#professionally photographed by yours truly

[battery-drainer]

[blumineck]

Artists of Tumblr!

If you like pose references, fun action shots, and nerds being nerds, I HIGHLY recommend checking out @adorkastock & Friends' group poses for artists project! They are currently funding to get as many models and as much kit together as possible to produce a PHENOMENAL amount of cool references.

And if they hit the stretch goal, they'll be joined by YOURS TRULY, Blumineck aka That Guy That Shoots Arrows From A Pole Or Whatever! I'd love to be involved, and if you'd love to see it, check out the backerkit page HERE:

In the meantime, to whet your whistle, here are some images from the last collaboration I did with @null-entity (who is also part of this project). Happy Drawing!

[sundrlands]

‘below the mouth’ j. sunderland x fem reader

minors dni

cw: in the dark, shoe riding/humping, light oral fixation/spit play, slightly messy, james is depicted as a pervert, sub leaning james with him being dominant at times, obsessive(j.), mutual masturbation(?), squirting, breeding, james is in his mid to late thirties. reader uses she/her pronouns.

summary: james… your coworker. the man who seems so hardworking, headstrong and devoted to his work… is nothing but a pervert enticed with the very being that you are… he can’t help but to see you as art— a canvas to paint on… as if his hands were paint… and his fingertips as the bristles, sketching out his greed with his lips and his words.

a/n: more porn than plot, forgive me. not too fond of this one and kept eyeing it over and over over and ended up truly hating this… nonetheless i hope you find some enjoyment in this one. i did not proofread…

oh james… what ever shall he do?

poor thing, constantly wrapped up in his own mind… unable to tame the growing thoughts that mutated within him. being lonely does things to a person… the years of suppression only made his longing for intimacy fester in the darkness of his greed.

in the beginning… it had been alright— good with his composure, carrying a kind of elegance through his actions and words. he wore ‘respect’ like an honorable man— button down shirts, tucked nicely in his well ironed pants. every day he’d come in dapper, not one thing out of place. it would be impressive to notice his true desires when he hadn’t worn them out on his sleeves.

though now… it was a different story. there’s only so much he could take… seeing you in your work outfits every single day or hearing your voice… the song you sung that never failed to make him treasure your being and feel every vowel that spewed from your lips filter and sprawl all throughout his veins. james tried to keep his need low, always being so gentleman like— kind, thoughtful and charming, but his thickening puddle of lust seeped through in the growing void that rests in the center of his eyes… being far dirtier than what meets the eye, disgusting even.

it was cute once you picked up on it… or at least the extent of it— his shyness and ability to lose all self, unable to maintain professional eye contact or a flowing sentence without randomly clearing his throat. a man well into his thirties— one that was valued by your shared boss, exceeding work ethic, always saying ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘yes sir’, not blinking an eye to the rule’s code— felt the need to act so foolishly enticed when it came to you.

for him, the absence of touch— one that he never felt come from your hand — drove james into a constant state of lustrous want… it ate within his being like a hungered cannibal digging its fingers through every fiber of his flesh. it prodded and ripped in the center of his chest like a wolf's canines as he sat at his work desk, drained… lifeless… thinking about everything he wanted to do to you… or whatever you’d do to him.

the inside of his body grew hot at the thought of you— dry throat, racing heart, fumbling words… his eyes, lingering all over your body longer than they had the day before, trying to see how much he could get away with… letting every second store itself in his photographic memory.

infested with carnality, day and night. james’ mind couldnt escape his perverted thoughts; as if it was the horrid and angry deep sea, crashing against the softness of the hot sand, in need of something to fix prurience, and the heightening want to be underneath your skin.

it started off with a hello, you being new and him well within the company’s community by a decade or two. a sweet exchange of a firm gripped hand shake and small talk before you went on your way. upon his sight, he was already fond of the beauty you blossomed. he wasn’t able to stop himself from looking… and as time continued, each day you met with him, it caused him to be in his head.

whenever you agreed to go out with your coworkers to local bars and restaurants, he’d ask around, passively, wanting to know if you’d be there to join. any chance he’d get, he’d sit next to you or across from you, thinking that the lack of lighting would hide the fact that he sat there to study you— his gentle hazel eyes, staring with eagerness… tattooing you into the grooves of his brain. each time you all went out, it was as if he tried harder… or lost the ability to care if you noticed or not. catching his eyes… for the first few seconds he didn’t even realize your attention on him until you’d call out his name a few times or lean towards him, breasts spilling from your top.

he’d go home, all eager. undoing his tie and his belt, slamming his door shut and making his way towards his bed, muttering: “just this once…” to himself, staring down at his hardened dick after thinking about the way your breasts sat prettily in the top you wore.

with his eyes squeezed shut, his wrist rippled in fast motion with whitening knuckles. he’d call out your name. each whinier than the last… feeling the weight of your name kiss the head of his cock— irregular breathing, toes curling into the thick of his comforter— whines that turned into a chants. over and over again he moaned your name, not even lasting three minutes until he let himself go… ribbons of his hot cum falling down onto his chest.

shame filtered his body almost instantaneously, not understanding how he was able to let himself go just from a simple top you wore… he swore to himself that that would be the first and only time he’d ever do something like that— to rush into his house just to relieve the growing hard on that you, without much acknowledgment, gave him.

and for a few days, he hadn’t. it didn’t stop the stares or the way his cock jumped upon hearing your voice… he’d just fall back into the same perverted state, clutching onto the arm of his work chair while you talked to him about something he couldn’t even pay much attention to. he saw the outline of your body against your work outfit thinking about how you’d look if he ripped it off.

his breathing quickened as he tried to direct his gaze on something else, his computer… maybe his paperwork? it didn’t help because he could still hear you fucking speak.

a sharp gulp and a shaky sigh— it was the most obvious he’s ever been, sensing the way he was unable to sit still. “james?” you called out, amusement lingering in the tone of your voice.

“uhm.” he huffed, a faint smirk curling at the side of his lips, trying to keep his composure as much as he could. “sorry… im not feeling too well.” turning his head to you, seeing a warm, devious yet alluring smile rest on your lips. almost immediately, he reacted. swallowing hard and clearing his throat.

walking towards where the man sat, you placed your hand at his shoulder, feeling the softness of his suit glide against your palm, finding his averting eyes, “do you need me to… get you anything?”

he shook his head, flinching upon touch, dropping his attention into his lap where his hands bunched to cover the obvious dent. “it… it’s fine. i just have to use the restroom… excuse me.” his voice quick and slurred, body immediately jumping up from his chair as he made his way to the men’s bathroom.

the beat of his heart ran heavily in his ribcage, causing his body to burn and wither as he laid himself limply against the bathroom’s door. each inhale was harder to stabilize— the air feeling heavy and clunky as it lumped and fell down his throat. with the soft jingle of his belt, he pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees, “god…” he sighed, wrapping his hand around his cock— hot and tortured, “why do you… why do you turn me on so much?”

soft chokes and mutters fell in the echoing bathroom’s walls, covering his mouth creating muffled whimpers to exude and swell. his body churned and trembled, hearing the loose hinges of the door combat with his movement. “fuck… fuck…” he whined, his eyes traveling up to see the mirror across the way.

the sight of himself… it almost looked like his own reflection was a stranger. no person has ever made him have the need to run for a quick release… at least not from their voice alone. it was just how eager he was— how eager you made him— the look of his knees buckling, the pace of his pumps, the skin of his face shake and the way he desperately tried to keep himself quiet… he looked so pathetic to himself, never seeing that side or noticing how much you made him that way just from the sight of you.

in a way… it turned him on, getting a better picture of what you’d see if you were to stand in this very bathroom. thoughts grappled through his visionary mind, his vision shooting towards different places in the bathroom, looking at the sink: how pretty you’d look, pants down your legs with him fucking up into you, your own eyes in the mirror, watching yourself getting fucked by him. or in the stall: your fingers clutching harshly at the stall’s door with his fingers deeply plunging itself inside of your cavern.

a million and one things infiltrated his desires until he couldn’t find himself to stop even after the first time he came onto the bathroom’s floor. his wrist burned with the consistent motion, after his cock hadn’t let up its hardness, moaning as quietly as he could to have himself go limp.

thirty minutes he spent in there… and for him to be known to cum quick… it only meant that he rung himself dry. he couldn’t even walk straight— you knowingly understanding the weight of power you had over him after you timed his absence and him finally waddling back into his chair.

“you alright?” you laugh sweetly, being as oblivious as you could possibly be within his perspective, trying not to stare at the small wet spot that circled at his crotch.

“yeah…” his voice trembling, still in a daze from his multiple orgasms, “must’ve ate something funny…”

after that day… jerking off in the office’s bathroom, there was no turning back— as if that was the only reason that would’ve been true. there was no way he’d be able to contain the continuous passion that resonated all throughout his body— as if you talked to him through your idle.

days would pass and he’d show himself more and more obvious, losing the care to show off his usual persona. he’d take one of your handkerchiefs you left on your desk when you hadn’t been around, tucking them in his pockets only to inhale the left over scent that interwoven itself into its soft cloth, using it almost every night until all he could smell was his own scent. he’d hold onto your wrist when trying to grab your attention, clutching it until he felt the gentle pulse, syncing with the growing hard on he’d feel build and tighten at the crotch of his pants.

on random days, he’d listen when you spoke to other’s about the dates you’ve been on, hearing how they werent satisfying you— filling his brain with possible ways he’d make you feel good. taking you out to eat with good food and wine with an even better conversation only to have him balls deep inside of you just for you to remember nothing from anyone in your past and only form yourself at the outline of his cock.

on a sunny afternoon, you had a held a party for your birthday— all the coworkers you found as friends, including james— in your house for drinks, food and good music. you kept your eye on him as much as you could without making it obvious that the only reason for the party was to see how he’d react now being so close to you.

he showed nothing but nervousness, almost never leaving the cushions from your couch, not even drinking or eating for that matter. he looked uncomfortable… or maybe he was just deep in thought. it only took one look away for him to disappear, his lack of person and the indent of where he sat on the couch to be shown.

james decided he needed more… that handkerchief wasn’t enough since your scent was gone and his imaginations made his want physically hurt considering he wasn’t able to touch you like he wished he could.

finding his way to your room, he rummaged through your dirty laundry, finding a pair of black panties, keeping it to himself. in a cold sweat, he knew that he had time to spare, whipping his head back and forth from the cloth towards your bedroom door before he sat on your bed, rolling his thumb at the crotch of your underwear.

deep and staggered breaths, he rose it up to his nose, smelling the soiled cloth, noticing how these pair must’ve been worn during your arousal, his cock reacting like wildfire— choking at the lack of air he gave himself from the constant huffing he did. each inhale was like heaven. god… your pussy smelt so good… better than he could imagine. the muscle of his tongue sliding at the left over cream marks left, his moans staggering, almost in need of crying at how good this action made him feel.

placing the underwear in his mouth, he grabbed what was closest to him— your pillow— angling his body to get himself off. luckily with how loud the music had been outside, no one would be able to hear the brash creeks of your bed as he humped himself to oblivion. hips snapping, fingers curling into your bed’s unmade sheets with his face planted deep within them as he sniffed whatever your body’s scent leftover.

this is what he wanted… this is what he feened for. only orgasming once, he fixed your bed trying to replicate as if he had never been on it, tucking the panties… and one more in his pants pocket and walking out of your bedroom.

met with him, you smiled, noticing the lust that fumed off of his person, not making it seem as if you knew, “what’re you doing in there? the parties out there silly.” you laughed.

“yeah! i was just looking for the bathroom.” he gulped.

nodding, you ran your tongue over the bottom of your lip, eyeing how his hair wasn’t as neat as it had been before and his shirt wasn’t tucked in as it usually was. “it’s just down there.”

“thank you.” scattering down the hall.

upon entering your room, all you could smell was the foreign aroma of his arousal, smiling at how you didn’t even had to do anything to him physically let alone verbally and he got so worked up. riddled with temptation, you knew you had this man wrapped around your finger, obliging with his action and giving him more with your seductive nature.

it was more noticeable now— how you both operated whenever with each other. anyone could just sense it, feel it, cut it in the thickening air of their razor nails. the body languages, the way you both spoke, the way your eyes spoke with extreme intent.

the tingling sensation rose within your body, almost electrifying you whenever you heard your name being called by him— his natural rasp that croaked from his throat, huddling over your eardrums with bliss. you could only guess what he did that day when he bolted off into the bathroom. it was obvious. feeling your attraction grow by his attentiveness and the willingness of him trying so desperately to be beside you… just thinking about him got you so worked up.

it was fun witnessing his obvious need to separate himself just to get off… but the poor boy needed solace you thought to yourself.

he was being such a good boy, trying so hard not to put himself onto you, being respectful enough, kind and excusing himself but you decided to take charge— have him finally able to get what he wanted and what you were curious about.

one night, you took that advantage as everyone else had dispersed from the office, it had only been you two, him hunched in his chair, face glowing from his computer screen and you packing all of your work to go home. he usually stayed overtime, having his own set of keys the boss left because of his repetitive stay.

now you stood within his space, the office dark, a low hum coming from james not even noticing your silhouette that stood just at his cubicle. “you going home?” you spoke out, your voice lulling out.

startled, he turned at his chair, swallowing down the large lump that rested at his throat. “oh!” he chirped, looking back and forth at the shadow that made up of you and his computer screen. “uh not yet… there’s some things i have to finish.”

“could it wait? just for a little?”

furrowing his eyebrows, he sat confused, noticing the tone of your voice, feeling his palms dampen, rubbing them roughly at his pant legs.

oh how cute he was acting.

“sorry i..” he chuckled nervously, “im confused.”

sucking at your tongue, you stepped forward, the screen’s light falling at your outline, exposing the lust that mixed in with the devious expression that wore on your face. “don’t give me that look,” you cooed, closing the distance between you both until your feet planted themselves just before him. “tell me, what has you still in this office this late at night?”

“uhm yeah…” he chuckled again, his words slow as he spoke about the finishing touches of a project that had been due in a few days. quite honestly, you hadn’t cared much to know, you just enjoyed the random inhales of breath in between his words as he tried to keep his composure at bay.

“such a good man you are. i take it your work ethic is better than all of us combined?”

he cleared his throat, tilting his head in nervousness at the choice of words that trickled down, aiming at his spine with him tensing in his chair. “th… thank you.”

“but you should take a break, you seem all pent up. that isn’t healthy, don’t you think?”

“what do you purpose?” he asked with you humming in response.

the silence between that fell in the air was loud, burning against your eardrums until you heard his breathing coming in shallow wheezes, his chest tightening as his heart hammered at his ribcage. he couldn’t even look at you… his head couldn’t lift itself from his hands, fingers tangling with themselves.

“can you look at me?” you soothed.

no response was given, just the raise of his body at every heavy inhale.

“look at me james…” your voice now coming out as a whisper, using your hand to curl at his jaw, feeling the roughness of the stubble that ran alongside it. at a gentle lift, his face rose, his eyes staggering to follow until you saw the gentle, puppy-eyed man lock himself onto you. “that’s it..”

at the tilt of his head, his body hiccuped in a trickling gasp. every memory of him being by himself, jerking his hardening cock, the sounds of his own pleasuring cries echoed in his brain. it burned at his cheeks with a peach strain— embarrassed but enamored by the sway of your lulling voice and kind eyes. the cold that emitted from your hand felt like static, almost foreign, unable to comprehend that you where here, actually touching him and it wasn’t just his perverted mind conjuring up a scene of you having your way with him.

just by your simple touch, it felt raw and ravenous—body stiffening like tainted brittle bones… his spine slowly contorting in a fidgeting arch, like christ himself pressed his jellied pierced palms across the flesh of an aching wound. “fuck…” he breathed, giving up on his lose of current reality, placing his own hand on top of yours, sliding it more onto his own face. he buried himself in it, eyes closing, falling into a blissful state, feeling the warmth that blossomed and coddled at his skin.

his mind and his body was starved… in need of you as if the only sin he knew was nothing but greed— believing the palms of your hands was magic, a bandage to a scab, an antidote to a sickness. you did nothing but stand there, watching him revel in pleasure just from your hand now stroking his face slowly and delicately, admiring the sweet yet sorrowful pout drawn at his lips.

“follow my words.” you spoke, interrupting the silence between you both, “can you do that for me james?”

his eyes dilated, feeling his stomach drop hearing his name being called. it drove him mad and it only was because of your voice— so gentle and sweet, thick as if he could gnaw on it. “yes…” he finally answered.

standing behind him, you let the pressure of your hands massage his back, feeling the tension reside in his shoulders. you could feel his irregular breathing at every push your fingers gave, knuckles whitening at the clutch of his pant legs. “oh wow you’re so tense… why is that?”

“just… all the work is getting to me.”

“yeah?” your voice obvious in sensuality, hearing his grunt when you let the pressure fall a little rougher. a quiet exchange of noises bounced back and forth with comforting and pent up sighs, spending a good few minutes, trailing your hands down the sides of his arms, “you’re pretty built underneath this suit.” you teased.

clenching his eyes tight, he screamed at himself internally, trying to speak to his cock to not harden but it failed, looking down at his lap and seeing what the computer’s light was able to show, letting out a quiet laughing hum. you had him now…

“stand… and kiss me.”

and so he stood, his arms awkwardly at his sides, broadcasting his awful posture as he waited for your next move. from a simple swift movement, your hand met with the back of his neck, pulling him in, pressing your lips against his. the sync of your lips were soft and slow but quickly it changed by the lead of his tongue that cascaded along the bottom of yours, inhaling the hitching breath as his fingers played with the bottom of his suit jacket.

gentle grunts hummed against your flesh, opening your lips to oblige by his speed, noting the way he drank your existence in the exchange of your mouths. his tongue fluttered against yours, rolling the tip of his muscle against the ridges of your teeth, spit spilling down one another’s chins as your bodies fell closer into one another feeling the pattern of your breathing fall as one.

your leg pressed in the middle of his, feeling his bulge rub against you with a higher pitched moan being a gift of your sudden embrace.

the air was hot and heavy despite the chill from the office that hugged you both, "ride it.." you moaned in between the kiss, moving your leg in slow grinds, feeling the heat that emitted from his clothed cock weave through your work pants.

“okay…” he answered back, removing himself from the kiss as his hips started to buck forward in motion with your leg’s movement.

his body couldn’t keep up with the burning passion that continued to spread through his body, starting with the aching sensation that rested at his cock.

no words had been exchanged, only moans as if it that was the only language you both understood— the lack of light only being laminated by the moon that fell through the windows and the computer screen. your hand strengthened its grip, foreheads pressed against one another, feeling his leg fall in between your leg in the midst of his grinds.

both of you fell in lust with the eager grinds you shared, hearing the rut of clothes being rubbed against one another, his unknowing hands, placing its purpose at your hips, gripping incredibly tight, pulling you closer at every hungered thrust, your eyes gulping the color of his.

he moved his body, you whining quietly at the empty feeling of his knee. he dropped down, leveling his face at your legs, pressing kisses starting at your ankle and to your knee, moving his lips as his tongue peaked through, letting spit form and absorb in the cloth of your pants until he reached your waist.

"may i...?” he whimpered, a smile curling at your lips, nodding with his fingers making its way to your shirt, yanking it upwards which made you gasp at the sudden movement. he continued his kiss, the cold inhale of his breath washing against your skin as he pressed his lips at the lining of your peaking underwear, running his tongue alongside it.

with a deep press of his lips, he left wet marks, pressing his face into your stomach, his head dragging all the way up your torso, inhaling the sweet smell of your detergent as well as the soap that coated your skin, until he stood once again, finding your neck, taking a bite without much warning— feeling the flesh sink between the spaces in his teeth. 'so soft', he thought, letting his lips latch and suck roughly, as he used his unoccupied hand to pull your body closer to him.

his tongue rippled and rolled against the aching bitten part of your neck, popping himself off before he pressed a kiss at the hem of your ear, "is this real?" he whispered, pressing more kisses at the side of your face. it felt prosperous, feeling his lips scatter the smooth surface of your face, neck and ear— fingers prodding the side of your waist.

"can you say it… please?” releasing a sharp gasped whisper, his nose dragging along your cheek, sighing out a moan. "say…my name... i need to hear your voice.”

"james..." you exhaled, enjoying the way he wanted nothing but your time and your attention. he made you feel sexy.. desirable, like his own drug that he was unable to let go or take control of. every touch felt purposeful, hungry… soft with a strain of roughness.

"no... louder. say it... please say it louder." his words breathless, cracking each time his voice dipped in register, letting open mouthed kisses to gently press onto your skin.

"james!" your voice rose, saying it over and over at every press of his lips you felt, his moans talking back to each time he heard his name flutter from your throat. your voice felt like it was running down his spine and settling itself right at his cock. you adored how cute he was without even knowing that you wanted to devour him— the sharp want to have him crumble in your embrace.

“fuck..” he cried sweetly, his voice breaking down in harmony. you placed your hands at his shoulders pushing him down as he obeyed your forceful action, him now on his knees.

without a thought, you pressed the bottom of your shoe at his obvious bulge, pressing your weight on it, his body shuddering with his lips ajar. “tell me…” your diction sounding breathless, feeling the outline of him through the sole of your shoe, “do you think of me… while you touch yourself.” his eyes growing, surprised and slightly worried— not as if it wasn’t telling he came at the thought of you.

he couldn’t answer, only giving a harsh swallow and swiveling hips, humping into the sole of your shoe.

“come on pretty boy… answer… i know you do it.”

“yes…” he gulped, “i do… i do. all the fucking time.” he admitted, his words flowing fast with his hips coming at the same speed.

placing your foot down on the floor, he immediately straddled, hands grabbing onto your calf for support as his hips rippled and rutted deeply into you like a horned dog. whimpers roared through the office’s enclosure. he felt dizzy, drunk within the lust that spewed between you both. it was pitiful but cute— losing all forms of self just to hump on your shoe.

grasping his jaw, he looked up at you, eyebrows knitted in pleasure as his hair bounced in movement, leaning down the gather spit, letting it fall into his opened mouth. he drank it instantaneously, nodding at the new action he had never done before. your spit tasted sweet, filling his mouth with an extended tongue in need of more.

and so you did, this time more forceful, some falling at the side of his lip, falling down his jaw and chin.

something about how he acted, the way he presented himself and the way his nervousness wore him so brightly. you could hear it his voice, in his moans, see in his eyes, face and body— nothing he had in display for you showed you otherwise. cupping the side of his face as your thumb gently stroked the warmth of his cheek, making his cock jump more than it already had.

“you like that don’t you baby?”

“uh huh…” he breathed, frantically nodding, letting his eyes drape towards your lips, seeing his tongue peak through, pressing your thumb at his plush lips, dragging them loosely, until his lips would tug, allowing his teeth to peak through before leaning in closer to his until being inches apart— irregular breathing brush against your mouth, as his nose nudges gently the side of yours, kissing you roughly… wet and raw. more spit escaping, coating all over.

“can i…” he spoke in between, “can i taste you?”

and with an accepting moan, his body rose, grabbing you until you sat on his desk, the light of his computer now black and the moon being the only source of light.

opening your legs, he leaned in, his middle finger ran between your clothed, wet slit. raising his head, he looked down at you, “holy fuck… how’re you so wet? i can feel it through your pants,” he taunted, gaining a small glint of confidence.

he lifted your shirt once more, just enough to show your full stomach as he held onto your waist, pressing his lips right beneath your breast, leaving slow, teasing kisses down your body with his eyes staring right up at you. his face met up in between, spreading your thighs apart more as he let his face set right in center, pressing his nose right in the indention where his finger once was, inhaling your sweet smell before rolling his tongue over her clothed pussy. “your pussy smells so sweet.” he breathed, his fingers curling at your pants and yanking them down until you were only left with them puddled at your feet and panties hugging your waist.

his mouth latched onto your clit, slowly sucking you right over your panties, feeling your throbbing bud feather against his tongue.

sliding your panties to the side, he saw the wetness connect from your pussy lips, to your clit, running all down your slit, immediately spreading your lips apart, seeing your whole view.

