#malibus most wanted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gothcsz · 1 month ago

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Summary: Another chaotic shoot... but at least it's in Malibu?

Tags: more plot keeps sneaking into the porn, angst, frankie has entered the villa, jealous!javi, reader stands on business, it's a porn set other people are also fucking, masturbation on camera (m), dirty talk, lots of cursing (f bombs my beloved), an attempt at a blowjob, javier can't get it up, a dash of misogyny, author projects her ooc thoughts about problematic age gaps in the porn industry, no use of y/n, reader has a degree in film production, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: me nervous that part 3 isn't going to live up to the hype? more likely than you think! 🙂‍↕️ this fic is taking on a brain of its own and i'm just along for the ride, baby! for my just the tip stans— i'm sorry but i'm going to have to edge you until part 4 *crowd boos and i'm dragged off stage* i was going to wait to post this, but i really wanted to get it out because i'm so damn proud of it lowkey, lol, so i hope you all like it 🖤 let a bitch know what ya think! also, shoutout to my pookie @persephone-girl for reading over this 💋 love u mamas

Your phone’s shrill ring pierces through the haze of sleep, and you groan in frustration, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

The comforter is pulled tight over your head, shielding you from the annoyingly bright sunlight filtering through your window. Your hand shoots out, fumbling blindly across the bedside table until your fingers finally close around the receiver.

“What?” you grumble, voice thick with sleep and muffled beneath your sheets.

“There she is! My beautiful, talented camerawoman. Have I ever told you how much I appreciate what you do?” Robbie’s overly cheerful voice blares through the phone, so you pull it back from your ear slightly, wincing.

“Why are you calling me this early in the morning?” you snap, already regretting picking up.

“Early? It’s almost noon—”

“What do you want, Robbie?” You cut him off, not in the mood for small talk, especially since last night’s bar shift ran past four in the morning. You were hoping to sleep through most of the day, recovering in your bed with no interruptions. Clearly, that plan has gone out the window.

“Look, I’ve got a big shoot happening in Malibu today and I’m short-staffed. I could really use your magic touch behind the camera.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” he drags the word out, “I’ll make sure you’re well compensated for working on your day off.”

You rub your eyes, the remnants of sleep still clinging to you. “How much?”

He tosses out a number, and despite your best effort to remain indifferent, your eyes widen. Damn. That’s more than decent money.

“Malibu’s all the way across town,” you point out, “I won’t make it there in time if I take the bus. And a taxi? That’ll cost me a fortune.”

“Don’t worry about that. Your ride’s outside waiting for you.”

You blink, confused, and get out of bed, dragging the corded phone with you as you move toward the bay window. You pull the curtain back just enough to peer down at the busy street below.

Sure enough, Steve is there, leaning casually against his Jeep with sunglasses on, a cigarette between his lips. The second he spots you looking down, he grins like the cheshire cat and waves.

“Seriously?” you mutter to Robbie, flipping Steve off with a half-hearted smile. “And what if I’d said no?”

“We both know you wouldn’t have.”

After a few more quick exchanges, you hang up, glancing once more at your ride through the window before turning to rush and get yourself ready for the day ahead.

Truth be told, you’re still not fully awake, your body moving on autopilot as you shuffle through your morning (midday) routine.

It’s been ages since you’ve been to the beach— especially one as nice as Malibu’s. The thought of it softens the blow of losing your rest day. You tell yourself you’ll make the best of it, turning this unexpected workday into something that benefits you, too.

After shooting wraps, you’ll indulge in a quiet evening by the shore, sinking your toes into the warm sand with a good book in hand. No rush to head back. This time, you’ll gladly take a taxi if it means getting some peace seaside.

With that plan in mind, you dress for the day accordingly. Your halter-style bathing suit doubles as a cute top, the color complimenting your skin, while your favorite denim shorts sit comfortably over your bikini bottoms.

You pack a few essentials into your beach bag and make sure to grab your camera bag as well. Once you’ve double-checked that everything’s packed, you make your way downstairs, feeling a bit more awake now.

Steve catches sight of you approaching and flashes a dramatic grin, straightening up like he’s about to chauffeur royalty.

“Your chariot awaits,” he announces with an exaggerated flourish, swinging the passenger door open.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the bemused laugh that escapes your lips. “God, you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, shaking your head as you climb into the seat, tossing your beach bag onto the floor.

He shuts the door behind you with a smirk. “Ridiculous? I prefer charmingly dedicated to my craft.” He hops into the driver’s side, flicking the cigarette away before starting the car.

You snort at his self-satisfaction, leaning back against the seat and putting on the seatbelt.

“Malibu, huh? How the fuck did he manage to swing that?”

He chuckles, one hand lazily draped over the wheel, the other tapping out a rhythm on his knee. “He didn’t tell me much either— just asked me to stop by and pick you up on my way.”

That makes sense. Robbie’s always been a bit scatterbrained, occasionally running around like he’s managing a multi-million-dollar empire when, in reality, he’s holding it together with duct tape and half-assed enthusiasm.

The drive is surprisingly fun, Steve’s constant jokes keeping your spirits high. He always manages to make you laugh, which is why you tolerate his quirks.

“I’m pretty sure Javi’s going to be there,” he says, almost too nonchalantly, meaning he’s in the mood to be messy.

You keep your gaze focused on the coastline, watching as palm trees blur past. The wind from the open windows has you squinting momentarily, but it can’t cool the sudden heat spreading through your body.

“It’s not going to be weird seeing him, right?” He presses and you finally turn to face him, moving your sunglasses to the top of your head.

“Why would it be weird?” you ask, the challenge clear in your voice.

He shoots you a look, brows raised and lips quirked in that irritating way of his. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe ‘cause of the whole flirtin’ with you during the middle of a scene thing? Or, y’know, the elevator incident… which, by the way, what the fuck even happened there?” He glances at you, curiosity practically oozing out of him.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, but you can’t stop the way your thighs rub together at the memory.

Javier’s mouth... God. “None of your damn business.”

“Don’t tell me you fucked him.”

You laugh, loudly, the sound bordering on forced. “Absolutely not.”

He shoots you that okay, sure look, and you groan internally.

Steve’s like a dog with a bone when he gets curious, and you know he’s not going to let this go until you give him something. You sigh, deciding to indulge him— partially.

“He was being an asshole,” you start, and he immediately interjects with, “Nothing new there,” causing both of you to share a laugh at Javier’s expense.

You shake your head, returning your sunglasses to the bridge of your nose. “No, seriously. He was pushing my buttons, being his usual peacock self. I don’t even know how it escalated, but one moment we’re arguing, and the next... he’s got his tongue in my pussy.”

Steve chokes on his own spit at your bluntness. He’s heard and seen much worse on set, yet your confession has him all tripped up.

“So, you did fuck him?”

You roll your eyes again, shifting in your seat as the horny flashbacks hit you all at once— Javier’s lips wrapped around your clit, the perfect rhythm of his tongue, his fingers.

You shove those thoughts away, focusing on the road ahead, annoyed at both Javier and Steve now. “Getting head isn’t fucking. It’s, like, third base. And anyway, I made it clear— that’s all he was getting from me. I’m not about to waste my time rolling around in bed with him.”

He gives you a look— a knowing look— and you scoff, shaking your head. “What now?”

“Nothing. You’re just the first person I’ve heard say that about him.”

“Someone’s gotta humble his ass,” you mutter, though the words feel heavier than they should. You try to act like you’ve put Javier out of your mind, like that moment was nothing but a blip in your life, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

You’ve never met anyone like him, and the fact that he can elicit such reactions from you pisses you off so bad.

As the coastline stretches out in front of you, Malibu drawing closer with every mile, you can’t help but wonder if seeing Javier today will be as easy as you’re pretending it will be.

The mansion is far more extravagant than anything you could have imagined. Its grand facade, with towering columns and ivy crawling up the sides, feels like something out of a movie set, and for a second, you almost forget why you’re here.

But then, as soon as you step past the threshold, you hear it— echoing from deep within the house are the unmistakable sounds of exaggerated moans, grunts, and the rhythmic thump of bodies meeting.

You adjust the strap of your camera bag on your shoulder, your beach bag abandoned in Steve’s car. As you step further into the foyer, Robbie appears, that infamous smirk plastered on his face.

“Long way from home, aren’t you, Dorothy?” he jokes, taking in your wide-eyed amusement as you scan the expensive decor— the towering glass chandelier overhead, the marble floors gleaming beneath your feet, the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You can’t help but be a little impressed.

But of course, he’s there to give you shit about it. You turn your wide-eyed gaze into a glare, bringing your attention to him. “So funny. You should quit your current sleazy day job and take up another sleazy one— stand up,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He just grins, unbothered by your sharp tone. “You’re always a joy to work with. No wonder Javi asked for you specifically.”

Your entire demeanor shifts viscerally and you curse yourself for it mentally, caught completely off guard. “Wait, what? Javier asked for me?”

