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theonottsbxtch · 7 months ago

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FORGOTTEN BIRTHDAY | OP81

an: happy birthday @iimplicitt everyone go and wish her a happy birthday! this is a little piece for you that will make you sadder that you're not in a relationship with oscar but it's a gift from me to you, ily <3

wc: 3.5k

The morning sunlight seeped through the thin, linen curtains, casting soft patterns on the wall, and she stirred, blinking her eyes open as she felt the familiar warmth against her back. Oscar’s arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, his steady breathing a gentle rhythm against her neck. She could feel his lips brushing soft, lazy kisses along her shoulder, the way he always did when he thought she was still asleep.

For a moment, she simply lay there, soaking in the quiet closeness of it all. The fresh scent of Oscar’s cologne and the warmth of his body made her feel safe, cherished. She allowed herself to close her eyes again, smile lingering on her lips as he tightened his hold just slightly, burying his face into her hair, his fingers gently tracing patterns along her arm.

It was her birthday.

She’d woken up with a flutter of excitement, the way she always had since she was a little girl. There was something magical, something undeniably special about the feeling of a day that was just yours. And now, waking up like this, wrapped up in the warmth and the love of someone who’d stolen her heart—that feeling should’ve been even stronger.

But as the minutes ticked by and he continued to kiss her in that quiet, thoughtful way he did each morning, not a single word was said.

Maybe he’s just distracted, she thought, feeling the slight tug of disappointment. After all, the season was coming to an end, and she knew how focused he got, especially in the days before a race. Formula 1 demanded so much of him, and she respected that. He’d been there for her in ways she hadn’t even dared to hope for, bringing more joy and care into her life than she could have ever asked for.

But... not even a whisper of "happy birthday"? Not a hint, not a knowing look in his eyes?

She felt him shift behind her, his hand slipping up to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, his thumb tracing her jawline with that same tender familiarity. His lips pressed gently against her neck, a sleepy hum in his throat. He felt so close, so utterly devoted, and yet...

He’s just busy, she told herself, letting out a soft sigh. It’s probably the last thing on his mind.

She sighed softly, stretching in his arms, and he pulled her a little closer, his lips brushing her forehead in that sleepy, casual way of his. His eyes were still half-closed, hair tousled, but there was a lazy smile on his face as he woke up with her.

“Morning,” Oscar murmured, voice rough with sleep, his thumb tracing slow circles along her hip.

“Morning,” she whispered back, trying to keep her tone as normal as possible. She didn’t want him to sense that she’d been holding her breath, waiting for him to say… well, something. A small “Happy Birthday, love,” maybe, or even just a knowing smile, some hint that he remembered. But he hadn’t. And it was clear now that he wouldn’t.

“So,” he yawned, shifting his legs under the blankets, “today’s kinda busy. Lando and I have this thing at the sponsor’s studio. Some shoot for a promo video, I think. They’re calling it an ‘inside look’ at race prep or something, but really it’s just us standing around talking, I’m pretty sure.” He chuckled, rubbing his eyes. “They’ve got us doing all this media stuff lately.”

“Oh, yeah?” she replied, forcing herself to smile. “You’ll be a natural.” She reached up to run her fingers through his hair, hoping he’d look at her, maybe even catch her eye and give her a hint that he hadn’t forgotten after all.

But Oscar only nodded, giving her a sleepy grin as he leaned back, stretching his arms above his head. “And you? Got a day at the office, right?” he asked casually, as though it was any other day of the year. “What’s on your agenda?”

She took a breath, trying to keep her voice light. “Yep, just the usual. A couple meetings, and I’ll probably have to cover for someone at the desk. I’ll be out by five.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Sounds like a good day. We’ll both be back around the same time, then.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling faintly. “Guess so.”

She got out of bed, pulling her robe around herself and heading to the bathroom, where she stared at her reflection, trying to shove away the hollow feeling that was starting to settle in her chest. She should’ve been used to this by now, she told herself. Oscar’s schedule was demanding; he barely had time to stop and breathe some days, let alone keep track of something like a birthday. Besides, she knew he cared for her deeply—his warmth in the mornings, his texts at odd hours when he thought of her, all the small ways he showed her mattered so much more than one day of the year.

But as she brushed her teeth, tied her hair back, and headed into the wardrobe to pick out her work clothes, she couldn’t quite shake the disappointment. She wanted to laugh at herself for caring so much. It was just a birthday.

Yet the more she tried to pretend she was fine, the more her heart kept slipping. She threw on her blouse and slacks, fixing her makeup with hands that were just a little less steady than usual, and made her way back into the bedroom, where he was now scrolling through his phone, probably checking the texts from his manager.

“Have a good day, okay?” Oscar said as she slipped on her shoes. He gave her a small, warm smile as he leaned over, pressing one last kiss to her cheek, his hand resting on her shoulder as if to linger with her a moment longer.

“Yeah. You too,” she murmured, giving him a faint smile as she grabbed her bag, willing herself not to linger, not to let herself feel anything other than grateful for the morning they’d shared. She gave him one last glance, catching his gaze as he looked at her, that usual warmth in his eyes. And then she turned, heading out the door, whispering to herself that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t important.

The office was buzzing when she walked in. As soon as she stepped through the door, her coworkers greeted her with bright smiles, some even standing up from their desks to call out, "Happy birthday!" There was a small pile of gifts on her desk, wrapped in cheerful paper and bows, and a few balloons taped to her chair. She felt herself smiling genuinely for the first time that morning, warmth flooding her chest as she set her bag down.

“Oh my gosh, you guys,” she laughed, cheeks flushing as she picked up a card signed by everyone. “This is too much.”

“Nonsense!” her friend and desk-mate chimed in, appearing at her side with a cupcake topped with a single, brightly coloured candle. “You deserve all of this and more. We all know you make this place actually run.”

She chuckled, feeling the warmth and kindness radiating from the team. As she took in their gifts—a handmade scarf from the coworker who crocheted on her lunch breaks, a small box of her favourite teas, a lovely journal for her ever-growing stack of notes—she felt touched, genuinely happy. Her coworkers hadn’t forgotten; in fact, they’d gone out of their way to make her feel special.

But there was still that empty space in her chest. A quiet, lingering ache as she glanced at her phone, hoping to see a message pop up on her screen. Maybe Oscar would text her between shoots, or send her a voice message—just a quick “Happy birthday” or even a simple smiley face. Something that would tell her he’d thought of her.

Yet as the hours passed, her phone stayed stubbornly silent, aside from the usual work notifications and a few birthday messages from friends. She knew that he didn’t text much during the day, that his shoots and meetings usually stretched longer than he liked to admit. But part of her had hoped that, just today, he might make an exception.

At lunch, her friends surprised her with a small cake in the break room. They sang to her, a little off-key but with a lot of heart, and she found herself laughing along, feeling incredibly lucky to be surrounded by such warmth and care. She tried to push aside her thoughts of him, to keep her mind off the absence of his message. He’s busy, she told herself, taking a bite of cake as her friends chatted around her. It’s not a big deal.

Still, every time she felt her phone buzz in her bag, her heart leapt, just for a moment, and each time, she couldn’t help but feel the sting of disappointment as she realised it wasn’t Oscar. It was as if her heart was doing a balancing act, teetering between gratitude for the people around her and that quiet ache that her mind kept insisting wasn’t fair to feel.

As she stepped out of the office and into the cool evening air, she felt the weight of the day pressing down on her. She’d kept a brave face, laughed at all the right moments, and soaked up every bit of love her friends and coworkers had poured into her. But now, alone with her thoughts, she felt the ache returning, stronger than before. She wanted nothing more than to go home, slip into a hot bath, and just let herself feel it all—the disappointment, the loneliness, the hurt she’d been pretending wasn’t there.

As she walked up to her building, she noticed his car wasn’t parked out front. Somehow, that felt like a small blessing. She was grateful for a few quiet moments to herself, to feel everything she’d been holding back all day.

The apartment was dark and quiet when she stepped inside, the air still. She kicked off her shoes, leaving them haphazardly by the door, and shrugged her bag off her shoulder, not bothering to turn on any lights as she made her way down the hallway. She was so drained, and all she wanted was the familiar comfort of their room, a place where she could let her guard down completely.

When she pushed open the door to the bedroom, though, she stopped short.

There, spread across the bed, was a beautiful assortment of gifts wrapped in elegant, colourful paper, with a cluster of balloons tied to the foot of the bed. She blinked, her eyes taking in the soft glow of fairy lights that had been draped over the headboard. Each balloon had a photograph attached—moments from their time together, candid shots from races, vacations, cosy evenings at home. Her heart clenched at the sight, an overwhelming mix of disbelief and relief filling her chest.

And then, as if on cue, Oscar stepped out from the closet, a tiny cupcake in his hand, a single candle flickering on top. His face was lit by the candle’s glow, a quiet, tender smile on his lips as he looked at her, his eyes warm and full of a love that nearly undid her.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, voice soft but full of so much feeling that it made her knees weak.

She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears as she let out a shaky laugh, feeling a rush of emotions she could barely contain. “I thought… I thought you forgot,” she managed, her voice breaking as she took a step toward him, her hands trembling. “I thought you were too busy, that… that you didn’t remember.”

Oscar’s face softened, and he closed the distance between them, setting the cupcake on the nightstand as he reached out to pull her into his arms. “Forget?” he murmured, holding her close, one hand coming up to stroke her hair as she let out a small, choked sob into his shoulder. “How could I ever forget your birthday? I’ve been planning this for weeks.”

She clung to him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as she finally let the tears fall, letting herself feel everything she’d been holding back. He held her tightly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back, letting her release every ounce of doubt and hurt she’d felt throughout the day.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered between soft sobs. “I just… I thought maybe with everything going on, it slipped your mind. I didn’t want to feel that way, but I… I couldn’t help it.”

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing away a tear from her cheek with his thumb, his gaze filled with understanding. “I get it,” he said gently. “I wanted it to be a surprise, to make it perfect. But if I’d known it would make you feel like this…” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as he held her close. “I would’ve done it differently.”

She shook her head, a tearful laugh escaping her. “No, this is perfect. It’s… it’s everything. I just didn’t expect it, and I guess I didn’t realise how much I wanted it.”

He smiled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You deserve to feel special today. Every day, really. I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

She smiled up at him, feeling the weight on her chest finally lifting as she took in the warmth in his eyes, the quiet thoughtfulness of every detail around them. Oscar reached over, picked up the cupcake, and held it between them, nodding toward the candle.

“Make a wish,” he murmured.

She looked at him, her heart swelling as she realised that her wish had already come true. But still, she closed her eyes, letting herself make a small, quiet wish before blowing out the candle.

When she opened her eyes, he was still looking at her, his own gaze soft and full of a promise she could feel without words.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing over the colourful wrapping paper, feeling almost shy with him watching her so intently. It was like every small, careful detail had been planned with her in mind, each gift waiting patiently for her to unwrap it.

The first package she reached for was a familiar shape—a shoebox. She unwrapped it slowly, her heart catching in her throat as she lifted the lid to reveal a pristine pair of black Dr. Martens. She laughed, a soft, delighted sound, running her fingers over the leather. “You remembered,” she murmured, looking up at him with a grateful smile. “I was saying just last week that mine were about ready to fall apart.”

“I know,” Oscar grinned, hands in his pockets as he watched her. “I was pretty sure you’d been trying to ignore the hole in the sole. Figured it was about time for an upgrade.”

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest as she slipped the boots aside, reaching for the next gift. It was a neatly wrapped package, smaller and heavier, with an unmistakable shape. She tore away the paper, her breath catching when she saw the cover—the first book in her favourite series, one she’d read so many times that the copy on her shelf was practically falling apart. But as she opened the book, her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her fingers tracing over the author’s signature scrawled inside the cover, a small message addressed just to her. She flipped through the rest of the books in the series, each one signed with a personal note. “How… how did you manage this?”

Oscar sat down beside her, looking a little smug but mostly just pleased with her reaction. “You’ve talked about those books more times than I can count,” he said with a small shrug. “I figured I’d reach out to the author’s team, see if I could make it happen. Took a little convincing, but… worth it, I think.”

She looked up at him, eyes shining with gratitude and awe, feeling like her heart might just burst. “It’s… it’s perfect,” she said softly, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

He smiled, brushing a thumb over her hand as she picked up the final box, smaller and elegantly wrapped in deep blue paper. She carefully peeled it open, lifting the lid to find a delicate necklace nestled inside. It was simple and beautiful—a silver pendant with both of their initials engraved on it, entwined together in a tiny, subtle script. Her heart swelled as she held it up, running her fingers over the cool metal.

As she admired it, he reached up and pulled something out from under his shirt—a matching necklace, with the same delicate initials. The pendant hung just over his heart, a quiet, constant reminder of her that he must have been wearing all day.

Her chest tightened, and she felt a tear slip down her cheek as she took it all in, the thoughtfulness, the care he’d put into every detail. She reached over, cupping his face with trembling hands as her voice broke.

“You wore it all day,” she whispered, her heart so full she could barely speak.

Oscar smiled, reaching up to cover her hand with his. “Of course I did. You’re with me everywhere I go,” he murmured, his voice soft. “No matter how crazy the schedule, or how many days I’m away… I wanted you to know that you’re always with me.”

She melted, letting herself fall into his embrace, her head tucked under his chin as he held her close. She felt like everything she’d worried about, every bit of doubt that had crept in throughout the day, had simply vanished, replaced by a love so real and constant she didn’t know how she could have ever doubted it.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her cheek.

He kissed the top of her head, his fingers threading gently through her hair. “I love you, too,” he said, holding her tightly, as if he’d never let her go. “Happy birthday, love.”

She pulled back from his embrace just enough to look up at him, her eyes shining with warmth and gratitude. Oscar met her gaze, his hand lifting to brush a stray tear from her cheek, his fingers lingering softly on her skin. And then, without a word, he leaned in, closing the distance between them as his lips met hers in a slow, tender kiss.

It was soft at first, a gentle, lingering touch filled with all the emotion of the night. But then his hand slid up to the back of her neck, pulling her just a little closer, and the kiss deepened, becoming something more—a quiet, passionate promise that said everything words couldn’t. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as she poured every bit of her love and gratitude into that moment, feeling his warmth surround her, grounding her in a way that only he could.

When they finally pulled back, breathless but smiling, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, pressing one last soft kiss to her forehead. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Let me run you a bath. You’ve had a long day, and you deserve to relax.”

But she shook her head, her hand slipping into his as she gave him a gentle smile. “No, not now,” she whispered, and he paused, a look of confusion crossing his face.

“Are you sure?” he asked, tilting his head, his thumb brushing the back of her hand.

She smiled softly, tugging him gently toward the bed. “I just want to cuddle,” she said, her voice a quiet, warm confession.

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and his expression softened as he nodded, his lips curving into a smile. Oscar climbed into bed with her, pulling the covers over them both as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She snuggled into his chest, her head resting just over his heart, listening to its steady, comforting rhythm as his hands traced soft patterns along her back.

They lay together in the quiet, wrapped up in each other, their legs tangled and their breaths in sync. He held her with a gentle strength, his fingers weaving through her hair as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was perfect, this quiet intimacy, as they sank deeper into each other’s warmth, finding solace in the simple, tender closeness.

“I don’t need anything else,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his chest. “Just this.”

Oscar tightened his hold on her, his lips brushing her temple. “Then this is exactly what we’ll do,” he whispered.

the end.

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ebsmind · 4 months ago

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THREE POINTS | nico hischier x fem!reader

summary : after the devils have finally had enough with their losing streak, you make a bet with nico, however many game points he gets against the bruins is how many times you get to cum. good thing nico was determined.

word count : 1.8k

warning(s) : 18+ MDNI, smut, oral sex (f!receiving), dirty talk (kind of? idk), dom!nico, this is also not proofread and that’s it i think!

a/n : i started writing this at midnight and i wanted to do it in one sitting but i was TIRED so i finished it when i woke up. i hope this is good bc this is my 3rd time writing smut and i for once actually TRIED and went into writing this confidently. ALSO i got the idea right after they won the game against the bruins so i just had to bless yall with something 😋 OKAY BYE ILY ENJOY!!!

The waning crescent’s luminous hue reflects upon the New Jersey city. The street’s usual busy nature has died down. There's still half an hour left of the day. Most people have gone to bed, ready to start another Thursday. Thank God it’s nearly Friday, but the day hasn’t ended for you.

Waiting for Nico to return home from a game always took an hour and a half. No less, nor more. So, when Nico pushes the front door to your shared apartment at a striking 11:37, knowing him he checked the mail, it leaves you to no surprise. The overview from the living room gives you a perfect view of the front door. You watch his every move from the sofa, the tailored cushions sit softly upon your skin. He closes the front door and locks it, a loud ‘click’ goes off to confirm that the lock is in place. The mail is the first thing to be tossed, it hits the counter with a soft ‘smack’, and next goes his keys, which were pulled from the left pocket of his trousers. With a sigh, Nico’s left hand runs over his face and once it reaches his chin, he looks forward and makes eye contact with you.

“Hi, baby.” His accent is still prominent when he speaks, but you find it adorable. He starts walking towards in your direction, you toss the beige linen blanket off of your lap and rise from the couch in response. You take a total of 2 steps before Nico reaches you. Your arms find their place upon Nico’s shoulders almost immediately. His, upon your waist. A whiff of soft vanilla musk hits your nostrils, Nico took a shower at the arena rather than at home.

“Congrats on the win, my love.” A soft smile forms upon your face. The win was a long time coming, Nico had been working his ass off the past week and it paid off tonight at the Prudential Center.

“How many points, Schatz?” As Nico questions you, you attempt to break away from the hug but to no avail, Nico’s hands don’t plan on leaving your waist anytime soon.

“Three, three points.” Your response leaves your mouth almost immediately. You know where this was going, as promised before he left for the game against the Boston Bruins.

While Nico was picking out his suit for the arrival of today’s game, a quick thought appeared in your head. You stalk quietly behind him, he’s deciding between a classic black suit and a darker red, almost burgundy, tailored suit. Nico can feel your presence behind him, and he turns to face you.

“I think the black one, no?” As he questions you, his right-hand raises. He’s holding a black tie, and in the other hand is a tie that matches the burgundy suit. You take a second before you give your input. The black suit was a classic but had already been worn, the burgundy has yet to be worn. It’s fairly new, Nico got it back in November but wanted to wait for the right moment to wear it.

“Black but no tie, you’re going to take it off before you even get to the arena." Nico takes no time to face back in his original direction, taking the black suit that's draped on a wire curtain and returning to the bedroom. You follow suit, watching Nico place the suit on the bed. A soft 'thud' rings in the air when the suit hits the white linen comforter. Before Nico can take a step to head over to the dresser that sits just under the 55-inch flat Roku TV to put away his ties you cut him off with a question.

"Can we make a bet?" Nico reaches the dresser and pulls the drawer open, as he folds the ties he answers your question.

"What kind of bet, Schatz?"

You take a small breath before telling Nico the thought that had crossed your mind nearly minutes ago. "If you score or get any assists, you get to make me cum as how many times you do."

To your dismay, Nico isn't appalled by your suggestion, in fact, he almost challenges you.

"What do I get if I don't?" He's facing you now, hand resting against his hip. A smirk is spread across his lips, he's amused by your proposition. You pause since you didn't even get to think about what would happen if he didn't get any game points.

"I get to finally tie you up." You return his amusable smirk, two can play this game.

"I think we have a deal baby."

The soft squeeze against your hips brings you back from the semi-distance memory. You tilt your head up and look into Nico's dark chocolate-pooled irises, his face written in desire. Before you can form a proper thought, Nico's head tilts into your own and his lips are set against yours. The kiss is soft but as his lips entangle with yours it grows with need. His right hand surfaces up from your hip to cradle your jaw, keeping you in place. Nico deepens the kiss by swiping his tongue into your mouth, as much as you try to fight for it, he won’t let you win. He’s finishing something you started, determination is all that Nico is running off of. You run your left hand up his neck and rest it once your fingertips feel a light fuzz. Deciding to wait to play with the hair on the back of his neck, you’ll drive him crazy later.

At the speed of a lightning strike, Nico picks you up by the waist with one arm, the other previously on your jaw, and finds its place against the back of your thigh. The skin exposed from the small floral shorts that Nico plans to discard later. Nico maneuvers the pair for you to the dining room and places you on top of the cool walnut-colored dining table. His lips finally escape yours, instantly finding themselves on your collarbone in record time. Nico places small kisses upwards on your neck and once they reach a spot they are all too familiar with, his teeth sink into the soft skin. A soft gasp leaves your mouth but then is conceded by a moan when Nico soothes the small ache by running his tongue over the semi-red spot. The sound released from the back of your throat goes straight down into Nico’s slacks. Your grip tightens against the back of Nico’s neck, never wanting him to stop.

Nico quickly detaches himself from your neck to pull off the oversized New Jersey Devils crewneck that you wore. He takes a look at your chest and notices the lacy fabric that hugs the swell of your breasts. The 6’1 hockey player lowers himself to where his lips rest right above your ear and whispers, "You drive me fucking crazy, Schatz."

A blush forms across your cheeks as a response to Nico’s statement. Nico has finally had enough and decided to finally put himself useful to his bargain of the bet. He kneels in front of you, eyes connecting with your clothed core. A small wet spot appears on the floral-printed cotton shorts that rest against your hips. His hands come up from his lap and head towards the waistband of your shorts, he grunts to signify for you to lift your hips. Your hands help you steady yourself against the wooden table when you lift your hips so Nico can discard the main article of clothing you have on. Once Nico tosses your shorts and panties aside, he gets a hold of your right leg and lifts it to place it against his shoulder. Before he continues, Nico looks up at you, eyes connecting once again. You take notice how Nico’s pupils look inflamed, filled with lust.