“so… pretty... god i wanna fuck it with my tongue. have my tongue so deep inside you, i can feel you clench yourself. can i… can i do that?” his eyes not leaving your face, seeing the limited and minimal expression the moon’s light allowed him to see, letting his tongue run up your slit as his mouth latches on.

nothing felt more pleasurable than to see the other pleased. his fingers trembled and ached to take you all in one go, but he believed you deserved more than that, you deserved to feel it run through every inch of your body. he wanted to prove that there’s levels you could reach that’ll make you feel like ecstasy.

his body burned as if he was on fire, feeling himself twitch at every small sound that exuded from your throat. “your voice, it turns me on so fucking much...” gripping onto your thighs, his nose nudging at your clit, mouth hovering over your cunt, drawing ribbons at the entrance of your pussy. he shook his head from side to side, your sweet scent filling his airway as he felt your slick coat the sides of his lips and the tip of his nose.

his tongue plunging itself into you, feeling your cunt pulsate alongside the bud of your clit. as his tongue worked along your slit and hole, repeatedly lapping at each entrance with the flat of their tongue. your scent and flavor enveloping his entire face, like a drug, and erotic perfume that he’d gladly wear if possible. his eyes drooping into a squint, his body loosening— expect the core of his tightening abdomen from holding his breath and their increasingly hard cock. thrusting his face as he began to fuck you with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, continuing to pay close attention to your clit. pulling back, he licked his lips, gathering spit as he spat right on your cunt, followed by a little slap, rubbing with the palm of his hand against the new tingling sensation, “was that… was that too much?” he slurred, not thinking of the impact of what he had just done with the pleasured yelp you let out.

“you’re such a dirty boy…” you laughed, your hips breaking down as it planted itself more into his desk. “keep going… show me what a horny little thing like you thinks about while you touch yourself.”

drunk of you— the taste, the smell, he could feel a pit of sensation fuel right at the bottom of his abdomen. “hump my face baby, please…use me.”

with his tongue, he lifted your clitoral hood, centering his tongue right at your clit as he fluttered it as fast as his tongue allowed him too, feeling your expose bud jolt. using his other hand, he slid one finger in, curling it slightly as he slowly let it slide in and out, feeling your walls close. the sounds you let out couldn’t be controlled, admiring how he used your body like an art piece, finding his way to use every fragment of your being, getting off to your pleasure. each knuckle falling deeper, as he started to bring up his pace. so wet, you could hear it at each pump, and god did that turn him on. “listen to your pussy baby. my god you’re so wet..”

loving the feeling of your fingers that now laced in his hair, tugging at it whenever you felt so, feeling the tingle wash from down his scalp and spine, making him groan deeply against your, feeling it almost itch his own throat. his other hand pressing firmly against your stomach, rolling it up your body as he dragged the pads of his fingers down your torso, then thigh, letting them create small indentions in your smooth skin.

he watched as you squirmed as you watched how pathetically invested he looked hooked in pleasure— him yearning for this type of attention, as if he cried for it. his eyes begged and begged, his actions looking less and less sense and out of touch of reality. your hips, not having a rhythmic move to them, just rolling and humping as his face kept up with your sloppy hips.

he slide one more finger inside, curling that one as well as his others as he turned his wrist in a circular motion, almost drilling your cunt, pushing it in and out, trying to find your sweet spot. he lifted his head, letting a string of spit and slick connect from his lips and your pussy. “keep looking at me… please don’t stop.” the sting burning at his forearm— veins now prominent running from his fingers and down wrist. your pussy making the most loudest and obnoxious noise, syncing with the pacing of his hand and mouth.

his face traveled up, his face now hovering yours, paying close attention to your expression and the way you moaned for him, furrowing his eyebrows, “yeah? does it feel good right there?” he cooed, singing with your moans which filled the space that surrounded you both. he gathered spit in his mouth once more, letting it go straight into your mouth— your hand out of his hair and to his face, holding his jaw and feeling the grooves of his teeth by how hard you held it.

“god you’re so good for me.” you grunted, eyes almost rolling at the feeling of his fingers plunging at your cunt.

gritting through his teeth, “and you drive me insane…” pressing his mouth against yours once more as he started to sloppily kiss you— your slick already coating his mouth and tip of his nose, now swallowing your moans. his breathing was erratic and his demeanor changed, feeling a sense of lustful malice grow in his body.

hurriedly, you undid his pants, slipping your hand in his underwear, taking out his hot heavy cock, his body immediately reacting with his hand holding the desk beside you for support. without hesitation, you jerked his cock, finding the same speed of his plunging fingers.

shared and eager moans radiated from you both, whiny and pathetic, desperate and conjoined— the sweet sounds of your wet slick and his skin being tugged at his cock.

“don’t stop.” he strained, already feeling himself in need to release, never being one to last longer than he wished to.

spit dripping from one another’s mouths, the tension continued to rise, the familiar sensation cradling at your core as well as his. clenching around his fingers, your thighs started to close themselves, him quickly opening them as he breathed in a choked gasp.

“are you gonna cum for me?” you teased, knowing you were right where he was, his body twitching as he nodded in response, “cum for me… do it james.”

a loud groan crept as he removed your hand, replacing it with his as he jerked his cock in a speed you had never seen from another man, directing his slit right at your clit. spurts of his cum fell right at your clit, the sight being too much for you to handle— the head from it, sliding down to his fingers as he continued his hungered pumps, an orgasm ringing around it. it creamed thickly, white cuddling at his knuckles.

both of your bodies fell weak, the speed now resting slow as you tried to gather your breaths, eyes connecting as one as you recollected all the passion that infiltrated.

“my god…” you breathed, his fingers coating in your natural nectar and his cum, inhaling your womanly scent which sent waves of pleasure directly towards his cock that started to rise again. god… did he love the way your fucking pussy smelt. it didn’t compare to your handkerchief… your bed… even your used panties. his fingers slipping out as he placed them in his mouth, each finger being sucked clean. “you’re so fucking hot…”

the intensity that fueled you both was too much to comprehend. no words being able to be spoken— james blinded by the beauty and the smell of sex that fumed in the air. after all the days of him tugging his cock, the thoughts became real.

his face hovered yours, hands cupping your cheeks as he pressed gentle kisses across your lips, “can i...” he gasped in between each kiss, heavy air pushing through his nostrils as he tried desperately not to pass out from the adrenaline and the need to feel you, overwhelm you and just make you cum from his dick. “can i fuck you…? please… please… please please please please please…” his voice cracking in between.

the need that laced in your whine transmitted through the thick of his burning skin. it was hard to contain steady breathing. mine, he thought. you were all his for the night, and it signified that you were in this very moment.

lips feathering against your chin, each kiss longer than the last, with his nose nudging up into your cheek. just from the quiet sounds you let out, your consent, your ‘okay’ to put his dick inside of you made the way he felt more intense than it already had. his fingers wrapping around the start of his shaft as he started to pump himself.

“you can tell me if you want me to fuck you slow…” he continued, cupping his hand to his lips and spitting in it, making a small puddle to coat his dick. “or if you want me to fuck you fast… tell me… tell me to keep fucking you… tell me… just talk for me… please.”

his eyes jolted down as his cock angled itself right at your opening pushing himself inside. just half of what would be his tip, focused only on you. sucking in harshly at how big he was and how he wasn’t even all the way in. with his other hand cupping the side of your face and neck, his thumb rubbing gently.

“you okay baby…?” his attention still on you, analyzing each expression you gave to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you in any shape or form, pressing a long kiss at the side of your cheek beside your ear, “im going to keep going okay…? just breathe for me…”

they pushed more, his tip fully being in your cunt. his body shuttered… you were so warm, you were tight and held him so comfortably, if you wanted him to stop right there, it’d be enough for him to cum. anything for you was enough for him. bodies slowly enveloping on another as he tried to talk to your body in a way that gave you comfort and pleasure. “more?” he breathed, it hitching as he mindlessly held his breath, pushing more of himself into you— your hot walls holding around the start of his shaft, textured and wet, with a heartbeat that almost felt as if you were sucking him in without his go.

a pornographic moan being spewed from james’ lips. the way your cunt grasped onto him, it's textured walls massaging his cock into heaven. you felt full, his dick thick— leaning towards girth— your breathing picking up in pace. you molded his cock perfectly, his hips slowly pressing himself deeper until his hole cock was enveloped in you. "goo...good boy." you tried to praise, hiccuping as your hands fell onto his shoulders.

the thrust started off slow, hiccuping almost similar to his rut against your shoe. it took a few thrusts until he finally was able to find himself— barely. each inward thrust, the desk shook, your body sliding upwards against his paperwork that scattered and crumpled.

“is this… is this okay?” his voice broken, hearing the new diction in his tone.

“faster… don’t be shy…”

you didn’t have to tell him twice, his hips momentarily stopping as he planted his feet firmly on the ground— animalistic groans combating the way his hips started to snap. each thrust, your rear puckering hole was abused by james’ balls. again and again, the loud rhythmic sound of your skin slapping. "good boy, keep fucking me. make me cum."

the tip of his dick angling in a place you were unsure about. what was this? you thought. your body was excited and you didn't know why— you didn't know how to prepare yourself. your body unable to stay still or find a place where you felt the best in stabilization, screaming his name as he finally hit that spot, your good spot.

"don't stop! don't stop! don't stop! don't—" you chanted, him hitting your g spot over and over with your pussy sucking him in deeper and deeper at each outward thrust.

"i wish i fucked you sooner, why does this feel so good?!" already having the need to cum with no intention of holding it.

you as well. you needed to cum, but you felt something new as well. the similarly feeling of you needed to 'go'.

"waitwaitwaitwait!!!" you moaned out loud, his cock slipping out with an unexpected gift being brought to both of you. you squirted. it spilling from your cunt and drenching on the both of you— your face, his work clothes and your work clothes. you had no time to react, your legs violently shook, with james hurriedly slipping in again with the same need to release centering at the opening of your cunt.

"ineeedto... i... fuhhhcking" you slurred, eyes rolling each time james pulled out, your pussy let out small spurts of your squirting cum.

"that is so fucking hot... you're so hot." james cried, tears rimming in his eyes, feeling himself having the need to cum.

one leg wrapped his waist pushing him down, rolling your hips upward even though it was all too much, but your cunt wanted more, it felt like it could cum at least one more time. grabbing your face, your lips forming a squished 'o'.

"fuck...fucking good boy." your voice fucked out.

"it feels too good… i can’t take it." he continued to wail, tears started to stream down his face. "im gonna—" he announced with one finally thrust, james let his hot load rest deep inside you.

one could say his dream was now complete, but a new question shall be asked; how will this continue? from being ‘friends’, horny individuals to fuck at work. but for now, you both continued to calm down from your high, kissing each other sweetly.

“this won’t be the last time.” you smiled triumphantly, trying to catch your breath.

a/n: i never know how to end these… but maybe there will be another part…

[muffinpink02]

Alexia with the new Cupra picture is giving me ✨sugar mommy who spoils you in every way✨ vibes

(fic?)

Spoilt Princess

Thank you for the prompt anon!

Warning - smut 18

“How does it look, amor?” 

You fixed your hair in the changing room mirror, trying on the 100th dress of the day.

“Good, I like it.” You smoothed down the edges of the short red dress. 

“Show me, princesà.” 

You smiled at the nickname. Alexia did well and truly treat you like a princess. The Spainard loved to spoil you. Just like she was doing now, she’d spoil you on any occasion she could. From buying you the newest pair of Nikes, to flying you abroad to a five star resort. The girl never let you go without. If you wanted it, you had it. You wasn’t a brat about it, well, sometimes, but Alexia would fuck that out of you very quickly. 

You pulled the thick curtain open, Alexia was sitting in the plush velvet chair in the corner of the private fitting room. A number of high end branded shopping bags sat at her feet, the majority of them being yours. All purchased by Alexia, of course. 

You couldn’t stop the shy smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth as you watched her piercing hazel eyes snake down your body. 

“Do you like it?” You asked.

It was a pointless question really, of course Alexia liked it, she was the one that picked it out. The short dress showed off all her favourite parts of you. From the swell of your breast, to the firmness of your thighs and to the most important, the curve of your arse. Her most favourite part.

“Turn around, let me see you.” The Spaniard commanded.

You smiled as you turned around for the blonde, making sure to wiggle your arse as you did. 

Alexia bit her bottom lip as she took you in, you looked good, she loved you in anything red and this dress was doing wonders. It fit you like a glove, like it had been especially made for you. That being said, you had countless dresses that she had got especially tailored for you, but it never hurt to have more. 

“I love it, amor.” She smiled a genuine smile at you. 

“Let’s add it to the pile.” You winked.

“Sí. Did you want anything else? What about those heels you were looking at or those earrings you spoke about?”

“No, I think you’ve spoiled me enough today, Ale.” You chuckled softly. 

She tutted, her calm face scrunched into a cute frown. 

“It’s not true. I’ve hardly got you anything. And they would look good with this dress, no?”

You smiled at her little pout. It wasnt a secret that Alexia loved fucking you in heels, it was her thing. Something you had worked out very quickly into your relationship, the girl would always leave the item of clothing last when stripping you. Sometimes never taking them off at all.

You walked over to the blonde, shaking your head as you laughed at her pout. You bent down between her already spread legs, holding onto her thighs for balance. Her eyes followed you, dropping to the now very revealing angle of your cleavage.

“Ale, baby you’ve got me a lot today.” 

The blonde rolled her eyes, she cupped your chin with her hands, tilting your head higher. 

“But I haven't, cariño. It's been a while since I got to spoil you.”

That was a lie, she had only bought you a new camera last week, just because you said you were thinking of doing a photography class. And she didn't go cheap, she bought you a camera that even the most professional photographer would envy. 

“Ale, baby, you know I don’t need it.” 

She kept her hand on your chin, she moved closer to you, her lips now inches from yours.

“But I want you to have them. At least pick one.” She whispered softly against your lips. 

You felt your body tingle from the simple gesture, and other things may have tingled.

“Hmm, the heels.” You smiled widely. You moved forward, closing the gap between you. “Thank you.”

Alexia hummed against your lips, inhaling as she felt your tongue glide against her lips.

You pulled back, winking at her as you stood up from the familiar position. You looked at yourself in the mirror, looking over your shoulder.

“I guess you're right, they were really nice.” You smiled in the mirror.

“Sí, they will. They will go with most of your dresses.” The blonde nodded.

“Hmm, or nothing at all.” You looked over at the girl whose cheeks turned a shade of pink.

“Sí, or nothing at all.” She chuckled softly at you. She stood up from her chair, you watched her in the mirror as she approached you from behind, she put her two large hands around your waist, pulling you into her front. She laid her chin on your shoulder, locking her eyes with yours in the reflection.

“But, I did see a red lace set that would really suit you.”

—-----------

“Princesà? Are you ready?” Alexia called in from the ensuite. 

You gloss your lips, finishing off the last touches to your make up in the floor length mirror. You were getting ready for your date night, you had been looking forward to this day for a while, Alexia had somehow gotten a table at a very exclusive and very expensive restaurant. 

“Nearly.” You sang out. 

She walked into the bedroom where you stood, she smiled when she spotted her new favourite red dress hugging your body. She slowly walked over to you, her eyes fixed on your arse.

“You look beautiful, mí amor.” She pressed her lips against your bare shoulder, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. 

“You look beautiful, baby.” You smiled at her reflection in the mirror. 

The blonde looked good, she looked like she was ready to command a room full of businessmen. She was fitted in a grey two piece that showed off her muscular arms. Her blonde hair fell down her back, with her silver hoop earrings hanging off her ears. 

“Gràcies, cariño.” 

You picked up your silver necklace that Alexia had purchased for you a little while back. It was a simple piece but you loved it, you wore it everywhere. It had her initial attached to it, making you feel like she was always with you.

“Here, let me.” Alexia moved your hair out of the way and clipped the jewellery around your neck.

“Perfect.” 

“Nearly perfect. I have something for you.” 

She stepped back from you, a mischievous glint sparkled in her beautiful hazel eyes.

“Alexia! Baby, what could you have possibly gotten me?” 

She ducked under the bed, grabbing out a small white box. Alexia opened the lid revealing the eye watering priced earrings you had been eyeing up.

“Oh my god! You got them for me? How? When?” Your mouth gaped open in shock.

“I made a call. It wasn’t hard. They were delivered when you were in the shower.” She shrugged.

You jumped up and down like a kid on Christmas, giddy at the thought of Alexia getting you yet another present.

She watched as you put your new earrings on.

“Sit, I’ll help you put your heels on.” 

You did as she said, sitting on the end of your shared bed. Alexia kneeled at your feet, holding your ankle as she placed your feet into the strappy heels. You really were her little princess, she made you feel like a real life Cinderella. She slotted the straps into the holes with the most gentle touch. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

She gave your bare leg a kiss, then another then another, slowly moving up to your thighs. Her mouth melted when she smelt the vanilla scented cream on your skin. 

“Ale.” You shakily breathed out. 

“Hmm.” She didn’t bother looking up at you, too distracted at your buttery skin. 

“Baby, we’ll be late.” You tried to convince her, but you couldn’t even convince yourself. 

“Just a little taste, please amor.” She begged as she already started to push your dress up, revealing your new red laced thongs. 

You could never say no to Alexia, especially when she was literally begging at your feet, but you knew you were already running late for your reservation. Your eyes closed as her lips started to kiss your lips through your underwear, her warm breath making your legs open more for her. You felt yourself melting for her, wanting so badly to just let her take you, have her way with you, but that fucking table.

She gently pulled your underwear to the side, revealing your sex. 

“Tan bonica.” She husked before swiping her tongue through your folds.

“Fuck.” You gasped, you had to hold yourself back from pulling at her hair, you didn't have time for her to fix it again.

She took another slow swipe, running her tongue gently against your folds. You groaned at the electric sparks it sent through your muscles, your body already feeling like it was on fire from her expert touches. 

You knew if you didn't stop her now you wouldn't make it out of here tonight, let alone on time for the table.

“Baby, we got to go- fuck!”

Alexia had made it just that bit harder to leave as she wrapped her lips around your clit, sucking your sensitive bud with a precise precision.

Your head tilted back as she suckled on you, you bit your lip trying your hardest to force yourself to stop her. You looked down at the blonde between your legs, she was in her own world of pleasure. You let out a loud sigh, knowing you had to stop, even though you really, really didn't want to.

“Ale, come we have to go.” You groaned at your own words.

Her hazel eyes finally looked up at you, you could see the hesitation in her eyes, she clearly didn't want to stop. She groaned in annoyance, she gave you one last lick before she pulled herself away. 

“I regret booking this now.” She mumbled between your legs.

You let out a breathless chuckle. “So do I. But once we’re done we can pick up where we left off. We can even try that new thing you want to do.” 

Her eyes lit up at that. “Really?” 

You nodded, smiling wickedly at the blonde.

Alexia stood up, picking up your red thongs that were crumpled on the floor.

“I’m keeping a hold of these.” She tucked them into her loose pocket, smiling cheekily at you.

—------------

“Gràcies.” Alexia smiled, placing her card on the receipt tray.

The evening had been amazing, the food was delicious, the atmosphere was calm, the conversation had been flowing and the fingers dancing between your thighs was…mind numbing. 

Since the moment you sat down Alexia had taken advantage of the now missing barrier between your legs. Her fingers had been relentless, skating up, down and around your ever growing sensitive lips. 

“Alexia.” You whispered, you didn’t once tell her to stop, you didn't want her to. She felt so fucking good.

She had you nearly screaming out in the busy restaurant as her talented fingers circled your swollen clit, she smirked wickedly at you when she felt your essence dripping onto her fingers. 

She didn't think to stop when the waiter came over. 

“Would you like to see the dessert menu?” The waiter asked.

“No!” You choked out a shout. The waiter looked between you and Alexia, a little confused from the outburst. You eyed the blonde, who kept that calm stupid smile on her face. 

“Erm, sorry no.” You cleared your throat. “Just the bill please.” You forced a smile, trying your hardest to hold down the filthy groan that wanted so desperately to escape your throat.

Once Alexia paid the bill you couldn't get out of the place quick enough. 

—------------

You waited outside the restaurant as a bell boy brought your car to the front. 

The teen boy smiled as he passed over Alexia’s car keys. “Nice car by the way.” 

“Gràcies.” Alexia smiled politely, slipping the boy a tip. She nodded her head eyeing the vehicle. “She's a beauty.” She agreed.

It was her new car, her pride and joy. You weren't into cars, you just about knew the different names, but you could appreciate a nice car when you saw one. It was sleek and smart, and Alexia looked fucking good in the drivers seat. 

She opened the passenger side door for you, smacking your bum as you climbed into the leather seat. 

“Oi!” You laughed as the blonde playfully winked at you. You watched as she waved at the bellboy, before jumping into the driver's side.

Finally, you were on your way home and you couldn't ignore the way your body was thrumming with desire for the blonde next to you. You was dizzy, dizzy with the thought of Alexia fucking you with her big strap. Fucking you until your legs were shaking and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head, stuttering your words as her hips bucked between your thighs. Making you scream her name-

“Everything okay, amor? You seem a little distracted.” She hummed as she looked over at you, that same smug smile on her face.

You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting out a long sigh. You could feel your cunt aching, verging on almost painful. 

“You could say that.” You looked out the window, praying all the lights stayed green.

Alexia let out a loud laugh, the laugh that you loved. You looked over at her, her beautiful smile plastered her face. 

It only made you want her more. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning over so you could easily access Alexia's neck. 

“Amor, I’m driving.” Her breath hitched as she felt your tongue glide against her skin.

“I can stop if you want?” You said it as you kissed behind her ear.

“No.” She smirked.

You hummed, smiling as you gently bit her favourite sweet spot. “Thoughts so.” You whispered in her ear, bitting a little harder at the soft skin, causing the Spaniard to let out a small gasp.

You kissed down her neck, moving to her throat. You gently sucked on the vein that you loved, lapping your tongue over the ridge of her skin, you lightly hummed as you felt it beat under your touch. 

You brought your right hand to her trousers, easily slipping past the loose band.

“This is not fair.” She looked down between her legs, her breathing quickening as she felt your fingers stroke at her thighs.

You gave out your own smug smile when you felt her hips rock up into your touch. 

“I just want to taste.” You whispered, repeating the same words she had said to you.

“W-what? Now?” 

You nodded your head, bringing your lips between your teeth. 

“Right now. Pull your trousers down for me.”

“God, you can make me do anything, can't you princess?”

You let out a low chuckle, your fingers still teasing at her lips.

She finally stopped at a red light. You couldn't stop the smirk on your face as she clumsily tried to pull her trousers down for you.

“Here baby, let me help. Lift your hips up.” You purred.

Alexia did as you asked, so you were able to slide her loose trousers and thongs down to the top of her knees. 

You smiled as you spotted the wet patch. “Is someone a bit wet?”

“How could I not be? You were so good for me in the restaurant, letting me play with you.” She stroked your loose hair back as she moved forward, connecting your lips in a deep kiss, her tongue easily pushing itself into your mouth. She pulled back, smiling devilishly at you.

“My good girl.” She whispered against your lips.

You pushed your hair to one side and moved forward, leaning your head down between Alexia’s spread legs. You connect your lips with her thighs, slowly making your way closer to her sex. The angle wasn't the most comfortable, but you needed the girl. 