He shrugs, indifferent to your confusion. “Yeah. He’s set for a solo shoot upstairs in one of the bathrooms before he’s on with...” He snaps his fingers, trying to remember. “...Mariella. Real pretty girl, it’s her first on-camera gig today.”

The world blurs a little as your mind zeroes in on that one bit of information: Javier asked for you. And not just for any shoot— a solo one. You blink, shaking your head to clear the fog. “I’m sorry, can we go back to the part where I was summoned here by someone who isn’t my boss?”

“Oh yeah, he made a real fuss about it. Sent away the other guy we had lined up for the shoot. Told me he wouldn’t do it unless you were behind the camera. Even offered to pay out of his own pocket just to get you here. It’s the only reason we’re paying you as much as I promised over the phone.”

Your stomach twists and you can feel your face settling into a deep frown, the kind that pulls some of your mood down with it. So that’s why he dangled such a big paycheck in front of you this morning.

After the elevator incident (as Steve has so eloquently named it), after the intense heat of his mouth on you, the way he had you— he said he’d leave you alone. He was supposed to respect the boundaries you set, but here he is, yanking you back into his orbit.

You can already picture him upstairs, lounging in one of those stupidly lavish bathrooms, probably smirking that damn smirk of his, waiting for you.

You try to squash down the way your pulse quickens at the thought, the lingering memory of his fingers digging into your hips, his tongue working between your thighs, is beckoning you into temptation again.

“Fucking great,” you mutter, more to yourself than your boss. You have half a mind to storm up those stairs, find the pornstar, and give him a piece of your mind before marching right back out to spend your day on the beach— free of drama and distractions and him.

But the reality is, you’re being paid nearly three times what you’d normally make on a gig like this. It’s enough to drown out the temptation to walk away, however satisfying that would be.

You’re an adult. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.

Robbie gives you a sidelong glance, clearly sensing your hesitation. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

With a sigh, you force a smile and shake your head. “As good as it’d feel to leave, no, I’m not. I’ll be up in a sec.”

Relief flashes across his face, and he gives you a few pointers before rushing off into this maze of a house.

You linger for a second longer, taking a deep breath to shake off the nerves. Come on. Get it together. After a final mental pep talk, you head toward the grand staircase that winds up to the second floor.

The sight that greets you at the top of the stairs stops you in your tracks: Lexxie is splayed out on her back atop some console table, currently getting the life fucked out of her. The visual is chaotic but nothing new. You’ve seen it a hundred times before.

A guy with a scruffy beard and a beat-up baseball cap stands behind the camera, looking more bored than impressed, barely watching as the two stars go at it.

You lean against the nearby railing, your voice cutting through their heavy breaths and grunts. “Guess your marriage to Javier didn’t last very long,” you tease from off camera, referencing the honeymoon shoot.

The star’s eyes snap open at the sound of your voice, and she flashes you a playful, almost sweet smile in between heavy breaths. “Kinda regretting stepping out on him—oh, fuck.” Her snappy comeback dissolves into a breathy moan as the guy currently rearranging her on the table pushes her legs up to her chest, hitting just the right spot.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ruin your shot,” you say, throwing a glance at the cameraman, knowing how annoying it can be when someone messes with your focus.

He waves it off with a lazy shrug. “It’s not ruined. Honestly, I would’ve quit filming ten minutes ago. It’s starting to drag. I’m impressed they’re still going.”

You let out a small laugh, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, they’ve got stamina like you wouldn’t believe. Makes me feel lazy in bed sometimes, but then I remember how unrealistic this shit actually is.”

He chuckles, scratching at his jaw. “Should make it an Olympic sport. Bet we’d bring home gold.”

“Pretty sure that already exists and it happens in the Olympic Village.” You smirk, finally peeling your eyes away from the couple to look at him properly.

He’s cute in that disheveled, stray-dog kind of way. His curls poke out from under a worn baseball cap, his beard patchy, and his clothes rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing he could find. He fits in perfectly with the kind of guys you’d expect on a porn crew.

Earning a genuine laugh from him, he extends a hand. “I’m Frankie.”

You shake it, offering your name in return. “I’m also part of the crew. About to go shoot a scene in the master bathroom.” You explain, noticing how his grip lingers just a little, his smile playful and easy. You feel a bit of warmth rush to your cheeks, and he’s about to say something when—

“Oh fuck, I’m about to cum!” Lexxie’s voice is piercing, loud and breathless, pulling your attention back to the scene.

You shake your head, stifling a laugh. “Well, that’s my cue,” you mutter, stepping out before you get too caught up flirting with him.

“Nice meeting you,” he says before dismounting the camera, moving in closer to capture the so-called money shot.

Cute. Too cute. It’s almost enough to make you forget about the man you’re about to see.

You push open the door to the room Javier’s in, and the sight of him has you doing a double take.

He’s standing in the middle of the room with nothing but a white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, his defined Adonis belt drawing your eyes in a way you hate to admit.

His toned, brown torso glistens with the thinnest layer of sweat, the sunlight pouring into the room making him look like he’s glowing.

You need to toughen up, and in order to do so, you have to bitch at him. It’s the only way to keep that lustful cavewoman instinct away.

“You’re a piece of work,” is what you settle on, making sure to let your tone really punctuate how annoyed you are by the stunt he pulled today.

The second his eyes lock onto yours, amusement flickers behind them, as if he’s been waiting for this confrontation.

He quirks a brow, lips curving into a lazy smile. “¿De que hablas nena—?”

“What happened to ‘if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone’? Was that something you said just to lower my guard? To get me to give you what you want?” You cut him off, keeping your distance even as you notice him inching closer.

Your eyes are daggers as they bore into him, and for a brief second, you hope he feels at least some of the fire burning in your chest. But if he’s affected, he doesn’t show it. He is frustratingly calm, like he’s above it all.

“You gave me no indication that you didn’t want me anymore.” His voice is casual, almost patronizing.

You groan as you throw your hands up in exasperation. “I literally said, ‘Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again.’ What the fuck else do I have to say or do to get you off my back?”

Silence settles between you two as you stand there staring each other down. He’s unreadable, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

“Well?” you demand, impatient.

“In my defense— it didn’t sound very convincing.” You stare at him incredulously before turning on your heel. Hell no. He can keep his money and his bullshit. You’re not doing this.

But just as your fingers graze the doorknob, his voice sharpens with a hint of panic, calling your name.

“Wait, look,” he starts, running a hand through his hair, “I’m not trying to start anything. I just thought—” he pauses, searching for the right words. “I’d feel more comfortable if you were behind the camera during this shoot. Not the other guy Robbie brought in.”

Frankie? He seems so harmless, and besides, Javier’s never had an issue with whoever’s in the room when he’s filming, so why is it a problem now?

However, his tone does sound sincere. You turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes and refusing to let your guard down. “This better not be another one of your tricks, Javier. If you’re doing this to try and get into my pants—”

He almost grins, but catches himself just in time, clearly biting back a remark. You can see it in the way his mouth twitches, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Already have, his brown eyes seem to say. But he holds his tongue, offering a faint nod instead.

“I promise. No tricks. Just a professional shoot. That’s it.”

You give him one last warning glance before sighing. “Fine. But I’m telling you, Javier—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts, holding up his hands. “I get it and please stop calling me Javier.”

You arch a brow. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but everyone calls me Javi.”

Ugh, whatever. “Okay, fine, Javi. Just show me where I’m supposed to set up.”

He bites back another grin and motions you with a flick of his head, and with the weird tension simmering, you follow him toward the ensuite bathroom. The door creaks open, revealing an elaborate setup, and you pause in the doorway, eyes widening.

It’s surprisingly... beautiful.

In front of a massive window that overlooks the sprawling blue ocean outside, there’s a porcelain clawfoot bathtub filled with what looks like a milk bath. Various colored flower petals float delicately on the surface, scattered in an almost artful arrangement.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Well, damn. This actually looks nice.” This bathroom is bigger than your entire apartment.

Javier notices your reaction and leans against the doorframe to the connecting walk in closet, arms crossed over his bare chest, a smirk playing on his lips. “Catering to the female gaze,” he says with a cocky shrug, “At least, that’s what my agent told me. Seems like I’m very popular among the ladies.”

The way he says it makes you want to smack him upside the head. He’s pushing your buttons again in the most subtle way, and you hate how good he is at it.

“Cute,” you reply dryly, walking past him to set your camera bag down on the large counter.

As you begin to unpack and set up, you can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move, lingering on the exposed skin of your back then dripping down to your legs.

It kind of feels good to have him ogling you like this. The whole look but don’t touch thing is really doing it for you, more than you’d care to admit. There’s a certain power in keeping him wanting, yet also forcing the distance.

“It’s not just about the ladies, you know. I actually want this to be good. I trust you to make it look that way.”

You glance over at him. His playful arrogance has slightly faded, shaded in by the genuine want to make this feel more than just some raunchy scene.

“I’m not a director, I just film it,” you remind him, adjusting the camera lens as you try to play it off. “So just do whatever you think is right. Robbie gave me some pointers, but it wasn’t much.”