Nico takes hold of the leg that's perched up against his shoulder and slowly starts to kiss his way up your leg. Starting at the base of your ankle to your inner thigh, never breaking eye contact. It’s crazy to think how Nico knows how to get you so hot and bothered quickly but you weren’t one to complain. Especially seeing him on his knees getting ready to devour you.

Before Nico digs in for his midnight snack, he brings his hands to rest on your waist once again. He guides you to sit at the edge of the table. He finally has full access to your sweeping wet core and without a second left to spare, his mouth makes contact with your folds. He licks a stripe from your core to your clit. Your head tilts back and a low moan escapes your body like a prayer, as if Nico is the god you praise upon.

Your right hand leaves its place against the table and immediately finds a refugee in Nico’s damp hair. Your fingers run through his rich deep brown locks, encouraging Nico to take a step further. Your hips buck closer to Nico’s mouth when he inserts his ring and middle finger into your mound. The pornographic moans that form from the soul of your chest are a symphony to Nico’s ears. Your hips start to grind into Nico’s mouth, he knows you're close.

“Look at me, baby.” He pulls away from your clit, his fingers never leaving your mound. You obey, like a good girl. Nico’s tongue finds itself back onto your clit, in response a soft whimper leaves your mouth. The more Nico indulges into your mound, the more you can feel yourself falling apart. Your gummy walls start to contract and Nico knows you need one final push to get yourself on the leaderboard. With one final flick against your clit and stroke into your core, you come undone. Your body convulses, eyes flutter closed, and all you see is black.

After a couple of seconds, you’re brought back to earth. Nico stands, towering over you, he’s licking his fingers clean of your juices. Once his ring and middle finger leave his mouth, he uses that hand to bring up a chair. It screeches against the tile of the floor. Before Nico sits on the chair, he removes his trousers. Carefully placing them on top of the dining room table. Once the chair is positioned right in front of you, he sits. His legs spread open, his hard length pressed against the soft fabric of his black boxer briefs. You still have yet to move from your spot on the edge of the table, legs still feeling like jelly after an earth-shattering orgasm. Nico opens his mouth to command one thing.

“Come on, Schatz,” he pats his thigh, “You still have two more to go.”

#nico hischier #nh13 #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier smut #nico hischier x reader #new jersey devils #nhl #hockey #ebs writes things!#ebsedits ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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crushpunky · 4 months ago

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rafe and kook!reader go to a wedding

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

this one's kinda long, but i was having too much fun and got carried away. oh well. enjoy <3

When Rafe found out one of his dad’s business partners was getting married, he knew he had to make a good impression. So, naturally, he called up his usual accomplice to things like these: y/n.

“You owe me big time, Cameron.” Y/n said with a sigh as she hung up the phone. While she wasn’t the biggest fan of these formal, uppity events, she couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t at least a little bit excited to get a new dress (on Rafe’s dime of course) and spend an evening getting drunk off champagne with Rafe’s arm around her.

The two of them had gone shopping on the mainland, trying to find the perfect suit and dress combo to fit the wedding's spring-floral theme.

“I’m not wearing a fucking pink suit.” Rafe grumbled from behind the curtain of the changing room, his head peeking out as y/n held up a baby pink suit and coordinating hat.

“Just try it on, please. It’ll be funny.” Y/n smiled brightly, something that quickly made Rafe’s resolve crumble away with a roll of his eyes. He took it on, muttering to himself as he pulled on the light colored suit jacket. He stepped out, moving around dramatically in the pink fabric, a giggle immediately erupting from y/n’s mouth.

“Put on the hat!” Y/n laughed, Rafe shaking his head as he grabbed the hat. He plopped it on his head, cringing as he caught sight of himself in the mirror before turning back to y/n. She quickly snapped a photo, her laughter continuing to echo throughout the shop.

“Don’t you even think about fucking showing that to anybody.” Rafe pointed before chucking off his hat.

“It’s for my own personal pleasure, boy.” Y/n smiled, looking down at her photo and taking in Rafe’s sour look coupled with his extravagant, pink ensemble.

“The shit I do for you…” Rafe grumbled to himself before returning to the changing room.

After hours of shopping, the two of them finally found the perfect outfits. Rafe found a dusty blue linen suit that y/n insisted he had to get purely because of the way it made his eyes pop. Similarly, y/n found a breezy, blue dress that had Rafe nearly needing to take a step outside because of how good she looked (not that he’d admit that, of course).

Y/n was putting the last touches of makeup on when the doorbell rang. With a huff, y/n grabbed her clutch before hurrying down the stairs, hees in hand. Like many Kook weddings, the wedding was at the Country Club, which luckily meant they were oh-so familiar with the venue, but unfortunately also meant they were likely to know everybody there.

Tugging her heels on, y/n bid her parents farewell before she opened the front door. Paying too much attention to the straps of her shoes, y/n ran straight into a broad chest and fistful of flowers.

“Woah!” Rafe said, his hand falling to y/n’s waist, keeping her from falling further off the porch. Y/n looked up, finding herself wishing she’d done a couple of shots before she left when she saw just how good he looked. His face was freshly shaven (though she didn’t particularly mind his stubble), his hair was styled a bit cleaner than its usual boyish tousle, and of course he had that same, damn, shit-eating grin that always made her cheeks flush.

“Sorry,” y/n muttered, swallowing harshly as she still struggled with the buckle of her shoe.

“Here.” Rafe said, handing her the bouquet of flowers she had just run into before kneeling down. His warm hands brushed the soft skin of her ankle as he made quick work of the buckle of her shoe. Y/n barely had a second to process what was happening before he stood back up, looking down at her with a grin.

“Thanks.” Y/n said, blinking quickly before looking over to where Rafe usually parked. However, where his Jeep usually sat was the Camerons’ Mercedes, Ward and Rose inside, their usual sour expressions visible even through the darkly tinted windows.

“Why is your dad driving?” Y/n asked, turning back to Rafe as ran a hand down his face.

“He insisted we drive together.” Rafe sighed. “Said he didn’t want us sneaking out early.”

“Having no car has never stopped us before.” Y/n grumbled as they made their way to the car, Rafe opening the door as y/n climbed inside.

“Oh, y/n, that dress is gorgeous.” Rose gushed, turning around as she looked over y/n’s dress.

“Thanks, Rafe helped me pick it out, actually.” Y/n grinned, looking over at Rafe as the Ward backed the car out of the driveway. He flashed her a quick smile before focusing his gaze forward.

“That explains the low neckline.” Ward muttered, his voice quiet, but not quiet enough for y/n or Rafe to not hear. Rafe’s head whipped over to his father, his hands immediately clenching before y/n placed a hand on his bicep.

“Good to know you like it, Mr. Cameron.” Y/n said, flashing Ward her best dramatically fake grin in the rearview mirror. Rafe sat next to her, his foot tapping quickly on the floor as his jaw remained tense, an anxiety coursing through him that often presented himself when it came to dealing with his father.

“Rafe, I’m expecting the two of you to be on your best behavior tonight.” Ward said sharply. “These are my— your— business partners, so you will not embarrass our family tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Rafe grumbled, looking out the window as they pulled up to the Country Club. The lawn was littered with finely dressed guests and flowers and lights adorned the patio, the setting sun bathing the party in golden light. The Camerons pulled up to the curb, Ward putting the car in park as the valet began to approach them.

“Oh and just as a little insurance that my partners see how much my son has grown up,” Ward turned to look at the two of them, “I told them he would be bringing his very serious, long term girlfriend with him this evening.”

“What?!” Rafe scoffed, his voice sharp as he looked between his father and y/n, whose face was equally shocked. She felt her cheeks warm up, her mind immediately racing with a thousand questions and worries… but also a subtle excitement at the new twist for the night.

“They don’t think you’re reliable or committed, so I made sure they saw you were.” Ward said simply, him and Rose exiting the car. The two of them sat in the car in a silence, unsure of what to say or do, until the valet awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Shit, um, sorry.” Rafe scrambled, popping his door open before turning back to y/n. He offered his hand out to her as she climbed out, his touch light. The gesture wasn’t unusual, he often would open the door for her or help her out of a car, but now things felt a bit different.

“Y/n I swear I didn’t know he was—” Rafe began, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Y/n sighed, smoothing the front of her dress as she looked out at the sea of guests… the sea of guests they were going to have to convince they were dating. The thought sent a shiver down her spine; imagining Rafe’s hands firmly wrapped around her all night, his eyes on her every move, his lips on hers… it was everything she hated to admit she would think about sometimes when she was alone. When she pictured her future, the person beside her always developed ocean blue eyes, a quaff of blondish-brown hair, tanned skin, a cheeky smirk… she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help thinking about being with him in that way, even if she knew it was wrong.

“It’s just one night, ok? It… it doesn’t mean anything.” Y/n whispered as she started towards the wedding, her pounding heart betraying the lies she was telling him.

The ceremony was the same boring, Kook event the island had seen countless times: bride walks down the aisle in a dress that cost more than most people's homes, groom reads off vows very obviously not written by him, and the two of them ride off into the sunset happily ever after, prenups signed and millions in their pockets.

The reception, however, was where the Kooks really shined. Drunken guests stumbled around the expansive dancefloor, an overpaid dj playing music so loud y/n was sure the Pogues could probably hear it all the way on the Cut. Trays of small bites of food floated around the party, the food nowhere near enough to balance out the effects of the open bar. Y/n found herself standing at one of the tables, watching the partygoers as Rafe ventured over to the bar to get the two of them drinks that would hopefully make them blackout for the inevitable car ride home with Ward and Rose.

“What’s a young lady like you doing standing by herself?” A voice tore y/n’s eyes away from the sea of people, an old man with a chilling smile approaching her, setting his whiskey on the table.

“Just waiting for someone.” Y/n said simply, flashing him a quick grin before turning her attention back to the party. She swallowed harshly as she felt the guy's eyes rake over her in a way that made her stomach churn.

“A special someone or just someone?” The man chuckled, his wrinkled hand creeping across the table cloth and inching towards where y/n’s arm rested.

“Hey, baby,” Rafe’s voice cut in just before the man’s fingers could reach her. Y/n felt herself exhaling as Rafe handed her her drink before snaking his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. His grip on her was firm, much more intense than the way he would usually rest his hands on the small of her back when they were maneuvering through a party or he was following her onto the Druthers. She took a sip of it, eyeing Rafe as he stared down the man in front of them.

“Cameron, it’s good to see you.” The old man said, offering his hand out for a handshake. Rafe raised his drink to his lips before lowering it with a small chuckle.

“Sorry,” Rafe said with a short shrug. “Hands are full.”

“Rafe…” y/n warned, looking up at Rafe sharply.

“No problem.” The old man laughed, taking a sip of his own drink. “If I had a pretty thing like her I wouldn’t want to take my hands off ‘em either.”

Y/n let out a faux, airy laugh. Between the way Rafe’s grip tightened on her side and the clench of his jaw, y/n could practically feel the tension emanating off of him. Y/n placed her hand on top of where Rafe’s rested on her waist, the cool familiarity of her touch helping reduce Rafe’s urge to attack the old creep.

“Well, it was good to see you, young man.” The old man grinned before pointing over to where the bride and groom stood. “Before you know, that’ll be you two. Have a good night.”

Y/n nearly choked on the sip of her drink she was taking, Rafe letting out a scoff as the old man finally shuffled away. Despite the man leaving, Rafe’s fingers still sat firmly on her waist, y/n’s fingers toying with the rings that adorned them.

“Those are the type of creeps I’m supposed to kiss up to?” Rafe scoffed, biting his lip as he shook his head in disbelief. Y/n sighed, before resting her head on Rafe’s chest. She hadn’t even realized she’d done it until Rafe’s other arm moved to wrap around her, holding her against his chest in a warm embrace. The two of them stood, y/n’s ear pressed to Rafe’s chest and Rafe praying she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

“I’m proud of you, Rafe.” Y/n said, pulling away just enough to look up at him. He looked down at her, his lips slightly parted. Standing this close to him, she could see the freckles along his nose and the blush that adorned his cheeks when he drank present.

“For what?” Rafe whispered, his breath fanning across her face. He found himself unable to look away from the curve of her cheekbones or the hue of her eyes he considered his favorite color.

“You’ve come so far with… everything.” Y/n said, a smile dancing across her lips. “The Rafe I knew a few years ago would’ve jumped that old man.”

Rafe let out a chuckle that shook against the skin of y/n’s arm, “the idea certainly crossed my mind.”

“Oh it crossed mine too, don’t worry.” Y/n laughed, Rafe biting his lip as he looked down at her. The two of them looked at eachother, the rest of the wedding slowly fading away until it was just them. Rafe could feel his mouth begin to dry, the blood rushing to his head. Maybe it was the alcohol in his veins, or the words she spoke to sweetly, or maybe the way she looked under the twinkle of the lights, but he felt the urge to lower his head and press his lips to hers… but he knew he shouldn’t. Couldn’t.

So, closing his eyes lightly, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her tightly against his chest. If he couldn’t be with her in the way he wanted, he could allow himself this. He could allow himself to hold her, even if every time he did he wished he could do more. He would allow himself to kiss her cheek, even if he wished he could kiss her lips. He would allow himself to tell her he loved her, even if he wished he could tell her how he thought of her every waking moment, her very presence weaving its way into every dream he’d ever had.

He would allow himself this because it didn’t cross the line. That carefully constructed line he’d drawn so firmly, pledging to never cross for risk of losing her forever… because while he could live without being with her the way he wanted, he couldn’t live without her at all.

#obx #obx au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #kook!reader

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honeyedmiller · 11 months ago

Text

When in Positano | Javier Peña

javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors do not interact

warnings: light alcohol consumption, smut (fingering, f & m oral receiving, unprotected piv, major breeding kink, ass slaps), talks of starting a family, an insane amount of fluff, javi is a romantic at heart, bits of spanish with translation, frequent pov switching, no use of y/n.

word count: 6.1k

synopsis: honeymooning in italy with your husband is a dream, especially when he reveals he wants to start a family with you.

a/n: this has been in my wips / drafts since january- and then i ultimately decided to change the whole plot of this bc i've been in a soft mushy mood for husband x reader lately. shoutout to @ilovepedro (ily) for beta'ing this baby for me. hope you enjoy <3

It was times like this that you could hardly believe this was your life.

The morning sun had shown her golden rays through the linen curtains that danced with the wind, illuminating your villa brilliantly. The first thing you get to see when your eyes flutter open is your husband, unknowingly basking in the golden light of the morning.

You stretch your sore limbs, the glint of your wedding ring in the light catching your attention. You can't help the smile that spreads across your lips, eyes shifting down to the man next to you once again.

You study his peaceful features as if you were sketching him from memory — tan, warm skin; dark, thick hair; a mustache that always tickles the tiniest bit when he’d kiss you anywhere on your body; a strong, angular nose; long lashes that fan his cheeks; and plush, pink lips that were slightly parted as he breathed steadily.

The only thing you miss dearly in sight at that very moment are his beautiful brown eyes. The same eyes that had you hooked from the very first time your gaze fell upon them.

Your eyes travel down to his muscular arms — the same arms that always hold you tight and protect you, all the way down to his torso and his naked, but covered, lower half.

Your eyes snap up to his gorgeous face once more, reaching your hand out to trace featherlight lines over his smooth skin. You cup his cheek, leaning forward in the slightest to kiss his nose. His brows scrunch in reaction as he finally stirs awake.

He groans softly as he instinctively wraps an arm around you, bringing your bare body flush to his. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat, taking advantage of your proximity to him as you start peppering kisses all over his face.

You pull back and he peeks one sleepy eye open, a half smile immediately forming on his face.

“Buenos días, mi amor.” [good morning, my love] He whispers, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“Buenos días, mi esposo.” [good morning, my husband] You beam, and he gently grabs your left hand — the one that decided to caress his face once more — and looks down at it with pride, seeing the wedding band and engagement ring together. It’s something he’ll never tire of.

“Still can’t believe you said ‘I do’.” He chuckles, bringing your hand up to his lips so he can kiss your ring.

“I’d say those two words in a million lifetimes with you, Javier.” You whisper, and his soft brown eyes look up at you in pure adoration.

“Mi vida.” [my life] He shakes his head in disbelief, an undeniable grin etching itself upon his plush lips.

You said I do to each other just seventy-two hours ago, and you both have been luxuriating in the blissful feeling of forever.

Javier surprised you with your dream vacation destination as your honeymoon, and you cried in happiness on your twelve hour flight as you both made your way to Italy.

You don’t know what you did to deserve such a man as Javier, and you truly don’t think you’ll ever comprehend how you got to marry him. What you do know, is that you’re the luckiest woman alive.

Little do you also know, he feels the same exact way about you.

“I love you.” The words flow naturally, easily, and he gives you a look that makes you want to give him the whole universe. Fuck, if you could, you would.

This man—the man that has endured so much in his past, only to open up his heart to you and only you—to protect you, cherish you, and love you the way he does, is a man that deserves everything gracious and peaceful this world has to offer.

And if you told him those exact words, he’d kiss you searingly and tell you that you are his grace, his peace, his god-given solace. You are the reason his heart beats, his days are brighter, his world spins on its axis. You’re everything to him and he’d show you time and time again just so.

“I love you too, cariño.” [honey] His voice is softer, a voice only reserved for you. Underneath the harsh exterior and the stern brow he always wears, there’s a softness that he carries when it’s just you two in the confines of your own space. You always greet him at the door when he comes home, pressing a kiss between his furrowed brows, wrapping your arms around him before telling him “welcome home.” He always relaxes under your touch, and knowing you’re his peace makes pride bloom in your chest.

Your heart aches in the best way possible with how much you love your husband, and your faithfulness and devotion to him will never, ever waver.

Javi buries his face into your neck and leaves a trail of kisses up to your jaw, mustache hairs tickling your skin as he nibbles on your chin playfully.

“What’s on the agenda today, baby?” He asks, hand gliding up the soft skin of your torso, thumb brushing just beneath your breast. The ghost of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you grin lazily as you look at him.

“I was thinking about the street market we passed yesterday, and maybe a new restaurant?” You say, running a hand through his thick brown locks. You twirl a longer piece at the nape of his neck around your finger, and he begins to kiss your collarbone languidly.

He hums in thought, kisses trailing down to the swell of your breasts. You cradle the back of his head gently, not particularly wanting him to stop, but also aware that you should really get out of bed and enjoy the beauty of Positano while you can. Your fingers release his head and skate down to his back, gently double tapping the space between his shoulder blades.

“We should really get up, amor.” [love] Your tone isn’t convincing enough even to yourself, and Javi rests his chin on your sternum as he looks at you with a glimpse of mischief in his eyes.

“Can I enjoy the sweet taste of my wife first?” His tone is more of a statement than a question, and you can’t help but laugh at his eagerness. Truthfully, if it were up to him, you two probably wouldn’t leave the bedroom very much in the week and a half you get to spend here. To you, Italy was paradise, but to Javier, you were his.

He could spend days with his face – or cock – buried between your thighs, savoring every moment of your addicting taste and tight cunt.

“Only if you let me pick the restaurant.” You negotiate poorly, and even then, Javier sports a grin that lights up the whole room. The sun and her radiance doesn’t even nearly hold a candle to your husband’s smile.

“Deal.” He murmurs, lips marking their territory down your sternum. Before he gets any further, he kisses both of your breasts before enveloping a nipple into his mouth. You suck in a breath at the feeling, the sensation shooting straight down to your already needy and aching core.

Something of a whine escapes you, tugging on his hair as you arch your back off the mattress. You can feel his smug smirk against your skin before he switches sides, relishing the other pert bud before letting go with a small pop.

The anticipation is building up much quicker than you expected, and you’re squirming beneath Javi as his lips ghost your stomach, moving down the bed before uncovering your bottom half.

A lazy grin appears on his lips as he takes in the sight of your puffy, glistening pussy, ready for his tongue to drink you up like you’re the finest nectar on the planet.

Javier tsks at the sight teasingly, swiping his middle finger through your folds, preening at your receptiveness to his touch as your hips buck toward his mouth involuntarily. “Now who made my beautiful wife this wet and needy, hm?” He asks, moving his face down to kiss the supple skin of your thigh before biting down gently.

You yelp in surprise, looking down at him only to find him sporting a shit-eating grin. The word wife makes you even needier, loving the fact that you belong to him.

“You, mi corazón [my heart]. Solo tú.” [only you]

Javi closes his eyes at the endearment, nestling his cheek to your thigh as he breathes in a few times. He feels like he’s in an alternate reality where his dream woman just dropped out of the sky, and he gets to spend the rest of his life with her.

But this is real, you’re real, and he nearly has to pinch himself to prove that you aren’t a figment of his imagination. He gets to spend eternity with you, and he deems himself the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

He opens his eyes and his gaze meets yours once more, and you can’t help but reach out for his face. You look so ethereal to him as the golden rays fall upon your body, making you glow like a goddess. Your head is back against the pillows as you watch him with an adoring gaze from above, and he truly has no words to ever conjure up just how much he loves you.

And, for a moment, as he’s watching you watch him, his eyes flicker down to your stomach. Javier never thought he’d be a man who wants to have kids in his life. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d ever be able to get married, let alone to a gem such as yourself.

You’ve given him a softer life; a life full of love and happiness—a complete one-eighty from his time in Colombia—and a house to call a home, albeit you being his home no matter where you two are. You’d also be the one to be able to give him the ultimate gift: fatherhood.

He sweeps his reeling thoughts to the back of his mind for now, his main focus averting back to you and pleasing you until you’re screaming his name.