“Merda. Wait, let me.” 

Alexia fiddles with something, allowing her seat to move slightly back, giving you both more room. Her free hand moved into your hair, pushing you back between her legs.

You take the hint and lick through her already wet folds.

“Shit.” She sighs, her fingers flex in your hair. 

Her mouth gaped open as she looked down at your head in her lap, she had seen you in this position plenty of times, but being out in public and easily being spotted made the situation just that little more thrilling.

You groan at her familiar taste, it instantly makes your mouth water. You go slow, moving your tongue easily though her essence, smearing her juices around with your tongue. The lights must have turned green as you feel Alexia’s body move above you, good thing the car is an automatic.

You flick your tongue across her swollen clit, her low groans spur you on, you easily wrap your lips around the bundle of nerves and gently stroke the flesh with the tip of your tongue.

“Bebé!” The blondes' lashes flutter in pleasure. 

You lifted your head, looking at the pretty pussy in front of you. Alexia was wet, you could see the leather seat underneath getting messy with hers and yours fluids. 

You shifted a little, getting yourself more comfortable. You leaned on your knees with your arse in the air. Alexia’s hips twitched, clearly wanting you back on her. 

“Amor, please.” Alexia begged. 

“I’m right here, baby.” You reassured her, kissing her dripping lips.

Alexia bit her bottom lip as she felt your breath ghost her wet sex, she was trying her hardest to control herself. Your loose hair was flowing down her thighs, tickling her sensitive skin, causing her to shiver. 

bobbing up and down as you sucked her into your warm mouth. 

The blonde was finding it hard to concentrate, all she could feel was your talented tongue swirling around her clit, drinking her in. She gently began to thrust her hips into your mouth, all while keeping her eyes on the road. 

You groaned loudly, loving the way she was slowly losing herself, you could hear her breathing becoming shallow. 

Your own clit was still throbbing, you could feel the air hitting the wetness on your lips. You would have loved to have seen yourself right now, being the princess you always was for Alexia. 

The blonde came to another red light, she took the opportunity to scoop your hair into her free hand. Having more control of your movements she forced you further down, needing more friction on her clit. She smirked as she watched your head bobbing up and down as you sucked her into your warm mouth. 

You whimpered when you felt her touch, trying to move the way she wanted you. She began to slowly fuck you face, pushing her hips harder into your face. 

“Sí, Sí, princesà. You’re so good, don’t stop, never stop.” She husked out.

You groaned at the fast movements, you could feel Alexia's clit twitching in your mouth. 

“Fuck, baby, I can’t drive and do this.” She let out a low groan.

Alexia took a quick turn down a quiet road, quickly turning off the engine. 

She pulled over just in time as her orgasm took over her body. Both her hands grip your hair, moving you to her rhythm.

“Amor. I’m going to come, don’t stop. Keep sucking.” Her head fell back against the seat, her mouth opening as she began to pant. Alexia cried out, screaming your name as her clit pulsated in your mouth.

You didn't stop, you kept your mouth on her until she rode out the final spasm. 

Alexia tried to catch her breath, as she stroked your hair back.

“I can’t believe you had me do that.” She let out a breathless chuckle. 

You stroked your tongue over her once more, kissing her clit as you moved away. You smiled smugly as you came face to face with the blonde, her hazel eyes completely blown. 

“You spoil me in every way.” You winked as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: FLASHBACK TIME !!!!!

prev

authors note: guys ive lowkey been picturing things as i would direct them in a film or music video so 😭 if my writing angle feels off then thats why. but i hoped u enjoyed anyway !! if u still arent on the tag list, feel free to let me know thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <33

you stepped out of the sleek black car, your heels clicking against the pavement as you’re greeted by a wall of flashing lights and the low hum of the press. the red carpet at the love, simon premiere was buzzing with excitement, packed with celebrities and industry professionals.

this wasn’t your first time walking a carpet, but it was different tonight—there was something in the air, an energy you couldn’t quite place, but it felt like just another event to get through.

you paused in front of the photographers, striking a few effortless poses. to everyone else, you looked like you were in your element—smiling, waving, and giving the cameras exactly what they wanted.

but inside, you were already thinking about when you could leave. you were there because the director was an old colleague from your recent work on tempest, your breakout role. it was your agent’s idea to make an appearance, to be seen and keep your name in the buzz, but you hadn’t really planned to stay long. just the premiere, maybe the afterparty, and then home.

as you moved down the carpet, a journalist caught your attention. “y/n, over here! a quick word?”

you nodded, stepping toward the microphone with a gracious smile. the flashing bulbs intensified as you answered questions about your latest projects, your outfit for the night, and how excited you were to see the film.

“you’ve been busy with tempest—how’s that going?” one interviewer asked.

you offered a polite smile. “it’s been great. we’re still filming season two, so it’s been pretty nonstop, but i’m thrilled to be here tonight to support this movie. i’ve heard such good things about love, simon.”

you kept your responses short but engaging, giving just enough without going too deep. after a few more quick exchanges, you excused yourself, nodding to your team as you made your way inside.

the grand theater lobby was filled with more celebrities and industry insiders, everyone dressed to the nines and mingling, but you were already scanning the room for a drink. maybe a glass of champagne woule make the night pass quicker.

your mind was preoccupied, already drifting toward the idea of heading inside early, when you felt yourself bump into someone. you glanced up, ready to offer a quick apology, but the words froze in your throat the second your eyes locked with his.

he was tall—taller than you expected—with broad shoulders, and his hair was just slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it all night. he’s startled at first, like he wasn’t paying attention either, but the moment his gaze met yours, there’s a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. maybe recognition. maybe awe.

his lips parted slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but he didn’t. instead, he just stared, clearly a little stunned. for a second, you felt like the noise of the room faded into the background, like it was just the two of you standing there.

“sorry about that,” you said first, stepping aside to give him room, your voice casual despite the strange pull you felt from his gaze.

he blinked, shaking his head quickly. “no, no, it’s my fault. wasn’t paying attention.” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered, and then finally added, “i’m drew, by the way. starkey— drew starkey.”

there was something familiar about the name, but it didn’f immediately click. “nice to meet you, drew,” you replied with a small smile. you glanced past him, ready to move on, but he didn’t make it easy. he was still looking at you, like he was trying to memorize your face, like he’d just seen something—someone—he didn’t want to forget.

“you’re—” he began, but then cut himself off, a little embarrassed. “i mean, i know who you are.”

you raised an eyebrow, curious now. “oh yeah?”

he nodded quickly. “yeah, you’re amazing on tempest. my sisters are obsessed with the show, but i started watching it, too, and— yeah, you’re great.”

his words tumbled out fast and you couldn’t help but be a little charmed by how genuine he sounded. he wasn’t smooth like some of the other people you’d met that night—he wasn’t trying to impress you with industry talk or big names. he was just . . . honest.

“well, thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm a little. “that means a lot.”

there was a brief pause, and you could see him struggling for what to say next. the thing was, it wasn’t awkward—it was kind of endearing. finally, he let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “sorry, i didn’t mean to fangirl or anything.”

you laughed softly, shaking your head. “don’t worry, you’re fine.”

he was still standing there, not moving away, and for some reason, you didn’t feel like walking off either. maybe it was the way he was looking at you, like he couldn’t believe he was even talking to you. it’s a look you’d seen before, but it felt different coming from him. there’s no agenda behind it. just . . . admiration.

“so,” you started, trying to keep the conversation going, “what brings you to the premiere?”

he blinked, like he’d forgotten why he was even there. “oh, uh, i’m actually in the movie.”

and that was when it clicked. drew starkey. you heard the name before, seen it in casting lists, but seeing him in person, you hadn’t put it together until now.

“right,” you said, nodding slowly. “that’s why you looked familiar.”

he chuckled softly, but there was still that slight blush on his cheeks. “yeah, that’s me.”

the conversation flowed a little easier after that. you asked him about the movie, and he asked you more about tempest, genuinely interested in your work, not just going through the motions like so many others do at those events. he was funny, too, in a shy, unassuming way that caught you off guard.

as the crowd around you thickened, his eyes never left yours, like he was completely captivated. you weren’t sure how long you stood there talking, but it was long enough for you to forget about slipping out early.

and then, before you knew it, the lights were dimming, signaling that the movie was about to start. he glanced toward the theater doors, then back at you, almost hesitant.

“well, i guess we should head in,” he said, sounding a little disappointed that your conversation was being cut short.

“yeah,” you agreed, though part of you didn’t want the night to end either. as you both moved toward the entrance, something pulled at you to say more, to affirm the spark that had ignited between you. you abruptly stopped in your tracks. he turned to face you, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“i’ll catch you at the afterparty?” you told him, your voice light and teasing. you watched his face break into a genuine smile, the kind that made his entire demeanor shift from nervous to gleeful.

with that, you turned and headed toward the theater doors, the buzz of chatter and laughter enveloping you. you could feel drew’s gaze lingering on you as you walked away.

you knew you weren’t on the cast so it would have been unexpected if you showed up. but you knew that he’d be there.

as you navigated through the crowd, you couldn’t help but glance back one last time, and in that instant, you caught drew watching you, his expression soft and hopeful. a faint smile tugged at your lips, and finally, you disappeared into the crowds of guests entering the theater, but the memory of his gaze stayed with you.

the afterparty was a vibrant swirl of lights and laughter, complete opposite to the behavior of the premiere just hours ago. you stood with leila, theo, and gia, the four of you navigating the home.

after a few minutes, you spotted him across the room, laughter dancing in his eyes as he talked to a small group. you excused yourself from your own conversation, weaving through the crowd until you found yourself standing beside him.

and soon, time seemed to slip away as you both dived into deeper conversations about your lives, your careers, and the dreams you’d harbored since childhood. drew opened up about his recent experiences filming, and you found yourself sharing the struggles and triumphs of your own journey in the film industry. every moment spent together felt natural, as if you’d known each other for much longer than just a few hours.

by the end of the night, the party winder down and guests began to trickle out. you exchanged numbers, both of you eager to see each other again. and you did. time and time again.

you paced around your apartment as you gestured animatedly. throwing your hands in the air, your eyes widened with passion, as if you were trying to grasp an idea that was just out of reach. drew leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching you intently with a soft smile playing on his lips.

“i just wanna have some time to go out there and have some fun,” you were telling him, “be there in the moment, explore la. not with any paparazzi there to demand photos of me or take them when i have my guard down. just me and the city.”

as you spoke, your gaze shifted toward the window, where the sun peeked through the window across your living room. you imagined yourself outside, feeling the sun on your skin, surrounded by the pulse of los angeles.

spinning around quickly, your face lit up like you’d just had a revelation. “like starstruck!”

“starstruck?” drew echoed as he squinted his eyes, trying to grasp your idea.

“yeah, you know that one movie on disney? christopher and jessica are running around los angeles in that one scene—” you continued.

“—before they get their car caught in that mud and christopher ditches her at the beach,” he interjected with furrowed brows, knowing full well how the scene played out.

you stopped abruptly, narrowing your eyes at him. you tilted your head, “you wouldn’t ditch me, would you, star?”

drew shook his head, “no way.”

satisfied with his answer, your expression brightened again, and you nodded vigorously. “good. then come on.”

you grabbed your keys from the table and practically dragged him out of your apartment. the door clicked shut behind you, and you led the way down the corridor.

as you made your way into the parking garage, your laughter rung out, echoing off the concrete walls. when you reached your car, you slid in and grabbed your sunglasses from its compartment to slide them on.

drew chuckled as he put his seatbelt on, shaking his head in disbelief. “you really have a plan for everything, don’t you?”

“only when it comes to having fun,” you replied, your grin widening as you pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head to shield his face. “don’t worry, they’ll never see us coming,” you assured him, your laughter infectious as you started the engine and pulled out of the parking garage.

and over the course of a year, you and drew became inseparable. what started as stolen moments during movie premieres and secret hangouts morphed into a deep, unshakeable friendship.

laughter echoed in your shared memories—late-night talks sprawled on the floor of your apartment, spontaneous adventures through the streets of los angeles, and lazy mornings spent in bed, wrapped up in each other's warmth.

as the seasons shifted, so did the nature of your connection. the boundaries blurred, and your heart raced at the thought of what could be. but you both chose to keep it light, enjoying each moment without the weight of labels.

then one evening, everything changed. it was a night like any other. the winter air was crisp as you and drew strolled through the twinkling streets of los angeles. you were coming back from a cozy evening out, the laughter still lingering between you as you recounted the highlights of the night.

as you walked, the sound of distant pops drawed your attention. you paused mid-sentence, eyes widening as bursts of color lit up the night sky. fireworks!

the brilliant reds, blues, whites, and purples filled the air. a smile spread across your face as you turned to him, the shared excitement pulling you closer together.

“this is so cute,” you said, leaning into drew’s side to admire the display. you were momentarily lost in the beauty, the chaos of colors exploding above you like confetti.

but then you spotted something in the midst of the fireworks—words began to form in the night sky, each letter crafted from the brilliant light.

‘will you be my girlfriend?’ the phrase appeared among the colors, messy yet somehow legible.

you read it, confusion washing over you at first. someone was asking someone else through fireworks? but as you turned to drew, you noticed his gaze, expectant and hopeful. the realization quickly sunk in.

your mouth gaped open in shock, your heart pounding as you processed what was happening. you looked back up at the sky, needing to confirm that this moment was real, that the words were genuinely meant for you.

but you turned back to drew, and without thinking, you nodded. before you knee it, you were jumping into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck, and holding him tightly. he caught you effortlessly, and you could feel his warmth seep into you as he hugged you back, pulling you close.

you could feel the happiness reflected there, and for the first time, it felt official—no more questions, no more uncertainty. you were exactly where you wanted to be.

and just two years later, you and drew found yourselves on the set of hellraiser, a project neither of you anticipated becoming a part of when you first met. it’s actually funny how it all unfolded.

initially, you weren’t even considering taking the role. after all, you were still knee-deep in filming tempest. the thought of juggling both projects seemed overwhelming, and you were ready to prioritize your current work over anything new.

when drew secured his role in some film, he kept the details to himself, not wanting to distract you from your current commitments. he didn’t mention the movie by name, and you didn’t press him for details; you respected his space and didn’t want to add to your own frustration about whether to accept the new opportunity.

“you should really consider it,” he urged, his voice filled with genuine belief in your talent. “this could be a great chance for you, babe, and imagine how much fun you could have! you’re almost done finishing tempest this month. after that, you’ll have plenty of time for your new project.”

you weighed his words, feeling torn. you loved the idea of the role, but the reality of juggling two major projects felt daunting.

yet, after a long talk about chasing new opportunities and taking risks, you found yourself swayed by his excitement and your own desire for growth. finally, you decided to go for it, officially signing on for the project.

what you didn’t realize, until the casting announcements were made, was that you and drew would be filming in the same movie. when you heard the news, you actually went insane. you felt like the universe was rewarding you for taking that leap of faith. the two of you would not only be working together but doing so on a film that promised to be both challenging and thrilling.

as filming began, the reality of being on set with drew hit you both like a wave. the two of you were navigating the intricate dance of being both co-stars and romantic partners, which brought its own set of challenges.

you found joy in the little things—the shared lunches, the whispered jokes during scenes, and the late-night talks about the original film. every day, you felt grateful to have him by your side, knowing that while the world outside the set may have been chaotic, your little bubble was filled with warmth, support, and your boyfriend. not everyone was able to be in your position.

but it wasn’t the same anymore. at least a year later. you were in another city, staying in yet another hotel room, the kind where the silence hung heavy in the air, almost suffocating. the glow of the city lights outside filtered through the curtains, casting a soft haze over everything.

you rested your back against the cool surface of the wall as you stared out into the city through the window. it was strange—the city was vibrant, loud, yet all you felt was isolation. your reflection stared back at you, tired eyes searching for something, anything, to hold on to.

you let yourself imagine drew standing beside you, his arm slipping around your waist, the warmth of his presence easing the ache that had settled deep inside.

but it was just a fantasy. he wasn’t there. not really. not the way you needed him to be.

he was somewhere else, in another city, on another set. networking. working. living his own life. you both were—careers that had taken off in opposite directions, always moving, always busy, always apart. your schedules were like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together anymore, no matter how hard you tried to force them.

sometimes he would surprise you, show up in whatever city you were in, standing at your door with that smile that used to make your heart race. but even then, it wasn’t enough. when he was there, it felt like you were lying next to a stranger, like everything you shared before felt like a distant memory.

your mind wandered as you stared out the window, trying to remember what it used to be like. the way you used to laugh together, the way he used to look at you like you were the only person in the world. but those moments felt so far away now, like they belonged to another lifetime. your careers were taking off, yes, but your relationship was falling apart.

you tried everything to get him to spend more time with you. it wasn’t just the long phone calls or the quiet hopes you'd whisper when he promised he’d visit, but you actually took action.

you started reaching out to his manager, a move that felt so cold, so far removed from the days when it was just you and him figuring things out together. now, it was emails and calls, hoping to align your schedules like some kind of business transaction.

you’d ask if there was a window, any gap at all, where you could see each other, trying to make sense of his packed days and your own commitments. it felt impersonal, like you were just another appointment penciled into his calendar, waiting to be confirmed.

there were weeks when you’d sit down with your team, trying to move things around, freeing up your time in the hope that his manager would find a slot that worked. you bent over backward, squeezing your own projects tighter so maybe, just maybe, you’d have a few days together. but it always ended the same.

another ‘maybe next time’ or a polite suggestion from his side to ‘keep him updated’—as if he wasn’t even aware of how much you were trying to hold everything together.

what shattered you was seeing him with his costars. scrolling through social media and seeing him hanging out with them after long days on set. grabbing dinner with them, laughing with them, being the drew you used to know—but never like that with you anymore.

he made time for them, he’d pay them visits, go out for drinks, be himself. but not with you. why not with you?

you couldn’t understand it. and that was the worst part. you weren’t jealous of his work or his friends, but it hurt seeing him give them what you so desperately wanted. time. effort. attention. those small moments of connection.

you tried bringing other people into the mix, hoping it would be less pressure for him. leila and theo became your go-to when you were feeling desperate. you’d invite them out, framing it like a casual group hang, knowing that maybe if drew wasn’t faced with just you, he’d be more likely to show up.

you thought maybe he'd feel less cornered, less pressured. and so you'd reach out, asking leila to join you and casually suggesting that maybe drew could come along too. a movie, dinner, anything. you tried to make it seem easy, no big deal.

but he never gave a direct answer. it was always a dance—drew would respond with something vague, something about being busy, or how he’d love to but he wasn’t sure, and he’d get back to you. he’d redirect the conversation, shifting topics before you even realized what had happened. it wasn’t malicious, but it left you feeling hollow, like he wasn’t even aware of how long he’d been doing it, how much he’d been dodging your efforts to pull him closer.

and you couldn’t help but feel bad, feel like you were trying so hard for someone who wasn’t even putting in half as much as you were. it wasn’t like he didn’t care—he was just so wrapped up in his own world, his work, that he didn’t see how hard you were fighting to keep your relationship alive.

you were trying to reach him, but it felt like he was always just out of reach, just beyond the point where you could hold on.

it wasn’t anger you felt toward him, but this deep, aching sadness. because no matter what you tried, it felt like you were the only one trying at all—did he even like you anymore?

and then suddenly, it snapped.

like a taut string pulled too tight for too long, it finally gave way. all the moments you fought so hard for, the endless nights spent hoping, came crashing down in an instant. his words weren’t loud or angry; they were quiet, almost too calm. it was like the end had been sitting between you both for months, waiting to be spoken into existence.

“what?”

your voice was small, a cracked whisper filled with disbelief. you’d heard him—of course, you’d heard him—but it felt so unreal. your heart ached, like it was physically breaking apart, but your mind couldn’t fully process it. it felt like you were standing outside of yourself, watching this unfold, wondering if this was really happening.

“why?” you managed, your voice barely holding together as your eyes searched his face for something, anything that would make sense of this. you saw his regret, the sadness behind his eyes, but there was no answer that would make this hurt any less. his lips parted like he wanted to explain, but there were no words to fix this.

he reached for you, like he thought he could make it better somehow, but you took a step back, your hand instinctively wiping away the tear you didn’t even realize had fallen.

all the effort, all the time you had spent trying to make things work, fighting for what you thought was love—it felt like it had all been wasted. your chest tightened as you stared at him, the silence between you thick and unbearable.

“get away from me,” you whispered, your voice stronger now, though your heart was shattering inside. you waved him off, refusing to let him touch you, refusing to let him see you break any more than you already had.

he hesitated, his hands dropping to his sides as the distance between you widened, both physically and emotionally. it wasn’t just the breakup that hurt—it was everything. all the time you’d given, all the compromises, all the moments you’d spent wishing for more.

you turned around, not wanting him to see the fresh tears that blurred your vision, not wanting him to see how deeply this cut. it wasn’t just about losing him; it was about losing the version of yourself that had believed, that had hoped for something different. something better.

“good luck on everything, drew.”

the words left your mouth before you could stop them, bitter and sharp. it felt like a punch to your own chest, but you had to say it. you had to remind yourself that maybe his career was the priority now, not you. and you needed to remind him of that, too.

even as your throat tightened, and your body threatened to break down entirely, you forced yourself to keep walking.

you didn’t look back. not when the tears started falling faster, not when your hands shook as you unlocked your car door, not even when you could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back like a weight you didn’t want to carry anymore.

the sobs finally broke free once you were inside, gripping the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. he didn’t chase after you, didn’t say another word. he just watched you leave, and that somehow hurt more than anything else.

as you drove away, tears streaming down your face, the weight of it all finally settled in. you didn’t want to hear his excuses, didn’t want to hear whatever reason he thought justified this. you just wanted to go home, to get away from the pain that now felt too familiar, and to leave behind the pieces of your heart that had shattered at his feet.

and just like that, the year of silence between you began.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @icaqttt @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @cl4uus @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @ilyrafe @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi @matthewswifeeee @uwuemlwlrld @l4venderia @chenslucy @darkreymbow @congratsloserr @skyslowalking @ivy-34 @behindviolettwrites @allthoughtsmindfull @lovelylupin04 @ecstqzy @dasguccier

[tkwrites]

Happy Birthday, Quinn - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Title: Happy Birthday, Quinn - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts

Summary: In an effort to get Quinn something he can’t get for himself, and with her friends’ encouragement, Sarah does something she never imagined she’d do before. When they finally celebrate his birthday together, Quinn opens several gifts he never expected. 

Warnings: It’s mostly fluff, but there is some anxiety about being in new, uncomfortable situations and some suggestive themes, but no actual smut.

Word Count: 2,700

Comments: Happy birthday to Quinn! 

I’ve been working on this piece for quite a long time. At least six months, tweaking it here and there to get the right themes and wording. I saved it for Quinns birthday because I can’t think of a better day for it to come into the world.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

Happy Birthday, Quinn

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

“What do you give the guy who can get whatever he wants?” Sarah asked.

Emma paused, thoughtful. She knew what she would get Brady, but while they were best friends, he and Quinn were so different. 

“What if you gave him some photos?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Like a boudoir shoot or something. So he can have some really great pictures of you while he’s on the road.” 

Sarah felt herself flush. 

“It’s just an idea,” Emma emphasized. “Is there any lingerie he really likes?” 

“Not really,” she started, then it came to her, “there is this bikini he kind of went wild over this summer.” 

“Perfect,” Emma beamed. “You could do a beach photoshoot for him.” 

“I don’t know… Are you sure it's something he would even like?”

Emma gave her a deadpan look over the FaceTime connection even as she adjusted the baby. “You have a boyfriend who travels away from you for weeks at a time. You don't think he'd like having some pretty pictures of you while he's gone?” 

