep”. He waits for the pilot to come over the intercom and inform us we are at cruising altitude. He stands and you blink at him slowly. He can tell you are out on your feet. He pulls you to stand beside him and he leads you towards the back of the plane. Hands resting gently on your shoulders, he steers you towards a room that holds a king bed. At this point in time, it is the best thing you have ever seen. Travis sits you on the bed and takes your shoes off, his follow and he leans you back onto the bed. He curls up behind you and brings his arm across your stomach to shift you closer to him. You love being the little spoon to his big spoon. You don’t even feel him gently kiss you neck before you are out like a light. Travis got sleep on the previous flight, so he just held you as you finally caught up on the sleep you have missed in the last 12 hours. 

The flight crew quietly knock on the door to alert Travis that you will be landing shortly. He squeezed your middle and brings you closer to him so he can start to nibble your earlobe. He hears you breathing change and a soft moan leave your lips. 

“We are about to land, sweetie. Time to get up”. You let out another groan, and slowly sit up. 

“How long was I out for?” you ask as you rub your eyes and attempt to fix your hair. “It was a good 5 hours. You needed it love” he says tenderly, watching you put your shoes on. 

As you make your way back to the seats located at the front of the plane, your brain is starting to work again. 

“What did you mean by Bond” you quiz him as he sits down next to you and buckles his seatbelt. 

As he opens his mouth, the intercom comes to life again. “We are just about to land at Ian Fleming International Airport, Jamaica. Weather is a balmy 28 degrees and there is not a cloud in the sky”. 

Travis just smiles at you as you start to put all the pieces together. Months ago on a weekend when Travis was at home, you were talking about your holiday wishlist. You wanted somewhere peaceful, secluded and above all, paradise. There were the usual suspects – Tahiti, Maldives, but it was too common. Too commercial. You found reference to a resort called Goldeneye. A private resort in Jamaica where Ian Fleming penned most of the Bond novels. It was perfect, and a place of fantasies, but it was closed for renovations. 

“But it was closed”, you say, staring out the window of the plane. 

“I made a few calls after we talked. You looked so excited as we were discussing it. It is actually back open for business, but they haven’t announced it. That means we have the entire resort to ourselves” Travis finishes as he looks you in the eye, takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. 

“That’s what the smirk was for”. You say, touching his cheek. The thicker stubble from the last day’s travelling starting to come through. “You had all this planned for weeks, didn’t you”. It dawns on you that this was organized before Cannes. “The white jacket” you state. He just smiles and kisses you deeply. “Had to give you something to fulfill your fantasy until the trip. My stylist couldn’t understand why I was insisting on a white jacket. Our little secret” he says, bopping my nose.

The plane lands and soon we are both hit with the warm tropical air of Jamaica. There is a black range rover waiting for us on the tarmac. “After you”, Travis says as he assists you up into the car. 

“Welcome to Jamaica”, the driver announces as you get yourself settled. “It’s about 10 mins to Goldeneye, so make yourself comfortable, and we will be there before you know it”. Travis watches you, as you watch the scenery go by. You can’t believe that you are here. That Travis has done all of this for you. 

“Are you happy?” Travis suddenly asks. You turn around from the window and lock eyes with him. There is a moment of silence, before the biggest smile lands on your face. “Travis, I have never been more happy”, you announce. “I can’t tell you how much you mean to me and how spoilt I am that you have done this for me”. You start to get a little emotional, and Travis can see your eyes start to glisten. Without saying a word, he pulls you over to him and wraps you in his arms. “There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you”, he states – determined. “You are my world and I want to share everything with you. My failures, my success and everything in-between. I have the ability to give this to you, and I want to make your dreams come true”. He gives you a final squeeze as the car pulls up to the entrance to the resort. It was something out of a travel catalogue. Palm trees, white sand, crystal clear blue water with gentle waves, and the best thing of all, not a soul in sight. 

Travis winked at you as he got out of the car and made his way to your door. Ever the gentleman you thought, as he opened your door and helped you out. Any opportunity to get his hands on you, he would take it. Squeezing your knee in the car, leading you toward your destination with his hand on your lower back, anything to be in close proximity. 

Travis checks in and comes walking over to you with the keycard in hand, and a staff member in tow. 

“Welcome to Goldeneye”, she says with a slight British accent. “The resort is still technically closed due to the renovations, so it is just yourselves for the next two weeks. We have you at the Santa Maria Island. The most secluded villa in the resort. Activities within the resort includes a museum of Bond paraphernalia in the big house, as well as water sports on the beach. The restaurants are closed at the moment, but if you would like to dine in the resort, please let me know and we can accommodate you by opening the restaurant. There is also room service that can be delivered if you do not feel like going out. At this, you look directly at Travis and raise your eyebrows. It’s now his turn to turn a nice shade of pink. “Last but not least, we have a full beauty service, including couples massages, if this is something that is appealing”. You smile as she finishes her introduction speech and ushers the bellboy to come and take your bags. “If you will follow Victor, he will show you to your villa”. Travis takes your hand as you follow Victor down a paved path. Passing smaller villas and rooms with access to the beach, you are lead across a little bridge. “Welcome to Santa Maria Island”. You watch as the most beautiful villa you have ever seen in your life comes into view. It is surrounded by palm tress, giving it the secluded feel, as well as being incredibly private. 

“This is the only island we have on the resort. You are surrounded by a little moat, with the bridge being the only access”. You take everything in and find Travis doing the same thing. “This is a dream” you whisper, thinking you have said it to yourself. “It is, isn’t it? But dreams come true”, Travis says, “I have you, don’t I?” Your heart melts as he smiles ‘your’ smile and walks through the doors of the villa. It is light and airy, with open expanses looking out to the water. You walk further into the villa and see a fully stocked kitchen. Anything you could ever want was in that kitchen, but it was past the kitchen that took your breath away. In front of you was a four poster, king size bed, with the softest white linen you have ever seen. You stand in the doorway, trying to take everything in, when you feel two strong arms come around your waist. “What do you think sweetie, did I do good?” 

“Oh, you did so good”, you say as you turn around in his arms and kiss him. The kiss becomes heated as his hands start to wander up your back and yours across his chest. Breaking for air, Travis continues to kiss down your neck and gravitating towards that special spot that makes your knees weak. You moan loudly as he sucks on that spot. You are sure it is going to leave a mark, but with the resort deserted, he can do anything he wants to you for the next two weeks.