With that thought in mind, he wastes no more time before he gives your pretty, glistening pussy a kiss, delving his tongue into your folds right after.

You gasp at the sensation, eyebrows pinching together as his muscle works your nerves expertly as he’s done countless times before. He traces the tip of his tongue through your folds, up to your clit and flicks it a few times before moving back down to your entrance. He prods the muscle inside and dutifully fucks you with his tongue, the pace delicious as his nose bumps your clit repeatedly in the process.

You grip onto his hair, hips bucking into his face in tandem with the stroke of his tongue.

You can’t help but cry out his name repeatedly, and he feels prideful that he’s the only one that can make you feel this good.

Javi’s mouth separates from your dripping cunt, bottom half of his face shiny with the taste he loves oh so much.

“Taste like a dream, muñequita.” [doll] He breathes, sliding his hand down to grip your thigh as the other toys with the slick on your pussy. He kisses your thigh again and he looks up at you trying to catch your breath. Your head already feels fuzzy at the immense pleasure your husband’s tongue brings you, and to top it off, he slides his middle and ring finger into you.

He keeps his eyes on your face and watches as you unravel, pumping his fingers in and out of you. He makes sure to curl his fingers to hit the very specific spot he knows you like, and when he does, you lose all resolve. You crumble under his touch as your arousal seeps out of you and down his fingers, coating his wedding band in your juices as they flow down to his wrist.

“So fucking pretty, baby. You like when I fuck you with my fingers?” He asks, and you nod without hesitation.

“Words, corazón.” [heart]

“Fuck–fuck, yes, Javi, oh, god-” You cry, and he squeezes your thigh before diving back down to lap up your pussy once more. The combination of his tongue and fingers is absolutely lethal—you know you aren’t going to last much longer.

Javier is the matchbox to your match, dragging, dragging, dragging you along. The coil in your core is wound up so tight that within seconds, you break and light aflame.

You cry out his name, the sound of your own desperate plea reverberating off of the four walls of the villa’s bedroom eagerly.

You feel like you’re gushing everywhere—his fingers, his mouth, the bedsheets—and it’s pure ecstasy when he blows out the flame, your body the smoke as you dissipate into the luxury of a devastatingly euphoric bliss.

Javi drags his lips up your thigh, to your torso, all the way up to your jaw before capturing your lips in a searing kiss as you both share the taste of you on his tongue.

He hums into the kiss and separates from you, bringing his slick-coated fingers to your mouth. You huff a laugh as you eagerly lick the arousal off of his wedding ring and up his digit, popping both of them into your mouth and suck them until they’re clean.

Javi’s cock is impossibly hard now, but he knows how badly you want to explore the beautiful city. So, he pushes his urges down for now, though you’d likely gladly take his cock into that pretty mouth of yours and suck him dry.

He groans as he gets up from the bed, giving you another chaste kiss before he trudges to the bathroom to retrieve a towel to clean you up. Your eyes follow him as you lay on your side, head propped up by your hand. You study his figure unashamedly, admiring your husband and his bare form in all of its glory. Long legs, toned arms, tan skin, and of course, that insanely cute ass of his—and he’s all yours. Every inch of his beautiful body, face, and mind is yours.

He walks out of the bathroom with a towel in hand, and you can’t help but admire his impressive length. He teasingly throws the towel at you and you catch it, and before you can protest, his body is hovering over yours.

“Someone can’t keep their eyes to themselves, hm?” He quirks a brow at you.

“Well excuse me for admiring my husband and how sexy he is.” You retort, and he can’t help the guttural laugh that escapes his belly.

“You’re something else, you know that?” His tone is playful, snatching the towel from you as he cleans you up.

You prop yourself up on your elbows as you give him a stern look, and he meets your gaze with a boyish grin.

“You’re the one who married me. That’s on you.” You say, and he grabs your shoulders after tossing the towel onto the floor before giving you a light shake.

“And it’s been the best decision of my life, muchas gracias.” [thank you very much]

You roll your eyes before leaning up and giving him a kiss, tapping his thigh as you pull apart.

“Up and at ‘em, baby. Italy is waiting for us.”

You watched Javi as he bought some fresh fruit from a vendor at the street market, patrons bustling on the side as they enjoyed the beautiful weather and scenery before them. The water was a brilliant hue of blue, tying in the bright colors and coastal landscaping Positano had to offer.

Javi holds out his arm for you after he purchases the fruit, and you gladly cling onto his bicep as you make your way down the street. You stop for a moment to look at him and admire his outfit—bright blue shirt that contrasted beautifully against his tan skin, and some white pants paired with brown loafers.

He gave you a face when you originally suggested the shoes to him because it simply wasn’t something he’d ever wear, but they were insanely comfortable and undoubtedly great for walking, deeming you right once more.

“Mi esposa always knows what’s best,” [my wife] He’d said.

Javi peels an orange for you both to share, splitting it in half and hand feeding you the slices. You bite the tip of his finger playfully, and he can’t help but admire the buttery sweet sound of the laugh that emanates you.

You hum at the citrus taste of the orange, closing your eyes in delight at how fresh it is.

“That’s delicious.” You say aloud, and Javi looks at you while sliding his aviators down the bridge of his nose.

“It is, but nothing compares to the taste of you.”

Your face heats up at his words, hiding it in the crook of his neck for a second while letting out a mumbled ‘behave’ from you.

He’s smug when you pull your face back from the warmth of his body, and you lightly swat his chest in mock-chastise.

“You hungry, mamí?” He pulls a food guide of local restaurants out from his back pocket, and you nod eagerly.

“For more than just food.” You murmur, slotting your arms onto his broad shoulders, letting one hand dangle and the other play with the curls at the nape of his neck. His hands instinctively grab onto your waist and he pulls your body flush to his.

“Now who needs to behave, hm?”

“Still you.” You beam.

“Smartass.” He retorts with a chuckle.

“Maybe. But you love me.”

“That I do, bebita,” [baby girl] He leans in for a kiss before handing you the food guide, and you briefly scan the options.

“How about some pizza?”

The restaurant reminds you of your first date with Javier. You remember how much he tried to impress you, and even then, you knew he was someone special. To end up here with him in Italy eating the most delicious pizza and drinking the crispest glass of wine four years later seems like a total fever dream.

Javi raises his glass up to you, giving you his infamous puppy dog eyes and the softest smile you think you’ve ever seen on him. “Cheers to you, amor de me vida,” [love of my life] “You make me the happiest man alive. You’ve given me everything I could wish for and then some, and your beautiful heart and soul never ceases to amaze me.”

Tears prick your eyes as you raise your glass to clink against his, sipping the Prosecco in your glass. You reach for his left hand across the table, bringing his knuckles up to your lips as you kiss them and his wedding band repeatedly.

“I love you, Javier Peña. Thank you for giving me a life well beyond my wildest dreams. I’d do anything for you. It’s me and you against the world, baby.”

“I’ll never know how a bastard like me got so goddamn lucky. You’re a godsend, corazón,” [heart] “What if we had an addition to our world?” He asks, voice almost shy as he tries to gauge your reaction.

“What do you mean, mi amor?” [my love]

”How do you feel about starting a family? With me?”

He’s hopeful with the way he stares at you, squeezing your hand as he awaits your answer.

“Is that something you want, baby? I know a while back you said you weren’t too sure.”

You’d love to have a family with Javier. The thing was, he wasn’t too sure of that awhile back when things really got serious between you two. You were a little crushed by the prospect of not having kids with the love of your life, but you’d learn to make do. It was never a dealbreaker for you specifically, but you’ve always felt like you were meant to be a mom.

“I’m sure now. I love the sound of having a little one of us running around. We don’t need to rush into it, though. I just—I want this with you, and I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Well, besides asking you to be mine para siempre.” [forever]

You try to not let your emotions overwhelm you in the moment. The man sitting in front of you has you in pure awe, with the way a softness has wrapped itself around his heart, showing him that this side of life is full of warmth and love. He’s gradually learned to accept it, unlearning all of the harsh stoicism that seized his being in the past.

“You’d be the best daddy, Javier Peña. No doubt in my mind.”

His face gleams with joy as he brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing each knuckle individually.

“And you’d be the best mommy, Mrs. Peña.”

Your heart flutters at the sound of your new last name. You still genuinely cannot believe you’re married to this man.

“Chucho is probably going to ask when we’re going to give him grandbabies.”

Javier can’t help but laugh, knowing full well his father would undoubtedly ask that question as soon as you two get back to Texas.

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you. “We should start practicing now then, mamí. Wouldn’t wanna keep him or the rest of the family waiting.”

A sheen of sweat coats your brow and chest as you arrive back to your villa with Javi. The walk itself wasn’t far but the warm weather was starting to get to you. And yet, as soon as you walked through the doors of the bedroom, he was on you.

He was kissing your pulse point while his hands roamed over your body with fervor, skimming over the cotton material of the sundress you were wearing. You giggle as his mustache tickles your neck, playfully nudging him.

“Javi, baby, I’m all sticky and sweaty. Let me take a shower first.”

He hums at your words, continuing the assault of his lips down your jugular before nibbling on your hot skin. His grip on your waist tightens before he leads you backwards into the bathroom, hands moving down to your ass before giving it a playful slap. He spins you around so you’re both facing the huge mirror above the double vanity, and his hands settle onto your stomach.

His eyes travel down to where his hands are as he starts to rub his thumbs back and forth. The look of pure love in his eyes was enough to tell you how badly he really wants to be a father. You reach an arm back to cradle the side of his face, craning your neck to the side to give his cheek a kiss.

“Can you just imagine growing a life that’s half you and half me in here? Nuestro hijo o hija. You’d be glowing even more than you do now, mi amor.” [our son or daughter ; my love]

Your gaze snaps back up to his face, his usual stoic brow softened at the idea of you carrying his child. You didn’t think you could fall in love with this man even more, but picturing him taking your newborn baby out of the carseat after coming home from the hospital and seeing their tiny body resting against his chest in comfort, against someone so loving and so familiar, gives you an indescribable amount of butterflies.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror once more, and you can’t help but give him a soft smile. Both of you are well aware that no words can ever come close to describing the emotions that flow through your minds and hearts, but somehow still connect perfectly like a puzzle piece.

It’s sacred, your love with Javi, and it’s something you’ll both pour into your future child endlessly.

Javi’s lips find your neck once more, fingertips skating over the sticky flesh of your arms before settling on the straps of your dress. His lips move to your shoulder as he slips one strap off, then the other, and tugs down gently so the fabric falls and pools at your feet.

You’re bare on top, and Javi takes advantage of the beautiful sight and kneads your breasts with his hands. You can’t help the way your head lolls back onto his shoulder, biting your lip as he tweaks both nipples simultaneously.

“My beautiful wife.” He whispers, trailing a hand down your torso and over the fabric of your panties, teasingly rubbing you through the thin material. A gasp evades you as the familiar low ache bubbles in your core once again.

“Javi,” You gasp, hand flying up to steady yourself as you grab the side of his neck.

“Fuck, I love the way you say my name.”

Your ass presses against his front, and you feel his cock harden in his pants. You turn around to face him and he grabs your hips instinctively before pulling you forward so you’re flush to his body. He leans in to kiss you ferociously, hands sliding down to grab your ass as you toss your arms over his shoulders.

You stay like that for a minute just enjoying the simplicity in the art of kissing your husband before reaching down to unbutton his shirt. You slide the material off of his shoulders before moving down to his pants, palming his cock teasingly. He groans into your mouth and kisses you like a starved man, backing you toward the shower. You slide his jeans off of his hips once he’s stagnant and he steps out of them, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

Before you two can continue your escapades, he gives your forehead a kiss before turning on the shower to a temperature comfortable for you both. You slide your panties off and he mirrors your actions, sliding his boxers off before you both step inside.

The lukewarm water cools your skin briefly before Javi steps under the stream, face up toward the water. You watch as the droplets stream down his face, to his neck and shoulders, down his torso and down down down into the dark, wiry hairs that sit below his navel and above his delicious length.

Your mouth is practically salivating at the sight before you, and you need to have a taste of your husband.

Your hands are gentle on his torso before they drag down, your body lowering with them until you’re on your knees. Javi looks down at you with his lips parted and a wild look in his eye.

You lick your lips and smirk at him before pushing on his thighs, backing him up so he sits down onto the bench in the shower. You scoot forward on your knees, admiring your man from below as his thighs spread wide and his hard cock is already furious and leaking pre-come, slathering itself onto his torso.

Your nails scratch his thighs lightly before you lean down to kiss them each once, looking back up at him before taking his cock into your hand. You pump his silky flesh a few times before swiping your thumb over his slit, spreading his arousal over the head of his cock before lowering your mouth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the taste, absolutely entranced by this man and his cock that you love oh so much.

“My wife is so pretty with my cock in her mouth.” He says, stroking the side of your face with his thumb.

You separate from him as you sit back on your heels, pumping his length as you quirk a brow. “I think I look prettier when your cock is in me, papí.”

He groans and squeezes his eyes shut, thumping his head against the shower wall. “Got a dirty fucking mouth, bebita. Christ.” [baby girl]

“Just wait to see what it’ll do to your cock.” You can’t help but giggle at the way your words were easily affecting him, but you decide to cease your teasing.

You slowly take him into your mouth, gagging as you reach the hilt. You swallow around him as best as you can manage before bringing your mouth up once more, swirling your tongue around his tip before taking him all the way into your mouth again.

He’s heavy and warm against your tongue, twitching with every bob of your head as you set a steady rhythm. You squeeze your lips around him and he cradles the back of your head, guiding your movements up and down his cock in haste.

“Your mouth feels so– fuck– fucking good, corazón.” [heart]

He struggles to vocalize a coherent thought, babbling on about how good you make him feel and how much he loves you.

The broken praises only spur you on further as you begin to deepthroat him with every pass, tears pricking your waterline as you control your gag reflex. He’s nearly bucking his hips up into you at this point, fucking your mouth at a pace that drives him insane.

“Shit– yeah, baby, just like that. Fuck you’re so perfect, I’m gonna fucking come—”

You hum around him and squeeze your lips even tighter, gripping his thighs as he tenses up. His spend shoots onto your tongue and he can’t help the loud groan that rumbles through his chest, the feeling of your mouth so heavenly around his cock. You swallow everything he gives you, enjoying the view of your husband’s post-orgasm glow.

The late afternoon sun seeps into the bathroom and illuminates him in such a way that even the Greek Gods have nothing against. He looks picturesque like this; mouth parted and panting—a wild and untamable rasp, eyes shut as he comes down from the orgasm he’s been pining after all day long. His wet curls stick to his forehead in disarray, but it suits him.

His eyes slowly peel open and peer down at you, and you know better than to give him a smug smile. Instead, you lean down and kiss his inner thigh a few times without breaking his heady gaze.

“C’mere.” He murmurs, pulling you up by your elbows. You’re standing now, and he leans forward to kiss your stomach a few times before he pats his thighs. You straddle his hips, hands landing on his chest as you trace small patterns.

His hand slides down and in between your thighs where it’s slick with your arousal. You were so lost in pleasing your husband that you didn’t notice the incessant need growing stronger by the minute. It wasn’t a low, bubbling thing anymore—it was a full-fledged monstress clawing her way to the surface, begging to be tamed.

The carnal desire for Javi couldn’t be held off anymore. You leaned in to kiss him, moaning into his mouth as your hips rock against nothing in particular. Javi is already half-hard again, and ever the gentleman that he is, he angles you down to where your dripping core is gliding against his warm, thick length.

A strangled moan leaves your lips as you toss your head back, and Javi leans forward to nose at your jaw before peppering your neck in kisses. He nibbles on the junction between your neck and shoulder, rocking his hips up onto you simultaneously.

You whine his name as you loll your head forward, eyes blinking open and gaze locking with his.

You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to say your next words—maybe it’s the look in his eye, maybe it’s a mixture of desperation and desire, maybe it’s just pure, honest truth. Hell, maybe it was all of the above.

“I want to make you a daddy, Javi.” Your voice is sultry and sickeningly sweet, dripping like honey.

And from that point, he was determined. Determined to make you the mother of his child, determined to start a family with you and grow it to both your heart's content, and determined to love and cherish you and your future child, or children—always—and Javier Peña was a man of his word.

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you forward so you both are chest to chest, and you’re reeling over the look he’s giving you. He notches his tip at your entrance, fully hard once again with the promising tone behind your words.

“Say it again.” He says.

“I want to make you,” You pause, moving your lips down to slot between his, pulling back just enough to whisper the rest of your sentence. “A daddy.” You sink down slowly onto him, and you kiss him again as you slowly adjust yourself to him.

You both moan into each other, pulling apart as he fully sheathes himself into you. You’re so full like this, content in every way possible at the feeling of your husband’s cock stretching you out so deliciously. You rock your hips slightly as a test, moaning at the sensation that surges through you.

You do it again, this time with more intent, and slowly set a rhythm with your hips. The feeling of his cock is otherworldly. A greedy, selfish part of you thinks that you’ll never be able to get enough of him or the feeling of this—being connected as so.

You fist a hand into his thick wet locks as the other grabs onto his shoulder, ensuring you can keep your balance as you rock your hips back and forth. He captures your mouth in a blazing kiss, groping your ass before slapping it once as he picks up the pace for you.

You’re panting into each other’s mouths as he increases the pace, now pounding his hips up into you. You cry out his name as your fingernails claw their way down his back and he hisses in pleasure, cradling the back of your head.

Your mind is fuzzy and your lungs are on fire from kissing him desperately, and the white hot feeling in your core is blazing.

“I–I love you, Javi– oh, god, I fucking love you. I love you and I want you to be the father of my child and I—” You’re babbling so much that you don’t even have a clue as to what it is that you’re really trying to say, but Javi gets the message, you think.

He kisses your jaw as you try and match the movement of your hips to each thrust up into you, but it’s genuinely no use. Your body wants to succumb to Javier and his strong body and delicious cock and beautiful face and his big, loving heart—so you let it. You fall limp in his hold, leaning onto him as your orgasm surges through you unexpectedly.

He can feel you pulsating around him and he knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“Gonna make you a mama. Gonna be so good to our baby, the best mama ever.” He’s losing all self control, and you cradle his head as you ride out your prolonged orgasm.

“Please, Javi.” You beg, and that’s enough for him to completely come undone. His hips still as he comes in you, a string of ‘I love you’s’ spilling from his mouth. You’re both breathless and completely dazed, immersed in post-coital bliss. The sound of the shower water hitting the tile floor is a relaxing constant as you both try to control your breathing.

You sit like this for a while; you're perched in his lap as he leans against the wall, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

You smatter kisses along his pulse point as a silent plea of love. You’re both pruny and fucked-out, but being here with each other like this is truly a dream in itself.

The prospect of his dream woman giving him a child has him reeling, so perhaps leaving the room this week is an empty promise that flew out of the door the minute you told him you’d make him a daddy.

Even if nothing happens right away for the two of you, that’s okay, too. You’d get to relish in the unbelievable life you already share with him a bit longer, built from the ground up by you and a man who loves you unconditionally. A man that would individually pick out the stars from the brilliant night sky for you. A man that still cannot fathom that he gets to share this life with you.

And if that’s the case, you really wouldn’t mind at all.

tags: @punkshort @endlessthxxghts @javierpena-inatacvest @ovaryacted @northernbluess @clawdee @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 (since all of you were excited about me posting this. ily)

divider by @saradika-graphics

#javier pena fic #javier peña #javier pena imagine #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal characters

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mistyshane30 · 28 days ago

Text

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 24)

Synopsis: Something has shifted. You feel it in the quiet between her words, in the way her eyes don’t look away as quickly. After last night, everything feels more fragile—more real. The space between you isn’t absence anymore. It’s waiting.

Word count: 8.6K

Warnings: Subtle angst, Unresolved emotions, Sexual tension, Mild language

A/N: Hey guys! so sorry for the late update😭 college has just been super hectic lately. our exams got split, I have my practical exam next week and online exams the week after, so my schedule’s been really packed. I haven’t had much time to write, so the next update might take a while again😔 I guess this is just how it is when you take a marine course, tired from academics and training😅 But anyway, I really hope you enjoy this new chapter! Thank you so much for sticking around🫶 Love you all!!

You woke up to a sharp, splitting pain right behind your eyes.

You groaned, immediately squeezing them shut again, feeling like your skull was about to crack open. Your mouth was dry, your throat sore.

Everything hurt.

You shifted against the soft sheets, heart starting to pound harder.

Wait— These weren’t the scratchy, cheap linens of your inn. The pillows smelled faintly of something expensive. Something familiar.

You cracked your eyes open, squinting against the soft morning light pouring through gauzy hotel curtains. A muted blue-grey room. Heavy curtains. Minimalist furniture.

This wasn’t your room.

Panic flared in your chest.

You tried to sit up but instantly regretted it when your head spun. A groan escaped your throat, pathetic and small.

The bathroom door opened.

You whipped your head toward it, wincing. There stood Agatha—hair loosely tied back, sleeves rolled up, barefoot. Holding a tray.

She froze when she saw you awake. Only for a second.

"Good morning , Y/N," she said dryly, making her way over to the bed. She set the tray down on the side table—crispy bacon, waffles, a cup of coffee.

You blinked at her, still dazed.

Agatha glanced at you, then at the food.

"You need to eat something," she said, voice lighter than usual but guarded, careful. "And hydrate. Before you die."

You swallowed thickly, throat burning.

"What...what happened?" you rasped.

Agatha pulled the chair closer to the bed, sitting down like she was settling in but ready to bolt if needed.

"You got drunk," she said simply, crossing one long leg over the other. "Spectacularly drunk. And messy."