Sarah snorted, “okay. I get it. But where do I even start with that? Just have my roommates take some pictures?” 

“No!” Emma laughed, “ask one of the wives or girlfriends. They’ll know some photographers that will keep things quiet so it can be a little more professional.” 

Just as Emma predicted, when Sarah called Bella the next day, she did know someone.

As they discussed details, she even suggested they could go to her Uncles’ to use the beach across the street from their house. 

“Are you joking?” Sarah asked. “He’d have my hide if I showed up to take bikini photos for my boyfriend.”

Bella laughed and said she had some friends with private beaches and would get back to her if they could use one of theirs. 

When she called back just a few hours later, Sarah was a little surprised. 

“Thanks so much for your help with this,” she said.

“Of course. I love you, and I love Huggy, and I love finally seeing him really happy.” 

After they set up the details, including Bella booking a hair stylist and a makeup artist, which Sarah thought was a little extreme, Bella asked, “Do you want me and Meghan to come for moral support?” 

“That would be really nice,” Sarah said, breathing a sign of relief. “I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing here. I'm just trying to give Quinn something he'll really like for his birthday.” 

A week later, they drove to Bella’s friend's “cottage.” It was really a mansion, but who was she to judge?

The boys were in Victoria for training camp, so it was the perfect time to sneak away.

When Sarah came out in the bikini, Bella wolf whistled. “No wonder Huggy went wild for you in this. You look insane.” she said, looking her over approvingly. “He’s going to lose his mind over these photos.”

It took a long time for Sarah to feel comfortable. She felt too on display - too exposed, and like she was pretending to be something she wasn’t. She wasn’t a model. She didn’t know how to pose for photos or turn on sex appeal at the drop of a hat. 

As if sensing how stuck in her head she was, Meghan offered some support.

“Sarah,” she said, walking down the beach to her, “you’re taking photos for a man that’s already head over heels for you. No one else is going to see them but you and him - and us very briefly.”

She nodded, feeling a little better. She was doing this for Quinn. She could do this for Quinn. 

Taking the photographers advice, she posed and made eye contact with the camera. 

“There you go,” Bella encouraged. 

“Rock more onto your knees,” Heather, the photographer, instructed. “Good. Chin up a bit? Great. Now give me some of those sexy bedroom eyes.” 

Sarah pushed her hesitations aside, thought about Quinn on the other side of that camera, and tried to convey how much she wanted him. 

“Hot damn!” Meghan yelled. “You’ve got me hot and bothered, Sarah. Quinn doesn’t stand a chance.” 

Her exclamation sent Sarah into a fit of giggles that took her quite a while for her to come down from.

Once she’d stopped laughing and settled back into the situation, they got a ton more photos, including a few of her, Bella and Meghan, the latter two in their street clothes, while Sarah still sported her bikini, laughing as the surf swirled around their ankles. 

Not for the first time, Sarah understood how being a WAG really could be a support group. 

They spent the evening of his birthday together at home, ordering in from Quinn's favorite restaurant. 

By the time they got to opening gifts, Sarah was feeling nervous and giddy. She left a small pile of presents on the table in front of the gray suede couch along with a bouquet of flowers because “men hardly ever get flowers, but you like them.” It was full of frothy looking, multi colored blooms mixed with greenery. He found he did like them. No one had ever given him flowers before.

He opened a set of cufflinks shaped like tiny bombs. They were attached to a card that read, Love is the Bomb. It made him laugh, and he told her, truthfully, that he loved them. 

“They’re made from recycled landmines cleared out of Laos from the Vietnam War,” she explained. “I know you really liked that Fields of Fire book. I thought you might like the connection,” she added. 

“That’s really cool,” he said, touched. He rarely wore french cut dress shirts, but now that he had a pair of unique cufflinks, maybe he would wear the ones he did have a little more. 

“Thank you,” he said, leaning over to press a kiss to her lips. 

“You’re welcome.”

Then, he unwrapped a vibrator. 

Raising one eyebrow, he told her, “I don’t think this is a gift for me.” 

“Let me explain,” she said, reaching for the box. 

She worked the hot pink, U-shaped device out of the packaging and turned it on. “It’s bluetooth and app enabled,” she said, pulling out her phone so she could connect the devices.

“Okay.” 

“Give me your phone,” she said, holding out her hand. 

He did, and she put in the code to unlock it before downloading an app — she had to hand it back to him to approve the purchase — and linking his phone to the toy.

“Now, anytime I turn it on and connect my phone, it’ll send you an alert.” 

“Okay.”

“And then you can control it.”

Realization lit his face, “oh, so I could be across the room or something?” 

“Or across the country,” she said with a mischievous grin. 

“Wait. For real?” 

Sarah nodded. “The reviews from long distance couples are all really good.”

“I wish we had it this summer,” he said, picking up the toy. It whirred to life in his palm when he tapped the button on his phone.

“That’s what gave me the idea.”

An eager expression took over his face. “Can we go try it?”

“Hold on, Romeo, I have one more gift for you.”

Tearing his eyes from the buzzing pink contraption, Quinn found Sarah biting her lip and looking at him, unsure. He’d never seen her so nervous. He wondered if she might be getting ready to do some kind of strip tease. 

Excitement fizzed in his stomach. 

Instead, she reached behind her, pulling out a small silver picture frame.  

“What’s this?” he asked, taking it from her. It held blank black glass.

“It’s a digital picture frame,” she explained. “It’s not so much the gift as what’s on it.” 

Quinn felt his eyebrows knit together. “I don’t understand.” 

“Just,” she reached over and held down the power button. 

An involuntary noise, something between a gasp and a groan, gurgled in Quinn's throat when the frame booted up. 

It showed Sarah, on the beach in that fucking black bikini, posing like she was on the cover of a magazine. She was laughing as she swept her wind blown hair away from her face. 

All those intense, lusty feelings from the cabin crashed over him. It wasn't as good as the real thing, of course, but God, if it didn't make him feel things.

“Sarah,” his voice sounded breathy - shallow and needy.

The photo faded into another. Still, that goddamn bikini, still the beach, but a different pose. This time, she was sporting a cocky smile, like she knew he would like it. 

He did. He couldn’t believe it. 

The slideshow continued on, all of the photos were on the same beach, in the same bikini. In some, she was standing, others laying down. There was even a short, looping video, or live photo, or whatever it was, of her crawling toward the camera - never breaking eye contact. 

His tongue felt weighted with longing. 

When the last photo de-pixelated, his eyes blew wide. 

Holy. 

Fuck.

She was kneeling in the sand, knees spread as the water raced up the beach around her.

She had this sultry look in her eyes as they looked straight into his soul. Her lips were parted, just slightly, as if she was waiting to be kissed. 

“I thought you could take the pictures on the road with you,” she said quietly. 

When he tore his eyes away from her face, they caught on her hand, fisted into the wet sand, almost as if she were holding herself back.

A bolt of energy rippled up his stomach, making it flutter and twist in longing.

Looking up from the frame, he met Sarah's eyes and blinked a few times, trying to pull himself back to the present.

“I hope It's not too cheesy or anything,” she said shyly. The photos were returned long before Quinn's birthday came around, and Sarah blushed every time she looked at them. She had no idea she could look like that. It was proof that the right photographer, lighting, and positioning could do wonders. 

“It's…” His voice croaked, and he had to clear his throat. This was honestly something he never would have expected from Sarah. 

He cleared his throat again. “It's - I don't even know what to say,” he confessed. 

“That bad?” she asked, voice hesitant  

“No!” It came out too loud. “It’s — fuck.” He ran a hand into his hair. He didn't know what to say. He was in shock. “I mean, I can't believe…” 

“You're not making any sense.”

He didn’t have enough blood in his brain to reason properly.

Finally, he managed to get his thoughts in order. “I love it. It's like you gave me my own Swimsuit Edition, except it’s you instead of some model I don't care about.”

Her shoulders relaxed. 

“Were you worried I wouldn't like it?” 

“No, not really. Like, I knew objectively you would, but I've never done anything like this before.” 

The fact that she did it for him burrowed into his heart and rioted around his mind.

“I was a little surprised,” he admitted.

“Emma suggested it,” Sarah confessed. 

Quinn made a mental note to tell her thank you.

The shock of the photos pulled his mind completely from everything else. He didn’t even notice Sarah had picked up the vibrator, turned it off, and nestled it back into its box. 

“Do you want some dessert?” she asked, standing. “I got some of those chocolate from Gem you like.” Normally, she would have bought him a cake, but he tried not to eat carbs during the season. So fruit and chocolate would have to do.

Beaming, Quinn pulled her into his lap, “you’re spoiling me.”

“You deserve to be spoiled on your birthday,” she said, turning to brush her lips over his. 

He fell into the kiss, glad to finally be touching her. 

“So what do you think about that dessert?” she asked when he broke away to nuzzle his nose under her ear.

Quinn sucked in a deep breath of her perfume before blowing on her neck, making her squirm. “I think I have dessert right here,” he murmured, tightening his grip on her waist. 

She snorted. 

His hands wandered up to her chest, feeling the curves of her breasts in his palms. “What kind of chocolate did you get?” he asked. 

“A few,” she said, leaning into him, “I got that dark mint one you liked, and the rum one, and some new ones. I don’t really remember. I’m pretty sure one has peanut butter.” They’d discovered the chocolate shop while wandering the city together. Made with all local, organic ingredients, they were delicious, and though not necessarily healthy, it was better for Quinn to eat a few pieces of chocolate than cake. “I’ll go get them.”

Coming back upstairs with the chocolates, Sarah slid the open box onto the table. Quinn was looking at the picture frame again, shaking his head gently as if he couldn’t believe it. 

“Here, I think this one is pistachio,” she said, picking up a chocolate with green stripes on the top, “or maybe it's matcha?” 

He took a bite of the proffered candy, his eyes fluttering closed at the sweet and salty flavor. 

“Pistachio,” she declared after putting the rest of it in her mouth and licking off the chocolate that had melted on her fingers. 

He hummed in agreement, eyes caught on her tongue. 

“Oh, before I forget,” she pulled a USB drive from her pocket and handed it to him.

“What’s this?” 

“The pictures are on that.” 

A relieved breath escaped his lips. 

“You didn’t think I was just going to make you take that frame around, did you?”

“I don’t know," he said, laughing, "I didn’t think...” 

“You can put them on your phone or whatever,” she said. 

“Can I…” he paused, mentally looping through slideshow again, “do you mind if I use them as my phone background?”

“They're your gift, and it's your phone,” Sarah said instead of voicing her concern that someone other than him might catch a glimpse of her like this. She trusted that Quinn wouldn’t go around showing them off to other people. 

She picked up the mint chocolate and took a bite. When she offered him the other half, he took her fingers in his mouth to get every sweet drop. 

A week later, Quinn, Conor, and Brock were at a restaurant in Winnipeg. Each of them had their phone face up on the table in front of their dinner plate.

Quinns screen lit up. 

“You didn’t turn off your notifications? Rookie mistake Hughes.” 

Quinn scoffed, “it doesn’t count if you turn off your notifications.” 

“Of course it counts,” Conor argued.

“Why would you touch your phone if it’s not going off, dipshit?”

“I think he’s got a point,” Brock admitted with a defeated sigh. 

“Do you have yours off too?” Quinn asked. 

Brock shrugged. 

“You have to turn them back on. We have to be on a level playing field here.”

The other men reached for their phones, grumbling. 

Quinn’s went off again as they put theirs back down. 

“Is that Sarah?” Conor asked, craning his neck to look at the photo.

“Yeah, why?” he asked, resisting the urge to pick it up. Whoever touched their phone first had to pay for dinner. 

The lock screen was the photo of Sarah laughing, trying to tame her hair as it blew in the wind. 

After looking through all the pictures several times, Quinn had decided this was his favorite. He could almost hear her laughing whenever he saw it. Plus, he didn’t want anything too racy where anyone else could see it. He kept those for himself. 

“Is that the photoshoot Meg helped her with?” 

“I don’t know?” he said. “She did it for my birthday.” It felt a little like bragging – which he was, if he was honest with himself – to say it out loud.  

“Yeah, that’s it,” Brock said. “Bells told me about it during training camp. She and Meg helped Sarah set it up.”

“Oh,” Quinn said, not quite sure what else to say. The fact that she’d reached out for help so she could do this for him, even when she was uncomfortable, meant the world to him. 

“I wish Meg’d taken bikini photos for me while they were at it,” Conor mumbled. 

Quinn felt a smile beam over his face. 

“You are one lucky man, Huggy.”

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request the Obey Me brothers reacting to their s/o sending them selfies of them in skimpy outfits or completely nude?

Obey me Brothers + spicy pics from MC

Lucifer

Another tedious meeting that should have been an email. But Lucifer remained professional and stalwart as ever, so as to not embarrass Lord Diavolo.

The only exception he made was for his cellphone. Keeping it on silent, but on the table, as Lucifer had learned in the past if he didn’t check it at least regularly during these meetings it might be too late from when his brothers’ hijinks might ensure. Vering into calamity past hijinks.

He noticed he had a text from [Y/N] and was surprised as they usually never texted him when he was in these meetings. Respecting his work. If they were texting him, Lucifer assumed it was important and opened the text in a reserved manner so as not to draw attention.

When he saw what the text was, however, he had to grip his phone tight to the point of cracking to maintain that composure.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. It seems there is an important matter I must deal with at home. I’ll be back once the matter is taken care of. Thoroughly.”

Mammon

“Mammon-san! Over here!”

“Yes! That’s perfect! Hold that pose!”

“You look amazing Mammon-san!”

The Avatar of Greed grinned roguishly as he was showered with praise. He had to admit, he really was killing this photoshoot.

The photographer took a few more shots before they called for a break and the team moved in to touch him up. Offering him compliments still, along with water. Both of which Mammon drank up. One of the attendants handed him his phone from his dressing room. Giving him a few moments to check it before it was back to work.

He looked at a missed text from [Y/N] and nearly did a spit take of his water. Able to thankfully keep it down, but still coughed in a very un-model like manner at seeing their nearly naked form.

“I uh…I gotta go. We have enough for the magazine right?? Good. Great! Thanks for the opportunity and be sure to call me again!”

Mammon was then out the door fast than anyone could catch him. Including to get his wardrobe outfit off.

“Models….” The photographer muttered as he reset his camera to take shots of the background models in the meantime.

Levi

“On your right! On your right! NO! Your other right!!” Levi shouted into his headset as he tried to lead his team through the maze of undead swarm.

Zombie Zion XX9 had just come out this week and Levi had been grinding non-stop. He barely made time to sleep, much less do anything else, in pursuit of this final battle with the Mother Swarm of zombies (there by defeating the plague and saving the world from the undead at last).

“Guys, we have to get through the door together, otherwise we don’t get the ‘In This Together’ buff! You need to catch up to me! It’s…It’s…ugh! Hold on!” His phone had been buzzing beside him non-stop for the past minute with various texts.

Usually, he would ignore it. But something this persistent typically meant it was important, and what if it was his brothers telling him the house was on fire? He’d have to save his Ruri-chan figures if that was the case.

When he opened the text, Levi’s eyes bugged out and he felt his nose begin to well up with blood as he looked at the picture of [Y/N] in their cosplay panties.

“Levi! Where are you?! We’re getting hammered out here! Levi-!” The connection on his game went dead as the last of his team members died. The screen fading into a black screen of ‘game over’.

“Oh, come on!”

Satan

This anthology that Simeon had recommended to him was thrilling. Truly a masterpiece.

Satan had been absorbed into the new series almost since the first page. Devouring each of the nine books with vigor, much like his little brother did with food. He had forsaken all else, honestly, except reading the past few days. Anxious to find out who the final killer & mastermind behind the protagonist’s plight was, and finally get some answers.

He was nearly at the climax, the big reveal, when his phone started to buzz.

Grumbling that his concentration was broken, Satan picked it up to see who it was. His irksomeness quickly dissolving as he saw [Y/N]’s nearly naked chest in front of him.

He had a choice to make.

Continue reading and get the answers he needed, or put the book down and go to the person clearly in need of him. How was he to choose?

In the end, he put the book down and sprinted off to where [Y/N] was. If the main character could wait 10 years to find out who the killer was, surely Satan could wait a little longer to find out as well.

Asmo

Shopping was one of Asmo’s favorite past times. Going to stores and looking for the perfect item or accessory was like a little treasure hunt to him. Or just perusing the aisles and new merch like one would an art gallery, with the same enthusiasm for beauty. It was a wonderful afternoon. Especially if [Y/N] was with him.

[Y/N] had gone to try on some items that they found while Asmo continued to scan over the racks. His cellphone eventually buzzed, and he fumbled with his iced coffee to get it out of his bag. Seeing a picture of [Y/N] in the dressing room in a super cute bra and panty set with the question :should I get it?:

:OMG yes! 💓🥵🔥🔥: Asmo texted back immediately.

:It looks so good on you! Which dressing room are you in?? I want to see it in person! Should we get matching ones??:

He eventually found [Y/N] and showered them with praise. Insisting that he would buy it for them if they didn’t get it themselves, and offered to buy it in every color as well.

Beel

“98…99…100.”

Beel lifted the weights one final time and put the bar back on the rack. The weights clanking down with a heavy thud with the sheer mass of them. He loved getting a good workout in before he went home.

Heading over to his locker space to get some water and check his phone, Beel saw he had a text from [Y/N]. He opened it and saw the spicy picture they had just sent him. Usually only the 5x Hellfire Spicy noodles were the only spice that could make him drool this much. Clearly he was wrong.

Beel decided to, for once, cut his work out short. He quickly packed his bag and ran home to do some cardio on the way home. Planning to do some more ‘cardio’ when he got there.

He could make up for the missed sets in the morning before school. Since he’d be busy the rest of the night.

Belphie

Belphie yawned and rolled over as he woke up from his nap. His fifth of the day, so it was a pretty short one. Only about an hour this time.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes before reaching for his phone to see what time it was. He was immediately greeted with a text from [Y/N] on the screen. He felt a little bad for missing it while he was a sleep, but by now they had to know that he would get back to them eventually. Belphie opened it and was immediately greeted with something from his dreams.

:Are you still wearing that?: He texted them back.

:Come to my room: He then added. :In the attic. I’m still in bed. So half the work is done😉.:

He waited to hear back from [Y/N] and grinned when he saw them respond with they were on their way.

And his brothers made fun of him for being in bed all the time. With his soft mattress and [Y/N], why would he ever want to leave?

[gunnerfc]

Alessia Russo x Arsenal!Reader | Pose (18+)

Warnings: smut MINORS DNI!, bottom alessia, top reader, strap-on use (alessia receiving), nude photos being taken (before and during sex)

Summary: You convince Alessia to let you take photos of her, and one thing leads to another 

WC: 1.6K

Photography had always been a side project you picked up when you had the time. It was something that helped distract from the crazy life of being a professional footballer. And for the past few weeks, you'd gotten Alessia to be your subject, letting you take various photos of her around the house or out and about. 

Now, you wanted to get a bit more creative with the photos. You'd brainstorm how to truly capture Alessia in more detail and landed on having her pose nude in your bed. The only thing in the way of that was you hadn't brought it up to her before now. 

"Hi, my favorite photographer," the blonde sang as she dropped to the seat next to you on the couch. "What's the plan for today," she grinned, having been looking forward to a little photo shoot all week. 

"Well..," you started, reaching a hand to scratch the back of your neck bashfully. "I was thinking we could stay home for this one," you offered, tentatively meeting her eyes.

"Okay! What were you thinking," the blonde's excitement was infectious, and you could feel it radiating off of her.

You let out a breath before speaking, "Um, I was thinking in the bedroom. And, if you're comfortable with it," you started, eyes scanning her face for any disagreement. "Naked," you concluded with a bated breath.

Alessia didn't respond right away, mulling over the idea in her head. "That sounds fun," she finally replied, a light smile gracing her lips.

You exhaled with a small nod, matching the smile she wore. "Whenever you're ready, my love," your voice was light as you squeezed her hand. 

“You get your camera, and I’ll go get naked,” she laughed as she stood from the couch, but not before leaning in to give you a quick kiss. 

You weren’t sure why you were feeling nervous, you’d seen Alessia naked on various occasions. But something about capturing her nude was exciting, and the photos to come from today would be some of your favorites. You took your time getting your film camera, giving her enough time to undress and get comfortable on the bed. 

You pushed the bedroom door open as you took a step inside, your camera dangling in your hand as your eyes landed on the blonde sitting up in bed. “Wasn’t sure how you wanted me,” she hummed, her bare body on display. 

You blinked a few times before stuttering out a response, “Just lay back. I want you relaxed and comfortable, y’know,” you nodded, more so to get your head right and focus on your task and not your girlfriend’s nakedness.

Alessia nodded with a smile as she lay back against the pillows, her chest moving with each breath. Your eyes raked over her body, pausing on her breasts before dropping to her closed legs. When you thought of the idea of taking pictures of the blonde while naked, you weren’t expecting to be so turned on by the process. 

You swallowed softly as you moved to sit on the bed, your knees resting on the cover beneath you as you brought the camera up to your eye. You breathed out as you took a simple picture of Alessia, her body on display for you and your camera. The room felt hotter with each ‘click’ of your camera, with different angles of the blonde’s body engraved into the film. 

You shifted to straddle her thighs, wanting a higher angle. “You’re so beautiful, Lessi,” you mumbled as you pushed up on your knees. Alessia blushed softly at your words, goosebumps rising on her skin at the close contact from your legs. 

“Spread your legs, baby,” you cooed as you slid further down her legs, allowing her space to follow your words.

Alessia’s breath hitched softly as she listened to you, her legs spreading, offering you a better view. You angled your camera slightly to take a picture of a familiar place, her arousal prominent even on film. You let out a breath, seeing she was affected by the photoshoot, your chest heaving slightly. 

“Stay still for me, Less,” you mumbled as you removed yourself from the bed, setting your camera down to strip out of your clothes. 

Alessia watched as you threw your clothes to the floor, her eyes following your every movement as she waited. You quickly found the strap-on you frequently used, wasting no time harnessing the toy around your hips. The blonde’s breathing picked up in anticipation as you picked your camera up and crawled up her body.

“You’re gonna look so pretty on film, baby. But you look even better in person,” you hummed as you placed the camera by her head before leaning down to kiss her.

Alessia moaned softly into the kiss, her hands moving to your back as her nails dug into your skin. You took the chance to slip your tongue into her mouth, groaning from the feeling of her nails scratching your back. The toy between your legs bumped her wet cunt, earning a louder moan from the forward. 

“Please, baby,” she whined, her fingers gripping your skin harder as she pushed her hips up slightly, looking for relief. 

You panted above her as you reached a hand in between your bodies to line the toy up with her core, slowly thrusting inside her. You gave her a moment to adjust to the toy before continuing to thrust until you bottomed out. Alessia moaned at the full feeling, her hands dropping to the cover under her. 

You leaned back, keeping the strap-on fully in the blonde as you reached for your camera. A light ‘click’ sounded in the room as you took a photo of the toy buried in Alessia, making sure to capture the pleasure written on her face.

“Please put the camera down and fuck me,” Alessia whined, her grip tight on the cover as her hips rolled. 

You quickly complied, moving to sit the camera where it wouldn't fall. Your hands found their way to the blonde’s hips, holding her still as you slowly pulled the strap-on out of her before thrusting it back in. Your thrusts were slow to start, but your hips sped up each time Alessia begged you to go faster. 

The blonde’s moans mixed with the sounds of you fucking her filled the room, spurring you on to move faster. The tension that had been building the entire time was reaching its breaking point as Alessia gasped when you hit that familiar spot inside her.