Instead of leading you towards the bed, he leads you back towards the large open doors. There you see a totally secluded back garden, with an outdoor shower situated in the centre. The sun is streaming into the space and all of a sudden, you really just want to have a shower. You turn to Travis, cheeks flush from your earlier activities, and state “I want to have a shower”. It takes a moment for him to realize what you mean, and when he works it out, his eyes get dark with arousal and anticipation. You hadn’t meant it like that, but seeing the change in him made you start to get aroused. 

He lets go of you and starts to slowly remove your clothes. You are happy to be out of them as they smell like planes and stale air. Your shirt is pulled over your head, as Travis just stares at your chest. He always does it, like a teenager admiring a girl for the first time. His eyes slowly reach yours and he states “you are so beautiful. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I will show you every day what you mean to me”. Again, your eyes start to fill with tears as he shows you all the affection that is in him. You run your hands down his shirt, feeling his muscles contract as you go. You grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head. He helps slightly by bending his knees so he is closer to your height. Now it’s your time to stare. The NFL will always keep him in shape, but he must have been hitting the gym while he was on the press tour. You swear he is bigger than when you left. You try not to drool as your eyes run from his chest, thick with hair, down his flat stomach to the little trail of hair running under his pants. He lets you stare as your hand reaches out to place it over his heart. He looks down and covers your hand with his. “You are the shining light in my life” you say quietly. Trying to sort your words out. “I am so happy to be in your world, and share everything with you, good or bad”. You go quiet and Travis knows you are trying to get your emotions in check. He stand still, waiting. Once he sees you take a relaxing breath, he knows you have composed yourself. You look at him again and gasp when you see how dark his eyes have become. 

“There is something I want to do” Travis says lowly as he leads you further outside. As he leads you towards the outdoor shower, he continues to remove your clothes. Your bra comes off, followed by your pants. As the same time, you are frantically trying to get Travis’s pants off. You struggle with his belt and he chuckles as you let out a frustrated huff. He puts his hands over yours to still them. “This isn’t about me at the moment sweetie, this is all for you”. You stare at him as he slowly kneels and places his hands on each hip. He drags your panties down your thighs, kissing both hip bones as he goes. You hear him suck in a breath, “Sweetie, is this for me?” Removing your panties has revealed your fully smooth pussy. “I’ve been getting laser while you have been away. Do you like it?” You start to feel self conscious as he just stares. “Do I like it, love, this is spectacular. I can see you flush with arousal, see those lips turn a lovely shade of pink. I can see you dripping with want and know that it is all for me”. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as his finger reaches out and touches your pussy lips. You had just had a session, so you are particularly sensitive. You suck a breath in as Travis looks up at you. “It’s a bit sensitive”, you say, as Travis smirks and runs his finger along again. You shiver, and slightly shift you legs open to give Travis better access. 

Travis stands, leans around you and turns the outdoor shower on. It is only now that you realize you are standing outside completely naked. You start to panic and Travis can see your body stiffen. He puts your head in his hands and looks directly into your eyes. “No-one can see you here. We are all by ourselves. Don’t worry about prying eyes, don’t worry about company and most importantly, don’t worry about people hearing us”, he says as he walks you into the shower spray and drops his hand to your pussy. You moan loudly as his fingers start to slowly circle your clit, combining with the water trailing down your body. You look at him in shock, but he smiles and leans in to give you a deep, toe curling kiss. He pulls away, wet from the spray, and instructs you to put your hands over his shoulders and interlock your fingers. You question him silently, but comply with his instructions. As soon as you do, you understand why. Travis moves his hand toward your entrance as his thumb replaces his finger on your clit. He starts rubbing in earnest, as your knees buckle. Travis chuckles to himself and continues his movements. He continues to kiss you, tongues dominating for control. You moan louder as Travis inserts one finger. “So wet, sweetie. Does this make you shiver?” he says as he puts another finger inside you sopping passage and pushes harder on your clit. Your eyes roll back in your head as you struggle to get a breath. “Tra, Tra, Trav”, you stutter as he start a steady pace with his fingers. In and out, in and out, and you are starting to get close. You can feel the pressure in the base of you stomach as Travis picks up the pace one more time. The fingers that aren’t inside you are running along your freshly smooth lips and it causes you to violently shiver. Travis sees this and stops for a moment. “Are you OK, is this too much” he asks with concern. You would tell me if I ever did anything too much, wouldn’t you?”. 

“First of all, you know I would always tell you if I wasn’t comfortable with something. Second of all, if you don’t finish what you started, I am going to combust”. Travis hits you with a megawatt smile, realizing what you said. “Only I can make you do this” he says as he doubles his efforts. His fingers are pumping into you at an increased rate, his thumb is rolling and tapping your clit with no rhythm to follow and now he grabs hold of one of your nipples and sucks. Travis knows what sucking on one of those little nubs will do to you, so he rolls it round his tongue, then shifts to the other one. Making sure it isn’t neglected. All the while you are getting closer to orgasm, and soon you can’t make any words. You are moaning and trying to say Travis’s name as you tighten your hold around his neck. Travis feels the shift in your posture, and whispers one last time “Cum for me sweetie. Let me feel you”. 

“I..I..I’m cum” is all you can get out before the first waves of your orgasm hit you. It has been over 3 months since Travis has had his hands on you and this time it feels different. You start to feel liquid seep from you, as Travis continues to plunge into your pussy. “That’s it, yes, cum for me”, Travis encourages as you feel a second wave hit you. This one causes your ears to ring and your eyesight to fade. Your knees finally give out, as Travis catches you with his spare arm. The only thing holding you up at the moment are Travis’s fingers deep in your pussy, and his arm around your waist. He holds you to him, watching you twitch and shake as you come down from your high. 

Once you return from you outer body experience, Travis smiles lovingly at you and tenderly kisses your nose. “What happened, something was different that time”, you ask him as you slowly release you hands from around his neck. “You squirted sweetie. I am guessing you have never done that before?” You look at him embarrassed and shake your head. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. That was the sexiest thing I have ever seen. It means I am doing my job right if I can make you do that. It is the most intense orgasm a woman can have”, Travis states as he pushes you back under the water spray. After everything that has just happened, you forgot you were actually supposed to be having a shower. “I wonder if it’s because I’m bare now” you wonder out loud. Travis looks at you, kneeling in front of the discussed subject, and lightly washes you. He can see how sensitive you still are, so he is gentle with his movements. “It could be, I would need to run multiple experiments to know for certain”. You smack Travis slightly on the shoulder as he stands again, shutting off the shower.