“Still,” he presses, “there’s some finesse to what you do.”

At least he’s aware of that. “Let’s just get this over with,” you say, deflecting the compliment.

You finish setting up the camera, adjusting the tripod to get the perfect angle. It’s important to capture the full picturesque scene to begin with— the soft light spilling in through the window, the sparkling blue ocean in the background.

You clear your throat, “Okay, I’m all set for whenever you’re ready.”

Javier moves casually as he unwraps the white towel from around his waist. His cock, already half-hard, demands your attention, but you force yourself to look away. You rub your lips together then lick at them unconsciously, trying to focus on anything other than his naked body.

“Got plans after this?” he asks as though he’s asking you about the weather.

You blink at the normalcy of the question “Just going to hang out by the beach,” you reply plainly, trying to keep your focus on the camera and not on his crotch.

It almost feels strange talking to him like this, without the usual teasing or sexual tension-laden bickering.

“Sounds fun,” he says as he steps into the tub, the water sloshing around him. “Real nice out here. The weather is perfect for it today.”

You watch as he settles in, the milky water rising around his body, and for a moment, you’re completely mesmerized.

The scene in front of you looks like something out of a romantic painting, and it hits you how undeniably beautiful he looks. His skin, a warm golden brown, contrasts perfectly with the creamy white of the bath, and the colorful flower petals floating on the surface make the whole thing look like a dream.

He leans back, the water just kissing his chest, and you catch yourself imagining what a soft, hazy vignette filter would do to the shot, how it would add an enchanting glow to an already intimate scene.

You shake your head slightly, snapping yourself out of the reverie. You’re supposed to be filming him jerking off, not admiring the aesthetics like this is some fine art shoot. But fuck, it’s hard to separate the two when the visuals are this damn good.

Javier, of course, senses your brief distraction. He watches you, eyes thoughtful as he stretches out, letting the water ripple around him. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a slight smirk playing on his lips, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand, despite the heat pooling between your thighs. “Is there a clear direction for this scene, or are you just improvising?”

“I’m just winging it,” his voice is a rich, velvet drawl, a little rough from all the smoking he does. “No dirty talk. They want my natural noises to be the main focus… amongst other things.” He cocks his head to the side, one arm coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

Heat blooms low in your belly, shooting straight to your cunt at the sight. The way his bicep flexes, the muscles shifting smoothly beneath that taut, sun-kissed skin, showcasing just how defined he is while still looking so maddeningly soft.

Calm down, girl, you silently reprimand your pussy. She’s fucking purring right now.

You clear your throat and give him a nod, signaling him to begin. Stepping behind the camera, you focus through the lens, grateful for the distance.

Javier moves slowly. His head tips back against the edge of the tub, eyes falling closed, the soft curve of his lashes fanning out like shadows against his skin. One hand trails down, lingering at the hollow of his collarbones. The movements are unhurried, almost reverent, as though he’s savoring the feel of his own skin.

The intimate build-up draws you in, despite your best efforts to remain detached.

You unmount the camera from its tripod after a few moments, stepping closer to him, framing the shot tight around his chest, the slow glide of his hand along his torso. You can’t help but notice the pounding of your heart, each beat mirroring the steady, throbbing pulse at your clit.

The sight of him— relaxed, fully in his element, bathed in the soft glow of light— stirs that fucking feeling deep within you.

It’s not just desire, though that’s certainly there. It’s the maddening awareness of how sensual, how magnetic this man is. And even though you try to tell yourself you’d feel the same about any other attractive man in his place, you know that’d be a damn lie.

Javier’s hand moves lower, ghosting over the ridges of his soft stomach. His other hand trails slowly through the water, sending gentle ripples through the milky bath. You swallow hard and focus the lens on his face— the slight parting of his pouty pink lips beneath his trimmed mustache that you just now realize has a small patch right above his cupid’s bow.

Even his imperfections are attractive.

The flushed skin of his cock makes an appearance, his thick, swollen head breaking the surface of the water with each subtle movement, teasing you and the camera. The way it peeks through, the slick tip glistening in the milky bath, almost feels like a taunt— winking at you.

Doing as you’re supposed to, you adjust the lens to zoom in on the way his cock flirts with the surface.

If you were anyone else, one of his usual co-stars maybe, you’d lean down and give it a few kitten licks. You’d tease the sensitive crown with your tongue, circling the tip before letting it slide past your lips— just enough to drive him wild.

Your tongue twitches at the thought.

A soft groan escapes his lips as he gets closer to where he’s aching to touch. It’s as if he can read your mind, as if he knows you’re imagining the feel of his cock in your mouth, the taste of his salty skin, the way he’d twitch against your tongue as you tease him until he begs for more.

Maybe he’s picturing your lips wrapped around him, too.

You bite down on your lower lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, to stay focused, even though your body is betraying you. The mess in your panties, the way your nipples stiffen beneath your bathing suit top— everything about this moment is dangerous.

Then finally, his fist wraps around his cock, a soft slosh of water accompanying the motion. The eroticism of the scene— paired with the proximity, the memory of those hands on you— ignites that annoying need deep inside.

He strokes himself slowly, eyes still closed as though lost in the pleasure of it all. You focus the camera on his hand, on the way it moves with purpose, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock, slick with precum.

His groans start to fill the air, and your own body reacts, hips shifting slightly as you try to ignore pressure at your cunt.

“Still with me?” His voice cuts through the silence, raspy and knowing, eyes fluttering open to look at you.

Oh. Have they always been this golden?

“Yeah,” you’re proud of yourself for keeping your voice steady.

Javier’s body is pure, unfiltered sin in motion. As you move around the bathtub to capture every angle, you can’t help but admire him. His muscles shift with every slow pump of his hand, the sinewy lines of his arms and torso rippling just beneath the milky water.

His stomach contracts with each exhale, drawing your gaze lower to the faint trail of hair leading down to his cock, which you catch glimpses of when his hips buck up inadvertently.

His breathing grows heavier, his pouty bottom lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowing in concentration as his pleasure builds. It’s mesmerizing, the way his face contorts, his expressions almost too intimate, too personal for the lens. But you can’t tear your eyes— or the camera— away.

His fist moves with such confidence, touching himself with an unhurried rhythm that only a man used to his own pleasure can manage. Every time his thumb glides over the tip of his cock, a heavier grunt rumbles in his throat and it’s so hot.

You’re too focused on capturing every inch of him that it almost catches you off guard when he begins to speak.

“Wish it was your pretty hand around me right now, baby.” His voice is husky, laced with want, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You blink rapidly, heart stalling in your chest as the camera wavers slightly in your hands. “Javier,” you sigh, his name slipping from your lips before you can stop yourself.

“Fuck, I know, but shit—” His words are more ragged now, spoken between heavy breaths. “You’re all I can think about still. You stay in my mind, muñeca. Can’t get you out.”

Even though every rational part of you knows you should stop him, should leave or at least say something to shut him up, you don’t.

You don’t run, you don’t protest. You just... let it happen.

“Talk to me, please.”

“I-I—” The words get stuck in your throat, “I can’t. I’ll ruin the shoot.” Why is that your priority right now?

“You won’t.”

The way he says it chips at the walls you've built around yourself.

“What do I even say?”

“Anything,” there he goes again, using that tone that makes him sound like he’s begging.

So, you say what you’ve been thinking of since he got into this damn tub. “Your cock is so pretty, Javi.” You purr, throwing all caution to the wind, lying to yourself that this means nothing.

The effect is immediate. He groans, a deep sound from his chest, and his hand moves faster over his shaft, the slickness of the water amplifying the movement. “Fuck,” he says, his breathing now erratic, “say it again.”

Your gaze flicks down and it’s mesmerizing watching the way his body responds to his own touch, but it’s the fact that he’s unraveling in front of you that leaves your mouth dry.

“Such a pretty cock, Javi,” you repeat, voice steadier this time, growing bolder with each passing second. Every flex and contraction of his body feeds the arousal pulsing in you. “I bet it would feel perfect sliding down my throat, hitting the back of it until I’m choking on you.”

All those hours spent listening to cheesy porn dialogue are finally paying off.

His head falls back, exposing the strong column of his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. A guttural groan escapes him as the image of what you just said sets in. His other hand moves down to cup his heavy, swollen balls, the water around him rocking more violently now as he starts to lose himself in the fantasy.

“Shit… I’m close,” he growls, voice breaking with need, the words barely coherent. “Keep talking to me, fuck…”

You lean in slightly, the camera momentarily forgotten. “You want to come for me?” Your whisper is dripping with lust, the idea of him falling apart because of you making your pussy ache. “You want to make a mess? Pretend I’m kneeling right here, my mouth open and waiting for you to fill it, warm and wet just for you?”

You’ve seen him come so many times, watched him fill too many cunts with his spend and paint different parts of their pretty bodies— but none of it compares to the sight before you.