The blonde could feel the coil in her stomach starting to break as she was close to coming. One of her hands let go of the cover to reach up, beckoning you to lean down to kiss her. You let her pull you down, your lips meeting hers in a messy kiss as her legs wrapped around your waist. 

“Please, please, please,” the blonde softly chanted against your lips, her eyes screwed shut as you continued to fuck her.

Your hips never gave up, thrusting faster each time as Alessia’s moans grew louder. You kissed down her jaw to her neck, biting and sucking softly on her skin, leaving hickies in your wake. “S-so close,” Alessia whined, her legs locked around you tightly as her back arched off the bed. 

While continuing your thrusts, you reached for the camera by the edge of the bed. You leaned back as best as you could with her legs around you, propping yourself up with one hand by her head as you held the camera up. “Cum for me, Lessi,” you groaned, ready to snap a picture of her face when she came.

With a loud moan, Alessia let go, coming around the strap-on buried deep within her. The sound of your camera going off was drowned out by her moans and the sound of the strap-on inside her. You sat your camera down as you slowed your hips, helping her come down from her orgasm. 

You moved your free hand to push a few strands of hair behind her ear before whispering, “You’re so pretty, baby.” You leaned down to kiss her once more, her hands returning to your back as she held you close to her body.  

You pulled away from her to remove the strap-on from its place inside her and removed it from its place on your hips, tossing it to the floor to be cleaned up later. Alessia whined at the empty feeling as her weak legs hit the bed, her eyes were closed as her chest heaved. 

“You did so well, my love,” you cooed as you placed light kisses along her stomach and chest before moving to lay next to her.

Alessia blushed as her eyes fluttered open, and she turned her head in your direction. “We should’ve done that sooner,” she teased, her voice hoarse from moaning.

You laughed softly at her words but nodded in agreement. “We can always take more,” you joked back, nodding your head in the direction of the camera sitting by her head. 

Alessia bit her lip at the promise of taking more nude photos, having found the whole thing more exciting than she would have thought. “When can I see them,” her voice was softer, exhaustion lacing her words as she turned on her side.

“Soon, I’ll have to develop them myself this time,” you hummed as you pulled her closer to your body. You placed a light kiss on her forehead before mumbling into her hair, “I love you.” 

“Love you too, y/n/n,” she yawned, sleep catching up to her. 

When you suggested the idea of Alessia being your model for various silly photoshoots, you didn’t expect it to lead to nude photos of the blonde. But, you were glad it did lead to this, it having brought the two of you even closer.

[bahrtofane]

flics and feelings

your job becomes exponentially harder when jude comes into the picture. Literally.

jude x wc!photographer

Word count : 3.2K+

Watch it : suggestive language, skinny dipping, light angst but happy ending !!

Hope you enjoy <3 !!

—--

You're a sports photographer who's just been added to the list of the england national team. Not just for friendlies no no, you're going to the world cup.

You've done a few things here and there for them during friendlies and public appearances and the hard work has seemed to pay off ! 

You can't stop smiling and bouncing around from pure joy after you open the email informing you. This is the chance, the opportunity, the place and time to really make a name for yourself and put your foot out there in the market and world.

You truly believe that this is your calling. It does help that the team isn't bad eye candy either. You'd be blind to argue with that. But nonetheless you must stay professional !

—--

Your professionalism goes down the drain thanks to one very hands, flirty, and mouthy Jude Bellingham. 

It's his fault really. 

It started as nothing more but curiosity to look at the raw pictures you took of him at training. That soon escalated to teasing words, and hands straying away from your camera and to your own. 

He had kissed you for the first time after the first game, under the cover of the locker room long after most people had gone. Gently taking your face in his hands and giving your lips a kiss so tender you wonder if it was even real sometimes.

You're playing a risky game now, you know. But his smile is worth every moment. And besides, your boss has been complimenting your shots lately. Calling them a “raw glimpse into the truth of bellingham.” Whatever that means.

To be honest you don't really know where this new found relationship even stands, fleeting or otherwise you don't have the guts to challenge it in fear of losing him too soon. 

—--

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep

You groan, stretching meekly to find the source of whatever is ruining your sleep, and in the process elbow Jude in the stomach. 

“Ah, sorry baby.” You rasp, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes. 

He stifles a groan, looking up at you meekly. “ ‘S okay, just ‘m alarm,'' Flopping back into his face dramatically. 

You sigh, lying back down. That means you also have to get up and ready soon. The suns not even out yet but you have to be ? Unbelievable, truly. 

You spend the little time you have scrolling through social media and answering emails while Jude sleeps soundly next to you as cozy as ever. 

When his second alarm goes off, you give him gentle kisses to the tips of his cheeks and nose to help him wake up. But all you get is him dragging you back down into the covers with him. 

'Little more..” He babbles hanging into you and any covers he can reach. 

You flick his arm gently, “We have to get going, especially you, don't want Saka beating you out there again?”

He gets up at this and narrows his eyes at you, “I think you've taken a fancy to him more than me now.”

You chuckle, “Uh huh, sure. It's his bed I'm in right now right ?’

He opens his mouth to argue but settles for getting out of bed and sulking to the bathroom. 

You take this as a sign to get ready yourself. Getting dressed and making a metal note for the equipment you'll need to grab from your own room. 

Jude walks out of the bathroom toothbrush hanging from his mouth and motions for your turn, giving your hip a little squeeze as you walk by. 

He's all dressed, save for the toothbrush, by the time you walk out. Ducking back into the bathroom when you're done. You take a moment to appreciate him, so pretty. 

“You look good.” You smile.

“Thank you love,” He leans in to give you a quick peck, “ i'll see you later yeah?”

You nod watching him leave. 

—--

You come back to find him nowhere to be seen, but you have more than enough pictures to make the whole photo team happy for a year. You spend the rest of the night editing them and sending them off to your list of clientele. Mainly online papers and twitter if you're being honest, but hey it gets the job done and keeps you fed.  

You wonder just how far England will go, just how long you can pretend to have Jude in these fleeting moments you share thousands of miles away from home. 

The door opens as you're knee deep in emails to reveal one very bouncy Jude. 

“What's got you in such a good mood ?”

“You.” He grins.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm , you looked really good today.”

“Oh please, all I was doing was crouching on the side lines and sweating.”

“And yet you looked so hot doing it.” he pokes your side.

You roll your eyes and him, swatting his hand away and turning your focus back to emails on emails on emails. He plops himself down next to you, kicking his shoes off and wiggling dramatically. 

“I wanna show you something when you're done.” He blurts. 

That's all the motivation you need to speed through all your work for tonight.

He takes your hand in his, against your harsh whispers that someone might see, he doesn't care one bit. Only dragging you along more dramatically.

He takes you down hallways and loops of the hotel you haven't been able to get to yet, up a short spiral staircase to a single elevator that doubt will fit the both of you. But he makes it work. Pressing you up to his chest and wrapping an arm around your waist.

He's so warm, radiating more heat than a damn fireplace, but it feels nice against the brisk hotel ac. He tilts his head while staring at your lips, and you've come to know exactly what he wants. You give it to him. How could you not. 

You bring your faces together, a hand on the back of his neck, to pull him impossibly close to you. He always lets you set the pace, plush lips hesitating before opening enough to meet your tongue. 

Too bad the elevator ding interrupts, he's blushing now, you can see and feel the heat radiating from his face as he hastily pulls away. 

But he still finds the courage to pull you out of the tiny elevator gingerly, leading you to what you think is the hotel rooftop. It's gorgeous, honestly. Small patio like area with white couches and chairs facing an electric dome fireplace.  A small swimming pool in the far corner overlooking the city, and a blanket layed out in the artificial grass. Pillows, snacks and all. 

You’re silent for a moment trying to figure this out, figure him out. 

He takes your hand in his, gently leading you to the blanket before you can over think any longer. Letting you sit down and looking at you with too much fondness than you can handle. 

“I don't…” You begin.

He only smiles at you, “I wanted to spend time with you. Proper time that's not in my hotel room or behind the locker room.”

You can only stare at him in disbelief. You can't remember the last time anyone let alone a man, and one you were romantically interested in, doing something so sweet for you. 

Your voice fails you, as well as basic thinking it seems as you launch yourself at him. Smothering not only Jude but the chips in between you. He only lets out giggles when his back hits the ground, letting you do as you please while rubbing your back.

“Thank you so much, really. It means a lot.” You finally choke out.

He gets up immediately, taking you by the shoulders and staring right at you. “Don't do that. Don't cry. Please.”

Your bottom lip only wobbles harder as you try to hold back the tears, but they come all too soon as you sniffle. “ ‘M not sad. Really happy. You make me happy.” You mumble, head now smushed on his shoulder.

“Hey it's okay, take your time love, we've got all night.” 

And all night you do have. By the time your tears have dried Jude makes you try every single snack and little treat he hauled up here. 

You notice a pile of towels sitting at the edge of one of the pool chairs and raise an eyebrow, “What are those for?”

“In case, you wanna swim.” He shrugs face full of chewy gummies. Sugar free fat free everything free it seems. Nutritions orders. 

“Can we ?” You turn to him expectedly.

“Why not.” He smiles.

You don't take a second longer, taking off your shoes and other accessories. Tip toeing at the edge of the pool before his voice stops you.

“You're gonna swim in those ?”

“Im mean yeah. I didn't bring a change.”

He only shrugs, wiggling out of his own clothes faster than you can stop him. “What are you doing?’ You hiss 

“Uh swimming ?”

“Naked ??”

“Not like it's anything you haven't seen before.” He bumps your shoulder with his, giggling. 

“You're unbelievable. What if someone sees?”

He shrugs, getting in the pool. “Oh they won't, I got that covered with hotel staff already. No ones gonna bother us up here.”

He turns to you after the water is up to his navel, motioning with a hand for you to join. 

Really the problem isn't the situation at hand, skinny dipping seems like great fun really, the problem lies with the man who you're in this predicament with. He's all but invaded your heart and mind at this point. He's just, so, everything you've ever wanted and more. Sweet smiles and even sweeter words, teasing but still kind, always making room for you in his life. During the goddamn world cup of all things. Hard working to his core.

The way he looks at you while you tell him the most mundane things about your day makes your head spin, the care he takes into looking out for you is unmatched by anyone. You are so gone for him

He gives you a concerned look, “You don't have to really it's no pressure we can-”

Fuck it.

You toss your clothes to the side faster than you can change your mind about it and slide your way into the freezing water

“It’s fucking freezing what the hell.“

He only strides closer to you, gently lacing your hands together and pulling you further in, where the water now comes to your collar bones.

“I got you” He murmurs.

You shiver and shake at the water, ”M still cold.”

But he only presses himself impossible close to under the water

“Well, let me warm you up then” He barely whispers while your chests are flush together, his hands on either side of your face. 

Gently bringing your lips together once more.

—--

Once the two of you have had more than enough fun trying to drown each other he swaddles you up in big fluffy towels and lays down next to you on the blanket, star gazing. 

“See, that one's Orion.” He breathes out into the night air.

You hum, burying your face where a bit of his shoulder peaks from his towel. It's warm okay. When you yawn for the third time in a row does he bring up heading back down. 

“You've had a long day, come on.” He nudges your arm. 

You give in, groaning, getting up reluctantly and putting your clothes back on. He tidies up while you tussle with your shoes for a second before joining you at the foot of the elevator. The ride down is a comfortable silence and you swing your joined hands while you walk back to your room.

The moment you step into the room do you collapse into the bed, completely drained. He still makes you get up for a quick shower to rinse the chlorine off. Letting you get into bed first while he does the same after.

You're halfway to dreamland when you feel the bed dip and his familiar warmth envelop you. A gentle kiss on the forehead is the last thing you remember before crashing soundly.

—--

Jude won't admit it but he's definitely started favoring your side more often during games. Whenever there's a celebration he always looks over to you. You try not to make it too obvious and just hunker down, shove your camera in your face and think of something odd to keep you from smiling. 

Your go to recently has been imagining Klopp with fingers for hair. Bizarre. 

It all ends too soon when England gets knocked out by France. 

You can see the disappointment and anger in him. 

“I really thought we had a chance.” He mumbles into your neck later that night.

“Hey it's okay, what's done is done. No use stressing out on the past when there's so much future in front of you.” You try to comfort him.

He sniffles and shrugs. Not wanting to say more. You're set to leave in a day. Then what ?

He begs you to stay, “Just one more night, please.”

Just one more then, one more and you go back to the redundant life you lived before all of this. Before you even felt him utter bliss on your skin. You wonder what his type really is, what are the people he chooses to truly make his. What kind of lovers would move mountains for and shout sappy poetry from the rooftops just to see them smile.

You suppose you should be happy to even have this kind of encounter. Count your blessings, cant have your cake and eat it, blah blah blah. You want him. Now and forever more. 

You don't say any of this, instead choosing to hold his hand gently while he curls up next to you. 

—--

The day the team is set to leave you dont see much of him really. You're too busy counting and recounting all your supplies and making sure you have all the right paperwork for the very heavy and very expensive equipment you're about to embark with.

You have about a week before you're off to Italy for some fancy car races on the coast. You're going to mope and sulk in that time you can feel it. 

You're making your last trip to give the luggage guy your set when you run into Jude. 

“Oh hi, you're leaving already ?”

“Ah no just taking my equipment to the lobby. It always flies before I do.” You try to smile.

He nods, a little solemnly.

“Am I gonna see you at mine later ?’

“Yeah, maybe.”

And with that you take off. You honestly don't expect to ever see him again if not for work. At least this can be a cute story you can tell to friends back home.

—--

Not a cool story at all because you have just realized that you've forgotten your really nice and expensive headphones in his room. Good lord. They were a gift from you to you on your birthday last year when you had a lot of videos to edit and needed to be able to listen to any variation in sound. 

You can not buy those again. 1, the money. 2, you're attached. 

But good god is it going to be awkward just waltzing in there. Maybe you can just ask room service. No to creepy. Text him ? twice as awkward.

Oh fuck, guess going back up to his room it is.

You feel like some stalker creeping around the halls, even though you've been here plenty of times. Now it feels entirely different. Like youre no longer welcome here. But damn do you need your headphones back.

With a deep breath you knock on the door as friendly as a knock can get, and it opens almost immediately. 

“Hi! I'm glad you came.” He beams.

You don't have the heart to tell him it's only for your headphones, you walk in away. Taking a seat at the edge of the bed. You notice everythings been tidied up and organized, there's only his suit cases left standing in the corner. 

He joins you not long after, playing with his fingers idly. Waiting for you to say something, anything. 

“Is something wrong?” He tries.

“No, no, nothing. Just came to say bye and look for my headphones is all.” You mumble. 

He frowns,“There's something up.”

“No.”

“Yes there is. Why else are you acting like you don't know me and you've never been in this room.”

“Because that's what it feels like Jude. We had our little fun and now it's over we go our separate ways.” You have finally reached your tipping point.

He only looks back at you hurt,“Is that what you think this is?”

“Is it not?”

“God no, why would I rent out the roof of this hotel just to stargaze and goof around in the pool with you. Did that mean nothing?”

“It meant everything to me. I told you as much.”

“Then why are you acting like this now?”

“I'm scared. I'm scared when I leave this room and we leave the country. That'll be it. That i’ll never get to have this again.” You whisper.

“Love,” He takes your hand in yours, “I truly want something with you. More than a fling more than a work romance more than whatever you've been thinking of it as. I’ll book a flight to meet you when you land right now if you want. Just say the word.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course. I'm serious. You said it yourself no use stressing over the past when there's so much future. And I want you to be my future. If you'll have me.” He gives you a small smile. 

“Of course i'll have you Jude. You're so incredible I can't even put it into words. I want a future that has an us, I want you to be mine as much as I'll be yours.”

This time it's he who rushes to tackle you into the bed, bombarding your face in kisses while you squeak and give soft punches to his arms in a futile attempt to get him off. 

He finally does and rushes to fish his laptop out of his suitcase, immediately going to his flight information and adding a connecting flight faster than you've seen most people function. 

In the time it takes for him to find his passport you find your headphones, neatly tucked away in the bedside drawer. That makes a lot of sense.

You lean on his shoulder watching the last bit of information go in before he clicks confirm, looking up to smile at you. 

“I'll see you when I land in your city then ?” 

“Yes you will pretty boy.” You murmur, with one final kiss goodbye. Or more a see you soon kiss.

You walk out of the room not only with your fancy headphones but a lovely man to call your own.

[eomayas]

cream soda • bbh [req]

pairing: idol!baekhyun x MUA!reader

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!!! fluff

synopsis: reader is a makeup artist for exo and likes baekhyun in eyeshadow, and he notices

warnings: p in v, pwp (slow burn), teasing, fingering, pet names (baby & good girl), baekhyun being sexy in eyeshadow

a/n: i got 3 different smut requests for cream soda teaser #1 baekhyun 😭 so here you go i hope you all like it! thank you for the requests and support 🩷

his eyeshadow smudges easily due to your hands being shaky. you hope he doesn’t notice, but doubt that he does because he’s busy tapping away at his phone. you swallow and keep working the brush over his eye, blending out the dark colors to create a smoky eye.

you allow yourself to sneak glances at him while he’s preoccupied with his phone. every so often, you’ll glance at him through the mirror, pretending you’re fixing your own appearance but really you’re looking at him.

“okay,” you say, setting the brush down and leaning back from him. “i think i’m done.” you say. he looks up from his phone and gives you a smile. your stomach flips and you swallow thickly, glancing away from him for a brief moment.

“you think? how do i look?” he ask, leaning around you to examine himself in the mirror before settling back with his gaze on you. he looks sexy, edible, and if you had a different relationship, maybe you’d tell him so.

“you look nice, baekhyun,” you say, keeping your true thoughts and feelings to yourself. he smiles quizzically up at you, running a hand through his hair.

“just nice?” he’s playing with you now, you can see it in his features and hear it in his tone. your pulse quickens—he’s figured you out. was it that obvious? you don’t know—you feel caught, cornered. “cause i think i look good.” he adds, the emphasis on the word “good” making you let out a breath. so maybe he hadn’t caught you and figured you out. maybe your thoughts weren’t written across your forehead.

you nod curtly and step away from him, turning around to fix your station. “you do,” you say quietly. you hear baekhyun shift behind you, his presence looming over you. again, your stomach flips and you make the mistake of looking up into the mirror where he’s already looking at you, a smirk on his face.

“what was that?” baekhyun asks, a knowing look on his face. your cheeks burn and you snap the makeup box closed and sidestep away from him, putting a healthy gap of distance between the two of you.

“they’re waiting on you,” you say, not meeting his eye. luckily his name is shouted and he actually has to leave, so you’re able to slump against the counter and catch your breath. you’re always paired up with baekhyun for styling, and recently your interactions have gotten more and more…tense.

you don’t know if you should call it a crush because you’re both professionals, and your job would be on the line. but you’ve always had a thing for him and his silly, flirty ways. he’s always kind to you, asking how you’re doing and seeming truly interested. he’s been like this since you first started working as a makeup artist for exo, teasing and joking with you while you worked on his face. you were bound to catch feelings for him with the way you saw him constantly and the interactions you had.

after cleaning up your station, you assist anybody else who needs their makeup done. the rest of exo has always been kind as well, but you don’t have a similar relationship with them like you do with baekhyun. they’re all polite and professional, and don’t teeter too close to the edge of flirting under the guise of a joke with you.

when you finish helping out, you decide to walk around the set to busy yourself. baekhyun is still getting his photos taken, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you look over at him from afar. baekhyun is attractive, simply put. he’s confident and playful, but right now he’s flat out sexy.

you find yourself skulking over close to the shoot, standing a few feet behind the photographer. you watch baekhyun, unable to take your eyes off of him as he smizes at the camera. he captures the attention of everybody, the other staff members oohing and aahing him as he poses for the camera. if you had half a brain, you’d probably join in, but, professionalism.

you’re snapped out of your baekhyun daze when your name is yelled with authority. “y/n! we need touch ups!” you blink yourself back to reality, looking up and finding everybody looking at you, including baekhyun. he has a smirk on his face, and you feel heat creeping up your neck and face. you part your lips, ready to apologize, but nothing comes out. instead, you rush over to your station to retrieve your brushes.

sidling up to baekhyun, you examine his face, forcing your brain to be in work mode. he talks above your head to one of his members, twisting his head everywhere you don’t need him to be. “baekhyun, could you…” you trail off, biting your bottom lip. “baekhyun.” you say louder and as he turns to you, you catch his chin in your hand to steady his face to do your work.

baekhyuns eyes stay laser-focused on you. you swallow nervously and gently dab at his face, fixing whatever smudges he’s accrued ever since he started shooting. “your hands are shaking,” he murmurs, and you quickly let go of his chin, your grip on the powder press tightening between your fingers. “are you nervous?” he asks, leaning down a bit closer—too close. but legend has it that it makes it easier for you reach him.

“no,” you lie, gently tilting his head to the other side. you go to remove your hand from his jaw, but captures your wrist and keeps it there. your breath hitches in your throat, and you glance around the set to see if anybody is watching. “baekhyun, wh-what are you d-doing?” you stammer, frozen in place.

“helping you. this makes it easier, right? if i move?” he makes a dramatic example of pulling his face away from your hand and moving his head around wildly, before placing it back in your hold, and trying to move to show the differences.

he smiles at you, his cheek resting nicely in your palm. under different circumstances, you feel he might kiss. hell, you feel like he might still, with his close proximity and the way you catch his eyes flick down to your lips quickly.

you blink away your feelings and his gaze, and quickly finish up his face. “done,” you say, letting go of his face and taking a step back.

“do i still look nice?” he jokes, straightening and look down at you. you blush and glance away from him, nodding your head.

“yes, baekhyun, you do,” you say. he chuckles and shuffles away, going back to pose for the camera. you take one last look at him and sigh, your heart slamming against your ribcage.

you’re afforded a break, but before you leave to go out, you pick up your station again. you move slowly so you’ll have more time to yourself, organizing your brushes and foundations by color. you wipe up the counter with disinfecting wipes, even the chair, just to kill time.

picking up the box you keep your supplies in, you walk it over to the storage closet and take your time in there too. it doesn’t need to be organized by any means; any open space on the shelves will work, but you decide to arrange it next to the other staff members items, alphabetizing it properly.

a knock at the door makes you jump and you freeze for a second, praying it’s not your boss or one of the managers coming to yell at you for taking too long to go on your break. you gulp and gingerly step away from the shelf, grabbing the knob to open the door. to your relief, it’s not your boss. but to your surprise, it is baekhyun.

“yes?” you say, gripping onto the door for dear life. you look up at him with wide eyes, shock written all over your face. he smirks at you and you wish he would stop, because all day it’s made you feel things and now that he’s here, in a tiny closet with you and nobody else, you feel exposed.

“i just need some makeup wipes,” he says, leaning forward on his toes. you look up at him, slightly dumbfounded. he could have asked any other person on the set for those—they’re everywhere.

“oh, okay,” you say, turning around and grabbing your box. baekhyun steps inside the closet behind you and you glance at him over your shoulder when the door closes. you two lock eyes and you start to feel hot, chest and face burning now that you’re completely alone.

you clumsily open your makeup box and a few things spill out. “i got it,” he says when you start to bend down. you squeak out a ‘thanks’ and dig pull out the makeup wipes.

when you turn around, you’re met with his exposed chest and the necklaces that rest nicely on it. your feet stay rooted to the floor and eyes stuck on his clavicle, unable to move with how close he is. your chest moves up and down faster than you’d like, nearly touching his with the pace you’re breathing.