It’s only now that you can see how hard he is. The boxers that didn’t get removed before you got in the shower are plastered to his body, with his cock clearly defined. Your mouth waters as you look at the specimen of a man that is standing in front of you. You lean into him, and start to run your hands down his chest again. He knows that you are insinuating, and he stops your hands and looks you in the eye. “You know I don’t expect you to do that, don’t you?” He says, making your heart skip a beat. “It is never about that. It’s not a tit for tat situation. I love making you feel good and there is nothing better in this world than hearing you moan my name as you clamp around my fingers”. You turn red at his words, but find your voice. “I know that Travis, and that is one of the things I love about you. You have never pressured me into anything I didn’t want to do, but trust me my love, I haven’t seen you in 3 months, and I definitely need this”, you say as you reach out and feel him through his boxers. He moans deeply as you rest your hands on the top of his boxers. Now it’s your time to smirk as you see Travis catch his breath. Your fingers trace across the top of his hips, slowly pulling his boxers down. You hate to admit it, but you turn into a schoolgirl when you haven’t seen Travis in a while. You are fascinated by his cock and how it behaves. It usually has a mind of its own. Now is no exception, as it twitches of its own accord.

You pull his boxers down and Travis sighs with the release of pressure that was confining his member. His cock springs forward, smacking his stomach and coming to rest perpendicular from his thighs. Your mouth actually waters as you watch his cock throb and grow ever larger. He is thick and long enough to fit you perfectly. His head is a deep purple, showing just how aroused he has been. There is a drop of precum that you can’t wait to taste. You look at him one more time through your lashes as you reach out, grab his base and gently lick the precum from the tip of his cock. He moans loudly and drops his head back. You hadn’t touched him for 3 months, and he missed the feel of your hands and mouth. It was never the same with his own hand. You run your tongue down the length of him, feeling his vein on the underside. You see him shiver and you know you are on the right track. “It’s been a while, you know”, Travis states as you take another swipe at his tip. His voice growing thicker the more he aroused he becomes. It has always turned you on. “I don’t know if I am going to last very long”. You take that as a challenge, and move his head into your waiting mouth. With covered teeth and a flat tongue, you feed him in. Travis can’t believe what is happening. Your mouth is so hot and feels great around his throbbing cock. He has waited so long. His breath stuttered and you know he is close. You double your efforts and take the length of him in your mouth. He hits the back of your throat, but you don’t mind. You have always been able to take him all the way in. Something he had never experienced before, especially given his size.

You bob quicker, while reaching under your chin to take hold of his balls. They are hot and heavy in your hand, indicating that Travis hadn’t taken care of himself for a while. You roll them gently around you fingers, and watch as his knees buckle slightly. Taking his cock out of your mouth, you stop and ask, “You haven’t taken care of yourself? How have you been managing?”. He looks down at you lovingly, putting his hand through your hair and replies “It’s just not the same without you. There is no comparison to your hand and your mouth on me. I knew we were coming away, so I held off. It’s been a hell of a week. Ask the press team, I have been a sexually frustrated mess!” You give him a sympathetic smile and agree that you feel the same way. With the knowledge of how close he is, you get back to the job at hand. With Travis’ hand in your hair, gently pushing you back on his cock, he sets the tempo. You get back into your rhythm, and soon you have him moaning again. Taking his balls again, you can feel them, full, then start to pull up. You know his release is immanent, so you go at him full force.

He stutters you name and tries to pull you off his thickening cock. He does it every time. He thinks that you don’t like him cumming in your mouth, but it makes you feel so powerful knowing that you do that to him. “Oh God, oh God that’s good”, comes the thickest words so far. With one last tug of his balls and dip of your head - nose bumping his pubic bone, he stills and starts to shot his load down your throat. Rope after rope hits your mouth as you swallow around him. The contraction causes him to howl as the sensitive tip is incased with warmth. When he has finished twitching, you release him from your mouth, and give him a gentle kiss on his tip. He slumps down beside you as his legs finally give way. You stare at his face, flush from arousal and his release, and wait for him to come back to himself. Once his eyes find you again, you see the best thing ever. A smile that he reserves for you only. The smile that makes your insides twist, your heart contract and your cheeks to flush. “Sweetie, I don’t have any words. I love you so much. You know I never expect that from you, but I have to say, you are very good at it”. He chuckles as he pulls you closer to him. 

At this point, you are lying on the grass, alongside the shower. Travis stands, in all his naked glory and wanders into the villa. He emerges, cock swinging from side to side against his thighs (making that schoolgirl come out again), with a large blanket to lie on. Travis knows that you have delicate skin and have a habit of getting a rash from certain grass. You stand and watch the muscles of his back ripple and move while he places the blanket where he wants it. Once happy with the result, he stands and reaches for your hand. Bringing you down to the middle of the blanket, you bask in the warm afternoon sun. There isn’t direct sun (that could cause some interesting sunburnt areas) but there is enough heat from the afternoon air to keep you warm. Lying side by side, your hands roam across each other. Gentle caresses and touches from loving partners that haven’t seen each other for months. You are both comfortable in the silence that you have created. A little bubble of love that blocks out the rest of the world. You roll over slightly and lie on your back. Letting the warmth spread across your body. You feel Travis shift beside you. You raise to your elbows to see what he is doing. You watch him staring at your bare pussy. Again. You start to feel worried, and you subconsciously start to shift your legs away. Travis stops you and gently puts his hand on your hip. “Don’t do that love. I am just having a closer look. I have never seen your little pussy like this and I am intrigued. It looks so delicate without any coverage”. 

“Are you sure you like it? I didn’t know if I should do the whole thing, but they talked me into it”. 

“Well, I’m glad they did”, Travis murmured as he pried your legs open to get a better look. “I love that I can see you getting wet. You are, aren’t you love?” he asked as he runs his finger along one of your lips. You shiver again with the sensitivity. “You are sensitive. Why is that?” he asked, more to himself. “It’s because there was hair covered the skin. Now, with no hair, the skin is more sensitive. Even running your finger across it feels fantastic.” Travis smiles and runs his finger along your lips again. 

This is it, you think. You muster all your courage, as you are still a little shy when it comes to asking for things sexually. “Travis”, he stops what he is doing and looks you in the eye. “Um, could you, I mean would you” you start to lose your nerve. “It’s only me sweetie. What would you like, you can tell me.” You suck in a breath and ask as your cheeks turn bright red, “would you touch me, with your face and your tongue. Seeing as I am so sensitive, I think your stubble would do crazy things to me”.