You flushed hot, covering your face with your hands. "Oh my God. Did I—did I do something stupid?"

Agatha chuckled under her breath, a real laugh. It stung your heart a little because it sounded so natural, so easy—and yet there was still distance in her eyes.

"You were harmless," she said, taking a sip of her own coffee. "Messy, clingy, very vocal about my looks, but otherwise... entertaining."

You peeked at her between your fingers.

"You’re making fun of me," you grumbled.

"I could," she teased, eyes glinting, "but it wouldn’t be fair. You’re already suffering enough."

You pushed the tray closer to your lap, picking up the coffee first because you were desperate for anything that could bring you back to life.

Agatha watched you quietly for a moment.

There was a softness there. Hidden beneath the mask she wore so well.

And for once, it wasn’t pity. It was something almost like... tenderness.

You risked a glance at her again, feeling the awkward weight in the air.

"Did I...say anything else?" you asked hesitantly, voice smaller.

Agatha tilted her head, studying you. Her mouth twitched, like she was fighting off a smirk.

"You called me a dream," she said finally, voice softer.

You choked a little on your coffee, heat flaring at the back of your neck.

"Wonderful," you muttered.

Agatha laughed again under her breath, standing up from her chair.

"You can borrow some clothes," she said, brushing invisible lint from her jeans. "You smell like a distillery."

You glared at her, but there was no heat behind it.

Agatha disappeared into the closet, pulling out a crisp white shirt and a pair of soft grey sweatpants. She tossed them onto the bed beside you.

"There. Now go shower before you destroy my room."

You sat there for a moment, blinking blearily at the clothes.

Then, gathering what little dignity you had left, you pushed yourself up and stood—wobbling slightly.

Agatha was suddenly in front of you again, steadying your arms without thinking.

You looked up at her, inches away, her hands firm around your arms.

The world tilted—not from the hangover this time, but from how close she was.

Her blue eyes flickered down your face, lingering at your lips before she caught herself and stepped back, clearing her throat.

"Bathroom’s through there," she said briskly, nodding toward the left.

You held the clothes to your chest, heart hammering.

There was a crack in her armor. A tiny, tiny crack. You could feel it.

You padded toward the bathroom, pausing at the door to glance back.

Agatha was pretending to fiddle with the coffee tray, but her shoulders were stiff, her face carefully blank.

"Thanks," you said quietly.

She didn’t turn around. Just nodded once.

You disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind you.

Later, after you finished your shower—stepping out in her oversized shirt and sweatpants, hair damp—you found Agatha sitting by the window, scrolling absently through her phone.

She glanced up, froze for a second when she saw you.

Something shifted behind her eyes.

But then, like always, she forced it down, returning to neutral.

"You clean up nice," she said dryly, setting her phone aside.

You gave her a tired smile, padding barefoot across the room.

"Thanks for... last night. And this morning," you said quietly, genuinely.

Agatha shrugged like it was no big deal. But the faintest pink touched her ears.

You grabbed your bag from the chair, slinging it over your shoulder. Agatha reached for her car keys.

"I’ll drive you back," she said casually.

You followed her out without argument.

In the car, halfway through the drive, Agatha asked, voice too casual:

"That girl who's always hovering around you... Kate, right?"

You turned your head sharply to look at her.

Agatha kept her eyes fixed on the road, jaw tight.

"Yeah," you said slowly. "That's Kate."

She nodded once. Too quickly.

"She... seems attached," Agatha said.

You blinked, surprised at the edge in her voice.

"Why do you ask?"

Agatha shrugged like it didn’t matter. "It’s just... noticeable."

You smiled a little to yourself, turning to stare out the window, pretending not to see the way her fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

A tiny, guilty thrill sparked in your chest.

Jealousy.

Real, tangible jealousy.

But you didn’t call her out on it. Not yet.

The car fell into a companionable silence, the city whirring past outside.

After a few minutes, Agatha spoke again, softer this time:

"Have you ever... explored the city? You know, properly?"

You turned your head to her again, confused.

"Not really," you admitted.

Agatha hesitated, drumming her fingers lightly against the wheel.

"Well..." she said, still too casual, "if you're free later... maybe you could use a guide."

You blinked.

"Are you offering?"

Another shrug. Another mask slipping for just a second.

"Don't make a big deal out of it." Agatha said quietly, almost like she was brushing it off, her eyes still on the road.

You stared at her, heart catching painfully in your chest.

"Okay," you said simply, quietly.

Agatha gave a tiny nod, like that was all she needed.

But you caught the way her mouth twitched—almost a smile.

Almost.

The car slowed to a stop in front of your inn, gravel crunching under the tires.

You shifted awkwardly in your seat, clutching your bag to your chest, already missing the muted hum of safety that seemed to exist in her car. Here, reality felt sharper again.

You turned to unbuckle your seatbelt, feeling the weight of her gaze brush against you. When you looked over, Agatha was watching you — not quite meeting your eyes, but close.

You hesitated, the air thick between you.

"...Thanks again," you said, voice soft, raw around the edges.

Agatha only nodded, tapping her fingers lightly against the steering wheel.

You gripped the door handle, about to get out — when her voice stopped you.

“Hey,” Agatha’s voice was soft but firm, pulling you back for a moment before you could step out. It was almost as if she wasn’t ready to let go of this fragile peace between you two.

You turned your head back toward her, eyes meeting hers.

She exhaled sharply, looking down at her hands for a second, then back up at you. “Pick me up at the hotel at one o’clock,” she said, her voice low. The command was there—underneath the softness, the quiet strength. But it wasn’t the usual sharp edge; it was more like... a request wrapped in authority. She needed it to sound that way.

You nodded, feeling your heart race. Something flickered in her expression, just for a moment.

"I’ll be there," you said quietly, not needing to add anything more. There was a strange comfort in her tone, in the way she wasn’t pushing you away today.

She blinked, her gaze softening just a bit. “Good,” she replied, voice just a touch warmer, but still holding that wall she wasn’t quite ready to drop. The words hung between you, both an invitation and a demand, but something in the air shifted.

Her hands relaxed on the wheel just slightly, a subtle crack in her armor. A glimmer of something… like she was giving you a chance. Or maybe—just maybe—it was her way of not entirely letting go. Of not entirely shutting you out.

You smiled faintly, a little softer than before. You didn’t need to say anything else. The quiet understanding was enough.

Agatha’s lips twitched as she gave a little nod.

“Go on,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, though you could see the faintest hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “I’ll see you later.”

You opened the door, stepping out, but you lingered for just a moment, catching her gaze one last time. There was a long, lingering silence, one that spoke volumes.

It was a simple moment. A simple exchange. But it meant everything.

“Later, Agatha,” you said, letting the words hang between you two, leaving them unspoken yet still full of meaning.

She didn’t respond with her usual sharpness. Instead, she gave you a quiet, almost imperceptible nod. “Later.”

You closed the door behind you and stood there for a moment, watching her car disappear down the road before you turned toward the inn, shoulders tight from holding in too many things you hadn’t said.

Inside, the old floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you made your way to your room.

Your door clicked shut behind you, and you exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours.

The room looked the same, but it felt smaller now—temporary. A holding place. Something waiting to be erased.

You sank onto the bed and reached for your phone. A few work emails had come through — your assistant had forwarded a logistics issue with a prototype in L.A., but they’d sorted it.

You responded to one or two things automatically. Nothing heavy. Your brain was still too fogged from the hangover. Still spinning, too, from her.

You scrolled through your socials — saw photos from last night already starting to appear. Blurry shots from the party. A glimpse of the drinking game circle. You spotted yourself in one — barely — head tilted back, mid-laugh. You didn’t remember that moment, but you looked like you were having fun. For a second, you smiled.

Then it faded.

You locked your phone and stared at the ceiling for a beat.

This was probably your last few hours in Lynden. You hadn’t planned on staying longer. The campaign had covered your lodging here — most volunteers who didn’t live nearby were put in places like this. Now that the final push was over, you knew the expectation: back to Olympia.

You sat up slowly.

Moved on autopilot.

You started packing.

It didn’t take long — you never fully unpacked. You zipped up your bag, brushed off your shoes, checked under the bed just in case.

Then you opened the closet and stared for a long time, hand hovering over the hangers.

Eventually, you chose something simple, but expensive: a soft cream-colored blouse with delicate pearl buttons, tucked into tailored black trousers that hugged your waist perfectly. You threw a beige wool coat over your shoulders — it draped elegantly, weightless, like armor made of silk.

Your hair was loose, glossy after the shower from earlier, falling in clean, dark sheets around your face. You tucked one side behind your ear, caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and looked away quickly.

This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything.

Still… you wanted to look like yourself. The best version. The one she used to trace with her eyes when she thought you weren’t watching.

You grabbed your bag and walked out, pausing at the front desk just long enough to leave the key on the counter.

Outside, the clouds had cleared. The sunlight was pale and golden, cool as it filtered through the trees. You loaded your bag into the back seat of your car, took a breath, and drove.

You were halfway to her hotel when you spotted the little flower stand tucked at the edge of town.

You turned without thinking.

The old man behind the table greeted you. “Bouquet?” he asked, like he already knew the answer.

You nodded. “Azaleas, just the white ones today.”

He wrapped them in brown paper and tied it with a soft purple ribbon.

You handed him cash, and he handed you something else—an unspoken sentiment.

You parked in front of Agatha’s hotel ten minutes later.

You sat there for a moment, gripping the bouquet loosely in one hand. Then you got out, walked into the building, and took the elevator to her floor, heart thudding louder the closer you got.

When you reached her door, you hesitated again. Just for a second.

You raised your hand and knocked.

Soft, deliberate.

There was a pause.

Then: footsteps. The lock turning. The sound of her breath, close now.

And then she opened the door.

Agatha stood in front of you in her usual black—sleek, understated elegance. Hair pinned up. A hint of lipstick. But there was something softer about her today too. Something unguarded, even if just for a second.

You held out the azaleas without a word.

Her eyes flicked from the flowers to your face.

"You didn’t have to—" she started, but stopped herself.

She took them gently, fingers brushing yours for a heartbeat too long.

“I know,” you murmured. “But I wanted to.”

A beat passed. She didn’t move aside yet. Just looked at you. Like she was letting herself see you.

And then, quietly—she stepped back.

“Come in.”

You did.

The moment Agatha closed the door behind you, the room felt different. Less sterile, more alive.

She walked across the room and set the bouquet of azaleas on the desk, running her fingers over the petals before glancing around, clearly searching for something.

“Where’s my phone?” she muttered under her breath. “I swear, I just had it.”

You glanced around the room, a half smile tugging at your lips. “I can help you find it,” you offered, glancing at her—at how she was already moving between the bed and the desk, her eyes scanning with that sharp focus she always had.

She shot you a brief, amused look. “You don’t have to,” she said, but you could hear the faintest hint of something behind her words. Not exactly warmth, but something... softer than usual.

“No, really. I’m great at this,” you teased lightly. “I’m like a phone-finding expert.”

You both started looking—Agatha checking the bedside table, under the pillows, while you crouched near the desk and peered under the chair.

“What if we just... called it?” you suggested, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

She gave you an incredulous look, pausing mid-motion. “It’s on silent,” she said, shaking her head.

“I’m still calling it,” you replied, your voice light. You reached for your own phone, already unlocking it, not giving her a chance to stop you.

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “It’s useless.”

You smirked, ignoring her. A moment later, the ringing cut through the quiet of the room.

And then you both froze.

Because Agatha’s phone, which she’d been certain was on silent, was ringing from the other side of the room—right on the floor beneath the couch, wedged in a corner she had completely missed.

You stared at her, lips curling into a soft laugh. “Huh. Seems like it’s not on silent after all.”

Agatha’s expression was a mix of annoyance and disbelief, but there was an amused glint in her eyes. She grabbed the phone. “Fine,” she conceded, holding the phone up between you with a playful shrug. “You win. For now.”

You stood there for a moment, a lingering smile still on your face as you watched her. There was something about her today, something... less guarded. She was still Agatha — sharp, powerful, and untouchable in some ways — but today, the walls were just a little lower.

Agatha glanced at you, then quickly refocused on her phone. “Well, you found it. Happy?”

You grinned, and the moment felt easy, like something you never thought you’d get to experience with her. “Very happy,” you teased back.

She shook her head slightly, but you could see the subtle warmth in her gaze, the kind that wasn’t usually there. For a second, it felt like you two had shared something small, but important.

“So,” you said, stretching the word out as you dropped your phone into your bag, “Are we going, or what?”

Agatha stood up straight, adjusting her coat, but she seemed to hesitate for a moment—like she was figuring out the next step. After a second, she turned to you with that same professional poise she always carried, but you could tell she was trying to hold back a smile.

“Right. Let’s go,” she said. Her voice was still clipped, but there was a softness to it that hadn’t been there before.

She walked toward the door, holding it open for you, her gaze flicking to yours just before you stepped through.

As you passed, you caught her gaze. Just for a moment. You could feel the tension in the air—so subtle, yet so undeniably there.

You followed her down the hall, the heels of your shoes clicking on the smooth hotel floor. There was a slight awkwardness now, but it was comfortable. Like the kind of awkwardness that only came from being in a space with someone you were starting to trust again, but still didn’t fully understand.

When you reached the elevator, you both stepped inside. It felt smaller somehow with the two of you in it—like the quiet was heavier now. You glanced at Agatha out of the corner of your eye. She was busy tapping on her phone, but there was something in her posture that gave away her thoughts, even if she wasn’t saying a word.

You cleared your throat, just to break the silence. “So, uh... what’s on the agenda for today, then?”

Agatha looked up from her phone, her gaze flicking to you for the briefest moment before she looked away again. “Well, I... I was thinking we could check out some of the boutique shops around town,” she said, her voice a little more tentative than usual.

You hadn’t expected that. “Yeah?” you said, a little surprised, but not in a bad way. “That sounds... nice, actually.”

Agatha shrugged, her gaze shifting away again. “It’s a quiet afternoon. Might be nice to just... see something that isn’t work.”

You could see the flicker of something behind her eyes—a quiet invitation, one that was so subtle, it might’ve been easy to miss. But you didn’t miss it.

And as the elevator doors opened and you stepped out, that soft tension between you only grew. There was still distance. Still that invisible wall between you. But today, it felt thinner. Like there was room for something new, if only either of you would take the first step.

You unlock the car with a soft beep, and Agatha walks around to the passenger side without a word. There’s no hesitation in her movements, but she doesn’t say anything either. She just opens the door, slips in, and pulls the seatbelt across her body with a quiet click.

You toss your bag in the backseat, shut your door a little softer than usual, and start the engine.

The car hums to life, and still... nothing.

Not a word.

You adjust the volume knob—barely. Just low enough that the music doesn’t feel intrusive, just a faint instrumental playing in the background. Something slow and mellow, like it knows better than to interrupt.

Your hand settles back on the wheel. You pull out of the hotel driveway, the tires crunching faintly over the gravel.

You don’t look at her. Not yet. But you feel her there.

Sitting beside you, one leg crossed over the other, her fingers idly toying with the hem of her sleeve. She’s dressed sharply—of course she is—but there’s a softness to her today. The way her body leans just slightly toward the window, the way her silence isn’t cutting. Just... thoughtful.

You drive.

The town blurs quietly past the windshield. Storefronts, the bakery you passed yesterday, the flower shop where you bought the azaleas.

Agatha doesn’t speak. She doesn’t fiddle with the air controls, or check her phone. She just sits there. Breathing the same air as you. Sharing the same space. Letting the quiet exist between you without trying to fill it.

It should feel awkward. But it doesn’t.

It feels... honest.

Every few blocks, your eyes flick toward her—just for a second. At the curve of her jaw, the way her fingers tap softly against her leg. She catches you once, and you both glance away like it didn’t happen. But it did.

There’s a tension there—not heavy. Not sharp. Just present. Lingering in the space between you. Unspoken things sitting quietly in the car with you, waiting.

You could say something. Ask her if she’s okay. If she’s changed her mind. If she regrets this small truce that’s beginning to form between you.

But you don’t.

You drive.

The silence between you is full of history, but it’s not hostile. It’s... domestic, in a strange way. Comfortable. Like the two of you have done this before, driven like this before. Like you’ve sat in this kind of silence that says I know you’re here. That’s enough for now.

You think of her hotel room, the warmth of the morning light against her hair. The way she let you into her space. The way she didn't stop you from staying.

The way she’s still here now.

As you approach the roads winding back toward the center of town, you don’t say anything.

And neither does she.

But when the sun catches the edge of her face just right, you swear—you swear—you see her mouth tilt, ever so slightly.

Like she’s almost smiling.

You park in a tight spot off the main street, killing the engine as the morning haze lifts fully into bright daylight. The sky is a watercolor blue, brushed with white clouds and the faint scent of lilacs and coffee drifting from the nearby cafés. Agatha doesn’t wait for you—she’s already stepped out of the car, slipping her sunglasses on as she tucks her coat under her arm.

You climb out and quietly fall into step behind her.

She doesn’t say where she’s going. She just starts walking. And you—like always—follow.

The boutique she leads you to is quaint and a little overpriced, all exposed wood and tall racks of handwoven scarves and ethically sourced journals. A bell rings overhead as you both walk in. The shopkeeper glances up but doesn’t greet you—too focused on the jazz record spinning softly on an old turntable near the counter.

Agatha makes a beeline for the souvenirs first, her fingers grazing over hand-painted magnets and tiny ceramic mugs shaped like pinecones.

You trail after her slowly, letting the soft lighting and musky scent of incense wrap around you like a blanket. There's something weirdly peaceful about it, until—

“Would you wear this?” Agatha asks, holding up a ridiculous floppy sunhat, wide-brimmed and covered in pink ribbon.

You blink. “Are you serious?”

Her mouth curls. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“I don’t know, you always look like you’re about to scold someone,” you say, and it earns you a sharp, short exhale. Maybe it’s a laugh. Hard to tell.

She puts the hat back and keeps browsing. “It would’ve looked charming. On the right person.”

“Oh, so not me.”

“Did I say that?” she replies, feigning innocence as she picks up a linen dress in soft green and holds it against herself in the mirror. “You never let me finish.”

You watch her—just for a second too long. “It’s a good color on you.”

She pauses, glancing at your reflection behind her shoulder. But instead of replying, she tosses the dress toward your arms. “Try it on.”

“What?”

“I’m not asking.”

You sigh, mock-dramatic, but take it anyway. A few minutes later, you come out of the dressing room, tugging at the hem awkwardly. She’s waiting, leaning against a rack of scarves, watching you like it’s nothing. Like she hasn’t been staring the whole time.

“Well?” you ask.

Her eyes drag from your shoulder to your thighs and back up, just once. Then she shrugs, casual. “It’s fine.”

You squint. “Just fine?”

A smirk. “You’ll survive.”

You try not to smile too hard as you duck back into the dressing room, changing quickly. When you step back out, Agatha is already paying for something at the counter. You glance at the bag in her hand, but she doesn’t offer what it is.

You don’t ask.

You step back into the sunlight, walking side by side now.

What is this, really?

She didn’t say the word date. This feels too easy to be a date. But too soft to be just nothing. So what is it?

You shove the thought away before it gets too heavy, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.

The boutique strolls continue—into another shop with candles and jewelry, then one with vintage postcards and hand-written poems typed on old paper. You don’t buy anything, just browse. Agatha makes you try on another hat. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and she calls you “ridiculous” with a lightness in her voice that makes your chest ache.

And then—

Your stomach growls.

Audibly.

Agatha glances over, one brow arching. “Was that you?”

You put a hand over your abdomen, like that’ll hide it. “Maybe.”

She smiles faintly. “Where do you want to eat?”

“Anywhere’s fine,” you reply quickly, and the moment you say it, her face drops into something flat and unimpressed.

“Anywhere is not an answer.”

You stare at her. She stares back, arms crossed, one brow raised. Waiting.

You think for a second. “Chili’s?”

She blinks, tilts her head. Then just says, “Okay,” like it’s nothing. Then turns and keeps walking like she didn’t just give you a tiny heart attack.

You blink after her, stunned for a second, then jog a few steps to catch up.

You walk together in companionable silence, and before long, the familiar red-and-white sign of Chili’s comes into view. Agatha opens the door before you can and gestures you in. You choose a booth, sliding into the side across from her. She reaches for a menu without a word, skimming it like she doesn’t already know exactly what she’s going to order.

You're mid-scan of the drink options when you hear it—

“Y/N?”

You turn, already recognizing the voice. Kate.

She’s walking toward you, a casual smile on her face. Behind your menu, you shoot a glance at Agatha—who is already looking at Kate. Her smile is polite. Perfect. But her eyes... unreadable.

Kate stops at the edge of the table, hand on her hip. “Hey,” she says. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You smile up at her. “Hey, yeah. Just, uh…” You glance at Agatha. “Catching up.”

Kate’s eyes flick between you. “Governor Harkness,” she adds, nodding.

Agatha smiles, tight-lipped. “Kate.”

“Last night was wild,” Kate continues, laughing softly. “You were really drunk. I mean—Governor Harkness had to help you, right?”

Your ears go warm.

Agatha coughs lightly, eyes narrowing for just a second before she glances back at the menu, suddenly very invested in the appetizers.

You give a nervous laugh. “Yeah. But I’m okay now.”

Kate reaches out, runs her hand gently along your arm. “Good. You scared me a bit.”

You glance at Agatha. Her posture hasn’t changed. But there’s something in her jaw now. Tight. Just barely.

Kate looks at both of you. “So what’re you doing here?”

You smile. “Like I said—just catching up.”