“here you go,” he says, his voice low and deeper than before. your eyes drag up his neck, up his jaw to his lip and nose, and finally to his eyes. your breath gets taken away with how he looks, especially with his dark eye makeup.

baekhyun wiggles the fallen brush in his hand, like he’s teasing you. you pluck it from his fingers, the brush shaking between your thumb and forefinger. you offer him the pack of makeup wipes in return, and place the brush back in it’s proper place.

your heartbeat rings in your ears. the tension is thick in the room, and you can’t turn back around to face him. you can barely handle him in public, and now that here’s here with you, alone, you’re not sure you’re going to last.

“y/n,” you feel him behind you, mere centimeters away. if you turn, you’ll bump into him—that’s how small this room is and how close he is to you. you audibly suck in a breath and wring your fingers together in front of you.

turning around, your shoulder comes in contact with his hard chest. he’s closer than ever, looming over you. his makeup is still on, but he holds a wipe in his hand. he extends it to you and you look down at it before meeting his eyes. “you want me to do it?” you ask. you’ve done it countless times before, but it’s different now, because he sought you out. and, again, you’re alone.

he nods. “yes,” he says. you take the makeup wipe and clutch it in your hand. you expect him to lean forward, but he doesn’t so you grab his face like you did before, your eyes roaming everywhere but his. “am i making you uncomfortable?” he asks as you start wiping one side of his face, saving the eyeshadow for last so you can bask in his sexiness for awhile longer.

“no,” you reply honestly.

“are you sure?” he asks.

you nod. “it’s not the word i would use to describe how i feel right now,” your voice is quiet, but he hears you perfectly. you feel him smirk underneath your palm and your stomach flips.

“no?” you shake your head. “what word would you use to describe how you’re feeling, then?” he asks. you slide your eyes to his, your hand stilling against the side of his face. his eyes urge you to respond, to tell him how you feel and you want to, you really do.

baekhyun drags his eyes down to your mouth and let’s them stay there for a moment, making it so obvious compared to earlier when you caught him. “baekhyun…” you say, your voice hoarse.

“that’s my name,” he mumbles, eyes back on yours. your lips part, unsure of what to say, or what’s really going on between the two of you. his face is mostly done, sans for his nose and his eye makeup. you close your mouth and get back to work, ignoring the storm happening in your head.

you let out a small sigh as you get to his eyes, barely rubbing off the makeup. “you like it,” he says matter-of-factly. you only nod and keep gently wiping away at his eyes.

“it looks nice,” you compliment. baekhyun softly grabs onto your elbow, halting your movements.

“then leave it on,” he says. you press your lips together and let your arm fall to your side, the other hand still resting on his cheek. he looks into your eyes deeply, and you manage to keep your eyes on him for the first time today. his eyes go back down to your mouth and he lets out a breath. “can i kiss you?” he asks and the question catches you so off guard that you take a step backwards, dropping your hand from his face.

“w-what?” you stutter. baekhyun sobers immediately straightening up and putting some distance between the two of you.

“y/n, im sorry. i didnt mean to make you uncomfortable—shit, fuck—i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to overstep,” he reaches for the handle and you panic. you didn’t step away from him because he made you uncomfortable, you were just shocked at his forwardness. he doesn’t know how badly you want him to kiss you.

“baekhyun, wait,” you say, grabbing his hand. the doorknob stills in his hand as he looks at you, at your hand holding onto his. “i’m not uncomfortable.” you say, looking into his eyes to emphasize that this really is okay. “i… you can kiss me. i want you to.” you say, swallowing the lump on your throat.

baekhyuns shoulders relax, rolling back. “are you sure?” he asks.

“yes.”

he closes the distance between you, taking your face between his hands. he looks down at you with an intense stare that has your knees getting weak. baekhyun strokes your cheek softly with his thumb before dipping his head down and pressing his sweet lips to yours.

you’re breathless again, your hands finding purchase on his forearms to hold yourself steady. he kisses you slowly, like he’s waiting for you to pull back at any second. you want more, so you skip your tongue into his mouth, baekhyun catching on quickly and letting go of your face to grab you by the waist and pull you closer.

your arms are around his neck, pulling him down closer to you. you can’t really believe that you’re kissing him—it feels surreal.

but you know it’s not when he groans against your lips. “you don’t know how long i’ve wanted to do this,” he says, biting your bottom lip, holding it between his teeth for a moment before letting it go and looking at you with dark eyes.

you’re unsure of how to respond; if you should be honest and tell him the same or play it cool. you decide to just kiss him, hoping he understands that you feel the same if you weren’t doing a good job at conveying it earlier.

you and baekhyun get caught in a weird space, his hands sliding up and down your body, groping your ass but never trying to do anything more than that. he keeps his lips on you, never trying to kiss your neck and you do the same. baekhyun is playing everything safe, offering you an out at every chance. a part of you wants to just tell him that he can do whatever he wants with you, to you, but the other wants to keep it in this space, to not complicate it. but you really can’t help yourself, not when you have him like this.

you move your lips from his mouth to his jaw and down his neck, kissing every inch of exposed skin that his open shirt gives you. you silently thank his stylists and whoever created this outfit.

you kiss down his chest, your hands moving to unbuckle the belt that holds his flimsy shirt together. you fumble with it for a moment before you manage to get it off, and baekhyun makes no move to help you. he likes seeing you eager and desperate for him, because he feels the exact same way.

his shirt falls open and you drag your hands down his chest, tracing your fingertips over the ridges of his abs. you drag your hands down lower, stopping at the waistband of his pants that rest an inch below his belly button. “what do you want to do, y/n?” he asks you, pulling your closer to him by your ass.

you only shrug. you’ll do anything. “whatever you want,” you say, meaning it. baekhyun pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and shakes his head slightly. he can’t believe this moment, you. and he doesn’t know what he wants more, you on your knees or him buried deep inside of you, watching you fall apart on him.

baekhyun reconnects your lips, this time kissing you with more want. his fingers work quickly to unbutton your pants and shove his hand down the front of you, pressing his fingers against your clothed core. wetness coats the center and his chest swells with pride when your lips part to let out a gasp when he starts rubbing the material into you.

he kisses on your neck and pushes your pants down farther so he can have more access to you. pushing your panties to the side, baekhyun slips two fingers between your folds and you widen your stance, desperate for his touch. a quiet groan leaves your lips when he slides his fingers into your soaking core, your gummy walls inviting him in easily.

you pant as he works his fingers into you. your hands hold onto his shoulders and you lurch forward when he adds another finger into the mix, his thumb rubbing on your clit as hell. “baek- shh,” he says lowly, kissing your lips to keep your quiet. your clench around his fingers and moan against his mouth. “keep quiet, baby. don’t want to get caught, do you?” the use of the pet name makes you whimper and baekhyun narrows his eyes at you.

“s-sorry,” you squeak, putting one of your own hands against your mouth to quiet yourself. your strain, but it’s muffled enough for baekhyuns satisfaction and he keeps working his fingers in and out of you. he rubs at your clit and that familiar knot in the pit of your stomach tightens. your grab onto his shoulder tighter, hoping he understands that you’re close to reaching your climax.

you squeeze his fingers and baekhyun nips at your neck. “you’re close, aren’t you, baby? are you gonna cum for me? all over my fingers?” he mumbles in your ear, gently biting your earlobe. his voice and his words, and the fact that he keeps calling you baby are enough to send you over the edge, squeezing your eyes shut as you release all over his fingers. “that’s right, just like that. good girl.” you don’t like to imagine how pathetic you look when you throw yourself around him, resting your face in his shoulder and gently biting him to quiet yourself.

baekhyun pulls his fingers out of you and you sigh at the loss of contact. you manage to stand up on your shaky legs, holding onto one of the shelves for support. he starts to unbutton his pants but sops himself to look up at you. “i’m on birth control. and i’m clean,” you say quickly and he gives you a small smile.

“good to know, and so am i,” he says, pulling down his pants. you can’t help but gawk at the bulge in his underwear, your mouth falling open at the sheer size. you hastily step out of your pants and panties, kicking them over to the side when he’s undressed as well.

baekhyun pushes you into the wall at the back of the closet and hikes one of your legs around his hip. he lines himself himself up with you and pushes himself in, your arousal working as a lubricant and easily letting him slip inside.

you mewl out his name and he clamps a hand over your mouth. “i need you to be quiet for me,” he says, starting to thrust into you. “can you do that for me, baby? fuck.” baekhyun drives his hips into you and buried his face into the crook of your neck to muffle his own moans. unlike you, he’s more successful at keeping quiet.

all to be heard is deep breathing and skin on skin. you pray it’s not loud enough to be heard through the door, for somebody could walk in on baekhyun balls deep inside of you.

you bite down on baekhyuns palm and he pulls his hand back to shove his fingers into your mouth instead, forcing you to suck on them while he slams into you. you look at him with wide eyes and he curses, tossing his head back and hiking your leg up higher to get a slightly different angle.

his fucks into you relentlessly, chasing his own release and trying to get you to your second. you’re losing it on top of him, spit all around his fingers and some on your chin. his dark eyes look down at you and you keen at him, wanting so badly to have his lips on you again. but he can’t risk you being loud, and you can’t hold it back.

“shit, baby, i’m close. are you?” you nod and he grunts as he speeds up his thrusts. you bring a hand down to your messy core and rub at your sensitive clit, more spit leaking out of your mouth as you moan at the overwhelming feeling. “fuckfuckfuckfuck-“ baekhyun clenches his jaw as he releases into you.

he fills you up, ropes of his cum coating your insides as he stays buried in you. “fuck, you took me so well, baby,” you cum shortly after him, your arousal mixed with his own dripping down your legs. baekhyun pants and drops your leg from around his hip and you stumble, catching yourself on a shelf. “shit, you alright? can you walk?” he asks, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and then removing himself from inside of you.

“i dont know,” you whine, wanting more of him. but you both know it’s time to go back out. your break is probably almost up anyway, and you still need to eat.

baekhyun finds paper towels and cleans you up. you keep your eyes on him as he wipes in between your thighs. you almost sigh at the beautiful sight before you; his soft brown eyes a dark contrast to the dark eye makeup that’s still mainly intact. his hands and gentle beneath you and you wonder if this will last, or if after this moment you two will go back to what you had before, before this moment. or worse, if it’ll be like nothing ever happened; not this moment, or anything that came before it.

as if he can hear your thoughts, he looks up at you and gives you a small smile. he places a soft kiss on your lips and you hold him close for an extra beat. “that was fun,” he says, and just like that he’s back to being himself, not the same man that just stuck his fingers in your mouth and fucked you silly.

you nod, a small smile on your face to match his own. “we should do it again,” he says, picking up your clothes and handing them to you. it’s a silly thing to smile about, but you can’t help it. if this is how you see him again, outside of work, then fine. you’ll take what you can get.

“okay,” you say, stepping into your underwear and pants. baekhyun quickly redresses and waits for you by the door. you look up and see him holding the belt that goes around his shirt, in his hands. it’s not your job, but you take it from him and help him anyway because you would if you were out on the set right now.

“what are you doing later?” he asks as you fasten the belt around his torso. you, i hope, you think. but you just shrug and look up at him. he smiles and places a hand on your cheek. “i’ll pick you up at seven, then.”

and that’s how you get your first date with byun baekhyun.

[puckpocketed]

who is #43?

Hello !! First off thank u for visiting. If you clicked read more by accident rip sorry it’s a lot of text. ENJOY!!! <3

1. This was the photo reference I used. I really did mean it when i said he photographs well!! I really like how scrungly he looks at times lol. v paintable

2. here’s a timelapse for your viewing pleasure in video + gif form <3

3. Process breakdown below. I am not formally trained, so don’t take any of this as professional advice!! The way i paint has been compared to channeling some evil contract with a demon also. So um . Im saying that i dont remotely think that this is efficient or correct, its just whats comfortable for me <3

3a) the dreaded lining phase. I have 2 modes of operation when it comes to painting - either i go full-dick with fancy inking/sketching + cel shading (rare, unrefined, haven’t figured out a nice workflow yet) OR i do a very very basic chicken scratch set of lines like so:

It’s less about being realistic here and more about laying down some guide lines for the chaos ahead. If i thought i could get away with it, I would start every rendered painting i do with laying down colours — but unfortchh ive tried that before and it usually ends in really weird proportions. Even with the lines i still need to make adjustments. This is something no people except me would notice but look at the above sketch; the eyes are too big and slightly too far apart, the forehead is too small and thus the hair is also not quite big enough… I have a bad habit of drawing eyes too big on faces, they’re my favourite facial feature to draw.. i barely resisted giving him big cow eyelashes (I love big cow eyelashes… all of my OC’s and most of my more stylised fan art of characters get big cow eyelashes… god…. Big cow eyelashes SAVE ME……….)

Anyway. Structure of the face + hand somewhat established. <3

3b) Underpainting!! Okay stay with me here . Ever since i figured out i dont have to paint in 03925893853 different layers, I’ve joyfully painted on 1 layer as much as possible. I dont have the brain power all the time to be managing layers so I simply dont work with that many layers. For this painting, the skin in its entirety was painted on one layer, the hair on another layer, and the effects on the last layer. There was a placeholder background off-white/grey colour for a while there, and I duplicated the line layer — one for figuring out where to lay colours, and one hidden for later so i could check back to see how accurate to the sketch/proportions were to the actual painting. 6 layers, 2 of which i painted the bulk of the piece on, 1 more at the end.

3c) here’s where I started carving out features. I think about objects in terms of volumes and light rather than lines. i love painting and sculpting because of this!! Here you see where I’ve begun to define his features — his eyelids, his bags, his nostrils. Just refining what was there before. The suggestion of facial hair before i gave it up and left it for later (his face is so naked the WHOLE time)

3d) nose bridge highlight, suggesting his eyebrows, a cheek highlight. A touch more coral red and muted yellow pull away from the grey/blue underpainting. Strategically leaving some of it peeking through.

3e) i truly start messing with the fidelity of his features here. Red lipstick <3 and some violet/blue for shadows on the right side of his face.

3f) the part where it starts looking like q.hughes to me (though, my friend said i got his vibe pretty early on which is such a compliment.. waaaaa…..) I love this part of every painting i do. I know it’s definitely not the Correct order since other parts of the entire painting are simply Not Rendered or Done, but whos gonna stop me?? :3

I love love loveeee painting faces. Adding the little shinies to his eyes + lips + upper lip + nose … you don’t know how much of a difference it makes until you do it. Also i snatched his eyebrows

3g) i really pushed the red/coral/ochre/orange here. Note the yellow highlights on his cheekbones, the forehead, and the thin thin line of pink right between where his bottom lip ends and his chin shadow starts <- very important . To ME!!!!!!! Also highlighting his waterline and adding his lashes was so so fun <3

3h) FACIAL HAIR!!! And I started rendering his hand. Some micro adjustments made to his face for proportion check.

3i) i start painting his hair in earnest and realise his forehead is too small so i make the adjustment. I really love how it falls into his eyes in this photo. <3

3j) i make some final adjustments to his eyes — a bit smaller, closer together. And i refine the outline of his jaw, push the stylisation of it just a little.

3k) Finishing details; his flyaway hairs, his moles, a bit of texture on his face, shadows cast by his hair, his little forehead cut <3

3l) i adjusted his hand here, added more texture to his skin, refined his hair a tiny bit more, and made the decision not to fuck around painting his jersey because i wanted the focus to be his face <3

3m) Canucks blue and green. Captain at 23. His form bleeds into the background. He is the franchise.

theee most fun ive had painting anything. and i finally feel... warmed up? if that makes sense. art for me is like. if i dont do it in a while it feels like nothing goes right when i come back to it. i hate that feeling, and the most difficult hurdle to clear is letting myself feel that until i get back into my Zone. after all this time i feel like im BACK !!!!!!!

i loved painting this fella. hes SO Shaped. <3

Apologies i simply do Not have the energy to write the alt text for all of these so i hope the little blurbs are okay aslkjasdklj. i gotta post and go to bed . if u made it this far, thank you for reading!!

[luvzshy]

In Focus

Summary: you’re a photographer working with Billie Eilish on a shoot. As a connection grows between you two, Billie pulls back, worried that her fame will complicate any relationship. After an honest conversation, you reassure her that you’re willing to face the challenges together. In a tender moment, Billie finally lets her guard down, and the two of you decide to give the relationship a shot despite the risks.

You’ve photographed countless faces—celebrities, models, everyday people—but none quite like Billie. There’s something about her that transcends the camera, a presence that can’t be faked or staged. As she leans against the brick wall of the studio, her head tilted slightly to the side, you snap a shot. The shutter clicks, and for a brief moment, you see her—truly see her—not the pop star or the persona, but the person behind all of it.

“Let me see,” Billie says, pushing away from the wall and walking over. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, in the otherwise quiet studio. The crew has long since packed up, leaving the two of you alone, bathed in the soft glow of the work lights.

You show her the image on your camera. Her lips part slightly as she stares at the screen, her brows furrowing.

“That’s… different,” she murmurs.

“It’s you,” you reply gently, watching her reaction. You can tell she’s not used to seeing herself like this, stripped of the layers fame has built around her. There’s no flashy makeup, no staged glamour. Just Billie.

She pulls back, a small smile tugging at her lips, but there’s something else in her eyes—a hesitation you’ve noticed growing over the last few days. You’ve spent so much time together during this shoot, and while the professional boundary has always been clear, there’s an undercurrent between you that’s become impossible to ignore. It’s in the way she laughs at your dumb jokes, the way her hand brushes yours when you pass her something, the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not paying attention.

And yet, she’s been pulling back.

Tonight feels different, though. There’s an electricity in the air, something charged and fragile, like a moment hanging in the balance. You don’t know if you should push or wait for her to make the next move, but the silence between you is stretching too long, too heavy.

“Billie,” you start, unsure of exactly what you’re about to say, only knowing that you need to break the silence. “What’s going on? You’ve been… distant.”

Her eyes flick to yours, and you can see her deflecting already, the walls starting to go back up. But this time, you’re not letting her retreat. “Is it something I did?”

“No,” she says quickly, too quickly. “No, it’s not you. I just…” She trails off, exhaling heavily. Her shoulders slump, and she rubs the back of her neck, a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize. “It’s not you. It’s me. It’s—” She stops herself and looks away.

You wait, giving her space to speak, not pushing but not pulling away either. After a moment, she sighs, finally looking back at you. “This isn’t… I don’t know how to do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“This.” She gestures vaguely between the two of you. “I don’t know how to do this with… anyone. People don’t date me. They date ‘Billie Eilish.’ And I don’t… I don’t want to do that to you.”

The weight of her words hits you like a cold wave. Of course. Of course, this is why she’s been pulling back. It’s not that she doesn’t feel the same way. It’s that she feels too much.

You take a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “Billie, I’m not ‘people.’ I’m me. And I’m not interested in dating Billie Eilish, the celebrity. I’m interested in you.

Her eyes search yours, as if trying to see if you’re telling the truth. There’s a vulnerability there, something raw and unguarded that makes your chest ache.

“But what happens when everyone finds out?” she asks, her voice barely audible. “The media… the fans… they’ll tear you apart. You won’t be able to live a normal life anymore.”

You shake your head, stepping even closer, until you’re standing just inches apart. “I knew who you were when we started working together. I know what your life is like. But that doesn’t change how I feel. I don’t care about any of that. I care about you.”

She looks down at her hands, her fingers twisting the rings on her fingers, a nervous habit. “It’s not that simple. It never is.”

“I know,” you admit softly. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. But nothing worth having ever is, right?”

She laughs quietly at that, a soft, broken sound. When she looks up at you again, her eyes are glossy, her lips pressed into a thin line as if she’s trying to hold something back. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispers.

“You won’t.”

For a moment, the only sound is the quiet hum of the lights above you, the world outside feeling far, far away. You’re both suspended in this moment, and you can feel it, the decision hanging between you, waiting to tip one way or the other.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, Billie reaches for your hand, her fingers brushing yours before entwining them. Her touch is warm, and the simple act of holding her hand sends a jolt of warmth through you.

“I’m scared,” she admits softly, and it’s the most honest thing she’s said all night.

“So am I,” you reply, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “But I think we can figure it out. Together.”

Billie looks at you for a long moment, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand, before she leans in, closing the small space between you. Her lips meet yours in a soft, hesitant kiss, and for a second, everything else falls away—the cameras, the fame, the world outside. It’s just you and her, here in this quiet moment.

When she pulls back, her eyes are still closed, her forehead resting against yours.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Let’s try.”

And in that moment, you know that whatever comes next—paparazzi, media, fans—you’ll face it together.

[brandogenius]

Hi! I love your writing and I was just wondering if you’d be willing to write jb x controversially!young gf (like maybe 19-21)?I saw another writer do it and became obsessed with the concept

Obviously you don’t have to if you’re not comfortable but I just wanted to say your writing is so good!

hi! thank you so much!! that’s so kind of you i will cry 😭 of course my love! i’ve never written something like this before but! i can try! i’m sorry if it’s not good :( !

i would love to add more onto this tbh! it is late so my brain is tired but yeah!

‼️RPF‼️

HC - julien x controversially young gf reader!

- being 21 and in college means daily trips to your favourite cafe to study on break and do assignments

- you’re major is studying in music sound engineering so music comes naturally to you.

- one of your assignments was currently due at the end of the week, consisting on researching a favourite song of yours, key analysing the instrumental usage in the songs. time signatures, etc

- julien often comes to visit you at the cafe on your lunch breaks, sitting down for as long as you can while you work together on the assignments

- julien being a professional musician, you’re confident you can get a good opinion and thesis from julien to help broaden your view for the research.

- the beginning of you and juliens relationship with a bit of a rocky road. the both of you have been dating for a year now.

- julien was a bit worried in the beginning, considering your large age gap of 7 years, she was worried about dynamics and what others would say. how people would treat you.

- obviously you didn’t care. you wanted to be with julien and loved her. but julien was more on the hesitant side. just for the sake of protecting you and not wanting to accidentally take advantage of you.

- very slow at the start. hesitant touches. first kiss after their fifth date. a lot of reassurance from you, confirming that it is ok had julien loosening up a bit more

- “i promise i’m ok baby. now can you please kiss me already or are you gonna leave me standing?”

- the boys love you

- always teasing you, acting like younger sibling vibes truly

- julien drives you to school, somedays phoebe or lucy if juliens in the studio

- “jb is at the studio early, you ok with one of us elderly taking you instead?” phoebe loves to jokingly refer to her and the boys as elderly around you considering your age gap

- “have a fun day at school sweetie”

- going to award shows with julien, she respectfully wants you to stay out of the public eye as much as you can.

- you’re a college student, if you’re photographed in the paper or on news articles everywhere online. she worries about your safety.

- she wants the best for you and your education. she doesn’t want you to fail or have to drop out because of her.

- sleeping together took a LONG time

- nights you offered julien over she offered to take the couch or the guest bedroom.

- “babe i’m fine with the couch i promise. go to bed- shoo! you got early classes tomorrow remember?”

- the day you finally convince jb to come to bed with you, she was nervous but excited

- hesitant arms wrapping around you, delicately protecting you from the darkness as if you’d break and crumble into a thousand pieces

- “i just don’t want to squeeze you too hard or hold you too tight darling”

- you end up having to wrap your arms around the older woman instead. face smushed into her chest

[literary-motif]

Love Is A Lie

Alex x Reader

You call Alex after the dream you had about him.

You exhaled shakily, pressing the call button. Phone calls induced their own kind of anxiety, leaving your heart racing as you paced in your apartment. That dream — nightmare, really — was fresh in your mind, making you realize that you could not let the past continue to haunt you.

Alex occupied your thoughts, stealing your focus and making you think about what could have happened had things been different. Regret weighed heavily on your heart. You had both made mistakes, and you were sick of having this unfinished relationship hang over your heads. 

You needed to get closure so you could move on with your life. 