“You mean eat you out? Travis replies, smiling. You nod, not having the courage to use those words. He looks down at your bare pussy, squeezes your hip and proceeds to move down your body. You let out a breath as he rests between your thighs. Looking up at you one last time, you smile and give him a small nod of reassurance. That is all Travis needs to start proceedings. He shifts you so both legs are resting over his shoulders. In this position, there isn’t much you can do. You are pinned by his hands on either one of your hips, with you legs in the air. You can feel his breath as he gets closer to your core. With slow and deliberate moves, Travis swipes his tongue from your entrance all the way to your clit. You arms give way as you fall back to the blanket. The noises you make encourage Travis as he grabs hold of your clit and sucks with earnest. You try and shift your hips to get closer, but Travis holds you still. You will probably have bruises when this is finished, but you don’t care. Travis shifts and starts to rub his nose against your clit while his chin and lips, covered with his stubble, tickle your sensitive flesh. The sensations you are feeling are incredible. He stops after hearing the noises you are making to check if you are OK. There was nothing like the feelings you were having right now, and you told Travis as such. 

“God you taste like heaven” Travis commented as he removed his mouth from you. You whined as you lost the connection from his mouth. “Will you let me try something”, Travis asks as you look down at him. “OK”, is the only word that comes to mind. Travis gives you a look, a look that you know well. He is going to do something that is going to blow your mind. He leans back down to your pussy, and runs a finger around your entrance. He slowly inserts one, then two fingers, all the while holding his hand above your mound. He curls his fingers just the right way and pushes down with his other hand, and you start to see stars. He know exactly where that little spongy spot it that sets you off. It’s what he does next that surprises you. He starts to rub his mouth and chin across your clit and pussy lips. The longer stubble from the travel is rubbing across your sensitive skin and you actually stop breathing. The noise that comes out of your mouth is somewhere between a scream and a moan, and Travis knows he is on the right track. He continues to rub himself around you, fingers pumping and clit being tickled with the alphabet he is performing with his tongue. You get higher and higher in your noises, and Travis knows you are there. With a final push, your toes curl, your thighs clamp around Travis’s head and your back arches off the blanket. He has managed to give you another earth shattering orgasm, with just his fingers and tongue. What did you do to deserve him? Again, it takes you a moment to come back down to earth, but when you do, you look down to get a look at Travis. His nose, mouth and chin are covered in your juices. You should be embarrassed at what he has just done, but it is actually the hottest thing and the look on his face will keep you warm on cold nights when he is away. He stalks up your body and kisses you deeply again. You can taste your essence on his tongue, but that doesn’t stop you. 

You look into his eyes and see so much love. He brings his body down to rest along yours. Not squashing you at all, and taking all the weight on his arms. You instinctively widen your legs for him to fit inside. It’s at that point that you feel his cock resting on your stomach. He is hard again. You look down between you and back to his face. “This is what you do to me. I can go all day with you making those noises. How are you feeling, did that meet expectations?” Travis has always been very open about sex and checking on you at every stage. You were never comfortable with talking about sex, but Travis has worked with you during your relationship to help you express yourself. You still have your moments, like before, but you have gotten much better. “That was mind-blowing”, you say with a chuckle. “I have never felt anything like that. I think we might need to keep this”, you say, running your hands along his stubbled chin. “Whatever you desire sweetie”, Travis softly kisses your fingers rubbing across his lips.

You gently peck his lips as he settles himself against you. Now his cock is lying right at the top of your mound. You lift your hips slightly and Travis understands what you want. “Are you sure, we can wait a while if you want. Recover”. You both have great stamina, always going multiple rounds. And with the time apart, you may create a new record on this trip. You look at him, smile again and wrap your hand around his cock. You draw it through your pussy lips and to your entrance. “Do you feel how wet I am? I love your fingers and your mouth, but nothing beats your cock filling me and I haven’t had this in 3 months”. Travis drops his head to yours as you push his tip in. “You have no idea how long I have waited for this. Lucky that you tugged one out of me before, otherwise this would have been embarrassing” Travis giggles as he slowly pushes in. There is always the slight burn and stretch when Travis enters you, and today is no exemption. He knows he is on the large size, and with him not being in you for 3 months, he knows he had to take his time. “OK, sweetie?” he asks as he slowly pushes himself to the hilt. You feel every inch of him. His thick length and the veins that are protruding into your walls. You let out a puff of air, “just hold still for a moment. Let me get used to you again. You are bigger than anyone I’ve had. Even my buzzy friend when you are away isn’t as big”. Travis does an internal high five to himself as he nestles himself within your hips.

After a moment, you give him a small nod. He knows what he has to do. With a kiss to your lips, he pulls out again, and with the same tempo, pushes back inside you. The feeling is something you have missed for 3 months and it causes you to roll your eyes back in your head and let out the loudest moan so far. Travis is feeling the same way, nothing beats having you wrapped around him. “Do you trust me sweetie” Travis asks, voice thick with arousal and lust. “Of course I do, you know that”. After your confirmation, Travis takes hold of both of your legs and pushes them up over his shoulder. This leaves you wide open with your hips slightly elevated. With the next thrust, Travis pushes in deeper than usual and you scream. He stops to look at you, thinking he has caused you harm. You shake your head and encourage him to continue. He sets a brutal pace, with his cock pounding into you. He is reaching spots that even he hasn’t reached before. The noises you are both making are getting louder, and soon you don’t have control of the volume. Travis shifts slightly, bringing your hips even higher off the round and starts to go faster. He frees one of his hands, and starts to rub your clit. With this being the 3rd round, it is overly sensitive, but he knows how much pressure you can handle. You start to claw at the blanket, trying to find something to ground yourself. Over and over he hits the same spot that is causing your vision to cloud and your eyes to roll. Drops of sweat are starting to form on Travis’s forehead, a combination of the heat of the day and the activities being conducted. You clamber to find something to hold on to. Grabbing his forearm you try and control your breathing, but he is pushing it out of you with every thrust. You can feel Travis reaching his peak at the same time as you. He is starting to lose his rhythm and is starting to circle his hips every couple of thrusts. “CUM”, Travis demands as he feels you start to contract around him. You stop breathing and start shaking as the biggest orgasm you have ever had runs through you. Travis roars as he pushes as far as possible inside you to release. You feel him release, causing you to start contracting again, another mini orgasm hitting you. He collapses on top of you, energy spent with his release. He rolls to the side, bringing you with him, still joined with his cock slowly softening, but not falling out yet. You look at each other, both blissed out. 