Kate looks like she wants to ask more, but she doesn’t. Just nods slowly. “Right.”

Agatha finally chimes in, voice pleasant. “Just catching up. Nothing more.”

You look at her, and she’s still not quite meeting your eyes.

Kate nods again. “Well—I was just craving Chili’s, so I stopped by.”

“Good taste,” you say softly.

She smiles at you—just you—and then says, “I’ll let you two get back to it. Don’t want to interrupt.”

“See you around,” you say gently.

“Take care,” Agatha adds, and the smile she gives is just barely there.

Kate walks away.

You exhale.

Agatha flips the menu open again. Doesn’t say a word.

You stare down at the table.

The moment Kate is out of sight, the air shifts again. You don’t know what it becomes—just that it’s different now. A bit heavier. Still.

Agatha turns another page of the menu she’s already read twice. You glance at her. She’s not looking at you.

You clear your throat. “She just showed up. I didn’t know she was coming.”

“I didn’t ask,” Agatha says flatly, eyes still scanning the page.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I just felt like I should say that.”

She says nothing.

You sigh and sink slightly into your seat, peering over the laminated menu in your hands. “You gonna judge me if I order chicken crispers?”

“That depends.” She looks up finally. “Do you plan to dip them in three different sauces at once like a psychopath?”

You give her a faux-offended gasp. “That’s called flavor layering.”

She snorts. “It’s called concerning behavior.”

You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. She closes her menu.

The waitress appears a moment later, and you both place your orders. Agatha chooses something surprisingly basic—just a burger with no fuss. You stick with your beloved chicken crispers and fries. You consider getting a cocktail, but then remember what happened last night and decide water is enough.

Once the waitress disappears, the silence returns. Not as awkward as before, but... not totally easy either.

You toy with your straw. “So... catching up.”

Agatha raises a brow.

“That’s what we’re doing,” you say with a small shrug. “Just catching up.”

She looks at you, unreadable for a long moment. “Is that what you think this is?”

You blink. “Isn’t it?”

Her mouth twitches like she’s holding back a smile, or maybe biting one down. She leans back in the booth, arms crossed now. “You tell me.”

You open your mouth, but your brain short-circuits slightly, and before you can say anything that sounds remotely smart, the food arrives.

Saved by the chicken.

You both thank the waitress and begin to eat. The food’s actually good—greasy and salty and comforting. You’re focused on dipping a fry when you hear Agatha clear her throat.

“There’s something on your face,” she says.

You pause, hand halfway to your mouth. “Where?”

She gestures vaguely. “Right here.”

You reach up and miss completely.

She sighs like you’re impossible, then leans over the table. You don’t really move—you’re too surprised. She uses the pad of her thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth, slow, careful.

You freeze.

Her touch lingers—not in a weird way. Just... long enough to feel warm.

“There,” she murmurs.

You’re aware your mouth is slightly open—just the way you were mid-bite when she leaned in.

Agatha pulls her hand back. Her voice lowers. “You look like you’re about to thank me with your teeth.”

You choke. Literally.

The sip of water you just took hits wrong, and suddenly you’re coughing, sputtering, grabbing a napkin, eyes wide and panicked.

“Breathe—breathe—” Agatha stands quickly, rounding the table as your shoulders shake. She kneels beside you, one hand on your back, the other steadying your arm. “Jesus—are you okay?”

You cough hard, eyes watering, throat burning.

“Don’t die in a Chili’s, for god’s sake,” she mutters urgently. “Not in this Chili’s.”

You finally catch a breath—ragged but real—and wave your hand in a thumbs up but barely surviving gesture.

She exhales sharply. “Are you sure?”

You nod and croak out, “Wrong pipe.”

Agatha stands slowly, not leaving your side until she’s sure you’ve stopped coughing. Then she returns to her seat, still eyeing you warily.

You dab at your eyes. “That was so dramatic. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve always wanted to be seen dragging a woman out of a restaurant mid-chicken crisper.”

You laugh, still wheezing.

A beat.

Then: “For the record,” she says quietly, “I meant that in a nice way. You looked...”

You raise a brow, cautious. “Looked... what?”

She gives a faint shrug. “...Appetizing.”

Your brain short-circuits again.

Agatha calmly picks up another fry.

You stare at her.

You’re pretty sure your soul just tried to leave your body through your ears.

You both finish your food, and for once, you don’t rush. Agatha doesn’t either. She lingers, slowly sipping her drink like she’s not in a hurry to be anywhere else.

And neither are you.

Outside, the afternoon sun is mellow and warm. You squint against it as you walk side by side in silence, down the stretch of sidewalk leading toward the little commercial plaza you’d passed earlier.

You glance at Agatha.

“So,” you start, careful, casual, “I know something we could do.”

Agatha doesn’t look at you. “If it involves you choking on more fried food, I’m going to pass.”

You roll your eyes. “No. Arcade.”

That gets her attention. She turns, one brow arched. “Are we twelve?”

“Speak for yourself. I’m still emotionally fifteen.”

She huffs a laugh, and then—more surprising—she nods. “Alright. Let’s go embarrass ourselves in public.”

You grin.

Inside, the arcade is lit up like a neon fever dream—flashing lights, cheesy sound effects, the low hum of teenagers yelling and games chirping. You exchange a look with Agatha, both of you blinking at the sudden assault on your senses.

“I immediately regret this,” she says.

You press a hand to her back, guiding her forward. “Too late. Come on, Governor.”

Agatha mutters something under her breath but lets herself be led, and soon you’re both swiping a prepaid card through machines and yelling over pinball dings and air-blaster noises. You play a cooperative shooting game first—she's actually weirdly good, precise and deadpan while you flail beside her, constantly dying and coming back.

“You’re scary,” you say as you lose another life.

“I’m efficient,” she replies.

“Yeah, that’s what serial killers say.”

Agatha doesn’t deny it.

Next, you tug her toward the claw machine. You both lose miserably three times in a row. She blames physics. You blame the rigged design. Then she actually wins a tiny stuffed bear on her fourth try and insists it was skill, not luck.

“I’m a woman of many talents,” she says, holding the bear triumphantly.

You deadpan, “Is humility one of them?”

She smirks. “Not even a little.”

Eventually, you find yourselves by the air hockey table. Classic, glowing, dramatic with its backlit scoreboard.

Agatha runs her fingers over the edge of it thoughtfully. “Now this, I’ll destroy you at.”

You give her a look. “You’re that confident?”

“I’ve been playing this since I was a kid,” she says. “My cousins wouldn’t play with me anymore because I always won.”

You snort. “Oh no, not a tragic backstory.”

She narrows her eyes. “I’m serious.”

You hold up your hands in surrender, smiling. “Okay, okay. Let’s see what you’ve got, champ.”

You both take your places—just barely a few feet apart, the table narrow enough that her eyes are impossible to ignore. You slide the puck toward her, a lazy start. She returns it with a sharp snap that ricochets off the side and nearly catches your hand.

You yelp. “Jesus! What happened to warming up?”

“I play to win,” she says smoothly.

“Oh my god, you're so annoying.”

“Say that again after I’m six points ahead.”

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, Harkness.”

The game kicks off properly then. You're both laughing—yelling, even—as the puck flies back and forth. You land a few lucky points. Agatha gets one and does a full smug spin on the spot.

You're about to serve again when her hand brushes yours—accidental, quick—but it jolts something in you anyway. She notices. You both freeze for a half-second. It’s stupid how loud the table sounds in the moment between you.

You clear your throat. “You flinching already?”

She gives you a pointed look. “Please. I could beat you blindfolded.”

“Okay, now you’re just making up fantasies.”

That—that—makes her falter for just a beat. Her smile flickers, eyes briefly glinting with something else. Mischief. Or something more dangerous.

You both go quiet again.

Then she exhales through her nose, grabs the puck, and hits it toward you with a clean, brutal strike.

“Still your turn,” she says.

You mutter something under your breath and chase after the puck.

The game ends eventually—you don’t even remember who wins. You’re both too breathless with laughter by then, flushed and warm and, honestly, a little out of breath.

Agatha leans against the side of the machine, her elbow grazing yours.

You try not to notice how close she is. How her hair is falling into her face. How her lips part slightly when she’s catching her breath.

She doesn’t step back.

You don’t either.

But no one says anything.

You just stand there, shoulder to shoulder, watching the blinking scoreboard flash like it has something to celebrate.

You’re both a little buzzed on laughter as you step out of the arcade, the late afternoon air already cooling down. It's golden hour now—everything looks softer, warmer, more romantic than it should.

You don’t say anything when Agatha falls into step beside you. You just pull your keys from your jacket and lead her back to the car.

The doors shut with a solid click, sealing you into the soft silence of the vehicle. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just start the engine, the low hum filling the space between you.

She doesn’t put on her seatbelt right away. Just sits there with her eyes closed for a moment, like she’s grounding herself.

You peek over. “Tired?”

She exhales slowly. “More like… overstimulated.” Then she opens one eye and smirks faintly. “Too many flashing lights. Too many children screaming.”

You chuckle. “I did say we’d embarrass ourselves in public.”

“We didn't. I was amazing.” She clicks her seatbelt into place. “You, however, were embarrassing enough for both of us.”

“Hey, I almost won air hockey.”

“That was pity on my part.”

You glance at her, pretending to be offended. “Is that what this is? A charity day out with the emotionally fifteen-year-old?”

She looks out the window, her smile softening. “Could be.”

Silence again. But not a bad one. Just… thoughtful.

You drive. The streets roll by, warm light glinting off the car’s hood, the occasional palm tree slicing through your view.

You finally break the quiet. “Did you have fun?”

She turns to you. “I did.”

A pause.

You nod. “Me too.”

Another beat. She shifts slightly in her seat, legs crossed, fingers fiddling with the stuffed bear from earlier—she hadn’t let go of it. That’s oddly endearing.

You don't say anything else after that last little back-and-forth. The rest of the ride back to the hotel is quiet—not awkward, just... delicate. Like speaking too loud might pop whatever thin thread’s been holding the day together.

You don’t even play music. Just the hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal. Agatha looks out the window, one arm on the door, the other curled loosely in her lap. There’s something about the way the golden light hits her profile—serene, but a little tired too.

You pull into the roundabout in front of the hotel and park. She unbuckles her seatbelt, already reaching for the door handle.

“You don’t have to walk me in,” she says casually, glancing at you.

“I know,” you reply, turning the engine off, “but I want to.”

She hesitates just a moment, like she wants to argue. But she doesn’t. Just huffs a tiny breath and says, “Fine.”

You both walk through the lobby, quiet again, but your steps feel more in sync now. There’s something calmer between you. Maybe not resolved, but… less raw.

When you reach her door, she pulls out the keycard, swipes it, and pushes the door open.

Then, turning to you, a little too casually: “You want to come in? I was gonna make coffee.”

You blink. “Coffee?”

She shrugs. “Helps me wind down.”

You hesitate. But then: “Okay. Sure.”

She lets you in, leaves the door open behind her, and tosses the room key onto the side table. You follow slowly, taking in the room—it’s just a standard hotel suite, but it feels distinctly hers. Her blazer is draped over the back of a chair. A pair of heels kicked lazily by the edge of the bed. Her perfume still faint in the air.

You settle by the desk while she fusses with the tiny in-room coffee machine. She glances over her shoulder.

“You want some?”

“Yeah. Just... a little.”

“You always say that, and then you drink the whole cup.”

You smile faintly. “Some things never change.”

She looks at you then—really looks. And you feel it.

The soft clink of the coffee mugs fills the silence. She hands you one and then moves to sit on the edge of the bed, sipping quietly.

You sit in the chair near her, fingers around the warm mug. She watches you for a second, then says, gently:

“So... where are you staying tonight?”

You blink at her. “Oh. I—uh. I’m driving back to Olympia.”

Agatha straightens. “Tonight?”

You nod, slow. “Yeah. The campaign only covered my stay through this morning, so... figured I’d just head back.”

“You’re tired.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No,” she says, setting her mug down firmly. “That’s not safe.”

“Agatha, I’ve done worse—”

She cuts you off. “I don’t care. You’re not driving tonight.”

You raise your brows. “And what’s your plan? Kidnap me?”

She stares at you, deadpan. “Stay. Here.”

“In your room?”

“Yes.”

You give her a look. “Why?”

She shrugs, and it’s the worst shrug you’ve ever seen. It’s full of everything she’s not saying.

“It’s quiet here. Boring. I’d rather not have coffee alone.”

You almost laugh. “That’s a terrible excuse.”

“Take it or leave it.”

You set your mug down, watching her. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“There’s no couch.”

“There’s a chair. I’ll make it work.”

Agatha stands up, walks closer to you. “Don’t be stupid. The bed’s huge. It’s not like we haven’t shared one before.”

Your breath catches a little, but you cover it with a smirk. “That was months ago.”

“So?” She folds her arms. “Do you think I’ll kick you in my sleep?”

“No. I think I might.”

Agatha smiles—small, but warm. “You’ve changed.”

You tilt your head. “Is that a good thing?”

She doesn’t answer. Just walks to her suitcase, digs through it, and pulls out a folded pair of soft cotton pajamas. She tosses them at you.

“They’ll be loose, but… clean.”

You catch them, heart knocking into your ribs.

You murmur, “Thanks.”

She nods, not looking at you as she disappears into the bathroom to change.

You’re left standing there in her room, in the soft quiet of a single lamp on, holding her clothes.

Agatha steps out of the bathroom in a cloud of lavender-scented steam, wiping her face with a small hotel towel. Her hair’s damp now, swept back behind her ears, and she’s changed into a loose black shirt and pajama pants that fall just above her ankles.

You look up from where you’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers still curled around your coffee mug. And for a second, you forget how to breathe.

She notices, but she doesn’t say anything.

She just pauses by the vanity, towel in hand, and glances at you through the mirror. Her voice is softer now. “Your turn.”

You blink yourself back into motion, standing slowly, pajamas still folded in your arms.

“Okay,” you murmur, and brush past her—close enough to feel the warmth still clinging to her skin from the shower.

The bathroom is still thick with heat, the mirror fogged over, the scent of her soap lingering in the air. You change slowly, hands shaky and unsure. Her clothes are slightly big on you—soft, worn, and warm in places you don’t expect. The fabric brushes your skin like memory.

You don’t look at yourself in the mirror. You’re not sure you’d recognize the version of yourself in it right now.

When you return, Agatha’s already under the covers, half-buried in the thick hotel duvet. Her eyes lift to meet yours as you quietly shut the bathroom door behind you.

You slide under the covers, careful not to disturb the quiet between you. You face the ceiling, hands tucked over your stomach. The cotton of her borrowed shirt smells faintly like her closet—like bergamot, old cedar drawers, and something floral you can’t name.

The lights are dimmed now. Just a faint amber glow coming from the bedside lamp, casting soft shadows across the room.

You’re both lying flat on your backs, sharing a pillow in the middle of the king-sized bed, the comforter pooled at your waists. Agatha’s arm is brushing yours, and neither of you moves.

It’s the kind of quiet you only get at night. Still. Honest. A little dangerous if you let it linger too long.

You exhale through your nose. “This feels weird.”

Agatha turns her head toward you slightly. “Weird?”

“Not bad-weird. Just... familiar. Like muscle memory.”

She hums. “Camping. Malibu.”

You glance at her. Her face is tilted toward the ceiling again, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Don’t remind me,” you groan. “I literally told them it was a bug bite.”

Agatha lets out a short, surprised laugh — that rare, real kind. “You were so red. I thought you were gonna pass out when Jen started saying ‘What if it laid eggs.’”

You nudge her with your shoulder. “That was your fault. You left a literal hickey on my neck like we were seventeen.”

“You didn’t complain at the time.”

You don’t say anything.

Neither does she.

The silence returns, but it’s thicker now, like the room itself is holding its breath. You let your eyes drift up to the ceiling again.

And then —

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “For not contacting you after... you know. That one fight.”

Agatha turns her head. You can feel her gaze on you now, but you keep yours upward.

“That was seven years ago,” she says softly.

“I know.” You swallow. “It’s just... it’s been sitting in me. I think I needed to say it.”

Agatha waits.

You let yourself go quiet for a beat before continuing. “I was upset. At you. Back then. I mean—I couldn’t even really be mad, because I was just your friend, right? But still... seeing you with him. Choosing him. I couldn’t handle it.”

She doesn’t interrupt.

You keep going.

“So I disappeared. Not completely—I sent the birthday gifts, the Christmas ones. Never forgot the kids’ parties. But I couldn’t... I couldn’t see you like that and pretend I didn’t care. Pretend I was over it. I wasn’t.”

She shifts, turning fully onto her side to face you. You can feel it.

You do the same, slowly.

“I thought,” you continue, voice barely above a breath, “that if I stopped seeing you, I’d get over you. And then that Malibu trip happened and—god, Agatha.”

She closes her eyes briefly, like her chest aches at just the sound of her name on your lips.

You keep going. You have to.

“And then, I ruined it. I thought I was the one hurting. I thought what I heard that night—what I assumed—I thought you didn’t mean it with me. That it was just a break from your life. But it wasn’t.”

Agatha opens her eyes. “No,” she says. “It wasn’t.”

“You ran,” she says gently, “because you thought I didn’t choose you.”

“I ran,” you admit, “because I loved you too much to be second place again.”

Agatha’s hand finds yours between the sheets. Fingers brush. Thread. Stay.

“I was trying to survive,” she says quietly. “I thought I was doing the right thing. That if I kept my family together, everyone would be proud. My parents. My friends. I thought I was being strong.”

You squeeze her hand. “But you weren’t happy.”

She shakes her head.

“Ralph didn’t help,” she adds, a bitter smile playing at her mouth. “He just... existed. I raised the kids, ran the house, ran for office—and he just sat there.”

“I called him a useless piece of shit.”

Agatha laughs, breathy. “You did. I was so mad at you for it.”

“You told me I crossed a line.”

“I did. But only because you said out loud what I was afraid to admit.”

The room goes still again.

She rolls onto her back for a second, staring up. You follow.

“I didn’t stay with him out of love,” she says. “I stayed because I didn’t want to be a disappointment. A politician, a mother, a woman in power—and divorced? It felt like failure. But staying was worse.”

You turn your head to look at her. “You’re free now.”

Agatha nods slowly. “Yeah, kinda”

You say nothing.

Until—

“I’ve loved you longer than you think,” you whisper.

Her breath catches.

You turn fully toward her again, lying side by side, foreheads inches apart.

“I was just really good at hiding it.”

Agatha swallows, eyes soft and unreadable. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d ever want me. Not in the way I wanted you.”

Another beat.

Then she reaches out, tentative, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You have no idea what I wanted.”

“I do now,” you murmur.

Agatha lets her hand linger against your cheek, her thumb brushing once, barely, across your skin.

Neither of you moves further.

Just staring.

The room settles. Your bodies soften into each other, a quiet gravity pulling you in. Your fingers stay laced under the covers.

You fall asleep like that.

Touching, but not crossing.

Wanting, but not rushing.

Hope stirs in your chest—warm, messy, familiar.

Because after a couple of months of longing, silence, and almost...

She’s right here again. And this time, you’re not letting her slip away.

Taglist: @6stolenangel9 @charlottelinlin1 @milflovers4 @claramelooo @loveshineslikethesky @kaymariesworld @marcelinaceciliarose @misskassycollins @greyella @theothersideofthescreen @whitelotus00 @agathaallalongg @psychickryptonitebouquet @sweetmidnights @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @filmedbyharkness @brekker157 @rizzlesregal13 @starbucks-06 @aboutcustardcreams @crescendoofstars @neverfindmegone @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @theonefairygodmother @isixxxx @hannah-0730 @starryjeongyeon @atlasimagines @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @darlingaura @upsidedowndanvers @iiiheartwomen

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x reader #agatha x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #YouWereNeverMinetoLose #agatha harkness smut

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anadytop · 2 months ago

Text

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psformybss · 2 months ago

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Forever Starts Here

series masterlist

warnings: extreme fluff, happy tears, soft moments

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Hickory, North Carolina – Early August

The bridal suite smelled like roses and fresh linen, with soft morning sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains and dancing across the hardwood floor. Somewhere in the background, a playlist hummed quietly—an acoustic cover of something familiar and sweet.

Y/N sat at the vanity, still in her robe, as her mom fussed over a curling iron and Brooke pinned the last of the delicate pearl hairpins into her half-up, half-down style. Her reflection looked calm—elegant, even—but inside, butterflies stirred beneath her ribs, flitting from heart to stomach and back again.

“Hold still,” Brooke said gently, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders as she adjusted a strand of hair. “If this piece doesn’t cooperate, I swear—”

Y/N laughed, nerves mingling with joy. “I don’t even care how it looks. I just want to get out there and see him.”

Her mom looked up from the steamer, pressing out a final wrinkle in the dress that hung nearby. “You’ll have all day to look at him. Let us enjoy this part.”

Brooke smirked. “Translation: Let your mother cry over you for ten more minutes before she has to hand you off.”

“I’m not crying yet,” her mom said, eyes already glistening.

Y/N turned in her chair, catching both of their gazes. “I love you guys. Thank you for doing all of this—for keeping me sane.”

Brooke leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re my person. Of course I’m here.”

There was a quiet knock at the door.

Jodi peeked her head in, smiling so warmly that Y/N felt her throat close up a little. “Can I steal her for a second?”

Her mom nodded. “Of course. We’ll step out so you two can have a moment.”

When they left, Jodi stepped inside with a small cream envelope in her hands, tied with a single piece of twine.

“It’s from him,” she said softly, handing it over. “He said to make sure you read it before you get dressed.”

Y/N took it carefully, like it might shatter in her hands. She sat back down, pressing her thumb beneath the twine and sliding it off slowly.