The way his body jerks in response tells you everything you need to know. His grip tightens on the edge of the tub, knuckles going white as he pumps faster, rougher, pushing himself toward the brink. His hips start lifting out of the water with every thrust into his own hand, chasing that final release.

“Fuck, yes…,” he groans, voice strangled, barely holding it together. His eyes squeeze shut, every muscle in his body tensing, going rigid as he falls over the edge.

His bilingual expletives cut off into a long, drawn-out moan as his cock twitches, thick ropes of cum spilling out in messy spurts, splattering against his fist, swirling into the milky bathwater. The petals float lazily across the surface, some clinging to his skin, as the evidence of his release drifts around him.

You stand there, heart pounding, frozen as your brain tries to catch up with your pussy.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, fumbling with the camera as you stop the recording. You quickly move to pack everything up and try your damndest not to look at him.

“Wait, don’t—” Javier’s voice is still hoarse, but there’s a touch of urgency to it now, breaking through the post-orgasm haze. You hear the water sloshing violently behind you as he moves, and you know he’s getting out of the tub. “Just… hang on.”

“No. I-I gotta go,” you stammer, your hands frantically packing up the camera, the lens cap slipping through your fingers. You try to grab it, but your nerves are shot and it fumbles. Thankfully, it doesn’t take damage. You’d hate to hear Robbie bitch at you for breaking the brand-new camera.

Just get out of here is the only thought running through your mind. Every time you’re around him lately, you end up a confused, horny, exasperated mess, and you can’t handle it anymore.

“Hey—wait!” Javier slips as he tries to step out of the tub, nearly falling as he reaches for you, his wet feet squeaking against the floor. You turn just in time to see him catch himself, water dripping from his body, his skin still flushed from what just happened.

“What the hell?” You shoot him a look, “You’re gonna break your neck trying to stop me from leaving—”

“I wasn’t—fuck, just let me talk for a second.” He runs a hand through his soaked hair, water dripping down his neck, over the curve of his shoulders, and you hate how even now, you’re distracted by how good he looks. He reaches for the towel and loosely wraps it around his waist. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Neither did I,” you snap, stuffing your gear into your bag, not caring how haphazardly it’s packed. “This— this isn’t what I signed up for. I’m here to work, remember? Not… whatever the fuck that was.”

He steps closer, reaching for your arm, but you yank it away before he can touch you. The last thing you need is his hands on you right now, reminding you of everything you shouldn’t want.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice softens, but there’s a frustration beneath it, like he’s grappling with the same confusion you are. “I wasn’t trying to mess with you, okay? I just… I don’t know what the hell is happening between us either.”

You stop, finally meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that pulls at the part of you that’s freakishly tethered to him, but you can’t let that get to you now. Not when everything feels so damn complicated.

“Javier, this—” You struggle for words, shaking your head. “This can’t keep happening. I can’t—” You pause, your breath catching. I can’t have you. “I don’t want you,” you correct yourself.

His jaw clenches, muscles ticking under the strain. “Stop bullshitting me,” he growls, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not,” you shoot back, but it comes out too quickly, too rehearsed.

“You’re lying through your fuckin’ teeth, and it’s pathetic. What is so wrong with giving me a chance?” He keeps circling back to this— chances.

One thing about him, he knows how to trigger a fucking migraine.

“Everything!” The word bursts out of you like a confession. “Everything about this is wrong. It’s why I’ve been trying to stay away since day one, but you’re so— ugh!” You throw your hands up, exasperated, the bathroom suddenly feeling too small and claustrophobic. He’s got you spinning in circles, tying you up in knots, and you can’t think straight around him.

Without a second thought, you turn to leave, your feet moving as if you’re fucking levitating. So what if you’ve made a habit of running away from him? You don’t owe him shit.

“Nena—” Desperation laces his voice and that stupid nickname makes your skin curl. “I don’t want you to leave like this.”

“Well, too bad,” you snap over your shoulder. “I’m leaving so you can’t sweet-talk me into anything.” The slam of the door echoes behind you, a final punctuation to your statement.

As you step out into the hallway, the distant sounds of people fucking filter through the air, kind of grounding you back to the real world.

You can’t keep working with him, not if every interaction is going to end like this. You make a mental note to talk to Robbie after today’s shoot. No more Peña.

The day drags on, the tension from earlier still lingering, but now, sitting outside on the shaded patio, you feel a small reprieve.

A half-eaten sandwich rests before you on the table, your eyes lazily tracing the lines of the zero-edge pool that blends into the horizon. The soft rustle of palm trees swaying in the gentle breeze lulls you into a sense of temporary peace. You glance around, taking in the pristine luxury surrounding you. Rich people really have it made, you think, marveling at the extravagance of someone else’s life.

The spat with Javier lingers but you’ve done your best to ignore it by keeping busy. The other shoots happening in the house have kept you distracted, but you know what’s coming: the last scene of the day— with him— and the new girl, Mariella. A small sigh escapes your lips as you sink deeper into the patio chair, absolutely dreading it.

Your tranquility is shattered when you feel a presence nearby. Already anticipating another confrontation with Javier, you steel yourself and don’t even bother looking up before snapping, “Oh my god, can you just leave me alone—”

The words get jammed in your throat as your eyes land on Frankie, not Javier. He stands there, looking taken aback, a paper bag in one hand and an awkward smile tugging at his lips. You instantly feel like a bitch.

“Shit— sorry,” you stammer, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I thought you were someone else.”

Frankie lets out a small chuckle, brown eyes softening as he rubs the back of his neck. “No worries, I can leave if you want—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, waving him off. “Please, stay. I didn’t mean to be snappy.”

He hesitates for a moment before motioning to the empty chair across from you. “Mind if I sit?”

You shake your head, and he lowers himself into the seat, setting his lunch down. The small talk starts easily, flowing naturally as you both munch on your food. He tells you about his daughter, a proud smile on his face as he recounts how she’s the light of his life. Then he goes on about how his friends call him Catfish because of some dumb inside joke, and also the fact that he’s a retired pilot. It somehow doesn’t surprise you— the career fits him.

“How do you go from flying helicopters to shooting porn?” you ask, the question half serious, half teasing as you lean back in your chair, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses.

Frankie raises an eyebrow and smirks, clearly amused. “Shit happens,” he says with a shrug. “How do you go from having a film production degree to spending your days staring at tits and ass?”

A wry smile tugs at your lips. You tilt your head, pausing for effect. “... Shit happens,” you echo, the irony not lost on either of you.

He snorts, taking a slow sip of his water, the sound of his laughter rolling into the lazy afternoon air. You can’t help but steal a glance from behind your shades, your gaze wandering over his rugged features.

There’s something about the way the sun hits him just right, casting a golden glow over his tanned skin. You swallow, feeling a subtle pull in your chest, an unexpected attraction. He’s not flashy, not like the other guys you’re used to working with— there’s an unspoken confidence in his ease, a solidness that makes you want to keep looking.

“So… who’d you think I was? Just then?” He asks, adjusting his cap.

You try not to let your small smile falter. “Oh, just an annoying coworker.”

“Ah, the kind who shows up at the worst times, huh?”

“Exactly,” you reply with a laugh, “You know the type.”

Frankie leans in just slightly, lowering his voice. “Well, I’m glad I’m not that guy.” There’s a flicker of flirtation in his tone, his eyes lingering a beat too long. “But if you ever need someone to… keep him under control, you just let me know. Got the remedy for that right here.”

He exaggeratedly flexes his biceps, and the snug t-shirt he’s wearing pulls taut around his arms, highlighting their impressive size.

You can’t help but admire the view— he’s really fun to look at, all charming smiles and playful confidence.

“I might just take you up on that, actually,” you reply, matching his energy with a teasing smile of your own. “I could definitely use someone who knows how to handle things.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his pink lips. “I’m more than equipped for that, trust me.”

For a second, it feels like the two of you are in your own little world— until, of course, it comes crashing down.

A voice cuts through the moment like a knife. “We’re ready for the last scene.”

You turn to see Javier standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight, his gaze flicking between you and Frankie. His entire posture screams annoyance.

“And who are you?” Frankie retorts, squinting one eye against the harsh sunlight, playful defiance dancing in his tone.

Javier doesn’t seem to like that response at all. “I’m ready to get this shit done with,” he snaps, and you narrow your eyes, practically shooting daggers at him.

Frankie clears his throat, sizing up Javier’s bristling energy. “Right.”

You catch the word presumido slip from his lips— the Spanish insult that has you exhaling a light laugh through your nose, because he’s so spot on and he doesn’t even know it.

Both of you stand, Frankie gathering the remnants of your lunch. “If you’d like some company down by the beach later, I’ll still be around,” he adds smoothly, sliding the proposition in there as casually as if he were just suggesting grabbing coffee. You almost don’t mind him crashing your solo date.

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, pushing your chair in. “It would be great to not have to take the taxi back, but I was willing to do it for a nice afternoon by the water.” You can feel Javier’s possessive stare burning into you from across the way.