“Hello?” Alex's voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. Your breath hitched. 

Opening your mouth to reply, you could not utter a word. Your mind went blank, and you could do nothing but listen to the muffled clearing of a throat on the other end of the line. 

“Hello?” he asked again, more pointed now. He sounded snappy, already impatient. Had he canceled your number? Did he not recognize it? 

Had he moved on already?

You swallowed thickly. “Alex,” you croaked out, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. They came out jumbled anyway. “Hi, it’s— hi, uh—” you stammered, running a hand through your hair nervously. “How have you been? How is— are you in— in the US already?”

“Yes,” he replied sharply. “What do you want?”

Your heart sank. What did you want? 

Calling him had been such an impulse decision and you suddenly realized that you had not thought this through. The needto hear his voice after the heart-wrenching dream still clinging to you had been overwhelming. For once, you had allowed your heart to decide for you, and being caught in the tense silence between you two now, you immediately came to regret it.

“I—” you began hesitatingly, “I dreamt about you, about us. I just— I needed to tell you that I’m—”

“You said,” he said curtly. 

His voice sounded different, tighter than you remembered. It had not been long, hardly a month since he had moved out. Had he grown to hate you in such a short time? Had he changed so much already?

Had he truly not accepted your apology?

“No, listen,” you said, desperation seeping into your tone. You could not continue like this, with Alex and thousands of what-ifs constantly on your mind. “I need to do this properly, Alex. Please, just let us—”

His deep sigh cut you off, making the words catch in your throat. Perhaps he truly did not care anymore. Perhaps he had moved on in New York. Perhaps you meant less to him than he did to you.

“This is not a conversation we can have over the phone, really,” he said, sounding nearly absentminded. You heard the shuffling of papers in the background and wondered faintly what type of project he was involved in now. 

Did his position at this prestigious company give him the satisfaction he craved? Was he happy now that his dream to be a professional photographer gave him the income he deserved?

You still cared about him. You wanted to know him again. What had happened in the month you had been apart? How was he? 

You missed the conversations you would have over dinner, amicably arguing about the wetness of water and other silly things. You missed how he would curl into your side on the sofa when you watched a movie together, pointing out the lighting choices and camera angles that were particularly ingenious or horridly done. You missed having a shoulder to lean on, a haven when the stress of life got too much. You missed having him by your side.

“Fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice from shaking. You still loved him, and thinking that he did not feel the same way about you anymore broke your heart. “When– uh, are you in London anytime soon?”

The answer was immediate. “No.”

Blinking away tears, you tried to reason with yourself. Feelings changed. It was perfectly natural. If he wanted a fresh start, that was alright. If he did not feel the same way about you after what had happened — a thought that caused your lower lip to wobble uncontrollably and made your tears spill — that was alright as well. Feelings changed. You would have to deal with it, and you were confident that you would, but you did not want to let go of him until he said so.

You needed closure, or you would hold onto hope that your relationship could be fixed, and you would work to fix it.

That was hard to do though, when he was across the ocean.

“Ah,” you said eloquently, “Then, uh— would—”

“I have to go,” he said quickly, cutting you off. “Work, you understand.” 

You did understand, but it sounded more like an excuse than anything else. You glanced at the clock on your nightstand. It was nine in the evening for him, and you were sure that although his work was important, Alex — who always told you he got his best work done early in the morning — did not have to rush anywhere to complete anything at this hour. 

Then again, things change.

“Alex—” you tried.

People change.

“Goodbye,” he said. The line went dead. 

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 2

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.    

Rating: Mature Word Count: 20.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence, flirting, Jack can dance and I will die on this hill.  Summary: Your introduction to the world of Statesman comes with a flirtation, a job interview, a pool game, and an unexpected turn to the night after an unexpected day. Notes: I’m not even mad about how long this chapter is. I *loved* introducing this reader to Statesman and I hope you guys do, too!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Three hours later to the minute, you're standing on the tarmac at Portsmouth International Airport with a backpack slung over one shoulder as you follow a flight attendant in a crisp Statesman uniform up to the stairs to board the jet bearing the company's logo in giant letters splashed across the side. It's really real. It's actually, really real. A discreet picture on your phone will be very quickly texted to your mom before the plane takes off, but for now you're listening to the attendant tell you that the flight will last two and a half hours and that anything you need will be provided on board. There's a man in a Stetson standing just inside the door of the plane as you walk up, and you have to hand it to these folks. They have truly committed to the cowboy aesthetic.

“Howdy ma’am.” Champ didn’t tell him who he was picking up when he called Tequila to his office and told him that he was being sent with the jet to pick someone up. He didn’t rightly think it was his business; but he has to admit that you’re cute. He smirks slightly as he tips his hat with two fingers and motions you towards the captain's chairs. “Want a drink before takeoff?”

"Just a bottle of water would be great." As much as a finger or two of whiskey would calm the hell out of your nerves right now, you don't know if drinking during what is technically one long-ass job interview would be considered very professional. You look around as the flight attendant whisks your backpack away, setting it on the end of a small sofa that serves as seating on the jet. "This plane is absolutely amazing..."

“Aw, come on now.” Tequila steps behind the bar and grabs the bottle of water to set on the shiny surface. “You can’t tell me you don’t drink? You’ll break my heart.”

You laugh, appreciating the man's jovial attitude and willing to admit to yourself that he's very attractive. Not your usual type, but there's nothing wrong with being leading-man attractive. You just normally go for more unique looking men - and older. "Experience tells me that drinking during a job interview is bad manners," you admit, taking a step further into the room. This plane has rooms. "But I've never interviewed for a distillery before, so maybe the rules are actually the opposite now."

“Drinking’s a job requirement.” He flirts, sending you a small wink and reaching for the bottle of ‘82 Special Selection. “Champ’ll have you with a glass in your hand by the time you get done shakin’.”

"Just a little, then." It doesn't matter that your tolerance is hellishly high, you're not aiming to get drunk at all during this trip. "So your boss...Champ? He, uh...he doesn't do things by half, does he?" You're curious about the man after finding next to nothing about him online. Even finding a photograph was like pulling teeth.

“No one at Statesman does.” Tequila grins proudly as he picks up the bottle and uncorks it to start pouring into the awaiting glasses. “So why are you coming to Kentucky?” He’s curious and as an intelligence agent, he’s never one to not ask questions.

“It’s…an interview?” You look up at the man in confusion and laugh, purely out of nerves. “Did your boss not tell you who you were picking up, or why?”

“Champ says go, you go.” You don’t scream ‘new agent’, but he’s been wrong before. “What’ll you be doin’, if I can ask?”

“I’m a pastry chef.” One hand curls itself around the glass he has poured for you, feeling the steadiness of the weight of cut crystal in your hand. “Mr. Rogers wants to expand the food that the distillery is able to offer to guests who take tours and come to events. So…he called me.” Which still seems sort of batshit insane, but you are good at what you do, and you love it. You’re even a good savory chef - but pastry really has been your passion.

"Pastry....like cakes and pies?" Tequila asks, tilting his head as he thinks about it. You nod, giving him a vaguely amused smile that he notices a lot on people around him and he purses his lips, nodding in agreement. "I like it. Although you're gonna be haunted by the ones with sugar addictions." He warns, thinking about Jack's hidden sweet tooth. Man likes to claim that his ever so softening belly is the result of his bad back, but the drawer in his desk that is devoted to candy would prove that is a lie.

“Well, I hope so.” It earns him a bright, genuine laugh with a smile. “Otherwise there would be no point in hiring an executive pastry chef for the distillery at all.” Feeling slightly more relaxed, you take a small sip of whiskey and hum at the gentle burn. The notes of vanilla and smoke in this particular vintage would make an amazing boozy caramel for that chocolate tart you’ve been doing at the restaurant. “Everyone has a favourite sweet. Something tied to good memories or a favorite person. Sometimes it’s a thing you had once and maybe never again, but you’ll just love it forever from that one taste. Sweets are kind of magical like that.”

"I guess." Tequila gives a small shrug, shooting you a grin. "I'm more of a red hots kind of guy myself. I like the heat." He's not overly fond of sweets, but he can enjoy a dessert every now and again. It's more like he would haunt your kitchens for you rather than your cakes.

“You’re telling me you’ve never had Mexican hot chocolate or a spicy sweet candied anything?” When the cowboy looks at you in wonder and shakes his head, you laugh again. Not to laugh at him, just because getting people to try new things is one of the best parts of what you do. “I tell you what. If I get this job, I’ll road-test a batch of my guajillo and cinnamon fudge brownies for the menu. They’ll knock your socks off.”

"If you say so." Tequila looks skeptical but gives a shrug. He's always willing to try anything once. "So you are willing to move to Kentucky to make cakes at a distillery?" He asks, trying to get a feel for you. He's cocky as an agent, but when he doesn't know the woman's background, he can be a bit shy.

“What’s life without adventure, right?” You shrug and take another sip of the drink you’ve been poured. Statesman really is quality liquor, you have to admit that. “It’s a great position and comes with a lot of freedom. Not everybody gets to develop their own menu and recipes at a facility like yours.”

Tequila chuckles, lifting his own glass up and silently toasting you before he takes a sip. "Thank God for freedom, right?" He is meaning his freedoms on a mission, but you don't know that. He wonders if you will be clued in on the real function of Statesman, or if you will just be another front for the intelligence agency.

“Absolutely.” It hits bittersweet, though, this time. Freedom in a general sense is great. But three days ago you were in the walk-in at work and dropped every single thing in your arms when a searing, unintelligible pain took over your entire body. Thinking it was a weird muscle spasm or an allergic reaction to the new body wash you were trying out, you ignored it until the end of the day. Of course, at the end of the day, you stood in your bedroom mirror and realized there was no rash. No reaction. The mountain range tattoo over your heart had disappeared along with the chef’s knife that had adorned the inside of your forearm, and all the scars from cuts and burns that had told you your soulmate had to be a chef were gone. Your brother had tried to be comforting. Told you that you were free now to love whoever you wanted. But that wasn’t the kind of freedom you had ever wanted.

He wonders about the sudden look of melancholy that washes over your face but he doesn't want to pry. You aren't a target and he wants to make sure that you are comfortable around him if you take this job. Something tells him that you will, but he's been wrong before. Hell, he thought Jack would have crawled out of a bottle by now, but when he had left, the man was still drunk from the night before.

The captain’s voice comes over the intercom, asking all passengers and crew to take their seats for take off, and the overly tall cowboy nods in response before leading you to your seat. “So what do you do at Statesman?” You ask, once you’re buckled in and he is sitting beside you. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Security.” He sits down and untucks his jacket from around his back with a small wink towards you. It’s the go-to cover position within the distillery workforce. At least where the civilians are concerned.

“And is this your uniform?” He makes it work, you’ll give him that. But you kind of want to prepare yourself for whatever you’re about to walk into. If you’re going to be wearing a cowgirl hat instead of a toque, you want to know ahead of time.

"Uniform?" He scrunches his nose and shakes his head. "No ma'am, we dress for comfort at Statesman." He tells you, although everyone had their own sense of business style, Tequila was still more comfortable in ranch hand attire than anything. Jack was on the one to wear fancy threads.

“Just curious,” you tell him honestly, adding a nonchalant shrug because you’re a little awkward about everything. “It seems like Statesman has its own culture about it, and I like that. Places I’ve worked before haven’t felt like a community at all.”

"You won't feel like that here." Tequila promises. "We're proud of what we do and it shows." Of course, there is a lot to that statement that you don't know how true it is but even the front of the distillery was worked with pride. He honestly felt like it was the best damn bourbon mash in all of Kentucky.

“We’ll see how the interview goes.” There’s no way you’re going to count your chicken before they hatch, but this job just sounds like an absolute dream.

Tequila snorts and listens to the engines power up before the large jet starts to roll down the runway. "Everyone who's ever worked for Statesman has probably said some version of that statement." He tells you, lifting a brow playfully. "And never left."

******

The flight seems short with such good company, and the man who cringes at his own name - Tex - brings you from the airstrip to the main building to actually meet Champ when you land. It’s been a mere six hours since that phone call this morning, but it feels days away. The Statesman campus is stunning. Everywhere you look are excited tourists and seemingly happy employees. Most wear some kind of western-influenced style but not everyone, although you do notice that everyone who does wear the cowboy look has beautiful quality boots and Stetsons. If what they’re offering to pay you is any indication, everybody here can definitely afford high quality pieces. There is a decent-sized cafeteria buzzing with eager patrons eating classic Southern favourites, and then there is the brand-new empty restaurant space where Tex introduces you to an older man in worn but well-cared-for western wear of his own, and you’re instantly certain that this is Champ.

Champ gives you an affable grin as he reaches out and takes your hand in his. "Richard 'Champagne' Rogers." He tells you by way of introduction. "But call me Champ." He looks away from you and towards Tequila. "I see that Tex has gotten you here without any emergencies." He nods towards the agent and then looks back you. "How was the flight?"

“Very comfortable, thank you.” He has a patriarchal vibe that leans more toward grandfather than anything else, and you feel yourself relax a little. Your own grandfather would probably fit right in here. Right alongside Champ Rogers. “The campus here is gorgeous. I’m excited to see the facilities you talked about this morning.”

"It's in the back here." Champ gestures towards an area that has been cordoned off and still has the air of being in the final stages of being remodeled. "We were going to do some kinda fancy steakhouse, but folks don't want another one of those." He explains.

“So you’re leaning in the direction of Southern tea house instead?” Following him into the kitchen, it’s easy to see the makings of a world-class set up here. Glistening appliances and brand-new surfaces wink in the bright light and the door to the walk-in is so new it still has film on the window. It’s just the dining room that has no personality yet.

"I want a place where people can come in and relax." Champ tells you. "Indulge and pair new things with old whiskey."

“New twists on old classics?” It’s something that is gaining a lot of traction these days, and you nod your head in agreement. “My style is a combination of things. French technique and American classics, with some British influence to polish it all off. And I can do savory as well as pastry.” If this whole place is going to be a functioning tea room of sorts, you don’t want him to make any mistake about your abilities. “Are you planning on hiring an executive savory chef as well?”

Champ frowns for a moment and shakes his head. "Naw...what's that sayin'? 'Two women in a kitchen's bad business'. You can head the whole thing."

If you had been holding anything, it would have gone clattering to the ground. Your own restaurant. This company is offering you your own goddamn restaurant. The second you start to process it you feel giddy and anxious - like you could actually fly from the butterflies in your belly. “Then I hope you like what I do,” you tell him with what you hope is a carefree laugh. “One more question, if I could? Before I get to work, I mean.”

Champ raises a brow at you and chuckles. "Shoot, girl, straight from the hip." He tells you. He likes the look of you and he can see why you would be Jack's new soulmate.

“I suppose it’s sort of a multi-part question,” you admit, hoping that doesn’t make you sound inexperienced or unprepared. “I’m wondering if this restaurant will be just for tourists and guests, or if it will also be a facility for your employees? And also what kind of events you anticipate being able to host here with the event space having access to a specialized restaurant.” Frankly, to you, it screams parties and weddings - but who knows what they’re expecting to be able to do?

"Isn't that up to you?" Champ asks, looping his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and looking around the place again. He shoulda known Jack Daniels soulmate had a keen business sense and a good head on her shoulders. He woulda said the same about Jack until recently. "I mean, it'd be your rodeo, wouldn't you call the shots?"

It’s simultaneously terrifying, inspiring, and nerve-wracking to get that kind of answer, but you end up stifling a grin when Tex flashes you two thumbs up behind his boss’s back for encouragement. “You’d make a hell of a profit from weddings,” you tell Champ honestly, although that’s not why you like the idea of doing them. “Weddings, private events, corporate parties, live music events. From large scale down to small scale, they all run on the same principle. A restaurant staff can handle the catering demands, and we can work with other vendors and event planners to make sure the details are right. I’ve done it at my last two jobs with excellent results.” It’s a goddamn dream come true, that’s what Statesman is. You just have to work your ass off to make sure Champ likes your food.

Champ purses his lips and looks around like he's contemplating it. It all actuality, it would be whatever would make you stay here. As a senior agent, Jack's worth the investment of a business that might actually expand the Statesman brand. And if it keeps his soulmate on the grounds and protected, well that was just fine. "If you want to take that on, I don't see why we couldn't do it. Have the boys in bottling provide a special bottle for the occasions." He offers, knowing that an etched bottle of whiskey would be a perfect wedding thing. "If you don't, you could just have the little dining room."

“Provided you like my food, I would say the most pragmatic path would be to open the restaurant and start with small events first. Expand to weddings afterward.” It’s a big, demanding industry, but you already know you make a killer wedding cake and can manage the menus. It’s pretty literally your dream being laid out on the table here for you to prove that you deserve. “The menu I put together for the tasting can be done in just a few hours. I only need you to tell me how many I’m expected to feed and then I’ll get started.”

Reaching up, Champ rubs his jaw with his hand and hides a small smirk. "Oh I think enough for five or six should be enough." He tells you. "Yourself included."

“Very doable.” That’s just one batch of everything, and you can definitely pull that off without a problem. “Give me two hours, and come back hungry.”

"I'll send someone by in case you need something." Champ decides that he's going to give you space. He needs to fish your soulmate out of his bottle and sober him up a little before he meets you for the first time.

“Fantastic.” Two hours will be a hustle, but you know you can do it. There’s too much at stake here and too much potential on the horizon not to. Whoever this head hunter was that passed your resume on to Champ? You could kiss that person.

******

"Jack." Grunting, Jack tries to ignore the sound of his name being called. He hasn't slept, hasn't done much but drink and for the first time since that awful day Champ desked him, his eyes are closed on their own.

“Jack.” Champ growls his name on the fourth try, and when the best he gets from the noncommittal agent sprawled out on his own living room couch after living at the bottom of a bottle for two solid days is nothing - he holds up the pitcher of water he poured in the kitchen and unceremoniously dumps it directly on Jack’s head and chest.

"SHIT!" Jack sputters, coming up off the sofa in a shock of cold water like he's been hit with a defibrillator. Reaching for guns in holsters that aren't there. "What the — what the fuck?" He demands when he realizes that it's Champ and he slumps back against the now soaked sofa. "Go away."

“Get up.” Tossing him a towel from his other hand, Champ ignores Jack’s order completely. “You got someplace to be in…” he checks his watch. “An hour and thirty-one minutes.”

“Imma off d-desk duty already?” Jack asks, bewildered and he throws his hand over his eyes and groans in pain.

“No.” It would be funny if it weren’t troubling, and Champ shakes his head. “You’re gonna eat something. You, me, Tequila, Ginger, and Diana.” It’s as good a crew to taste test food as any, not to mention they’re generally Champ’s favourite people. His own soulmate is working just the same as any other afternoon, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind being stolen away for a surprise dinner. Diana Rogers is always a fan of surprises, so Champ makes sure to keep them locked and loaded for her at all times.

Disappointment rolls through Jack along with a wave of nausea. He’s not as young as he used to be and he’s gone through a least three bottles. “Not hungry.” He huffs, turning away from Champ and making to lay back down. “Another time.”

“That’s not an option, friend.” Producing a cup of coffee seemingly out of nowhere, Champ holds it out to Jack and hooks the thumb of his free hand into his belt. “I need you showered and lookin’ presentable. And reasonably sober if fuckin possible, so I’ll have Ginger bring you something to help with that if you can’t manage it yourself.”

“Shit.” It feels like a million little hammers from Satan’s army is pounding away inside his head, but Jack sits up slowly and belches. Groaning when the sloshing in his stomach feels like he’s at sea in a dingy during a hurricane. “Yeah.”

“Fine.” The older man nods and offers the coffee again, glad when Jack finally takes it and at least sniffs the brew. “You got clean clothes, or did you ransack your own house along with your desk?”

“I’m here, ain’t I?” Jack grunts at him, not quite making sense. “Why are you in my house?”

“You never shoulda given me a key,” Champ jokes, allowing himself to find a little humor in the moment.

“Remind me to get it back.” Jack scowls and takes a sip of the coffee, hissing when it burns his tongue.

“Now is that any way to talk to a man who’s feeding you dinner?” It doesn’t really have much to do with him and he knows it, but Champ is still going to tease his friend now that Jack is on the other side of the bottle.

“It is when you’re dragging me somewhere I don’t want to go to eat food I don’t think I can stomach.” Jack grouses, throwing Champ a halfhearted glare.

“You’ll manage.” He hadn’t wanted to use this as leverage, but it seems he’s going to have to. “She’s here, Jack.”

Jack blinks for a moment, the alcohol in his blood making him a little slower than normal and then he huffs. “Fuck, Champ, is that why you want me to have some dinner?” He demands.

“Yeah, that’s why.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at Jack, studiously ignoring the indignant tone in his friend’s voice. “She’s cookin’ it, so you’re eatin’.”

There is a staring contest that last for about a minute before Jack sighs. “Shit.” He sets the coffee down and manages to stand, swaying slightly. “Let me shower.”

“She doesn’t know.” Champ tells him, putting out a hand to steady Jack a little before he heads to the stairs. “And it ain’t my place to tell her.”

“Well that’s something.” Jack mumbles, suddenly even less inclined to attend than before. “And nobody else better run their damned mouths.”

“Only you, me, and Diana know.” He has taken his concern for Jack home to his wife, knowing that the younger man wouldn’t judge him or be upset over it. “She’s here to interview for a job.”

“Jesus, Champ.” Jack jerks to a stop and even though he regrets it, his head whips back to look at him. “An interview? Whadya gonna do? Make her an agent?”

Champ huffs, hot air escaping his nostrils and making him feel like a goddamn bull on the charge. “Make yourself presentable,” he rumbles. “I’ll send Ginger to pick you up.” Without another word, Champ rocks back on his heel, pulls Jack’s spare house key out of his pocket, and drops it on his coffee table on his way out the door. If he’s gonna be an ass, he can be one on his own.

Jack blows out a sigh, feeling like an asshole now that the door slams behind Champ. He was out of line and regrets the look of disappointment that he saw in his friend’s eyes. Shuffling to the bathroom, Jack strips and looks in the mirror, disgusted with the reflection he sees.

******

Given what you set out to do, it's a testament to hard work and a small miracle that you have everything done in time. The very last thing to come out of the oven will be the soufflés, and those are scheduled to be done as the first course as soon as Champ returns with his four person entourage in less than two minutes. If there is any mercy in the world they might even come early and be witness to the tray coming out of the oven, because that would be an incredible flex. Everything has been carefully plated and arranged, and you've probably sweated out three pounds of water weight from all the running around you've done in this kitchen, but every single piece of equipment here is pristine and glorious. If you don't get this job you'll be more disappointed than you've ever been to miss out on anything, but at least you'll have gotten to cook in this amazing kitchen once.

Jack is as nervous as a foaling mare around people. He has shaven his cheeks bare and slapped aftershave on until it stung. Combed his hair and put on clothes that are clean and fresh. He feels like he should be confident, but he’s not. His stomach is rolling and it’s not from the alcohol. He had thrown that up in the shower. He’s nervous to meet this woman, this soulmate.

"Look who's up and about." Tequila gives Jack his most encouraging smile as he spots his friend walking up the path with Ginger at his side. "Champ invite y'all to join us for this thing?"

“More like ordered.” Jack mutters under his breath, but he gives a halfhearted shrug. “Guess he figured I needed some fresh air.”

"And he cleaned up all nice for us." Ginger jokes, trying to lighten the mood as best she can. She knows Jack has been inside his own shell for a few days, and why, but she knows that getting him out of the house is the best thing that Champ could have done.

He’s still slightly queasy, but it’s because of who he’s about to meet since Ginger had given him one of her magic hangover pills. “Yeah, yeah.”