The handwriting was unmistakably his.

⸻

Y/N,

I don’t know how to put this into words, which is a little ironic, because that’s all I’ve been trying to do since the moment I knew I wanted to marry you.

But here goes.

You are the calm in my chaos, the steady in my storm. You make the world make sense. I’ve never felt more myself than I do when I’m with you. You’ve taught me what it means to show up, to stay, to love without walls.

Today isn’t the start of us. That started a long time ago.

But it is the start of forever. And I can’t wait to call you my wife.

I’ll be waiting, heart in hand. (You already have it, but you know.)

Love,

Drew

⸻

By the time she finished reading, her eyes were glossy and her breath was slow and shaky. She folded the letter carefully and held it to her chest for a long beat before reaching for a pen and the envelope waiting on the vanity—the one she’d saved for him.

She began to write.

⸻

Drew,

You say I make the world make sense, but the truth is—you are my world. And you’re my favorite part of every day. My place. My best choice.

Marrying you isn’t a leap. It’s the most natural thing in the world. You’ve been home since the start.

So I’ll meet you at the altar with my heart wide open. Because it’s already yours.

See you soon,

Y/N

⸻

She sealed it, wrote For Drew on the front, and handed it to Jodi, who smiled through misty eyes.

“I’ll make sure it gets to him,” she promised.

When she left, Brooke and Y/N’s mom came back in, dress in hand, eyes already lighting up.

“Ready?” her mom asked softly.

Y/N stood, wiping beneath her eyes and smiling. “More than ready.”

Brooke helped her step into the dress, smoothing the fabric over her waist as her mom zipped up the back. The room was quiet, reverent, filled with the kind of silence that means everything.

Y/N turned to the mirror.

And there she was.

Not just the bride.

But his bride.

⸻

The sun filtered softly through the tall oaks that framed the intimate backyard in Hickory, North Carolina. It was warm but not oppressive, with a gentle breeze brushing through the colorful floral arrangements that lined the aisle and surrounded the archway. Blue delphiniums, coral roses, blush peonies—they looked like something out of a dream, just like the rest of the day.

Y/N stood near the side of the house, heart pounding in her chest, her hands lightly gripping her bouquet. She wore a sleek white dress that hugged her perfectly, the fabric flowing behind her like water. The soft sounds of laughter and clinking glasses drifted over from the cocktail area, where about fifty close friends and family gathered, all waiting for the ceremony to begin.

But not yet.

Because before the music, before the vows, before the kiss—there was the first look.

“Okay,” Brooke whispered, adjusting a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear. “Are you ready to see him?”

Y/N nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. “I think I might cry.”

Brooke smiled, her own eyes a little misty. “Then cry. It’s your day.”

Drew stood with his back turned near the edge of the garden, fidgeting slightly as he waited. He wore a light beige suit, one that complemented the natural tones of the setting perfectly. Logan stood nearby, grinning like he knew what was about to hit his little brother.

“All right,” Brooke said as she walked Y/N toward him. “Go knock his breath out.”

The sound of Y/N’s shoes crunching softly over the grass made Drew straighten, shoulders rising.

“Okay, you can turn around now,” she said softly.

He did.

And immediately, his breath hitched. “Jesus…” he murmured, eyes wide, full of wonder and something deep and raw. “You look… absolutely unreal.”

Y/N’s lips trembled into a smile. “You’re not so bad yourself, pretty boy.”

He stepped forward, pulling her gently into his arms. For a moment, the rest of the world fell away.

“I didn’t think I’d be this emotional,” Drew admitted, resting his forehead against hers. “But damn. You’ve got me.”

“You’ve had me,” Y/N whispered. “Since the start.”

They stayed like that for a while—quiet, holding each other, letting the weight of the moment settle in.

Then it was time.

⸻

The ceremony space was stunning: lush green lawn, cream chairs lined with flower beds that looked like they’d grown there naturally. The floral arch burst with color at the altar, the perfect backdrop for something so pure.

Brooke made her way down the aisle first, radiant and teary-eyed as she took her place at the front. Logan followed after, standing proudly beside his brother.

Guests rose. The music shifted.

Y/N stepped onto the path, bouquet in hand, eyes locked on Drew at the end.

From the crowd, Rudy elbowed JD, whispering, “Dude’s gonna lose it.”

“He already is,” JD whispered back with a grin.

Chase, Austin, Madelyn, and Madison all turned with wide smiles, some snapping discreet photos, others just taking it all in.

When Y/N reached the altar, Drew reached for her hand immediately, grounding himself.

The officiant welcomed everyone, spoke a few words on love and time and choosing each other over and over again. Then, it was time for the vows.

Drew cleared his throat, pulling a small, slightly crumpled piece of paper from his jacket.

“I had this whole thing written out,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “But now that I’m standing here, looking at you, I don’t want to read anything. I just want to tell you.”

Y/N blinked quickly, trying to hold the tears back.

“You make everything better,” Drew said. “Even the worst days. You’re my peace, my home, my best friend. And I promise that from this day forward, I will love you the way you deserve to be loved—fully, honestly, without hesitation. Even when we’re old and cranky.”

A soft ripple of laughter moved through the crowd.

“My turn?” Y/N asked, smiling through tears. She pulled a folded note from her bouquet.

“Drew—” she began, voice trembling slightly. “You are the most unexpected, yet most certain thing that’s ever happened to me. Loving you is easy. It’s safe. It’s the best decision I’ve ever made. I vow to show up every day for you, to cheer you on, to laugh with you, and to never take this love for granted.”

She paused, glancing at him. “Also, I vow to let you pick the movie at least half the time—even when I know it’ll be a Marvel rewatch.”

More laughter. More tears.

The officiant smiled. “By the power vested in me… I now pronounce you husband and wife. Drew, you may kiss your bride.”

And he did—arms around her waist, lips soft but sure. The crowd erupted in cheers. Brooke was sobbing. Logan clapped Drew on the back as they walked back down the aisle.

⸻

Later, under the open-air tent strung with hundreds of twinkling fairy lights, the reception came alive like something out of a movie. The scent of fresh garden roses and lavender floated on the breeze, mingling with the soft hum of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of applause. Long tables were set with flickering candles and arrangements of peonies, delphiniums, and coral ranunculus, the colors popping like wildflowers in the golden wash of evening.

Plates were scraped clean. Glasses never stayed empty for long. Stories were traded over charcuterie boards and slices of lemon cake, and somewhere in the middle of it all, the love in the air became palpable—warm and heady, like a summer night you never wanted to end.

Madison stood up first when it was time for toasts, champagne flute in hand and eyes shining under the lights.

“To Drew and Y/N,” she said, her voice soft but confident, “who make it look easy to love out loud. May your life together be as beautiful as this day—and may you never stop making each other laugh, even on the hard days.”

Everyone raised their glasses as a round of cheers followed. Drew kissed Y/N’s hand under the table.

Then Chase stood, loosening his tie and flashing that easy grin. “I just wanna say—Logan and Brooke? Best siblings-slash-hype team in the entire wedding game. MVPs of the year.” He lifted his glass toward them dramatically. “You two deserve a trophy.”

Brooke laughed as Logan gave a mock bow, toasting with his beer and grinning like he’d just won an Oscar.

“Also,” Chase added, glancing at Drew and Y/N with a fond smile, “I’ve never seen two people look more at home in each other. Seriously. You two were made to do life together.”

And then came the chaos—in the best way.

The DJ cranked up the music, and Rudy and JD, naturally, decided it was the perfect time for an impromptu dance battle. A circle formed fast, with hoots and hollers erupting as JD attempted a backspin and Rudy moonwalked with alarming confidence.

“Someone stop them,” Y/N said through a fit of laughter, clinging to Drew’s arm.

“No way,” he replied, deadpan. “This is history in the making.”

Austin, not to be outdone, marched over to the DJ and talked him into a full throwback set—90s and early 2000s hits that had everyone on their feet. Brooke grabbed Logan’s hand and dragged him onto the floor, while Madelyn kicked off her shoes and spun Y/N into the grass outside the tent.

They danced barefoot under the stars, skirts twirling, hands raised to the night sky like they were sixteen again. “You married a good one,” Madelyn said between breaths.

“I really did,” Y/N beamed, cheeks flushed, the kind of joy that spilled over and lit her up from the inside.

From across the yard, Drew watched her laugh with her friends, the moonlight catching the shimmer in her hair, the sound of her joy rising over the music.

“She’s in her element,” Logan said beside him, nodding toward the scene.

“She is my element,” Drew said, not looking away.

When Y/N finally made her way back to him, barefoot and glowing, he reached out like it was instinct and pulled her into his arms. Their bodies swayed to a slow song—something low and dreamy, the kind of song that made everything else fall away.

“You okay, pretty boy?” she asked, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“I’ve never been more okay in my life,” Drew said, his voice low, his fingers tracing the small of her back. “I’ve got you.”

They moved together as the world spun gently around them—like two stars caught in orbit, quiet and steady, wrapped up in something bigger than themselves.

Guests started to trickle toward the edge of the dance floor, watching the two of them with fondness as the night began to settle into its final chapter.

As the song faded, Drew pressed a kiss to her temple. “Let’s do forever just like this.”

Y/N tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her eyes full of stars. “Forever sounds perfect.”

And under the hush of warm lights and the Carolina night sky, they didn’t need confetti or fireworks—just each other.

And that was more than enough.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

an: y’all not gonna lie i’ve never been to a wedding so this is based what i’ve seen on movies and how i want my wedding to be

#drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x secret fiancee!reader #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey obx #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey #rafe cameron x oc #obx #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n

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chiara8104 · 13 days ago

Note

Helloo!

*cough cough*

Alright, ignore the fact that I have no patience but hear me out:

A vacation with Carlos Sainz somewhere in like Italy and there's like so much fluff and some trouble communicating with Italians and at the end of the day they joke about different funny interactions in their day, tease each other. In the mornings, Carlos likes to make fresh pancakes because he says that everyone loves pancakes and then they both sit down together, eating and Carlos is just sweetly flirting but nothing suggestive, just really gentle. They go for a morning walk even if Carlos says he just wants to lay down in bed all day because he's not the most morning person to exist. But he ultimately listens to his woman because he's a 'good boyfriend' as he says. And blah, blah, blah, I could yap about this for hours.

Really, you do not have to write anything if you don't wish to, it's understandable, just make sure you're doing well and staying hydrated!

Mwah, (still thinking about an anon name)

❤️❤️❤️❤️

cuddles and gelato - C55

———————————————————————————

a/n: heyyy im back. i’ve been in a slump recently, school has been so busy and i’ve genuinely had NO time to myself. anyway, i did well on physics test (A, your girl ateeee) and got into my schools choir and vocal jazz! anyway, this fic literally fuelled my passion for writing again. anyway don’t forget MY REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS OPEN! lowkey nobody has been sending in requests which is another reason for me not posting!

carlos sainz x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, fluff, a bit suggestive (if u squint), not proofread (im too lazy so ignore my typos) , horribly translated spanish and italian (don’t come for me)

———————————————————————————

The salty scent of the sea wafted through the open balcony doors, where the morning sun peeked into the room with a quiet persistence. A soft breeze fluttered the white curtains, and the faraway sound of waves lapping against the Amalfi cliffs was like nature’s lullaby turned morning anthem. You stirred under the linen sheets, still tangled in dreams, when the familiar scent of golden, sweet batter filled the air.

“Mi amor…” a low, slightly amused voice called from the doorway, dragging out the syllables in a sing-song tone. “Guess what time it is.”

You cracked one eye open to find Carlos standing there in pajama pants and a slightly-too-tight white t-shirt, a spatula in one hand and a mischievous smirk on his face.

“It’s way too early for your pancake campaign,” you groaned playfully, burying your face into the pillow.

Carlos chuckled, crossing the room in a few quick strides and sitting at the edge of the bed. “But everybody loves pancakes. Even you. Especially you. Don’t lie to me,” he said, poking your side gently.

You peeked at him again, this time grinning. “How do you have this much energy this early? You’re the one who whines about mornings every single day.”

He gasped with mock offense. “Whines? Me?” he pressed a hand to his chest. “I am simply… expressing my desire to stay in bed forever. With you, obviamente.”

You laughed, finally sitting up. The golden light painted Carlos in soft hues, highlighting the relaxed curls of his dark hair and the sparkle in his eyes that was reserved only for these quiet moments. “Alright, alright. You win. Pancakes first, then a walk.”

Carlos groaned, already anticipating your morning plans. “I knew you were going to say that. Can’t we just eat pancakes in bed and then… sleep again?”

You kissed his cheek. “Nope. You said you’re a ‘good boyfriend,’ remember? Good boyfriends go on morning walks.”

He narrowed his eyes, but his lips curved into a smile. “You are using my words against me. I feel betrayed.” Still, he offered you his hand. “Come on. The pancakes are going to get cold, and I made the blueberry kind you like.”

⸻

Breakfast was always your favorite. Not just because of the pancakes—which were, admittedly, always perfectly fluffy and golden—but because of the way Carlos looked at you while you ate. Like you were a secret only he knew. Like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” you asked through a mouthful of syrupy pancake.

“I’m admiring my masterpiece,” he said, smug.

“The pancakes?”

He leaned closer over the little round table on the terrace and tapped your nose with his finger. “No. You, tonta.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding your smile behind your glass of orange juice. “Smooth, Sainz. Very smooth.”

⸻

Later, after you’d successfully dragged him out for a walk through the cobblestone streets of Positano, the real adventure began.

First, there was the incident at the tiny bakery on the corner, where Carlos tried to order un cornetto alla crema but somehow asked for a “cream horn for his aunt” instead. The barista gave him a very concerned look, and you had to step in, half laughing, half apologizing in your own clumsy Italian.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” he grumbled, ears red, as you walked away with your pastries.

“I was enjoying the show,” you giggled. “Besides, I didn’t know you had an aunt who needed a cream horn.”

He glared at you playfully. “You’re never letting this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

Then there was the beach umbrella fiasco, where Carlos tried to help set it up but ended up knocking over an entire row of chairs and getting scolded by an older Italian man who spoke rapid-fire and pointed dramatically. Carlos just kept nodding, saying, “Sì, sì, scusi, signore,” while you tried not to cry from laughter.

“I swear, I’m usually good with dads,” Carlos mumbled once you were finally settled with your umbrella—upright this time.

“Maybe just not Italian dads.”

⸻

By sunset, you were both sun-kissed, tired, and full of gelato.

Back at the apartment, you curled up on the couch together, legs tangled, heads resting on shoulders. The orange-pink glow of the evening painted the sky outside like a watercolor.

Carlos shifted so he could look at you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You know… today was a disaster.”

You snorted. “A beautiful disaster.”

He laughed. “Seriously. I butchered the language, nearly took out a whole beach, and let you convince me to walk two miles before 10 a.m. I must really love you.”

You turned to him, eyes warm. “You do. But also, you’re a ‘good boyfriend,’ remember?”

Carlos groaned, throwing his head back. “You’re never letting that go either, are you?”

“Never,” you said, snuggling closer.

He kissed your forehead, his voice softer now. “Still the best vacation ever.”

⸻

The next morning…

Carlos made pancakes again. He always did. Even if he claimed to hate mornings, he never let you wake up without them. This time, he added lemon zest and ricotta to make them “extra Italian,” as he said, with a flourish.

You sat together at the same little table on the terrace, your feet on his lap, the world slow and quiet around you.

“You know,” he said between bites, “I was thinking. Maybe we should stay another week.”

You tilted your head. “Weren’t you just saying you couldn’t handle another day of my early walks and linguistic disasters?”

Carlos grinned. “True. But I think I could survive if it means more pancakes and watching you try to haggle over beach towels.”

You tossed a napkin at him. “Hey, I almost got us a deal.”

He caught it, laughing. “Almost. But the old lady definitely charged you more for calling her a ‘fiery sponge’ instead of a ‘bargaining queen.’”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning, while he leaned across the table to kiss your cheek.

“La mia ragazza… my brave, fearless, slightly confused tourist.”

———————————————————————————

a/n: lmk what u think!! don’t forget requests r always open 🫶

xoxo chia!

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theonottsbxtch · 5 months ago

Text

MY BIRTHDAY, MY LOVE | MV1

an: let me preface this by the fact that I AM STILL ON A BREAK!!! this is just something i promised to get written for our blog fav anon! happy birthday sweetheart, thank you for all your requests i hope you have a great day and get everything you wished for! this is short, but its my gift from me to you.

wc: 1.9k

THE MORNING SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the curtains, warm and golden against the white linen sheets. She stirred, reaching out instinctively for Max, only to be met with the cool expanse of an empty mattress. Her fingers lingered there for a moment, tracing the absence with a small sigh.

It wasn’t unusual. He kept odd hours—training, traveling, racing. The life of a Formula One driver wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five. She’d grown used to it over the years, though it never stopped the quiet ache of missing him when he wasn’t there. Still, today was her birthday, and a part of her had hoped to wake up to his sleepy smile, his whispered “Happy birthday” against her hair.

Instead, the house was silent, save for the faint hum of the wind outside. She glanced at the clock: 6:13 a.m. Too early to expect much, even for him. He was probably at the gym or out running laps around the back roads.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she stood and stretched, brushing off the hint of disappointment. She had plans anyway—dressage always helped to clear her mind. A birthday ride through the fields, the crisp winter air biting against her cheeks, was just what she needed to set the day off right.

She pulled on her breeches and boots, tying her hair back into a loose braid. Out at the ranch, the horses would already be awake, tails flicking in anticipation of breakfast. The thought made her smile as she grabbed an apple from the kitchen on her way out.

The crisp morning air hit her cheeks as she stepped into the yard, boots crunching softly against the gravel. Everything was calm, the only sound the occasional whicker of a horse from the stables. But as she approached the barn, something caught her eye: movement.

“Hello?” she called out, confused. It wasn’t like her staff to be here this early without telling her. She stepped inside, blinking against the dim light.

And there he was.

Her heart stalled. Max stood in the center of the stable aisle, dressed in jeans and an old sweater, looking adorably out of place. His light hair was slightly messy, as if he hadn’t slept much, and in his hands, he held a cake—lopsided, candles crooked, but undeniably homemade.

“Happy birthday,” he said, his voice soft but filled with warmth.

She gaped at him, her gaze darting between the cake, the awkward way he shifted on his feet, and the shy smile tugging at his lips.

“I, uh... I thought we could spend the day together,” he continued, glancing around at the horses. “Maybe you could teach me how to ride?”

Her breath caught. No one had ever taken her passion seriously before, not really. It had always been her thing—something separate from the fast-paced, high-octane world he lived in. And yet, here he was, asking to share it with her, standing in her world like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t just a gesture. It was everything.

For a moment, she couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t string together the right words to match the whirlwind of emotions swirling in her chest. Instead, she took a slow step forward, her eyes never leaving his.

“You... want me to teach you?” she finally managed, her voice soft, almost disbelieving.

Max nodded, his smile turning sheepish. “I know it’s not really my thing, but it’s yours. And, well... you put up with my world all the time. I figured it’s about time I tried stepping into yours.”

She felt her heart clench, a mixture of affection and disbelief washing over her. This was the man who navigated the sharpest turns at breakneck speeds, who thrived under the pressure of roaring crowds and flashing cameras. Yet here he was, standing in her stable, with no clue how to handle a horse but every intention of trying.

“Besides,” he added with a wink, “I’m told I’m a quick learner.”

Her lips twitched into a smile despite herself. “We’ll see about that.”

Setting the cake aside carefully on a hay bale, she turned back to him and folded her arms. “Alright, let’s start with the basics. Do you even know which end of the horse is which?”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and she couldn’t help but join in.

“Hey, I’m not that clueless,” Max protested, though his glance toward the stalls betrayed a flicker of doubt. “That one’s the... front, right?”

She shook her head, amused, and led him toward her favorite horse, a sleek bay mare named Willow. As they approached, the horse stretched her neck over the stall door, ears flicking curiously toward him.

“This is Willow,” she said, reaching up to stroke the mare’s nose. “She’s gentle and patient—exactly what you need.”

He reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering mid-air. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“She’ll like you,” she said firmly, guiding his hand to rest against Willow’s nose. “Horses can sense people. Just be calm and steady, and she’ll trust you.”

He nodded, his expression serious as he let Willow sniff his hand. When the mare nudged him gently, his face lit up with boyish delight, and she couldn’t suppress her grin.

“See? You’re a natural.”

“Or she’s just being polite,” Max quipped, but there was warmth in his voice as he scratched behind Willow’s ears.

Over the next hour, she guided him through the basics. From leading Willow out of her stall to saddling her, he fumbled with the stirrups and asked a million questions, but his enthusiasm never wavered. She found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, his clumsy attempts and earnest determination filling the barn with a lightness she hadn’t realized she needed.

Finally, it was time to ride. She helped him mount, suppressing a giggle as he wobbled awkwardly in the saddle.

“This feels... weird,” he said, gripping the reins a little too tightly.

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured him, adjusting his posture. “Now, remember what I said—light pressure with your legs, and keep the reins steady. Willow will do the rest.”

He took a deep breath, nodding. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

As Willow began to move in a slow, steady walk, he let out a surprised laugh.

“I’m doing it!”

“You’re doing it,” she echoed, her heart swelling as she watched him. He looked ridiculous—too tall, too tense—but also completely and utterly endearing.

For the first time in a long time, she felt like they weren’t just navigating two separate worlds, trying to make them fit. In this moment, they were here together, in hers, and it felt like magic.

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the barnyard in shades of orange and gold, they were both worn out but blissfully happy. He had survived his first riding lesson with only a couple of near tumbles, and she had laughed more in one afternoon than she had in months.