Frankie, absolutely unbothered, leans in closer, a charming grin on his face. “Here’s my number if you need that ride.” A pen appears out of nowhere, and he scribbles down his digits on a clean corner of his napkin, tearing it off with an effortless confidence before handing it to you.

“Definitely,” you say with a flirty smile, tucking the napkin into your pocket, feeling a thrill against the scowling presence of the spectator watching from the sliding glass door

Frankie branches off to use the restroom and you push past Javier, no intention of speaking to him until—

“If you spent less time flirting with the crew and more time focusing on your job, we’d be finished by now.”

You can practically taste his jealousy.

You stop in your tracks, turning to face him, your patience running thin. “Really, Javi? You’re jealous of Frankie? That’s what this is about? Did our last conversation not put shit in perspective for you?”

He steps closer, eyes hard, voice low. “Jealous? Of him?” He scoffs, but the tension in his jaw betrays him. “I just don’t appreciate having to wait because you’re too busy cozying up to someone else. Especially someone who looks like they just got picked up off the side of the road.”

“And you wonder why I don’t like you.” Is all you can say, brushing past him yet again, his presence looming heavy as you head toward the living room where the last scene is set to be shot.

The moment Robbie goes on with his usual pre-shoot rundown, your attention shifts to the newbie Mariella immediately, drowning out his usual spiel.

The girl— and she is a girl, no matter what the paperwork says— looks painfully young. Her cropped tee hugging her braless chest, barely keeping her breasts from spilling out, and those flimsy pajama shorts riding high on her thighs. It’s the kind of outfit that makes you uneasy— one you’ve seen too many times in this industry, designed to play into the fantasies of men who want their women to look barely legal.

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sour taste of frustration building in the back of your throat. This is the part of the job that gnaws at you— the undercurrent of exploitation that no one acknowledges.

You’re not naive, you know exactly what sells in porn. You know what these people want to watch, what they get off on. The younger, the better.

Still, it doesn’t make it any easier to stomach when you’re standing on set, watching it play out in real time.

Just as Mariella positions herself, preparing for the camera to roll, you can’t stop yourself. The words come out before you can think to censor them. “How old are you?”

Suddenly, everyone’s attention shifts to you. Robbie. Steve. Frankie. Even Javier, who’s lounging in the corner, waiting for his moment to shine. They all freeze, the casual banter dying off as your question lingers in the air. Mariella blinks, looking around as if unsure who you’re even talking to.

“I—I turned twenty last week.”

Your expression hardens, and the disapproval is written all over your face. “She’s not even old enough to drink, and you’re having her fuck Javier?” Your eyes cut to Robbie, who’s staring at you like you’ve just sprouted another head.

The silence stretches for a beat too long before he scoffs, shaking his head like you’re being ridiculous. “I don’t pay you to hear your opinions on shit,” he snaps, clearly irritated. “Just sit there and record the damn thing.”

Your eyes roll hard enough that it almost hurts. “You’re all a bunch of perverts.”

Poor Frankie catches a stray with that one. It’s like everything is grating on you in ways it usually doesn’t. Normally, you can shove it down and keep your head low because, at the end of the day, you’re just here for the paycheck.

“Perverts pay your bills, sweetheart,” Robbie throws back, all nonchalant. What’s worse is that he’s right.

Moments like this make you wonder how long you can keep doing this without losing a part of yourself in the process.

You look around at the other three men, none of them stepping up to say anything in your defense. Useless.

You shouldn’t be surprised, but it stings. Even Javier, usually quick with a sarcastic quip or biting comment, says nothing. He just sits there, stuffing out a cigarette that’s magically appeared between his lips.

It feels like a betrayal, even though you know better than to expect any different.

And Mariella? She’s clearly distracted, caught up in the magnetic pull Javier has over people. The way she’s looking at him with that starstruck, wide-eyed awe only makes it worse. You can see it in her expression, the way her gaze flickers over him like she’s already imagining how it’s going to feel when he fucks her. Thinking with her pussy instead of having common sense.

You recognize it because you were just in her exact position, drawn into that same orbit. You find empathy for her, but not the other motherfuckers.

The room descends into awkward silence, as if everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you’re not in the mood for a full-blown argument, so you shut down, slumping into the chair behind your camera with your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

You know it’s only a matter of time before all these feelings you’ve been aggressively pushing down come back up and make you snap, but for now, you continue to force it all away.

You’re assigned to shoot the stoic, wide shots while Frankie’s in charge of the close-ups, and honestly? You’re relieved. The last thing you need is to be up close, watching this trash unfold.

The scene starts with the typical, raunchy premise: Dad pays babysitter with his cock! It explains Mariella’s barely-there outfit and the cluttered coffee table with school notebooks, setting the scene.

Then there’s Javier who looks the part too; dressed in dark blue slacks, a typical white collared shirt with a few buttons popped open to give that I’m stressed, come take care of me vibe.

He’s the picture of temptation, and it’s obvious Mariella’s already in the clouds.

The filming begins and they share that cheesy, erotic dialogue and lustful touches. You feel yourself sink further into the chair, silently counting down the minutes until you’re decompressing by the beach.

She sinks to her knees before him, her doe eyes looking up at him with that practiced innocence they all seem to perfect so quickly. She reaches for the buttons on his slacks, her delicate fingers fumbling just a little before she pulls down the zipper and tugs at the waistband. She nuzzles her face against his thigh, brushing her lips against his skin, and finally pulls out his cock. Even soft, it’s still an impressive size— but it’s definitely not how this was supposed to go.

“Well, are you going to suck it or just stare at it?” Javier snaps, his tone cutting through the air with an edge that feels too sharp, too real. It doesn’t sound like the crudeness that’s meant to spice up the scene.

His hand shoots out and tangles in her hair, yanking her closer. He’s rougher than usual, harsher, as he forces her mouth onto him.

She wraps her lips around his head, suckling softly at first, then taking him deeper into her mouth. She’s trying to do her job, playing the part of the eager babysitter, but something’s off.

Javier’s head tilts back, eyes squeezed shut, but it’s not the usual look of pleasure that crosses his face. It’s more like he’s concentrating, forcing himself to feel something that isn’t there.

You can’t help it— your eyes flick around the room, looking at the rest of the crew. No one seems to be noticing what you’re seeing, their eyes all honed in on the action in front of them.

But you’re catching the small details like you always do.

After a few more moments, it’s clear that it’s not happening. Javier lets out a frustrated curse, pulling out of her mouth with an audible, wet pop. “Fuck—just, give me a second,” he grumbles, stepping back. Mariella wipes the saliva from her lips with the back of her hand, looking up at him with a mix of confusion and hesitation.

You take that as your cue. Reaching over, you stop the recording, your finger hesitating on the button for only a moment before pressing it. Frankie does the same, Steve lowers his mic and pulls his headset off.

Javier runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting to the floor, like he’s trying to avoid looking at anyone directly. “I just need a minute,” he says again, but it’s more to himself than to anyone else.

Your gaze lingers on him for a second longer than you intend, and your mind flashes back to earlier, to the way he was with you. The memory is sharp and clear, the contrast striking. He’d come undone for you without hesitation, without needing any coaxing or forcing. Just words. But now, with Mariella kneeling in front of him, offering herself up like a gift, he’s struggling.

“How long will this minute take? We gotta be outta here soon so get it up before I get one of these two to take your place.”

Javier scoffs, dismissive, “Tape wouldn’t fucking sell.”

“Well one featuring a soft dick won’t either,” comes the retort, and the two of them start their back-and-forth bickering.

You rub at your temples, trying to ease the pressure building behind your eyes. This has to be some weird-ass dream; it sure as hell feels like it. Maybe you’re still in bed, blissfully sleeping until three in the afternoon.

Javier storms off and Steve puts his equipment down. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Robbie just waves him away. “Take five,” he mutters to the rest of you, going in the opposite direction. This is such a mess, and poor Mariella remains on her knees, picking at her cuticles.

“Please get up and sit on the couch. You look pathetic,” you say to her, not cruelly but bluntly. It’s not her fault, but the sight of her there is making you itch. She complies like a chastised child.

Frankie drops down beside you, letting out a breath that mirrors your own. “These things usually go like this?” He takes his hat off, ruffling his hair before putting it back on.

“No,” shit has just been weird amongst this group for weeks now. “Burnout is inevitable, I guess.” You’re not about to sit there and shit-talk Javier, despite everything. You might have a mountain of complicated feelings when it comes to him, but you won’t kick him while he’s down.

Before Frankie can respond, Robbie comes barreling back into the room, his face flushed with anger. His eyes lock onto you, and you can see the accusation in them before he even opens his mouth.

“This is your fault,” he spits out, voice sharp, acidic. “All that shit you were talking earlier— now he’s fucking broken.”

You narrow your eyes, standing your ground. “Excuse me?” you snap, incredulous. “I was making a valid point. How the hell is it my fault that he grew a conscience?”

“Y’know,” he starts, his words dripping with the kind of vile, misogynistic shit that makes your blood boil. “You’d do me more good in front of the camera. Have somethin’ shoved up in there to keep you fucking quiet.”