[bonnieura]

You should tell me your favourite JFK facts because I find your posts very interesting /nf 🐇

This has been sitting in my askbox for so long so here we go🫡 not gonna list my favorites but rather as much as i can remember while typing this

jfks eyes are green ,not blue contrary to popular belief! many official documents confirm this which you can easily find online

when not wearing shoes ,jfk had a fairly noticeable limp; because one side of his body was smaller than the other! This included his legs as well (left to be specific iirc) and this is more noticeable in childhood photos if anything

Tied to the fact above ,its also why he had to often wear lifts on one pair of his shoes

Speaking of shoes ,jfk's back pain was so terrible that it reached a point even tying his shoelaces was difficult for him. the chronic pain was genuinely debilitating! he was notorious for his health (or the lack thereof) where at times he'd be made to use crutches bc even walking became hard for him. Literally could not get out of BED on some days bc he was so exhausted and his body hurt .. and people get so surprised when i tell them this

Ive talked to u abt this in ur dms before but he also wore glasses when cameras werent around!

back in the 60s and the decades before it wearing a blue tshirt under a suit or anything of that sort was considered as bold and unprofessional as was wearing any other color like green or purple for ex. It wasnt until the early 60s where they began becoming more normalized— and this is thanks to jfk! he popularized blue tshirts in America after being seen with them on multiple times on addresses and public appearances. Whats interesting abt this is the reason rumored behind it and its that he was inspired by james bond 😭 whose actor wore blue shirts multiple times on film. Im nott exactly sure how true this is but he was pretty big james bond fan anyway so 😭😭

jfk's nickname for jackie was 'kid' and jackies nickname for him aside from jack was bunny

many sleep physicians heavily suggest that jfk had hypersomnolence. In other words that he was really sleepy 24/7 😭 which he indeed was! which obviously couldve had many reasons but the main one is the fatigue that came from his addisons disease— its one of its largest and most common symptoms. that and the exhaustion that wouldve probably come from his like 10 other chronic illnesses 😭 not even as a symptom. Just dealing w that shit is tiring if that makes sense. + Couldve been a side effect for medications he took

speaking of sleep, he was an incredibly light sleeper! the smallest noise would immediately wake him which sounds like hell honestly

he took so many pills and medications a day it's genuinely concerning and even above that. Something that always surprises people is the fact he took antianxiety medication + antipsychotics i think too? But definitely for sure antianxiety and for that reason a lot of specialists think he had GAD but i personally wouldnt say if he did or not

since we're on the topic of meds he was so self conscious of his appearance bc of them😭 since the steroids he took puffed up his face every now and then (moon face) he was always wary of how he looked especially especially his weight. He had such an unhealthy fixation towards it youre well within your right to say he had some form of ED especially with everything else we know abt his eating habits. The one thing he couldn't travel anywhere without was a bathroom scale theres no way thats normal

jfk liked to trick on the secret service now and then. He loved going out with any one of his boyfriends late at night to watch a film only to come back even later— all unbeknownst to the secret service 😭 theyd frazzle and look for him everywhere .. and of course theyd eventually find him anyway giggling with whoever guy he had gone out with that night. The ss would attempt to talk him out of it ,warning him of his 'night outs' dangers but obv it did not go through to him

speaking of night outs .. after JFK moved his friend Lem Billings into the whitehouse (becoming the first 'friend of the president' to live in the white house) he would stay for entire nights in his room and do sleepovers sometimes its so dumb. Jackie didn't enjoy this aspect of their relationship at all cause no matter how close you are to your friend you dont just sleep in their room for nights at a time .. especially with everything else they did

jfk was a. below average driver 😭 he liked to drive by himself but he was far from the best at it. He'd be trailing off somewhere in his compound and the ss would be following behind just in case

jfk hated hated i mean LOATHED being touched 😭 this one especially shocks people bc of the rumors regarding his sex life and wtv but he genuinely felt so uncomfortable when people touched him nonsexually. Even the closest people to him as well.. to the point that it took Jackie the final few months of their marriage to finally break through that wall and have him feel safe and comfortable enough to let her touch him. He would literally pull away if you as much as placed your hand on his shoulder according to lem in a source i cant find rn

he and jackie had to sleep on separate mattresses due to him needing a hard one for his back 😭 so what they would do is stick two beds right next to one another to create a king sized one

jfk was such a sweet tooth tbh it could only be rivaled by his own daughter (whom he had such a close and tender relationship with of course but thats for another post ..) but to be frank he kind of needed to be one! His blood pressure and sugar were low more often than not .. a result of his addisons disease im p sure

Tied to the one above unfortunately his constantly low bp made him a susceptible target of fainting and blacking out more than the average person. To his luck if he overworked himself even a little he would collapse .. he was literally like a porcelain doll in a way he was so frail in terms of health

he (and his brother bobby) both had a terrible issue with dissociation. They couldnt help but zone out and completely derealize during social events or conversations and there are a couple of videos you can find online with him doing this

he fidgeted SO. MUCH. Like im autistic and neurodivergent and yet i dont do it as much as he did fuck did he have 😭 many say that his fidgeting was 1) subconscious and 2) to help ease his pain. We know the latter was how he dealt w his back pain ,he used to use his rocking chair as a type of fidget to keep his mind numb .. for one he had a terrible habit of tapping his teeth with his fingernails and it took him jackie to.. not like teach him out of it but get him to sort of stop in a way i guess

21. he was friends with frank sinatra ! Obviously during his presidency they grew out but if one ever needed anything from the other like theyd provide it for them

22. jfk loved animals but unfortunately had the worst allergies known to man 😭 theres one instance where he tried to impress jackie by riding a horse i think when they were still in their early years of marriage? or before that even im not sure .. but not even half an hour or so later he was sneezing all over the place and out of breath like he was gonna die or something

23. kennedy was quite an avid reader. He loved to read in his free time and whenever he was sick . He mainly did this during childhood and teenagehood where sickness took up more than half of his life at that point ,and with no one to company him during the hours sitting on a bed (i mean not even his own mother .. barely writing to him a letter or two if she even replied to his) (except for lem whom wrote to him almost daily im pretty sure? Im not sure if he used to visit or not but considering he was sick he probably couldn't) he found himself reading books and classic literature to ease the hours that passed alone

24. his relationship with his mom was so bad like genuinely it deserves a post of its own. theres one instance in the 50s i think talking with his friends he allegedly said 'my mother never held or hugged me! never! never!' and im sure it kickstarted his aversion to touch somehow 😭

25. jfk loved getting his hair played with. So did bobby i think but im not sure 😭 i think we all do honestly but for him it was all the more relaxing for it being a foreign thing to him .. some of our best memories as children were when our parents used to play and run their fingers through our heads and we knew how relaxing it was! But he never got that as a kid i dont think 😕

26. kennedy was the one who taught caroline (and jr im pretty sure) how to swim! In a passing down of his love for the ocean and sea to his children he taught them both from an early age swimming ,so in a way they could join him during his swims if they wanted to

^ helping him swim i think here

im tired of thinking of more so thats it! and feel free to add some other facts or anecdotes in the rbs or replies id love to read them

[pedge-stuff]

it's not that kind of cold shower (pedro x gn/m!reader)

a/n: POLL RESULTS ARE IN... and this was the result! would y'all still be interested in a "pedro takes care of sick reader" fic, too?