“You’re officially better at this than I expected,” she teased as they walked hand in hand back to the house, their boots crunching softly against the gravel.

“Well, I had a great teacher,” he said, leaning down to kiss her temple. “Although I think Willow deserves some of the credit for not throwing me off.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll let her know you’re grateful.”

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, they headed out for dinner at her favorite little countryside restaurant. The cosy atmosphere, filled with the hum of soft conversation and the scent of freshly baked bread, felt like the perfect end to the day. He held her hand across the table, his thumb brushing lazy circles against her skin as they shared stories, memories, and plans for the future.

When they stepped outside, the air was crisp, the stars glittering in the clear night sky. She tilted her head back, taking a deep breath of the cool air, when Max nudged her gently.

“Walk home with me?” he asked, his eyes warm and soft in the moonlight.

“Of course,” she said, lacing her fingers with his.

They strolled down the quiet country road, their laughter blending with the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. It felt peaceful, perfect—just the two of them, away from the chaos of schedules and flashing cameras.

But then he slowed, his expression shifting from playful to serious. “Hey,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “I’ve got one more surprise for you. Do you trust me?”

She raised a brow but nodded. “Always.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys, dangling them with a little jingle. “Let’s go for a drive.”

Intrigued, she followed him to his sleek black car. As they sped down the empty road, the hum of the engine a low and soothing backdrop, she stole glances at him, trying to read the subtle curve of his smile.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” he said cryptically, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

After about twenty minutes, Max turned onto a smaller, winding lane, flanked by towering trees that cast shadows across the headlights. When the car finally came to a stop, she glanced out the window, her breath catching.

They were parked in front of a stunning patch of land, framed by rolling hills and dotted with wildflowers that swayed gently in the breeze. At the center of it all stood a newly built stable, its wooden beams glowing softly under the moonlight.

“Wow,” she murmured, stepping out of the car and taking in the scene. “Whoever owns this must really love their horses.”

He walked up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist. “Yeah, she does.”

Her brow furrowed, and she turned to look at him. “You’ve met her?”

His expression softened, and without a word, Max reached into his pocket again and pulled out a small set of keys. He held them up, the faint clink of metal echoing in the quiet.

“She’s standing right in front of me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

She froze, the words sinking in as she looked back at the stable, then at him, then back again.

“You... you bought this for me?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He nodded, his own eyes shining. “It’s yours. The land, the stable, everything. I know how much this means to you, how much you’ve dreamed of having a place like this to call your own. I wanted to make it happen.”

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she let out a choked laugh of disbelief. “You’re insane,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning, “but it’s worth it to see you like this.”

She didn’t say another word. Instead, she threw her arms around him, jumping up so he had to catch her, his laughter muffled against her shoulder as she buried her face in his neck.

“I can’t believe you did this,” she murmured through her tears.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Happy birthday, love.”

She kissed him then, pouring every ounce of gratitude, love, and joy into the moment. When they finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his, a tearful smile still playing on her lips.

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” she said softly.

“And it’s only the beginning,” he promised.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year ago

Text

Honey Girl. Chapter Eight.

chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five. chapter six. chapter seven. chapter nine. chapter ten. series masterlist. the playlist.

Chapter Synopsis - Turns out, you’re not the only ones with a secret.

Pairing - Dadsbestfriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Warnings - cursing. mentions of hospitals/medical settings.

Word Count - 5k

Authors Note - I promise that the reveal was supposed to be in this part!! but I hit 5k words real quick and thought rather than rush it, I’d give it its full own chapter. guess what’s coming next ;). as always, thank you for your love and support and patience and encouragement and kindness. don’t know where I’d be without it <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

The sun beams through the white linen curtains, salty ocean breeze drifting through the open window. The rays warm your skin as you kick off the sheets, stretching your arms above your head. You turn over, to find the space next to you empty.

Rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes, you yawn, inhaling the scent of breakfast. Throwing on Bucky’s soft blue button up, you pad out to the kitchen to find him at your stovetop, shirtless and sun kissed.

“I’m getting the full girlfriend experience, huh?”

He grins at the sound of your voice, entire body lighting up with it.

“Girlfriend,” he laughs. “This is the soulmate experience, baby. It’s even better.”

You shake your head, but you can’t fight the smile that etches itself on your face. He looks so at home here, so comfortable. He reaches up to grab a plate from your cupboard, and you feel the sudden urge to burst into tears.

He knows where everything is.

He’s learnt his way around the kitchen just like he’s learnt his way around your heart. Your soul. Your very existence.

“You okay?”

He turns off the burner and glides over to you, warm hands finding your hips like it’s second nature.

“What’s wrong? You like pancakes,” he teases, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead tenderly. “Oh no. Did you want waffles?”

You shake your head, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I’m fine,” you say, but your voice cracks instantly.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

He says it so gently, so carefully. You feel like a precious flower, something to be taken care of, cherished, loved. No one has ever made you feel like this.

“I just realised you… fit, here. Like you were always supposed to. I can’t really remember what this apartment was like before it had you in it too.”

Bucky cradles your face in his hands, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Wherever you are. That’s where my home is.”

You surge forwards to press your lips to his, alive and buzzing with the electricity of being loved so wholly. He reciprocates instantly, wrapping his arms around your back to pull you closer, so you’re chest to chest.

“Your pancakes are going to burn,” you mumble, forehead resting on his.

“Let them.”

“No, don’t let them. I’m not calling the fire department today.”

He laughs, kissing you again chastely before returning to his original position. He plates up your breakfast - pancakes, fruit, granola and yoghurt, with fresh coffee in your favourite mug.

“I could get used to this.”

“And you will,” he flirts, kissing the crown of your head. “Every day for the rest of your life, baby. You’re gonna have to wake up to my face forever.”

You pretend to shudder, laughing when he pinches your side.

“Come on, trouble. Let’s eat breakfast on the balcony and pretend we’re on a tropical vacation somewhere.”

“Sounds perfect.”

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

“We’re really doing this.”

You look up at Bucky, the heavy weight of his arm around your shoulders acting as a grounding agent. Your plates are discarded on the table, cleared and finished, the two of you curled up in your loveseat. The sun is getting warmer, and it’s bringing out Bucky’s freckles, all boyish and glowy.

“We don’t have a choice.”

“Honey girl, there’s always a choice.”

“Not this time,” you sigh, shifting so you can face him properly. “I wanted to do this on our terms, and now I feel like I’ve been forced into it. It isn’t fair.”

“We can wait,” Bucky reassures, confident and understanding. “We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”

“I am ready. I have been for a while. It just sucks that it feels like I’ve been pushed in a certain direction, you know?”

“I know,” he soothes, work rough fingertips tracing patterns on your bare legs. “But like you said, we were going to do it anyway. This is still our choice. These are still our terms.”

You press your lips onto his cheek, chuckling when his stubble tickles your skin. He retaliates by attacking you with kisses, planting them all over your face, wherever he can reach. You squeal, hands flying out to his bare chest to try and stop him.

“Your neighbours are going to think there’s a murder happening,” Bucky laughs, fingers sliding up your shirt to rest on your ribs.

“Oh no, they love you too much for that.”

He quirks his eyebrows in surprise.

“They do?”

“The lady that lives next door, Mrs Daniels - she’s like ninety, has that white cat you always see?”

Bucky nods in recognition, so you continue.

“She talks about how handsome you are every time I see her. Always asks when the ‘man that looks like a movie star’ is coming over next.”

He laughs, shaking his head as you tease him.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious! She probably watches you come and go from her balcony. She’s gonna love it in the summer, when you turn up in your short shorts with no shirt on.”

Bucky chuckles, pulling you into him and leaning his head on top of yours.

“Don’t be jealous, baby. You’re the only one for me.”

“I better be,” you chide jokingly, pinching his thigh in warning.

“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

There’s no humour, anymore. Just love. So much love.

“I’m here now,” you whisper. “And I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

Bucky leans in to press a kiss to your lips, gentle and filled with a lifetimes worth of promise.

“I love you, honey baby.”

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

You let the morning sun slip over you like silk sheets, warm and smooth and completely luxurious. Bucky’s steady breathing grounds you slowly as peace and contentment settle into your bones, weighted and calming. No matter what happens today, you know one thing for certain - you have the security of Bucky’s love to fall back on.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You’ve been sat in Bucky’s truck for twenty five minutes.

It’s parked down the block from your parent’s house, just out of the way. You were pulling in to their street when you panicked, begging Bucky to stop the car so you could breathe for a second.

“Sweet girl, we’ll be fine.”

“I know. I know,” you exhale. Inhale again. “Why is this so hard?”

“Because we’ve been thinking about this moment ever since that first night.”

“It’s almost been a year.”

That seems to stop Bucky in his tracks for a second.

“It… it doesn’t feel that long. Feels like yesterday. But also, somehow, like I’ve loved you my whole life.”

You lean over the console to kiss him softly, trying to ignore the hummingbird fluttering of your heart in your chest.

“Honey, I can feel your anxiety, remember? If you don’t calm down a little, we’ll both collapse.”

“Sorry,” you laugh, taking a deep breath. “Sorry.”

Bucky intertwines his fingers with yours, thumb running over the backs of your knuckles. Soothing, like a field of lavender gently blowing in the breeze on the first day of spring.

“We have to do it sometime.”

“I know,” you nod, squeezing his hand once, twice, three times before pulling away and fixing your hair in the tiny mirror. “Let’s do this. Now or never.”

You pull up outside your childhood home, instantly relaxing a little at the sight of the colourful drapes and flowers in the windows.

“Shit, Buck. We haven’t even planned what we’re gonna say.”

“We don’t need to. Just speak from your heart, baby. I’ll follow your lead.”

When you walk up the driveway, you know there’s no turning back. You also know that the weight on your shoulders will feel a hell of a lot less heavy when you leave. It’s a double edged sword, but you’re ready to wield it, with love as your armour and Bucky as your shield.

You stand a foot apart and ring the doorbell, bouncing nervously on the soles of your feet.

“Hi, sweetheart. Oh - hey, Buck.”

“Hi, Mama.”

“Hi, Lori.”

“Didn’t expect to see you both today.”

You go to speak, but she continues quickly.

“I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk to you both about something. Come in, come in.”

You look at Bucky, realising suddenly that your chest is filled with a foreign anxiety. It’s his.

You squeeze his hand chastely as you walk past him to enter the house, kicking off your shoes in the hallway.

There’s something in the atmosphere when you walk into the living room. The sun is still shining, everything is in its rightful place… but it feels wrong. You know Bucky feels it too, judging by the way his muscles tense next to you.

“Is everything alright, Mama?”

You hate the way your voice sounds like a child’s, small and naive. Your Dad is sat on the couch waiting, always happy to see you. You press a kiss to his cheek before taking a seat across from him, Bucky sitting next to you. Your Mom joins your Dad, both of them looking at you with too much compassion for a normal day.

“What are you two doing here?” your Dad asks, voice still full of light.

Something inside of you is telling you to abort mission, postpone until further notice. You listen to it, wondering for a second if somehow you and Bucky can send messages to each other telepathically all of a sudden.

“Mama said you needed to talk to me. To us.”

He looks taken aback, only for a second. Something like sadness flashes in his eyes before he paints that familiar smile right back on his face.

“Yeah, we do. You sure you don’t wanna tell us why you’re here, first?”

“It can wait,” you reassure, catching Bucky’s minute nod from the corner of your eye.

“Okay,” your Mom begins. “First of all, I need to tell you not to panic, okay? It’s going to seem super scary, but it isn’t.”

Bucky slides closer to you by a millimetre, but you feel it like it’s a mile.

“I don’t really know how to tell you this, honey, so we’ll just start from the beginning. Jack?”

Your Dad nods before taking over the storytelling.

“It all started last year. I was doing some work in the backyard. One minute I was mowing the lawn, the next I was lying on the ground.”

All of the colour drains from your cheeks, and Bucky slides ever so slightly closer again.

“We thought maybe it was heat stroke, or dehydration. No cause for concern, and nothing your Mom’s iced tea couldn’t fix.”

She takes his hand in hers, both of them with their eyes fixed on you.

“But then it happened again. In the shower, this time. I didn’t hit my head, luckily, but I did whack my shoulder against the tiles, which hurt like hell.”

He laughs, and so does your Mom, but you’re not sure what’s funny. Anxiety is rolling off you in waves so strong, Bucky’s worried he might pass out.

Your Mom takes back the reigns, continuing.

“I was insistent that he saw a doctor, which he was reluctant about. Luckily, he agreed, finally,” she gives him a look, “and we got referred to a specialist.”

“What kind of specialist?” you choke out. It feels like someone is sitting on your chest, constricting your lungs with every passing minute.

“A cardiologist.”

It seems to be that word that unravels everything for you. All you can think is cardiologist heart attack cardiologist surgery cardiologist. Serious. Serious. Serious.

“Sweetheart?”

You grab Bucky’s hand, praying that the familiar touch will ground you back down to Earth. When it doesn’t, you feel like you’re falling, down and down and down with no end in sight.

“Honey, it’s okay. Hey, listen to me. You’re okay.”

Your Mom sits down on the other side of you as your Dad kneels down, forcing you to look at him.

“Sweetheart, don’t panic, okay? Everything’s going to be fine. I know it’s scary, but I’m okay.”

“For now,” you whisper, limp in your throat forming.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and I know it’s probably not what you were expecting us to say. We thought we’d wait until we had answers to tell you… but it’s taking longer than expected. Which is why we’re telling you now. We don’t want you to feel like you’re in the dark.”

Bucky’s running his thumb over the lines on your palm, reassuring and steady. He knows exactly how to comfort you, like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders. If you listen carefully enough, you can hear the drumming beat of his heart. You tune into it, letting the familiar rhythm calm you down.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I’m being dramatic.”

“You’re not being dramatic,” your Mom responds, squeezing her hand over your knee. “It’s overwhelming. And we’ve just… thrown it at you, with no warning. It’s a lot to take in.”

You’re anxious and scared and completely lost. You’re also safe and home and completely surrounded by love from all sides.

“I’m okay,” you nod, taking a deep breath.

Your parents return to their couch across from you, but Bucky’s hand doesn’t let go of yours. If they think it’s strange, they don’t say anything. You have a feeling they’re a little preoccupied.

“Now what?”

“Your Dad is still undergoing tests to get to the root of the issue. Whatever they find, we know we’ll all be okay.”

“Your Mom’s right. I have an appointment this afternoon for an EKG. They’re trying to rule things out slowly. We’ll get to the bottom of it, sweetheart.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, suddenly realising you’ve accidentally made this about you.

“I’m fine,” he laughs. “Seriously. I know it’s scary, but I feel good in myself for the most part. The most annoying thing is that I can’t predict it - it just happens. Very inconvenient, if you ask me.”

Your parents laugh, and this time, you try to chuckle with them.

“You’ll keep us updated, won’t you?”

Bucky’s voice surprises you, somehow. His fingers are still intertwined with yours, but you’ve been so focused on your Dad, you almost forgot he was there.

“Of course, Buck.”

“And if you ever need a ride to an appointment or anything, all you gotta do is ask, alright?”

“You offering to take me on your motorcycle?”

“Sure,” Bucky laughs.

“Absolutely not,” your Mom says at the same time.

You chuckle for real, now. This feels like normality - the four of you, joking around. You have to remind yourself, sometimes, that Bucky knew your Dad before he ever knew you. You were away at culinary school when they met, but you were told stories instantly about this new guy in town who bought the old Garage and drives a cool truck. Your Mom, of course, didn’t fail to mention his big blue eyes and chocolate brown hair, or the way his shirt hugged his biceps. You thought she was exaggerating, when she said he was handsome.

Oh, how wrong you were.

You’re one hundred percent sure you’ve never met a more beautiful person. Maybe it’s your Tethering talking. Maybe it isn’t. You’re not unaware of the way people look at Bucky - he’s got this old school movie star thing going on, and people seem to eat it up. You get it. You get it more than anyone.

But it isn’t his pretty face that makes your heart skip a beat. It’s just him. Him, with his contagious smile and healing laugh and observant eyes. Him, with his confident demeanour but gentle touch, his mind reading abilities, his talent for making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. He’s a rarity, Bucky Barnes. A diamond in the rough. You remind yourself everyday how lucky you are.

He knocks his knee into yours, pulling you out of your daydream. He gives you a look that asks are you okay? to which you nod subtly in reply. A conversation, somehow both silent and loud.

“As much as I’d love to stay here all day, we should get ready to go. My appointment is soon.”

Your Dad strides over to you, wrapping you in his arms. You instantly feel like a little girl again, safe and protected no matter what. You bury your face into his chest a little more, inhaling the familiar scent of your home.

“Everything’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers into your hair. “Promise.”

You nod against him, tightening your arms ever so slightly. He gives you a squeeze, letting you know he got the message.

As you’re putting your shoes on in the hallway, you can hear your Dad and Bucky chatting away about the baseball game from the previous night, routine easily resumed. Your Mom brushes your hair back from your face, looking at you carefully.

“I almost forgot why you came here in the first place, babygirl. What’s up? What did you want to tell us?”

Your heart skips a beat and Bucky feels it, glancing over to you with concern in his ocean blue eyes.

“It’s okay, Mama. It can wait.”

She raises her eyebrows in scepticism.

“Promise,” you reassure. “Another day.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but lets it go anyway, pressing a kiss to your cheek gently.

“We’ll call you after his appointment and let you know what they say. We love you. So much.”

You hug her fiercely, realising that you don’t do it often enough.

“Love you guys. More than anything.”

Bucky gives you a nod that tells you he’s ready to go, both of you leaving a little different than you entered.

“Call us as soon as you get out of that room, okay?”

“We will, Buck,” your Dad laughs, mock saluting his best friend.

Bucky chuckles, falling into step next to you as you walk down the driveway. You make your way down the street, out of your parents view, before your knees give out. He manages to catch you just in time, strong arms wrapped around your middle. You both sit on the kerbside, Bucky rubbing soft patterns into your back through your shirt.

“Baby, hey. You okay? Talk to me.”

You take a deep breath, looking at him with watery eyes.

“What if it’s bad, Buck?” you whisper. “I can’t do this without him. He’s the best Dad in the world.”

Bucky pulls you closer, fitting you into his side perfectly. Two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, made for each other.

“They don’t lie to you, honey. They’d tell you if it was really serious. All you can do is wait, and hope everything will be okay. Which it will.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, letting his warmth calm you down.

“My Mama knows something.”

“Like what?”

“About us. She didn’t say anything, but I could see it on her face. She didn’t push it any further, but she was definitely suspicious.”

“We’ll tell her soon. Give it a little more time.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his bicep tightly. He presses a kiss into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo as he does it.

“Let’s go home, hmm? We can sit in the sun for a while, chop up that pineapple we bought yesterday.”

“Sounds perfect,” you whisper, looking up at him.

The afternoon hits his face just right, all warm yellow light and soft angles on his cheeks. The intermittent salty breeze ruffles his hair, all fluffy and sea swept. He looks like an ancient statue, a work of art from the renaissance, a museum piece. The sun could burn out tomorrow, but you’ll have a life source forever. Your Soulmate.

Bucky takes your hands in his and helps you to your feet, heavy arm slung over your shoulders as you walk back to the truck.

Your light in the dark. Your water in the desert. You’ve never been more grateful for him.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

“Close your eyes.”

Bucky’s driving you home, the sound of the ocean waves hitting the shore a replacement for the radio.

“What?”

“Close your eyes, sugar. I want to show you something.”

“How are you gonna show me if my eyes are shut?”

He chuckles, pinching your thigh.

“Just shut up and close your eyes.”

You smile gently before doing as he says, covering your face with your hands for good measure.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll like it, I promise.”

You relax back into the seat, allowing the breeze from the open window to whip through your hair. Eventually you come to a stop, Bucky clicking off your seatbelt for you.

“Keep ‘em closed.”

Bucky sprints around to the passenger side, swinging open the door and wrapping his arms around you. He practically carries you out of the car, ensuring you don’t trip while you have no vision. He plants you on two feet, making sure you’re steady before he lets go of you.

“Okay. Open your eyes.”

You blink slowly, adjusting to the brightness of the afternoon.

You’re in the middle of nowhere. The two of you are stood on a huge, grassy plot of land, overlooking a small cove of the beach. You’re tucked completely out of the way, not a neighbour to be seen. All you can hear is the ocean, the birds, and the sound of your thumping heartbeat.

“Where are we, Buck? It’s pretty.”

He takes your hand, looking out towards the water.

“This is gonna be our house.”

Your head whips around in shock, confusion written all over your face.

“What?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears it, clear as day.

“I bought this land years ago, when I moved to town. I always knew I wanted to build a place of my own, but I could never get the plans off the ground. Something didn’t feel right. And then our Tethering happened…”

He squeezes your hand tightly, pulling you into his side.

“And everything fell into place. I was waiting for the right moment to show you, and it feels like you needed it today.”

You can’t speak. You’re completely lost for words, looking out at the perfect view. Turning to him, you throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of it and inhaling.

“Thank you,” you murmur into his skin. “It’s so perfect. You’re so perfect.”

“I’m so lucky,” he chuckles. “My God, you were worth the wait. I’d wait another ten lifetimes if I meant I got to love you again for one of them.”

You’re glad he’s holding onto you, or you’re convinced your legs would give out. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, savouring the spearmint on his tongue.

“I love you,” you pray into his mouth. “I love you so much I can barely breathe.”

He kisses you back, harder, determined to show you exactly how he feels about you. Your fingers tangle into his hair, making him groan as you tug. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping harshly as he pulls you into his front. He wants every inch of you pressed together.