The reaction is immediate. You shoot up from your seat so fast the chair scrapes against the floor, the sound sharp and angry, mirroring how you feel. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Frankie stands too, his face hardening as he takes a step in front of you, finally coming to your defense. “Watch it,” he warns, and it feels like the whole situation could explode into something much worse.

Robbie, of course, just sneers “What? You gonna defend her? She’s been a pain in my ass for weeks—”

“I’m done.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think them through, but they feel right.

You’re tired— so damn tired— of this whole mess. Of dealing with assholes like Robbie and Javier who think they can get away with saying whatever they want. “I quit.”

Your boss’s mouth opens as if he’s about to say something else, but you cut him off with a cutting glare. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you treat me like shit because your precious Javier can’t get his dick hard. Go fuck yourself, Robbie.”

You don’t wait for a response. You turn on your heel and head for the door, your heart pounding in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You’ll double up on shifts at the bar or go back to waiting tables like you did throughout college. Whatever keeps you away from this bullshit.

As you stride down the hallway toward the entrance, you pass Javier and Steve. Javier’s face is stormy, brows knitted together as if he’s still reeling from whatever heated discussion they just had.

The moment he spots you, his expression shifts. There’s a flicker of surprise, maybe even concern.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks.

You yank the heavy, probably expensive for no reason, front door open, the sound echoing through the hallway. “I just quit,” you snap, voice sharp as glass. “See you never.”

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @libre-sol . @cherrysugarx . @goodvibesonly421 .

finally started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out. muchas gracias mis putitas (gn) (endearingly) 🖤

#pedro pascal #javier pena smut #javier peña smut #javier pena fic #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña narcos #javier pena x you #javier peña x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic

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babydollmarauders · 10 months ago

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SECOND (TO NONE) — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n has spent most of her life loving Jack, only to always come up second to her sister

notes: can you tell i love Little Women? with that being said, i was extremely inspired by THE Laurie and Amy scene in Little Women (2019), therefore, one portion of dialogue in this fic is not my own but instead borrowed from the scene and all credits for that go to Greta Gerwig. (5.3k words)

it started on september 20th, 2017.

how pathetic is that? i remember the exact date that my sister brought home the boy i would fawn over for the rest of my days.

i remember it clear as day, though most of it could be from the long-held sisterly grudge of my sister telling me to take the bus home; she was waiting for a friend and didn’t want me ‘bugging’ them.

at the time, i figured it was one of her girl friends. but merely a few hours later, i would meet Jack Hughes.

that day would be the wrecking ball for the next six years of my life. day in and day out, from the ages of fifteen to twenty-one, if you were to ask me what i was thinking of, or rather who, the answer would always be Jack.

i spent years of my life wasting away in the agony of unrequited love. because while i was pining over him, he was pining over her.

*** May 6th, 2018 ***

my shirt sticks to my chest, raindrops drenching my clothing and my shoes thoroughly soaked from deep puddles. laughing as i reach the front porch, i glance behind me in await of my best friend.

“Spencer, you’re getting soaked!” i state, though i’m sure he’s extremely aware of his own status.

“it’s just water, y/n. it’s not hurting anyone.” i roll my eyes, Spencer’s natural poetic demeanor incredibly unsettling for a seventeen year old boy.

as he meets me on the porch, my hand finds the front doorknob, slinging open the door and stepping into the warm air. my clothes drip onto the entrance rug, Spencer pushing me aside in order to step in and shut the door behind us.

“mom! we’re home!” my voice echoes throughout the house as i slip my wet sandals off, dropping my shopping bags on the entryway table, Spencer following suit.

“she’s not home! she’s having lunch with Ellen!” my sister’s voice calls back, drifting towards me from the living room.

wandering down the hallway towards the living area, i peel Spencer’s US National Development Program sweatshirt over my head, my cream colored shirt rising slightly as it sticks to the wet hoodie.

“you’ll never guess who Spence and i saw at the-” my words fail me as i reach the living room, my sister sat on the couch beside her own best friend.

all too quickly, i’m suddenly self-conscious about my appearance. finding insecurity in the way my hair has frizzed up from the humidity of the day, and the way my saturated clothes stick to my body as though covered in honey.

nestled into Jack’s side, Sara raises an eyebrow towards me, her expression silently ordering me to leave; a stark contrast to that of her close friend, who smiles warmly towards me.

“hey, bug.” Jack grins, his arm slung around my sister’s shoulder and effectively stinging my soul. “sup, Spence?”

my best friend smiles at his teammate, ignoring Sara’s deadly stare and making himself at home on the gray couch.

“hey, Hughesy.” Spencer gives a nod of acknowledgment, “hey, malibu barbie.”

“i have a name, Knight.” Sara hisses, her nose scrunching in disgust towards my friend. “you’re getting the couch wet.”

“mhm.” Spencer mindlessly hums, turning his head to look back at my still motionless figure, “you coming, y/n/n?”

nodding, i join the three of them on the ‘L’ shaped couch.

“hi, Jack.” i can feel my face flush already, blood rising to my cheeks; the most traitorous display of my feelings.

but Jack just smiles, “how was the mall? crowded?”

“no, actually pretty empty for a weekend.” i reply, my voice meek.

Spencer cuts in, sending me an obnoxious and horribly hidden smirk, “should’ve come, Hughesy. you could’ve kept me company while this one tried on all her new pretty clothes.”

if this was my friend’s attempt at helping me, it sure was a sucky one. Sara’s eyes bounce between Jack, Spencer, and, i before she rolls them, announcing her departure to the bathroom. pushing off the couch, she knocks Jack’s arm off of her shoulders, his smile dropping just slightly as she leaves the room.

“kinda wanted to go.” Jack clears his throat, “but Sara wasn’t feeling it.”

now it’s Spencer’s turn to roll his eyes, nodding his head in understanding, “ah yes, and what Sara wants, Sara gets.”

if this were any other context, the months-long feud between my sister and my best friend would be amusing me in the highest degree; but in the moment, all i can feel is the nausea that bubbles up as Jack’s cheeks twinge pink at his teammates teasing.

“shut up, Spence.” he mutters, eyes flickering back towards me, slightly widened as if he just remembered i was there, “maybe you should do a fashion show for us, bug. Sara’s told me you used to do them for her when you get new clothes, let us see ‘em!”

the cadence in which he speaks, though i know it’s not his intention, makes me feel small. like i’m a child and not only one year younger than him. and yet, the idea that he wants to see me model all of my new clothes makes my heart flutter in my chest; nearly pounding against the bars of the cage i keep it in, wanting nothing more than for me to confess my feelings right then and there on the fabric couch of my living room, a rom-com, annoyingly fitting of the moment, paused on the tv, and my best friend sat right beside me.

“she told you that?”

“yeah,” his brows furrow, “she tells me plenty of stories of when you guys were younger. i love that she loves you.”

right. this is about her, not me.

i smile halfheartedly as Sara walks back into the room, taking her place back on the couch and underneath Jack’s arm.

for a moment, i wonder if he would still be so smitten if he knew that she doesn’t look at him the way that i do… the way that he looks at her. if he would still pine after her and bend to her will if he knew that she had been going on dates with one of the boys on the soccer team, and that she looked at him with stars in her eyes, the same way Jack looks at her. if he would still look past me, still think of me as nothing more than Sara’s little sister, if he knew she had no intentions to ever make something more of their friendship.

would he move on from her? look for someone else to give his affection to? and would i be wildly insane to wonder if it would be me?

“i actually think i’ll pass,” i finally speak again, a lovelorn quirk to my lips, “don’t want Sara getting any ideas to steal any of my new clothes.”

my sister laughs, eyes twinkling as she winks at me, “i’ll see them next time i go shopping in your closet, don’t worry.”

a small flash of disappointment shines through in Jack’s beautiful blue eyes before he nods, “alright, maybe next time.”

*** January 8th, 2023 ***

“Jack!” my voice carries over the noise of a crowded shoe store in New York City, pushing my way through the people as i watch Jack’s head whip around in confusion. “Jack!”

his eyes scan the store, only landing upon me once i’ve finally made my way through the gaggle of people, now a mere few feet from him.

a bright grin spreads across his face, eyes twinkling, “bug!”

his laugh permeates my ears as i launch myself at him, arms latching around his shoulders and making him teeter in place before finding his core balance, his arms spindling around my waist.

“what are you doing here?” he questions as we pull away, his hands still resting on my waist.

“in a shoe store, or in New York?”

“New York, obviously.” he chuckles.

“girls trip! we were bored out of our minds and decided to spend a couple weeks here.” i explain, craning my neck to see if i can spot my friends in the hectic store.

“we?” he repeats, “is…”

my smile dims at his forlorn yet hopeful expression, shaking my head, “oh, no. she’s not here.”