(this story specifically comes at the request of two anons, who requested bathing/showering while sick, and emetophobia. I don't have much experience on the latter, so I apologize if it's incorrect??)

you knowwwwww it had to be the Dieter pic, tho.

as always, same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug.

summary: 2am on the bathroom floor.

——————————————————————————————————

You wake up alone.

This doesn’t register, at first. You roll over, running a hand over your face as you blearily open your eyes. You’ve gotten used to having a bed to yourself, with Pedro’s current production schedule. (Although the dogs always end up migrating from the foot of the bed in the middle of the night.)

Except, the bed beside you is still a little warm. Pedro is home— has been home, for two days now. He took a car straight from the Disney lot to LAX, and was on a flight to JFK about three hours after the voice work for Mando wrapped. Something about “needing to see his boy,” which he swore was Edgar, with a wink and a kiss blown over Facetime.

The room is dark, still, and quiet. But as you sit up, a sliver of light becomes noticeable under the crack of the bathroom door. You blink the last dredges of sleep away, waiting for him to finish his middle-of-the-night pee. It’s nice, having him here. Waking up beside him always kinda feels like a luxury; you savor it while you have it. His next job— some stupid commercial for a game on an app? He explained it twice but neither of you really understand it— doesn’t start until the end of the month. If you fall asleep before he finishes peeing, you’ll miss an opportunity to fall asleep wrapped around him. These are sacred in their scarcity, at the moment.

Except, the toilet never flushes. After a few long moments, you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

A quiet knock yields nothing. Frowning, you gently push the door open.

Knees to his chest, head propped backwards on the edge of the tub, Pedro is lying on the bathroom floor. His eyes are squeezed shut against the fluorescents.

“Baby,” you whisper, “Pedge, what’s going on?” You kneel down, rubbing a gentle thumb over his kneecap. He’s just in a t-shirt and boxers, the cold tile leaving his exposed calves littered with pinprick goosebumps.

Without opening his eyes, Pedro grimaces. “I dunno,” he says quietly, in a rasp that makes you wince. “Woke up feeling like this.”

“Nauseous?”

The muscle of his jaw twitches. “Hate throwing up.”

“I know, love, I’m sorry.” You bring your hand upwards, carding a few fingers through his hair before palming his forehead. Alarmed, you brush it with the back of your hand, as well. “You’re really burning up, Pedro, Jesus.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows reflexively, but says nothing. Then swallows again.

You reach for the closed lid of the toilet, before returning to your feet. “If you need to throw up, throw up. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

Busying yourself with filling a glass by the sink, you purposefully don’t look, attempting to give him some privacy. But he doesn’t move. Barely lifts his head up, when you offer the water. A sheen of sweat glistens on hollow of his throat, and the collar of his sleep shirt (yours, actually— some soft old 5k thing he always reaches for) is damp.  

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Thought I escaped the curse this time.”

The curse, of course, being your nickname for the way his body absolutely freaks out at the panic of having downtime. Without fail, every time he gets a break, he’s down with something— at best a cold, at worst, what was eventually dubbed the “shittiest Christmas present ever” last year. It’s like his immune system decides it’s on vacation, as well. You’ve started planning around it, blocking off the first few days he’s home just in case. After two days, though, it really seemed like he was in the clear.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the sounds of a grown man gagging. All you can do is kneel behind him, rubbing a hand softly down the length of his back. The muscles flex and tremble beneath as Pedro coughs and coughs. Any part of you that might have been grossed out, is eclipsed by concern. You can feel the heat of the fever through the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

When he finishes, you flush without looking while he reassumes his position against the tub. “M’sorry,” he says, after a sip of water. “Go back to sleep, I’m good.”

“Don’t apologize, and don’t be dumb.” You press a kiss to his shoulder before resting your cheek there for a moment. “You gonna puke again?”

His jaw clenches again. “I don’t think so?”

Abruptly, Pedro sits up, and you tense in anticipation of another round of heaving. Instead he reaches back, grabbing the collar of his shirt to tug it over his head. Lacking his usual gusto, he tosses it towards the hamper in the opposite corner of the bathroom, and misses spectacularly.

“I won’t tell the Lakers,” you tease, “if they call to offer a job.”

Pedro huffs a quiet laugh. “Snitches get stitches.”

“Real tough threat from the man on the bathroom floor.”  

He pouts. “You have to nice to me, I puked. I could be on my death bed.”

You press another kiss to his shoulder; the skin is clammy. “America’s Peepaw Pedro Pascal Found Dead at 47, In Bathroom Like Elvis But Way Less Cool. Turn to A7 for story.”

“Now who sounds old! Who reads celebrity death announcements in tabloid magazines anymore?” The joking puts you at ease, a little. He is less green in the gills than he was when you found him, although the tops of his cheeks are still flushed with fever. It seems like he has to convince himself to reopen his eyes after every blink; his eyelids rest at half-mast.

“Mm. You got me there, I guess. Do you feel okay enough to go back to bed?”

Pedro runs a hand across his chest. “Think I might need to rinse off first.”

He braces himself on the edge of the tub, and you reach out a hand to steady him as he slowly rises to his feet. If his knees audibly crack, well, you didn’t hear anything.

Pulling off your own sleep shirt (his, also stolen; some old Fleetwood Mac shirt that hangs to your fingertips), you tuck it into the towel rack, and move to turn the shower on.

“What are you doing?” The invalid has paused changing with his boxers halfway down, in a way that would be so fucking funny if it wasn’t equally, achingly endearing.

“You are leaning on the counter to stand up right now. I’m not gonna let you slip and fall to your actual death in the shower.”

He looks down at his own hand in betrayal as you adjust the water to an acceptable lukewarm— not so cold as to be unbearable, but cool enough that it might take the edge off the fever. Pedro frowns mournfully as you step out of your own boxers.

You roll your eyes. “We will do this again when you can enjoy it.”

The shower is plenty big enough for the two of you, and you position yourself behind him, legs splayed, arms wrapped around his waist. Cheek smushed between his shoulder blades, close enough to let the warmth of his skin deflect the chill of the water.