When you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You can have anything you want, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“With the house. I know we talked about it that night, at dinner in California. But if you think of anything else you’d like, all you gotta do is tell me.”

“One storey or two?”

“I was always thinking two.”

“Then I’d like a balcony, on the master bedroom. I love mine back at my apartment, especially in the summer.”

“Done,” he confirms, pecking your lips again.

“And a porch,” you whisper. “That we can sit on and watch the waves, when we’re old and grey.”

“I’ll be grey a lot sooner than you,” he jokes.

“You’re a lot more relaxed than me,” you laugh. “So I doubt that, actually.”

You rest your head on his warm chest, both of you swaying to the song of the ocean.

“We’ve got plenty of time, Buck.”

“All the time in the world, honey girl.”

The two of you stay wrapped in each other for a little while longer, enjoying the company of the one person you were destined for.

You can’t remember why you were ever so against soulmates. Loving Bucky is the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon curled up on the balcony, letting the sun warm you from the outside in.

“Pineapple will always remind me of those margaritas,” Bucky smiles, throwing a piece into his mouth. “Our first date.”

“And last, apparently,” you laugh. “We haven’t been on one since.”

“I mean, we sort of date everyday, right?”

“Yeah, I guess we do. After we’ve told my parents, we don’t have to worry anymore. We can go out whenever we want, whenever we want.”

“Exactly,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you tenderly. “Not long now.”

The sound of your phone ringing startles you both, your hand flying out to find it in the cushions of the loveseat.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank God. I half thought you were dead.”

“Not dead, Lacie. Just busy.”

She laughs, and you realise suddenly how much you’ve missed that sound.

“You’re back in town, right?”

“Yeah, just for a few more days. Then I’m gonna go back to Cali and pack up my stuff for good.”

“Perfect! Me and you are doing dinner tomorrow night. I want you to meet Cameron.”

“Really? Finally! I’m so excited, Lace. Your place, or are we going out?”

“Come to mine. Cam is the best cook, seriously. I’ve gotta run, we’re picking out a couch today. A couch, babe! Can you believe it?”

“Happy couch shopping, you two,” you laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you, bestie! Bye!”

You can’t help but smile when you hang up the phone.

“She’s gonna love having you back home again, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah. I can’t wait to see her more. I know she’s been so busy with her soulmate and me with work and with you, but I miss her like crazy. We text all the time, but it isn’t the same.”

“She knows about us, right?”

“Yeah,” you giggle. “She was the first person I told.”

“Thought so,” he laughs, pulling you back into his side. “Knew you wouldn’t be able to keep it from her for long.”

“She can practically read my mind. It was easier to avoid the truth over the phone, but the minute I saw her in person, I crumbled. She gives me this look, and I’m done for.”

Bucky chuckles fondly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I can’t wait to get to know her properly.”

“Oh, she’s gonna love you.”

“I hope so.”

“She will, trust me. She used to talk about how hot you were all the time. Pre-Cameron, of course.”

“I’m glad you’re finally getting to meet him.”

“Me too. I feel guilty, you know. It was the biggest moment of her life, and all of a sudden I’m up and leaving across the country, barely keeping in touch through scattered text messages. I was so wrapped up in you and in work, that I wasn’t there for her like I should have been.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand if you say this to her, honey baby. You have to remember that her Tethering was a lot less complicated than ours. They just got on with things, as easy as can be.”

“I guess you’re right,” you murmur into his chest. “I’ll tell her all of this when I see her tomorrow.”

He wraps both arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer. You relax instantly, the warmth of his skin and familiarity of his touch soothing you like melted honey.

Your phone rings again.

“I bet it’s Lacie moving the plans around,” you chuckle. “She always underestimates how long it takes her to get everything ready.”

You find your phone from under the cushion and answer it.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Mama?”

“Where are you?”

The sun disappears behind a cloud, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m at home.”

“I need you to go and get Bucky, and come to the hospital.”

Your heart stops in your chest, and Bucky has to breathe for the both of you.

“Why?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

“I’ll explain when you get here, but it’s more serious than we thought.”

She sounds scared, which in turn terrifies you. She’s the bravest person you know, your Mom. If she’s afraid, you know it’s bad.

“Okay,” you choke out. “I’m leaving right now. I, uh, I’ll get Bucky, and - do you need anything? Does Dad? I can bring whatever… whatever you need, what do you need?”

“Nothing, baby girl. Just you guys, for now, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah, okay. I, uh, I- I- I’ll leave right now. Where is he?”

“Follow the signs for Cardiology when you get here. Room 4.”

“He’s in a room? In a bed? Mama, please. What’s happening?”

You’ve never heard your voice sound so weak. You’re kicking yourself internally - you have to be strong for her. You need to be.

“Baby, just get here as soon as you can, okay? Get Bucky to drive. I love you.”

“I love you too. So much.”

You try to hang up the phone, but your hands are shaking so much that you’re unable to press the red button. Bucky does it for you, intertwining your fingers with his.

He pulls you to your feet, smoothing your hair back from your face.

“It’s all going to be okay, honey. Put your shoes on and grab your purse. I’ll get my keys.”

He kisses your forehead gently, letting his lips linger for a second before pulling you inside and shutting the balcony door.

He doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time, even as you drive to the hospital.

You feel like you’re drowning. Repeatedly slipping beneath the surface of the water, lungs heaving, desperate to stay afloat.

Bucky feels it, too. All he can do is hold your hand and hope for the best.

All he can do is hold your hand and hope for the best.

tag list part one

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the-fiction-witch · 3 months ago

Text

As Do I P4

Media - EPIC The Musical Saga Character - Prince Telemachus Of Ithaca Couple - Telemachus X Reader Reader - Princess Y/n of Zakynthos Rating - 12 Word Count - 986

Tags - (If you would like to be tagged in this series do just let me know) @sunshinewhosketches

Telemachus Art - Gigi

Telemachus sat in his cosy bed as the velvety darkness of evening enveloped the room, the soft glow of the flickering fire casting playful shadows on the walls. The gentle breeze drifted through the windows, rustling the light, gauzy curtains, almost as if nature itself was trying to soothe him. The rhythmic sounds of the sea, with the distant waves lapping against the shore,

With his back comfortably resting against the headboard, he found his gaze wandering to the intricately patterned ceiling above him. Despite the setting's tranquillity, his thoughts were tumultuously fixated on Y/n. The ache of her absence tugged at his heart, an overwhelming longing that made him yearn for her warmth. He envisioned her wrapped safely in his arms, the two of them cocooned together in a bubble of joy. He longed to feel her soft hair slipping through his fingers, dreaming of intertwining their bodies beneath the gentle flicker of the firelight as they drifted into a peaceful slumber, together.

But he perked up as his door slowly creaked open, without even thinking he grabbed his sword’s hilt from the side of his bed.

“Telemachus?” Y/n whispered,

She peeked inside sheepishly, her lavender nightgown cascading to the floor like a whisper of soft fabric, the rich hue catching the dim light of the room. A delicate white shawl draped around her shoulders, intricately woven with floral patterns. Her hair flowed freely down her back in loose, shimmering waves, framing her face and not hiding her eye.

“Y/n!” He sat up excitedly, “what are you doing here, darling?” he asked, making sure to keep himself concealed by the sheets.

“I can’t sleep.” she whimpers,”

“Awwww, me either.” he cooed, “Maybe we can keep each other comfortable,”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all, my darling,” he smiled, “Come on, you’re more than welcome to my sweet future wife.” He patted his bed suggestively,

She smiled softly, a delicate flush rising to her cheeks as she gently closed the door behind her. The quiet click of the latch echoed in the stillness of the room. With a shy grace, she approached the bed, the fabric of her nightgown whispering against her skin. Once she reached the edge, she pulled the hem of her gown to her knees, revealing a glimpse of smooth, fair skin. Slowly, she crawled onto the bed, each movement deliberate and graceful, and settled onto the unused half, the mattress yielding softly beneath her.

Telemachus contentedly fluffed his plush pillow, the soft fabric yielding to his touch, and pulled the crisp, cool sheets snugly around him. He settled onto his side, his face turned towards her, a gentle smile playing on his lips. The comforting scent of freshly laundered linens enveloped him, adding to the serene atmosphere of the evening. “Hi,”

“Hi,” She blushed,

“You feel comfy?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, “You’re bed’s very soft,”

“Yeah, I like a soft bed,” he smiled, “Isn’t your bed soft?”

“Not really, I only have a little bed in a room with my brother.”

“Oh?” He gasped, “I can get you your own room if you’d like?”

“No, it’s alright he will just come stay in my room anyway,”

He nodded, “Well, you’re always welcome to come cuddle in my bed,”

“I can?”

“Of course, you can,” He smiled, “Come here,” he smiled pouting his lips,

She giggled and closed the gap between them, and pressed her lips to his.

He happily kissed back and wrapped his arms softly around her waist as they shared soft and tender kisses. When they pulled back he smiled smugly and dreamy-eyed. “How about you come here?” he cooed tapping his chest suggestively,

“Really?” She blushed,

“Yeah, come on, come here.” He smiled,

Without even hesitating Y/n came closer and laid her head on Telemachus’ chest. Her cheek against his peck, her hand against his stomach. Telemachus happily rested his cheek against her head, one hand wrapped around her and set his hand softly on the soft fabric of her nightgown on her waist. While the other settled into her hair and stroked softly through her hair. He sighed happily as he felt so warm and content with her in his arms.

“This is perfect,”

“Mhm,” she agreed,

“I feel so much better when you’re in my arms,” He smiled, “So perfect, so utterly whole.”

“As do I.” She sighed happily, “Like I’m home.”

“Home.” He nodded, “You are my soul’s home, Y/n.”

She nodded, “And you are mine Telemachus.” she smiled,

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Y/n?” He whispered,

“Ummm?” she hummed,

“I want you to meet my mother, the queen.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do,” He smiled, “I want to marry you, I want you to be my wife and queen. So you should meet my mother.”

“I’d be delighted, Telemachus.”

“Perfect,” He cooed kissing her forehead again,

The two nestled together on the bed, wrapped in soft, warm sheets. They chatted easily, their voices a gentle murmur that filled the cozy room, as the glow from the fireplace flickered around them. They exchanged thoughts about the little things—plans for the meeting tomorrow, whimsical ideas for their wedding day, and dreams of a future filled with laughter and love. Each topic flowed seamlessly into the next, sparking joyful laughter and light-hearted debates. As the night wore on, they shared their hopes for a house filled with family and love. The hours slipped away unnoticed until, finally, exhaustion settled in. With their hearts full and spirits high, they succumbed to a peaceful slumber, enveloped in each other's arms.

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frudoo · 5 months ago

Text

Bells Ring (6)

Title: She's My Baby

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT. Handjob.

John does not sleep much. Every time he nods off, the reminder that you are in his arms renders him conscious once again, and he watches you intently just to make sure you’re still alright. Moonlight barely glows through the cracks in your curtains but it’s enough to display your features to him, peaceful and reassuring. Beautiful. Enchanting.

Perhaps sleep evades him because his body is expecting something more. Why wouldn’t it, when there’s a gorgeous thing lying right beside him with warm skin and soft breaths exhaling through plump, parted lips? The king’s chest rises and falls rapidly as beads of sweat begin to form below his hairline. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force the debaucherous thoughts from his head. So here he lay, struggling to swallow the thick of his spit, surrounded by you and your scent, you and your perfection.

John knows he should have left your chambers the moment your eyelids fluttered closed. It’s all that was expected of him. Watch over you until sleep paralyzed your soft, sweet body, then flee like he was never there in the first place. It would be the proper thing to do—the respectable thing to do—but when your head slipped onto his shoulder and your peaceful face tilted up toward his own, weakness became him. Death itself could not drag him away from this comfort, this fulfillment he was not aware he’d been lacking for some time now.

Often he found himself lonely in his own bed while Aiyla was away in Ireland. Naive he was to believe that her own bed may be just as empty as his. Foolish. Still, not once did he invite in a concubine or a mistress, relying solely on the silkiness of the pillows the queen left behind. While another man was buried deep inside of his wife, he had his nose buried in her floral-scented linen and his neglected cock rutting between the crease of her folded pillow. It did little to satisfy the aching in his loins but it did enough, at least until Aiyla would return.

His stomach churns. The ‘welcome back’ rendezvouses would never happen again, not now. How did he let himself get cucked by some nameless, faceless bastard? What kind of man could her lover be for the queen to fool her king in favor of keeping the both of them? What kind of a man is John for not fighting to keep his marriage?

A weary man. A man who gives and gives and for his efforts is rewarded with a treacherous, wretched family. When John had heard of his son’s wrongdoings he was burdened with guilt, convinced that the seed he planted with which conceived his son was tainted. He knows better now. Ewan was born from a deceitful womb, sprouted from rotten roots and watered with abrasive ego. God help him, he came by it naturally. It’s human nature to want. To lust. It is unfortunate that, like his mother, the prince lacked the discipline and decency to fight his urges and be grateful for what he had.

John was grateful. A loyal man, who watched firsthand the effects of infidelity in his parents’ marriage and swore he would never jeopardize his own family with such barmy desires. He stayed true to his word, committed to serving his wife just as he rules his country—with unwavering devotion. Devotion that ended with another man’s cock between Aiyla’s duplicitous lips while he laid up in bed tending to his own needs. Her vixen hands laced with betrayal would never touch him again. It is a satisfying notion, yet it brings no comfort.

You stir, and it startles the king out of his thoughts, a much needed distraction. Even in your sleep you prove yourself the angel John believes you to be. He runs his thumb over your lips—the very ones he had kissed earlier in the night—and hums thoughtfully. Even on their best days, in their youthful prime, before he knew what a harlot his wife would become, he and Aiyla never had this. His heart never ached so painfully with longing though she lay beside him.

John loved Aiyla with all of himself. He put every bit of his energy into adoring her and reasoning why the rest of his country should do the same. He loved her, but not once did he ever feel so utterly captivated by her as he does with you. Perhaps it is because with his age came wisdom and far more empathy than he may have wanted, but some deep part of his mind suggests that maybe it sensed the queen’s vile tendencies before he did.

With you, it is pacific. With you, there is no responsibility weighing on his mind, no tension to relieve on either end. You are the exact opposite of Aiyla—not a rotten bone in your lush body nor a foul crease in your brow. You are all grace and warmth, luxury and absolution. It is by no means where he expected to find himself at this point in life, scandalized by his slut wife and finding solace in his son’s own heartbroken spouse. He ought to be disgusted with himself, leave your chambers as he should have done ages ago, but something about the way you take to him so easily keeps him there, keeps his hand on your cheek and his eyes locked on your delicate lips.

You need him. That is the difference between you and the queen. You require a steady hand to help you hold your chin upright. John never had to care for Aiyla. She did not require nor want his guidance, and although it drove him bloody mad in the beginning of their marriage, he had learned to become content with her stubborn independence. He had admired it up until now. But you, amenable and docile, remind him of what joy can be found in being indispensable and truly desired.

You need him in a way that nobody has for a long time, and God, it makes his cock plump up in his trousers.

The pesky feelings he’d been trying to eradicate all night come back tenfold as he once again feasts his eyes upon your restful form. You are undisturbed and he’d prefer to keep it that way, yet he cannot control the tremors of unattended arousal that wrack through his body, forcing his hips to shift uncomfortably. Exasperated and guilt-ridden, the king attempts to slip out from beneath you without rudely waking you. He believes he’s succeeded until he throws his legs over the edge of your bed and the resounding creak startles you awake.

“John?” Your groggy voice makes his heart race in his chest—you’ve never addressed him by his birth name before, only his royal title, but heavens above, it sounds like glorious music coming from you.

“Back tae sleep, bonnie. Ah shall return tae mah own chambers.”

He hopes you can’t sense the strain in his voice, and if you do, might you mistake it as rasp from having just woken up. It pains him to leave you by your lonesome as you have been the past few days—weeks, months—but he does not desire to subject you to his selfish debauchery. He would not forgive himself if you felt disgusted by him in any way.

“Must you?” You sniffle and sit up, eyes struggling to adjust to the lack of light and focus on his figure.

John sighs softly, a frown tugging his thin lips downward. You do not make leaving easy for him. He is cautious as he turns to face you, gently lifting your chin with his thumb.

“Ah mus’ tend tae matters, princess,” he whispers.

“F-forgive me, Your Majesty, but I… I do not wish to be alone. Please, allow me to accompany you?” Your hand wraps around his forearm with fervor, nails threatening to break the tender skin.

Such a sweet, fragile lamb, asking nothing of him but his company. Nausea bubbles in his gut, but he still cannot—will not—allow you to see the vicious parts of him that only wish to take and feed mercilessly.

“These are nae matters fer a lady such as yerself tae witness,” John dismisses your plea and prays that the sob you let out is just a trick of his mind—but of course he is cruelly proven otherwise.

“I understand,” you try to hide the wet tremble in your voice but the effort is futile. “My apologies for keeping you.”

The ache in his loins is far less important than keeping your affections, he decides, slipping back beneath your duvet and pulling your body right up against his. His fingertips dance across the exposed skin of your back, right above where your day-dress begins. He hums softly as you curl into him with no hesitation whatsoever, resting his bearded chin on top of your head.

“Ah’m no’ gonna leave ye, lass,” John murmurs into your hair.

You still smell of the flora from the garden, redolent and pure. Lilac skin warms beneath his touch and he berates himself for even considering leaving you alone just as his son has done so many times. He nearly feels his heart implode when you rest your palm on his chest, still clad in yesterday’s attire. He might feel more embarrassed by it were his nerves not alight with liquid inferno.

“What did you need to tend to, my king?” Your still-small voice vibrates against the skin of his neck—when he doesn’t respond immediately, anxiety floods you.

“A-apologies, I know it was not my place-”

“Hush,” John interrupts, more harshly than intended. “Ye dinnae have tae apologize. Ah jus’... ah care fer ye deeply, hen, an’ ah dinnae wish tae scare ye away.”

Frowning, you rise a bit to look down at him. Disheveled hair and damp, flushed skin return your gaze.

“I am not afraid,” you mutter. “Tell me what it is that you need, Your Majesty, and I should be glad to assist you.”

“D’ye truly wish tae kno’?” His voice is far more unsure than you have ever heard it, and it makes something in your heart clench with pity.

“I do.”

John stares up at you with lidded eyes, oceans of stormy blue barely making themselves known beneath the haze of sleep still lingering. One large hand engulfs your wrist and slowly guides your hand down his chest, then his abdomen, and finally to the hem of his trousers. At the contact of your palm meeting with his unmistakable erection, you gasp. The king’s first instinct is to shove you away, retreat from your chambers and spare you any further disgust, but the way your fingertips gently graze over his clothed cock paralyzes him where he lay. Your breath hitches as you feel him out, and he grabs your face to pull you down for a tender kiss.

“Can ye feel wha’ ye d’tae me, princess?” John rests his forehead against yours, biting back a groan when your cool fingers slip beneath the fabric barrier of his pants.

You nod dazedly, biting your lip when bare skin finally collides and your hand is granted the exploration it so desperately craves. Lately you’ve seen what kindness and care lies beneath his title, but it would be deceptive to say you have not pondered what the king may be hiding beneath his trousers. It is safe to say that John is thick everywhere, abundantly warm and unbearably desirable. He feels heavy in your palm, tense as the air between the both of you.

“May I move my hand, Your Majesty?” You ask timidly, although your actions are the furthest thing from shy.

“Please, hen, ah need ye,” John pants, thumbs grazing along the roundness of your cheeks.

It is a rarity to hear someone in such a position as king beg. It sends blinding heat spiraling down to your belly—you would be a fool to disregard his desires. You lean down to kiss him again, gingerly running your thumb across the head of him. His hands tremble as they hold you, soft moans ripping from his throat to rest themselves on your tongue. With every stroke, he twitches, fingertips gripping and releasing your skin in an attempt to ground himself from the dizzying pleasure you bestow upon him.

“Is this alright for you?” You ask when he pulls away to catch a breath.

John looks positively undone, pretty pink mouth fallen open indefinitely to unveil every uninhibited hiss and cry that dares escape him. His hips jerk and his eyes roll back, pushing out unbidden tears that had been collecting in his waterline. You kiss them away before they can melt into his beard.

“Ye f-feel… bloody perfect,” the king croaks, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck and the other around your occupied wrist. “Princess, please, ah willnae- och, please!”

Eagerly he smashes his lips against yours once again, and despite the initial sting, you are quick to match his energy. Your hand pumps quicker, with more urgency, and it gets the man beneath you whining like an injured pup. He sounds heavenly, angelic, more so the closer he gets to reaching his end. His eyes snap open when you flick your wrist for the last time, and his furrowed eyebrows silently plead with you to hold his gaze. With a final shout of ecstasy, John erupts at last, thick ropes of spend coating your fingers and his throbbing cock shamelessly. He is quiet on the comedown, chest heaving in an attempt to catch his breath although it makes his lungs burn.

Clemently, you tuck him back away into his trousers, wiping the sticky remnants of his euphoria onto the fabric. He thanks you with a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Shall we go back to sleep?” You question him with a pleased smile.

“Aye,” John whispers, pressing one more lingering kiss to your lips before pulling you into his strong albeit tired arms.

As you fall back into slumber with your head tilted up at him as it did earlier in the night, flurries of thoughts dance through his overactive brain.

Only one is certain—King MacTavish has fallen irrevocably in love with you.

Taglist: @variety-fangirl @bingoz @thevoiceinyourheadx @gazsluckyhat @vmaxis @cryingpages

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish smut #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #royalty au #reader is fat #Spotify

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