“i came with some friends.” i tell him and he nods, letting out a seemingly relieved breath. “i’m sorry again, Jack. i can’t believe she-”

“let’s not.” he interjects, “if that’s okay? i’d rather not talk about it.”

i agree, my sisters final rejection of him being the last thing on the list of topics i’d like to discuss with my unrequited teenage love.

“who’s this?” someone cuts in, a hand slapping down on Jack’s shoulder. the new guest has a heavy accent, a neat scruff adorning his face… he’s cute.

“oh, Neeks, this is bug, or sorry, y/n.” Jack’s hands drop from my waist, a long-familiar shiver running through me at the loss of his touch. turning partly towards his friend, Jack’s face brightens again. “y/n, this is my captain, Nico.”

“y/n,” Nico parrots, “you’re Sara’s sister, right?”

it takes everything in me not to cringe, having worked so hard to make myself into my own person now; no longer used to being known as ‘Sara’s sister’ like i was in school.

“yeah.” i sigh, nodding my head, “that’s me.”

i should’ve known better than to think i could be my own person when it comes to Jack. that i could be someone more than the girl who used to follow he and my sister around everywhere.

even with Jack’s new friends, ones that have no connection to me or Sara, i’m still just the little sister of the girl who broke his heart.

“she’s not just Sara’s sister.” Jack tells his captain. he slings an arm around my shoulder, that once disappeared flutter reappearing in my chest, “this girl is the best friend of Spencer Knight and Cole Caufield. she used to go everywhere with us.”

and just like that, the flutter is gone, died out in a sudden burst of flames.

Jack looks down at me, “have you spoken to them recently?”

“yeah.” i force a smile. “i speak to them almost every day.”

“sorry to cut the reunion short, but Jack, we have to go soon.” Nico speaks, gaining Jack’s attention again, “it was nice to meet you, y/n. hopefully i’ll see you again.”

Jack backs away, looking at me again, “text me! you should come to the lake house this summer!”

*** June 20th, 2024 ***

last summer, i spent two weeks of July at the Hughes lake house; my days filled by boating, tanning, and golfing; my nights consisting of bonfires and bars.

it was nice, being surrounded by people i’ve known since high school. i had even convinced Spencer to join me on the trip, though he ended up staying longer than i did.

i felt like those two weeks really helped me solidify myself as more than just ‘Sara’s sister’ to the guys, which provided me with a sense of closure with Jack.

no longer was my mind plagued of thoughts about him anymore. my nights no longer accompanied by dreams of the sweet, blue-eyed boy that i so desperately loved in high school. i felt free.

for the first time since i met him, i was able to date without holding out an unrealistic hope that he would randomly tell me he loved me back.

not long after returning home from the lake house, i met Ryan; a lawyer who knew nothing about the hockey world, which i felt was exactly what i needed.

he asked me out and for once in my life, i was able to say yes without feeling guilty. without feeling like somehow i was cheating on my unrequited love. i was finally able to move on from high school love, for the most part.

on our first few dates, i opened up to Ryan; i told him all about how inexperienced i really was with the dating scene and exactly why. i told him about my six years of unreturned love for my sisters ex-best friend. i told him that i was still friends with him but that i felt that love was in the past. and he was okay with it, he was understanding and sincere and he wanted to be the one i moved on with.

within a few months, i was moved in with Ryan, and now here we are, only a month short of our one year anniversary.

only an hour ago, i arrived to the lake house for the second summer in a row. this time, for a full month of relaxation and catching up with friends. Ryan would meet me here for the last week of my month, it not being quite as easy for him to get away from work as it is for me, and i can’t wait to introduce him to the friends who made high school so easy for me.

“y/n!” my peaceful tanning takes a turn when most of the guys arrive back from the grocery store, Trevor appearing to be the most excited to see me.

my eyelids peel open, hand rising to flick my sunglasses to the top of my head as i look over at the hyper hockey player, “hi, Trev.”

his hands slip into mine, helping me up from the lounge chair in order to sweep me into a tight hug.

“how’s life been?” he grins, pulling back and slinging his arm around my shoulder as he guides us into the house.

i can hear the ruckus of rowdy boys from outside, though that’s not at all shocking, in my experience.

“it’s been great.” my mind flickers to my boyfriend, the one who texted me merely thirty minutes ago to make sure i made it here safe, promising to call me when he gets his lunch break, “really great.”

at my pink cheeks and surely dopey smile, Trevor guffaws, pinching my cheek as we step into the house, “did our little bug get a boyfriend?!”

the house goes silent, Trevor’s voice bouncing off the walls and echoing through the downstairs.

“i’m not little.” i mumble, effectively embarrassed by the overwhelming reaction to the news, “i’m only a year younger than you.”

Cole and Spencer are the only two who already knew of the progression in my dating life, being the two people i talk to the most.

“you have a boyfriend?” a voice chimes from my left, and i look over to find Jack, his face soft and his hands full of grocery bags.

i bite back a smile, suddenly feeling hot under all their gazes. nodding, i speak again, “yeah, his name is Ryan. he’s the plus-one i asked about.”

“he’s here?!” Trevor shouts in exasperation.

i giggle, shaking my head at the way the guys all start looking around, all but Jack, “no! he’s coming in a few weeks! he can’t get off work so easily.”

Trevor drags me to the couch, Jack’s eyes following me as he sets the groceries on the table, slowly dragging his feet behind everyone towards the living room.

“what does he do?” “how old is he?” “is he treating you right?” “is he a hockey fan?” “is he hot?”

my brows furrow at the last question thrown at me, looking at Alex in bewilderment, “what? i feel like it’s a good question.”

a hearty laugh drops from my lips, lowering myself to the couch in preparation to answer their many questions.

“he’s a lawyer, he’s twenty-nine, he treats me amazingly, he’s not a hockey fan, and i think he’s pretty hot.”

a collective gasp is heard around the room, my friends looking at me in utter disbelief, “he’s not a hockey fan?”

Cole shudders, as if the idea is the worst thing possible, “you left that out.”

“i couldn’t have you hating on him!” i shout in defense. my eyes scan the room of guys, finally landing on Jack, who stands in the entrance of the room, his hands in his pockets and his lips downturned.

“is that really what you guys are focusing on?” he scoffs and my eyebrows pinch in confusion at his sour mood, “he’s seven years older than her, and you guys are more worried about the fact that he doesn’t like hockey?”

a small part of me feels like a teenager again, honored that he’s so worried about me, but a much larger part of me is offended for both me and my boyfriend.

“i’m an adult, Jack. i can make my own decisions and i’m very aware of Ryan and i’s age gap, but if i’m not uncomfortable with it then why should you be?”

Jack raises a brow at my spiteful tone, clearly not used to having it used on him, “i’ve known you for nearly seven years, bug. i’m just looking out for you.”

“well don’t,” i sneer, “i didn’t ask for you to look out for me. it’s not your job.”

the other boys squirm amidst the tension between Jack and i, Quinn the first to speak up again.

“so, how serious are you guys?”

Quinn’s question gathers my attention again, butterflies swarming in my stomach as i remember a moment just a couple weeks ago.

“i think he’s gonna propose soon.” i confess, my face burning as Spencer lets out an ‘ooooh!’

“i found a ring in his nightstand drawer a few weeks ago, i think he might do it on our anniversary.”

Cole reacts first, pulling me in for a hug as the others cheer out a premature ‘congratulations’, only one member of the group staying silent. but when i look back at the living room entrance, Jack is gone.

“i think this calls for some boating!” Trevor sings out, already jumping up from his seat to go get changed.

“you just want an excuse to go out on the boat!” Luke yells, Trevor nodding in agreement as he disappears up the stairs.

after an entire week of boating, wakesurfing, and golfing, we end our sunday night around a bonfire.

orange flames lick at the air, the added heat making the summer night sweltering. yet, most of us can be found sitting around the fire pit, enjoying each other’s company.

“dude, she wasn’t flirting with you.” Cole yells across the blazing fire to Trevor, who’s still convinced the girl he met this afternoon was hitting on him.

“she so was!” Trevor huffs, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

almost everyone rolls their eyes, the rest of us knowing the girl was incredibly uninterested in the hyperactive twenty-three year old.

“y/n, she was flirting with me, right?!” Trevor turns to me, eyes wide in await of my agreement, but it never comes.

scrunching my nose, my head shakes in denial, making him groan.

“the only other girl has spoken… that was not flirting!” Spencer announces, “better luck next time, Z.”

“i don’t think y/n would know flirting if it hit her in the face. she doesn’t count.” Jack laughs, raising his beer up to his lips as he smirks at my offended expression.

“i have a boyfriend! i know what flirting looks like!”