It’s not really a shower for washing. Moreso a “stand under the water until you feel human again” type of rinse. But you twist anyways for the body wash Pedro likes, when you are sure he isn’t about to faint into the glass door. He sighs as you rub the gel across his shoulders, reaching around to wash the sweat from his chest and stomach. It does something to you, having him here— within arm’s reach, pliable, soft with sleep. Comfortable beside you.

You stay there awhile, letting the water wash over you, until you feel him sway, ever so slightly.

“Love,” you say softly.

“Mm?”

“Are you falling asleep?”

Pedro reaches blindly for the handle, twisting until the spray subsides. You place a kiss to the wet center of his back. Revel, one last time, in the feeling of his body against yours, before you hand him his towel.

There is a coordinated, albeit wearily measured, return to bed. Pedro foregoes a new shirt, choosing instead to fall face-first on top of the rumpled duvet. You track down some Tylenol PM, with fingers crossed that maybe this is just a 12-hour thing. But, just in case, the bathroom waste basket is also placed beside the bed.

Finally, you slip beneath the comforter, maneuvering your patient until he is at least partially covered as well. And then, in turn, allow him to manipulate you into precisely the position he wants to be held: your face tucks into the damp, curling hair at the base of his neck, arm wrapped snug around the middle of his torso, legs entangled.

In the morning, you’ll deal with the next hurdle. Hopefully not the next hurl. But for now, you sleep.

[countrymusiclover]

10 - Erik and JFK

Part 11

Battle of Heart and Mind

Tag list - ask to be added (in my ask box please) @aintinacage @hiraethrhapsody @mostlymarvelgirl @importantgalaxyrunaway

Leaving from the place I was moments ago I heard the three make voices now in the office downstairs. Entering the room Hank stood by the desk, Logan remained near the doorway and Charles was laying on the couch drink in his hands. “We need your help, Charles.”

“Need his help how exactly?” I came and sat down beside him on the couch seeing him finish what content he had in that glass.

Logan turns his head to me. “Bring the X-Men together. Stop Raven from killing Trask which starts the war.”

“So you’re saying they took her power and what…weaponized it?” Charles got up from the couch pouring himself another drink.

Logan nodded. “Yup.”

Charles plopped down in his desk chair downing some alcohol. His demeanor and physical appearance wasn't what I recalled it to be. Hank and I had tried our best to pull him out of the dark but he's just fallen over the edge now. "Now what exactly does Raven and Addi have to do with all this...saying that I...that we choose to believe what you are saying is true."

"In the beginning, the sentinels were just targeting mutants. Then they began targeting everyone. They began identifying the genetics in non-mutants...who would eventually have mutant children and grandchildren. Many of the humans tried to help us but it was a slaughter. Leaving only the worst of humanity in charge. I've been in a lot of wars but I've never seen anything like this. And it all starts with her and Raven." Logan began explaining looking between the three of us where I could see his whole body stiften at the horrible memories he must have been having.

“Raven won't listen to me.” Charles chuckled dryly looking over in my direction thinking back on Cuba. “Her heart and soul belong to someone else now.”

Logan put a hand on his hip throwing his other hand away from his side. “I know. That's why we're gonna need Magneto too.”

“Erik, you know where he is right?” Hank asked the man from the future who said nothing.

Charles got up from the chair stomping around the table and out the door. “He's where he belongs!”

“Charles!” I called his name forcing myself to my feet regaining my balance for a moment.

Logan tilted his head. “What the hell happened to him? Am I going crazy or are you two together or something?”

“We were…until the day I found out I was pregnant.” Looking over my shoulder I explained softly. “The war in Vietnam destroyed everything. Teachers and students were drafted. Hank attempted to help with his legs but…I'm gonna go find him. Charles!”

Moving towards his bedroom he had the door only cracked open slightly. Pushing it opened he lifted his head up sniffing through tears. “Charles, can we talk?”

“What do you still see in that man, Addi?” He sniffed through tears, wiping them away with his sleeve.

Coming to sit on the edge of the bed with the former telepath professor I laid my head on his shoulder. “Because of what he did the day JFK was assassinated. The part of the story you choose to forget.”

“He's not right for you or the baby, Addi.” Charles weakly responded, reaching down, intertwining my hand in his. “I just don't want you to get hurt. Even if you never truly love me the way I love you. I still want to keep you safe.”

Touching his face with my freehand he leans into my palm. “I know how you feel about him after what happened in Cuba. But this means helping Raven…and apparently saving humanity and mutants from an all out war. If you won’t do it for Logan’s tall tail then do it for Raven…do it for me.”

“I'll do it for the both of you.” He whispered, laying his head against my chest and I kissed his forehead just holding him for a moment. The relationship that Charles and I had was comfortable for sure. He was there for me throughout the pregnancy and with my mother. I did love him but it would never compare to my feelings for Erik.

November 22, 1963 - Dallas

Erik and I made our way through the abandoned building that was on the same street that the president was supposed to be driving down since he was visiting for something. Erik peaked his head out the window with me leaning against the wall beside where he stood. “I got word that the assassin is somewhere in this building with a gun. I can feel it somewhere.”

“Do you want me to go looking for it?” I questioned him, figuring that I should help him in some way.

He shook his head no, focusing his attention back towards the busy street. The president’s car came around the corner following the secret service cars that were behind it and in front of them. A gunfire sound blasted through the air where Erik raised his hand about to stop the bullet but the door downstairs got busted open. “Search the entire building!”

“Erik.” I called his name while watching the commotion from the streets below us. The bullet that had been fired hit the president in the back of the head and his wife reached back trying to help but he was already dead. Everyone in the cars and on the streets surrounded the car and I knew the men in the building must be service men.

He moved away from the wall grabbing me by my shoulders with a serious look in his eyes. “You have to go now before they find me up here.”

“Are you crazy? I am not leaving you here to be captured. How could you even consider such a thing?” I spat at him wearing a dark orange coat with some black jeans and combat boots. I had put my hair in a braid.

He was wearing a green turtleneck underneath a brown coat. His gaze remained on mine and I felt him pressing his fingers into my shoulder blades. “Addison, this isn’t a joke. Those men are looking for the man who just killed the president and they most likely will blame it on me if they can’t find the guy who actually fired the shot.”

“So we run and get out of here before they do. We stick together like we promised.” I snapped at him not wanting to leave him here like this.

He threw his head back, sighing in frustration where we heard a bunch of boots coming up the stairs meaning we were running out of time if we were going to run like I wanted him to. “We don’t have time to discuss this, Addi. I can’t let them capture you too.”

“So what am I supposed to do while you’re stuck in the pentagon…besides coming to visit you if that’s even possible.” I asked, gripping the material of his jacket almost closing the gap completely between us.

Erik pressed his forehead against mine and we just stood holding onto each other till he whispered. “You go see your mother or go find Charles. I need you to promise me.”

“There’s voices upstairs!” One of the men downstairs said to his fellow men and they started to be heard coming up onto the floor we were on.

Erik turned his head back, pouring his attention down to me. “Promise me, Addi.”

“I promise….and I love you.” I blurted out having the elevator door opened and the men started running towards us.

Erik grabbed my arm and we ran towards the old staircase that we had used to get up here. He holds my face in his hands, kissing me quickly. “Don’t get caught while I’m gone, Addison.” He rounded the corner holding his hands up in surrender while I peaked my head around the corner watching the officers arrest him on the spot.

“I'll help you get her.” Charles and I had left his bedroom seeing Logan was still talking with Hank. “But not for any of your future shits but for her.”

Logan nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Tell you this, you don't know Erik, that man is a monster, a murder. You think you can convince Raven to change, to come home.” Charles gave him a half smile. “But what makes you think you can change him?”

Logan admitted. “Because you and Erik sent me back here together.”

“The room they're holding him in was built during the...2nd World war when there was a shortage of steel. So the foundation is pure concrete and sand, no metal.” Hank had unrolled a map onto the large table in the library that revealed the inside layout of the pentagon from what he could find.

Charles rested his hands on the table. “And he's being held a 100 floors beneath the most heavily guarded building on the planet.”

Logan raised a brow. “Why is he in there?”

“What, he forgot to mention?” Charles couldn’t contain his laughter while I just stood back biting my tongue.

Hank said. “Uh JFK.”

Logan finally figured it out. “He killed.”

“What else would explain the bullet miraculously curving through the air.” Charles shakes his head glancing over at me silently for a moment knowing how I felt about what he had just said. “Erik's always had a way with guns.”

Leaning my back against the wall I rested one hand on my growing stomach looking between the three men in the room. “Never thought I'd say this but let's go break into the Pentagon.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[bullet-prooflove]

Got You: Cyrus Lupo x Reader

Tagging: @darqchilddaydreamz @words-and-seeds @infinity-mars @malindacath @tkappi @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets  @kmc1989 @oureternalbond 

Cyrus doesn’t expect to see you waiting for him at JFK, the same airport the two of you said goodbye in four years ago. It gives him a sense of déjà vu, because you were wearing the same expression back then too. A mix of sadness and propriety. You don’t like to wear your emotions on your sleeve, he knows that he’s to blame for that.

“Hey.” He says quietly before his eyes flicker to Detective Green who stands alongside of you.

He doesn’t know what you’ve told your partner, so he hangs back because things like this have the tendency to get awkward and he doesn’t want that for you. He’s done enough damage over the years.

It doesn’t matter that he wants to embrace you, that he wants to bury his face in the curve of your throat and take comfort in your presence. He lost the right to that when he took up his posting with the Intelligence Division.

You let Green take the lead while you buy the three of you coffee. The truth is you don’t know what to say because the Tommy that you knew wouldn’t have gotten involved with hookers and dope, he was a family man through and through. You see the blow land, the disbelief in his features. Cyrus looks to you for confirmation, and you incline your head just enough for him to read it as a nod.

“That’s not my brother.” He reiterates, shaking his head. “He wouldn’t cheat on his wife; he wasn’t a weak person. He beat cancer five years ago.”

“When was the last time you talked to him?” You ask him, your fingertips toying with a sachet of sugar. You don’t take it, but you need something to do with your hands because this situation feels like it’s devolving. The more information you give, the more you can see Cyrus withdrawing into himself.

“I don’t know.” He hesitates before taking a sip from his coffee. “He called me a few weeks ago but I was seeing to a situation, I couldn’t ring back.”

There’s guilt there, you can sense it under the surface. He looks at you and then looks away, swallowing hard. You suspect that he did the same thing to Tommy that he did to you four years ago. One phone call when he got to Morocco and then it was like he disappeared off the face of the earth.

“If it wasn’t a paid date or a girlfriend who else would have wanted your brother dead?” Ed asks him and Cyrus purses his lips together into a grim line. You can see the cogs turning in his brain, that steely glint in his eyes as the mood starts to shift.

“Hey.” You say tapping the back of his hand with your fingertip to draw his attention to you. He tilts his head; his jaw clenching and you fix him with a fierce look of your own. “Do not even think about it. They won’t let you work on this case Cyrus.”

He says nothing, he simply picks up his cup of coffee stares straight ahead. You already know that your words have fallen on deaf ears. Nothing is going to stop Cyrus Lupo finding out what happened to his brother.

***

Cyrus causes problems from the outset. It starts with using Green’s name at the M.E’s office to confirm his theory regarding Tommy’s cancer and continues to him challenging Van Buren regarding the classification of the death. He practically begs the Lieutenant to work the case.

When you hear the details of what he’s been up to abroad, you feel your heart stutter in your chest because you can see his self-destructive tendencies playing out in an international arena.

Lupo broke some big cases in some unfriendly parts of the world, and he did it with no back up, no warrants, no weapon, Van Buren tells you. Your gaze strays to your ex-lover on the other side of the glass and part of you wants to strangle him. The police officer in you wants to commend him. He’s still managing to cause conflict in you, even after all this time.

His persistence and stubbornness pays off. With the additional death it’s decided he’ll work that part of the case alongside the two of you. Green resents it and you pinch the bridge of your nose because already you’re getting a migraine from the potential ramifications of having Cyrus back in your life.

When the videos show up, you see the moment that he starts to fall apart. The bullpen is empty, there’s just the two of you seated at the same desk watching Driscol’s suicide as Nolan interviews him. When the cursor hovers over the next file, you place your hand on his arm to stop him. He looks at you, and you already know that no matter what you say, he’s going to watch Tommy’s video.

You watch it with him. Tommy as he sits there, hooked up to the machine, the moment he presses the button, the second the light dies in his eyes. You tilt your head towards Cyrus as the devastation hits him, his shoulders start to quake, and he sucks in deep shaky breath and then another trying to compose himself.

“Come here.” You say softly and he complies burying his face into the hollow of your shoulder as he clutches onto you like a lifeline.

The first sob vibrates through your entire body, you can feel his anguish as his hands grip your shirt the emotion forcing it’s way through his system. There’s no protocol for grief, it’s violent and gut wrenching, it tears at your insides, eviscerating you and leaves your guts spilling out all over the floor. Your fingertips run through his curls, a soothing motion from a time he used to wake up beside in the throes of a nightmare, tears staining his cheeks and his heart pounding in his chest.

“I’ve got you.” You whisper as you cradle him close. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

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