“a soon to be fiancé.” Alex wiggles his eyebrows, shimmying his shoulders in a teasing manner as he stands up, “i’m heading inside, it’s too hot out here.”

a few others mutter in agreement, rising from their chairs and following him into the house, leaving just me, Spencer, and Jack.

i sit in silence, watching the flames as the two boys converse, not yet ready to head inside. instead, i’m pulled off in my own thoughts, my mind twisting as i think of this past week.

i thought Jack and i were fine. he said last summer that he didn’t hold my sisters rejection against me, but now i’m wondering if he was lying. ever since i’ve arrived, he’s been nothing but cold shouldered and a bit bitter towards me.

but the oddest part is that it hurts me more than i’d like it to. it feels like my teenage years all over again, vying for his attention and affections, desperate for him to love me. i thought i was over this unreciprocated love, but now here i am again, my only comfort being the knowledge that Jack doesn’t love me like that, but i have someone back home who does.

Spencer’s lips press to the crown of my head, pulling my head out of my thoughts.

“i’m heading inside.” he tells me, earning a nod of acknowledgment from me as i tell him i’ll probably be in soon.

and then there were two.

Jack and i sit in silence for a while, neither of us daring to break the peace as we admire the fire. i push up from my seat, stepping a bit closer to the fire pit in order to watch the orange burn of the logs.

“don’t marry him.”

my head snaps over to Jack, his eyes now glued to me as my face contorts in confusion.

“what?” i gawk.

“don’t marry him.” he repeats, finally standing from his chair.

“why?”

“why?” he scoffs, “you know why.”

my mind is racing, my heart beating wildly in my chest as i turn to face him completely.

“no.” i shake my head, realization settling deep within the pits of my stomach, “no.”

“yes.” he steps closer, a mere 5 feet from me now, and i instinctively take a step back.

all week he’s been sour towards me and i’ve wondered what it meant, and now i know. he’s upset.

upset with me for finding someone else.

“no. Jack, you’re being mean.” i frown. old feelings rise inside of me, nausea plaguing me as tears spring to my eyes, and Jack closes up the space between us, his hand grasping my arm lightly, “stop it, stop it!”

“what? how am i being mean?” he mumbles, brows threading together as i shake off his touch.

“i have been second to Sara my whole life. in everything!” i cry lightly, “and i will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her.”

i step away, slowly backing up towards the house, still facing the man who held my heart for so long, only now wanting me when i’m finally taken.

“i won’t-” i stutter, gasping for breath, “i won’t do it. i won’t. not when i’ve spent my entire life loving you.”

Jack’s lips part as he stands in place, as if shocked. as though he wasn’t expecting such an easy confession to tumble from my lips.

“you just-” i sigh, tears spilling over my waterline as i freeze, the joints of my thumbs being pressed to my eyes in attempt to stop my crying, “why don’t you want me to be happy, Jack?

“i spent six years pining for you. i would’ve done anything to get you to love me. and all you wanted was her! and i don’t hate you for that, i can’t be mad at you, you can’t help who you love; but now that i’ve tried to move on, you want to tell me that i shouldn’t marry him? you don’t even love me!”

anger bubbles within me at the audacity that he holds, my hand flying between us in emphasis of my emotions.

“yes, i do!” he spits back, stepping towards me, “don’t tell me what i feel! just because i may not have felt it back then doesn’t mean i can’t feel it now!”

“you only want me because you can’t have her!” i argue.

“you keep saying that but that’s not true! and no matter how many times you say it, it’s not just gonna magically become true, y/n!

“maybe you want to be right because it would make this easier on you. but the truth is that spending time with you without Sara around just gave me the opportunity to get to know the real you. and yes, maybe i didn’t love you like this then, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that i love you now.”

his chest heaves as he closes the space between us once more, staring down at me the exact way that i’ve looked at him all these years; like i’m the only person in the world for him. like i hung the stars in the sky to shine just for him. like i hold his heart in my hands, the fate of his existence weighing in my decisions.

“i love the way you smile and the way that you speak so softly.” he whispers breathily, “i love seeing you in your glasses late at night, and the fact that somehow you’re always cold. i love your kind heart and the way that you care about everyone you meet, so easily. i love your smart mind and the fact that even though you know you’re smarter than literally everyone here, you don’t show it off or make us feel dumb. instead, you correct us lightly, even if it’s Trevor being stubborn and insisting he’s right.”

i let out a raspy chuckle at his words, tears still silently falling down my cheeks.

“i love your determination and that when you set your mind to something, you achieve it. i love your good and even what you say are your flaws. i love you, y/n. and i’m sorry that i didn’t see it before. tell me to back off and i will. tell me you choose him and i’ll leave you alone, i won’t push it. but i needed to tell you how i feel before it was too late.”

he finally ends his speech, his eyes flickering between my own and my lips.

my mind feels numb yet entirely too full with this new knowledge, and i can’t process it all with him staring at me expectantly.

“can i think about this? please?” i question, pulling away, “this is a lot for me to process right now and i need some time, Jack.

“i spent so long trying to get over you. i thought you would never like me the way that i like you, and now you’re telling me this and i have to make a decision and i just-”

“of course.” Jack cuts me off, nodding, “take however long you need. i don’t want you to feel rushed; really think about it, bug. i don’t want you to choose me just because you feel like you have to. if you want him, then choose him. but if you want me, i’m here. i’m telling you that i love you and i want you, and i’ll wait however long you need.”

i nod, turning and finally walking into the house, hands swiftly wiping at my cheeks to try and get rid of my tears before i reach the door, but it’s useless. just as fast as i wipe the old tears, new ones follow.

“and i— y/n, you okay?” Luke asks, stopping his story to the guys as i rush through the living room and towards the stairs.

i stop at the first step, sniffling but not turning to face them, “yeah, i’m gonna head to bed. i’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

a chorus of ‘goodnight’s are shouted my way as i ascend the stairs, shutting myself in my bedroom and locking the door.

crumpling to the bed, my tears won’t stop, heavy sobs wracking my chest.

hours pass by slowly until it’s eight in the morning, my body exhausted and aching from tossing and turning all night. i couldn’t shut my mind off, no matter how hard i tried.

i feel so conflicted, my heart being pulled into two directions, but i know that one direction is stronger than the other.

no matter how hard i tried to move on, i should’ve known that there was no ‘moving on’ from Jack. those feelings would always linger, still hidden under the guise of closure and friendship.

Jack is my home. my heart will always lie with him, no matter how long passes or who i meet.

my thumb hovers over Ryan’s contact, shaking but otherwise frozen, my body overwhelmed with anxiety at what might await me at the other end of the phone call.

the dial tone rings out, my cellphone now being pressed to my ear as i await the greeting from the other side.

“hey, babe. i was just about to call you.”

“you were?” my tone is raspy and low, my throat sore from crying.

“yeah, somethings come up. i don’t think i can make it on the trip like we planned.” a sense of relief fills me at his words.

“oh, that’s okay. i actually think i’m gonna come back early.” i tell him, my eyes staring straight ahead of me at my half packed suitcase.

“why’s that?”

“i think we need to talk.” i confess, pressure building back up on my chest as i think about the conversation awaiting me back home.

Ryan sighs gently and i can hear some papers being shuffled around, the creak of a door shutting before he speaks again.

“did you sleep with him?”

“what?” i’m appalled, my lips parted in disbelief.

“Jack. did you sleep with him?” he wonders so easily, like he just assumed it would happen.

“no!” i scoff.

“then it’s okay.” he replies, and though i don’t know how he would know, i can tell; he knows what i have to tell him. “i expected it. i really liked you, and i know you really liked me, but i’ve known from the start that i couldn’t compare to him.

“you may have have liked me, but you love him.” he tells me, “i just hope he doesn’t take you for granted, because you deserve the best. and if he is that for you, then i’m happy for you. but if he treats you like anything less… don’t settle, y/n.”

just when i had thought i had nothing left to give, more tears run down my rose tinted cheeks, “i’m sorry.”

“don’t be.” he’s stern with his words, showing me he means them, “i assume he told you how he feels?”

“yeah.” i sigh, “he loves me.”

“then don’t be sorry. you deserve to love and to be loved.”

“thank you.”

he mutters a goodbye, the call ending, and i feel a sense of determination flood through my veins.

rising off my bed, i fling open my bedroom door, stomping down the steps until i reach the kitchen, where i can hear the boys discussing the plan for the day.

at my whirlwind arrival, the boys silence, watching me with baited breath and curious eyes as i stalk towards Jack, who stands frozen at the counter.

“what’s going o-” Trevor’s words are quieted by the sound of my hand smacking against Jack’s cheek. the boys gasping at my action before Trevor begins to laugh.

“that’s for waiting so long.” i huff and Jack nods robotically.

“so i’m guessing that’s a no?” he wonders, voice solemn, as though accepting defeat.

“shut up.” i whisper.

my hands glide over his shoulders, wrapping around the nape of his neck as i pull him down towards me, crashing my lips upon his in a bruising kiss.

“oh!” “what the fuck!”

our friends reactions are thoroughly ignored, Jack’s hands coming to rest on my waist, his fingers gripping into my hips as he deepens the kiss. his tongue slides past my parted lips, but i pull away before we can get any farther in front of our friends.

“and that’s my decision.” i whisper, a beautiful smile spreading across his lips, “don’t make me regret it.”

“i wouldn’t dream of it, bug.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #nj devils #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3

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