"Good." Champ's voice booms over the distillery courtyard from the other direction as he skirts a tour group with his arm around his wife. "Everybody made it on time. Let's get in there and find out what we're eating, huh?" Satisfied to see Jack dressed and upright, Champ heads straight for the side door to the building that will let them directly into the remodeled kitchen.

Jack frowns and wonders why the hell they are eating in the kitchen but he follows suit, dropping back to walk beside Tequila. “How’d you get roped into this?” He asks the younger man.

"Volunteered." Tequila tells him cheerfully. The truth is that he would have begged to come to this thing after hearing you talk about your food on the jet, but Champ had obliged him easily. "Never gonna turn down a good meal, you know me."

Jack huffs at that truth. “You do think with your stomach.” He jokes, reaching over and slapping him on the shoulder. “Have you met her?” He asks.

"Picked her up this morning." There's a flash of something like being pleased on his face but he shrugs it off. He's made sure that he's cleaned up and even better looking - in his opinion - than he had been this morning. Just in case those flashes of smiles and laughter he'd gotten on the flight were for the same reason his were.

Jack’s eyes narrow slightly at the tone and stature of the man beside him. There’s something in his voice that has him on edge but he can’t put his finger on it. “From where?”

"New Hampshire." Tequila's strides are just a tad longer than Jack's or Ginger's and he has to keep himself walking slower to be in step with Jack as Champ pulls open the door. "Flew her down on the jet. Champ's orders." The younger man still didn't really understand why a chef needed a security detail, but he was glad to oblige anyway.

It registers that Tequila doesn’t know. Champ had told him that he hadn’t said anything to you, but he had thought the agent had been brought into the loop. Jack relaxes slightly, his shoulders pulling down and he wonders if it’s a mistake. If you were meant to be Tequila’s soulmate and it would all be cleared up by the universe or fate or whoever was in fucking charge of all of this.

"Well damn," Champ chuckles jovially as the party files into the kitchen just in time to see you taking one last pan out of the oven on the wall. "Smells incredible in here. Looks like we made perfect time, didn't we darlin'?" You whirl around at the sound of the now-familiar drawl, prepared to answer the old-fashioned term until you realize that Champ has a woman on his arm when he walks into the room. She's about his age, bright-eyed and beaming up at him as she smiles, and your heart wrenches a little. No doubt this is Mrs. Rogers - most likely his soulmate - and the pang of knowing you no longer have a soulmate of your own sticks in your gut harder than you would ever admit. "Welcome back." You force yourself to smile and focus on the matter at hand, wondering who else the elder cowboy has wrangled for your little audition tonight.

Jack hangs back for a moment, almost unwilling to look towards the voice that sends a shiver down his spine. His mouth is dry and he rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans. He doesn’t know what to expect, and he’s afraid.

“I’m set and ready to go, if everyone would like to take a seat?” You had taken the liberty of pulling six stools up to the end of one counter and setting out glasses of water right before you took the soufflés out of the oven, creating a small tasting table for everyone to sit at. “The first course is best served hot.”

There’s a moment where Jack just stands there. Unsure of himself and what exactly to do. His eyes looking from the table to the chairs and everywhere else until he finally looks up and sees you.

The small stack of plates in your hands hits the steel counter a little harder than you mean for them to when you glance up and meet the eyes of the last person to come through the door. He’s broad and lean, clean shaven except for an immaculate mustache and looking at you from under the brim of his crisp Stetson and your mouth runs dry almost instantly. As quickly as your eyes meet his you look away again, feeling your cheeks heat and the last thing you need is to be flustered while you’re trying to get through this thing. Just focus, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the plates to put each course on.

He feels like he’s been hit by a truck when his eyes meet yours. He hates it. Hates how his heart speeds up and his cheeks flush. Unable to shake it off as if it didn’t matter. The knowledge that you are his soulmate is weighing on him. He sees Champ shuffle, catching his eye and it makes him realize he had been staring. “What’s for dinner, darlin’?” He drawls out, as he would if it were any pretty woman.

"First course is a sweet potato soufflé with a blue cheese cream sauce." Carefully spooning the sauce over each soufflé and setting them down at the six places that you've set, you look around at the group and try very hard not to stare at this man you haven't met yet. "The play of natural sweetness with rich and complex cheese sauce makes for a dish that stands alone or compliments almost any protein."

Jack isn’t a fan of blue cheese and almost opens his mouth to say so, but there is something tantalizing about the smell. “Well shiiiiiiit.” Tequila speaks up before Jack can say anything. “That sounds disgusting but it smells like heaven.”

"I know blue cheese can be an acquired taste." More comfortable with the youngest of the men purely from having spent the most time with him, you shrug a little and chuckle softly. "But bold flavours are memorable flavours, and I believe in food being an important part of building positive memories." This meal is your sales pitch - selling yourself and your abilities to this company - and goddamnit a soufflé is just about one of the most technically difficult things to do perfectly. Which is exactly why you did it.

“Well I’m gonna dig in.” Tequila promises with a wink as he pulls a chair out to sit down. “Come on, Jack. You need to eat too.”

Jack. You do your best not to react with anything but pleasantness, and feel your shoulders relax as multiple sounds of enjoyment break out when people take their first bites. What starts out with hesitation from almost everyone turns into surprise and delight, and you have to admit that - if your portion is any indication - this is probably one of the best soufflés that you've made in an extremely long time.

There is something magical about the texture of this thing that he is eating. It’s creamy and sweet and savory. All of the flavors should clash but somehow they compliment one another and bring out the sharpness of the cheese and the sweetness of the yam. Jack groans after the first bite - surprised that it is not making his stomach do anything but demand more - and quickly goes in for a second bite.

“I think that’s a ‘yes’ from everybody, darlin’,” Champ chuckles, glad to see Jack acting like a human instead of a man-shaped bottle of liquor like earlier. Even if he’s not thrilled with his friend at the moment, it’s still good to see.

“It’s incredible,” his wife sighs, and she offers you a beaming smile. “I’d eat one of these every day for the rest of my life in whatever flavour you felt like.”

“Well, thank you very much, ma’am.” Even if she introduced herself as Diana on the way in, she’s still the spouse of the man making the decision about hiring you, so you’re going to be polite as hell. “They’re a particular favourite of mine, as well. I’m so glad you like it.”

Jack hates that he files that piece of information away, like he is memorizing your likes and dislikes. What does it matter? Your marks might be on his body but you aren’t his soulmate. His soulmate was Abigail Monique Daniels. Born April 24th 1976 and died August 12th, 1998. Instead of saying anything, he concentrates on his food, eating it faster than he anticipated, and slumps slightly when he’s done with the incredible soufflé.

When everyone has had what they like of the small first course, you collect the plates and deposit them in the sink before retrieving a set of six square plates from the fridge. Each has two petite sandwiches on them, and you set them in front of your panel of judges - for lack of a better term - with as much confidence as you can muster. “Our second course is dilled crawfish tea sandwiches. A distinctly Southern twist on a classic.”

“God, crawfish.” Jack groans, rolling his eyes and nearly drooling. It’s been awhile since he’s had the little mud bugs and he’s always enjoyed dishes with them in it. “This is— fuck—” He bites into the sandwich and his eyes widen in pleasure before they drift shut as he chews.

"I hate to agree with Jack," Ginger jokes, making everyone else at the table laugh. "But these really are excellent." Murmurs run through the group, but the buzz running through you is from Jack's very verbal reaction. Watching cowboys fluster and groan over little tea sandwiches is some kind of pleasure you never really expected, but it's gratifying in a very entertaining way. It's not, you tell yourself, that you find Jack incredibly attractive. Of course not. It's that this tasting is going so well. Yup. That's all it is.

“You’re gonna hafta make more of those.” Jack predicts, speaking to you for the first time. “Two ain’t gonna cut it once they taste ‘em.”

"They'll go straight on the menu, then." You may have been pushing the confidence a little bit until now, but this has you smiling immediately. This is going to work, you tell yourself, and ignore the little extra boost you get from someone you're attracted to liking your food.

“Damn.” Jack sits back when the sandwiches are gone, disappointed when everyone else is eating theirs, “I’d make a meal off of them.”

"Maybe sometime soon, you'll be able to." It's a hope, not anything cocky or pointed, and you don't even hear how it could be considered flirting as you take the second sandwich off of your own plate and place it on his when you get up to plate the next course.

He shouldn’t accept it, it’s part of your dinner, but he picks it up and nods towards you before he pops the sandwich in his mouth with a groan. The soufflé was good, but sandwiches like those are his weakness. Champ chuckles, leaning back on his hair with his arm around Diana. “Way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, ain’t it Jack?” He teases, making Jack glare at him.

"Sure is to mine." Tequila pipes up, oblivious to any underlying meaning in Champ's comment. "What's next on the menu, darlin'?"

"The last two courses are sweet." The plating for this has to be done right before serving because of the various textures at play, and you bring the completed plates over two at a time to take away the sandwich plates as you set down the next. "Buttermilk biscuits with strawberries macerated in honey, balsamic vinegar, and cracked black peppercorn. Topped with bourbon vanilla whipped cream." There was no way you were going to do this tasting and not make biscuits. As a staple of Southern cuisine, the quality of a restaurant's biscuits can make or break their entire menu.

“Bourbon whipped cream.” Champ grunts, looking impressed at the mention of a boozy addition to the meal. “It sounds good. Real good. Mighty glad we found you. We wouldn’t be eatin’ so well tonight.” He tells you lightly, looking over at where Jack is sitting.

“This is amazing.” The woman who introduced herself as Astrid hums in delight. "I never would have thought all these flavours could go together, but it's heaven." She grins at Champ before flashing you the same expression. "I might want this instead of birthday cake this year."

“Probably have something even better for birthdays.” Champ nods towards you. “She’s a baker. All things sweet.” That gets Jack’s attention, his love of sweets making him really interested in that.

"So far I haven't met a cake that got the best of me." It's not bragging, you decide, but selling yourself. This is still a job interview and a taste test, and these people need to know that you can rise to any occasion that might land in your lap. "What do each of you usually like to celebrate with?"

“Oh, red velvet.” Diana moans happily, leaning into Champ’s side. “It was our wedding cake, even though it was scandalous at the time.”

Champ chuckles and leans over to press a kiss to her forehead. “Always give my girl what she wants.” He jokes, winking at Ginger.

"Chocolate." Tequila's grin is impetuous, like the little boy who continuously got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Carrot cake, usually." Ginger smiles happily as she polishes off the last bite of her biscuit and its fruit sauce. "But I was dead serious about wanting this instead. That might be the best biscuit I've ever had."

"Well geez." You clear your throat, flustered at that level of compliment, while you file away the different kinds of cakes these folks might like to see pop up on a restaurant menu. "Th-thank you. Very much. That's an amazing compliment."

Jack squirms slightly in his chair. He doesn’t celebrate his birthday. It’s too painful. It’s a day he wants to forget exists. He hopes you don’t ask him about it.

“What about you two?” It’s like a horrific moment from some farcical comedy when you turn your bright smile on him and Champ. “No birthday favourites?”

Champ throws Jack a look and clears his throat. “I normally have red velvet, for the missus.” He tells you with a grin. “And Jack isn’t one for birthdays.”

“No?” This plate is a little larger, so there is more time to linger and talk. “That’s a shame.” But it also smacks of bad memories, so you just lend the man a sympathetic smile and try to ignore the twist in your gut that wonders if he lost his soulmate, too. “Well, I hope they start to be fun for you again sometime soon.”

Jack can’t offer more than a half hearted smile, doubting that very seriously but it’s nice that you care. Or at least make the appropriate noises. “Don’t think that’s gonna happen.” Tequila huffs awkwardly, giving a nervous chuckle.

Sensing the topic might be better left alone, you shut your mouth tight and stand from the table to collect empty plates. The last course is your ringer — your family’s favourite cake that gets made several times a year depending on who requests it for what occasion. Each small, star-shaped plate bears one large cupcake, decorated simply and beautifully. “The last course is coconut cupcakes with whiskey cream cheese frosting, using Statesman ‘82 Special Selection,” you explain as the last plate goes down. “I hadn’t tried it before, but Tex poured it for us on the flight here and the smoky vanilla notes are perfect for this application. Please, enjoy.”

Jack isn’t a coconut person. Never really cared for it, but his eyes close as he has a religious experience with a fucking cupcake. Groaning as he lets the flavors burst on his tongue and slowly chews.

Champ smirks, eyes crinkled in amused approval as he watches Jack fall in love with a goddamn cupcake. It’s damn good. He won’t deny that. But seeing Jack react this way when he knows his friend’s general aversion to the fruit is proof enough for him that even if you weren’t his soulmate, you’d still be the right person to hire for this job.

“I don’t even like coconut and I’d eat a hundred of ‘em.” Jack groans as he finishes up his cupcake and looks around the table at everyone else to get their input.

"How many times have you gotten men to propose marriage with this cake, honey?" Diana jokes, swiping up a missed blob of frosting with her finger so nothing is wasted. You laugh, an actual real, deep belly laugh, and shrug innocently. "Family legend says that it's how my Grandma Jane got her beau to propose," you admit. "My grandfather always said he was going to ask anyway, but we all think it was the cake." The family recipe is one of great important and great popularity, and clearly with good reason.

Jack shuffles in his seat, another damn fact to learn around you and he knows he won’t forget it. Damn mind is trained to remember facts and his brain seems to think that learning about you is a good thing.

"Your granddaddy'd be off his rocker not to ask after a taste of that." Tequila declares, leaving a completely clean plate in front of him. He's got a warmth in his chest and a pride in his smirk at having influenced something you made tonight, even if it's only by accident, and he swears to God that if Champ doesn't offer you whatever this job is, he'll hop back on that jet to New Hampshire himself to hear that laugh of yours again. "Dontcha think, Champ?"

Champ raises a brow at the obviously smitten cowboy and sneaks a glance at Jack who is studiously ignoring the entire conversation and drinking water like a dying fish. “Have to agree.” He chuckles, amused by the development and wonders how this little love triangle will play out.

"Well," you sit back on your stool, looking between the smiling, seemingly satisfied faces and feel your heart stick in your throat. You've done all you can do. If they like your food this much to your face but decide not to give you the job, then at least you put your best foot forward. "Thank you for your consideration. I'll clean up here and find my way to the address I was given to stay at tonight while you make your decision." The staffer, in her polo shirt and khakis, that had come by an hour into your cooking time had dropped off an address allegedly on the Statesman campus that would be yours for the night, but you didn't know yet if it was the same one that Champ had said on the phone would belong to the person who received the executive chef position. And right now you're far too afraid to ask.

“That sounds good, sweetheart.” Champ leans back in his chair and rubs his belly. “We’ve got some talkin’ to do, but thank you for a fine meal.” He turns towards the others, about to tell Jack that he should walk you to the accommodations you’re staying in, he should recognize there. But before he can, Tequila leaps out of his chair.

“I’ll walk you!” He blurts out, cringing a little at how loud he had gotten and gives a small shrug. “I mean, I’ll help you clean up and show you where to go, give you an unofficial tour.”

"That's very nice of you." He's sweet, this towering cowboy with the bright smile, and while Jack is far more your type, there's no denying Tex is attractive. "I'd appreciate the extra hand to figure out where I'm going. This place is kind of huge." If you've only got the one night here, it won't hurt to pass it in good company. As attractive as you find Jack, and as much as he seemed to like your food, you don't get the feeling that he likes you very much.

Tequila lights up and it takes everything in Champ not to snort at his eagerness. Jack looks like something’s stuck in his craw, his slight frown making the older man smirk as he watches the two of you gather dishes and carry them beyond the barrier into the belly of the kitchen. “You coulda offered, ya know.” Champ tells Jack, making the other man huff.

“I’m going back to my place,” He sulks, standing up and glancing towards the doors again, seemingly torn.

"At least say good night," Diana urges, seeing the hesitation on Jack's face. "She worked hard tonight and you liked what she made, so just...stick your head in? Say good night? There's no harm in being polite."

“Damn fool.” Champ hisses, making Diana turn and shush him. “Can’t see that it’s a damn blight on her memory to be actin’ this way.”

"Everybody mourns differently, Rick." Diana murmurs, shooting her husband a fierce look as they both watch Jack shuffle his feet at the turn of the long kitchen, debating whether or not to go in.

Jack has never had fucking sweaty palms, never. Not even when he was standing at the altar waiting for his sweet Abigail. Now, it feels like his hands are coated in baby oil. He can’t keep them dry, rubbing them on his jeans for the fourteenth time since he’s stood. “Damn Ginger and her hangover shit.” He mutters to himself, rolling his eyes over how juvenile he is being. Rolling his shoulders back, Jack assumes the bravado and cockiness that he is known for and pushes through the barrier to stride into the kitchen.

You practically jump when the door opens again, not having expected anyone to come in. Tex is beside you at the sink, loading the dishwasher after you rinse off plates, but when you spin around you're surprised to see Jack standing in the doorway with a charming grin painted on his face. "Jack." You swallow your surprise at seeing him along with the laugh that had been bubbling out of you when you heard him approach. "Can I help you with something?"

“I’ve got to get goin’ miss.” He murmurs, suddenly a lot less eager to escape, but it’s for the best. “Just wanting to thank you for the fine meal.” He reaches up and tips his hat towards you. “Have a good night.”

"Thank you very much. But hang on one second." Quickly running over to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen, you rummage for a few seconds before coming out with a container bearing the rest of the crawfish salad you had used in the sandwiches, and another bearing two more of the coconut cupcakes that he had ended up loving. "Take these with you," you insist, holding them out once you're in front of him again. "In case...in case I don't get the job, ya know? You seemed to really like these."

Jack opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out as he silently takes the containers. Touched that you would give away the extras because he had liked them. It’s only when they are against his chest does he remember that the entire point of him coming into the kitchen was to be polite. “Thanks, sugar.” He drawls quietly, looking down at the food. “I—I appreciate that.”

“It was very nice to meet you, Jack.” He seems slightly odd, or maybe just taken off guard, or maybe he’s sad. You can’t tell, but he was very nice about your food and you’ve always been the sort of person to return kindness with kindness.

Jack stares at you for a moment, conflicting emotions waging a war inside him as he does. Finally, he reminds himself that you don’t know who he is and he’s free to leave. He nods again and looks past you towards Tequila. “Behave.” Jack tells his younger friend, knowing that he can get rowdy when he wants.

“They call us Southern gentlemen, don’t they?” Tequila shoots Jack back a wink that you don’t catch and grins. “Y’all get home safe. I’m just gonna show our new friend here around the place.”

Jack frowns as he turns around and walks out of the kitchen, bitterness swelling in his gut and he hates it. He reminds himself that this isn’t his place. He killed your soulmate.

“He seems nice,” you observe, trying to shake off the odd feeling that washes over you when he looks sad again before walking out. Like you want to rush after him and give him a hug or something.

“Jack?” Tequila looks up from the pan he is washing and gives a shrug. “He’s a damn good man. Going through a rough time.” It’s not his place to mention it, especially to someone who’s not aware they are all agents. So he leaves it at that. “But he was right, those were some damn fine desserts.”

“Thank you.” The way that makes your cheeks burn is professional pride, you tell yourself unconvincingly. “I’m very hopeful. This…this job would be a dream, and everybody has been so nice. It would be…a real adventure, ya know? A big, fresh start.”

He chuckles and nods in agreement. “Workin’ for Statesman is never dull. Always havin’ an adventure or ten since coming on.”

Taking the last pan from him, you load it into the industrial dishwasher and shut the machine, pressing the button on the side before you wipe your hands. “What’s the most fun you’ve had working here?” You ask, wanting to see if you can get a feel for this place and these people and what their adventures might be.

“Well–” Any and all stories would have to be tamed down for your ears. Plus you don’t have a security clearance. “There was the time we had someone try to break into the facility to steal a barrel of the ‘65. It was personal then.” Tequila huffs. “Best damn batch we have.”

You’re about to ask how that could possibly be fun until you remember he’s security and you end up shaking your head and laughing. “Do you get that a lot? People trying to break in, or theft?”

“More than you’d think.” He snorts, knowing how it might seem crazy to a civilian. “It’s why our security system is so advanced. If you run across some hardware you don’t recognize, best to stay away.”

“Really? Wow. I wouldn’t have thought it would be that bad.” Leaning back against the sink, you stretch your arms and feel a little bit of satisfied soreness coming through your muscles after a job well done. “You must have a big team, then? Champ made it sound like a lot of employees live on the premises, but that would make this place absolutely huge.”

“Yeah.” Tequila hooks his thumbs through his jeans belt loops and grins at you. “Lotta technical stuff they do, don’t understand it, but the big brain was here. Astrid? She’s over our R&D.”

“Damn,” you murmur, impressed. “Well…are you up for that tour? I’d love to see the whole place.” Just in case it’s the only chance you get.

Winking at you, Tequila straightens and walks over to you to offer his arm. “Nothing like a nice night and a pretty girl to walk with.” He flirts.

“Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that I’m not the first girl you’ve ever said that to?” Not that you care, though. You’re not one of those uptight people who thinks people should only ever be with their soulmates. And even if you were? Well…you don’t have one anymore, so it’s kind of a moot point. Instead of lingering on it, you grab your bag from under the counter and take the arm you’re being offered with a smile. “Lead the way, cowboy.”

“Who knows, might be the last time.” Tequila murmurs, aiming another grin at you as the two of you make your way out of the kitchen and through the empty dining room. “This is going to be our newest venture.” He teases. “Some kinda tea room? With Whiskey? I don’t know but the food’s amazing.”

“Oh god, don’t curse it,” you groan playfully, wiping one hand down your face.

“Naaaaahhhhh.” He chuckles and opens the door for the two of you to walk out into the late evening twilight. “I can tell you’re gonna get it.”

“Either way, I’m glad I came.” Sure it’s different from New Hampshire. Drastically, in some ways. But you’ve lived your whole life on the sea coast and Louisville is a big city. It would be, just like this interview, a big adventure.

“You’ll be enjoyin’ the country and mountains in no time.” Tequila predicts, bringing you around to see the distillery up close.

The facilities are actually beautiful. Equally rustic and hyper modern depending on the building, with aesthetically gorgeous gardens lining all the walkways as far as the eye can see. The main building is full of offices, Tex explains, and even those are as beautifully kept as the rest of the grounds. It’s impressive, you have to admit it. You were absolutely right to think this place would make an amazing wedding venue. It will - for you or for whatever chef gets hired.

The path for housing is off the main distillery, secluded enough that people don’t feel like they are living at work. Trees and shrubbery separating the spaces so that it feels like a little relaxing oasis. The path way is lit, Diana insisting that it makes the entire area look romantic and of course Champ wasn’t going to deny her. “This is our housing.” He tells you. “We decided to go with the theme and model them after mountain ‘shine cabins. With modern conveniences, of course.”

There’s big houses and little houses, and what looks like a small apartment complex to one side of the neighborhood built on Statesman grounds. On the other side, beyond what you can only describe as a small park and grove of trees, are three much larger houses that smack of importance or seniority. “Who lives in those?” You ask, pointing toward the trio.

“Those belong to our senior staff.” He points at the largest. “That’s Champ’s in the middle and Jack and Ginger on either side of him.”

"Ginger?" Tilting your head at him slightly, you ask the quest with your brow slightly furrowed. "What does she do?"

Tequila winces, catching his mistake. “Astrid.” He corrects. “We just all call her Ginger. Nickname of sorts.” He can’t tell you that it’s her code name Ginger Ale.

"Got it." You nod, remembering that he had said Astrid ran the research and development department at Statesman - whatever that meant when it came to whiskey. "I'm guessing that one is hers?" The house on the right of Champ's is hyper modern with clean lines and very little of the mountain-aesthetic charm of the other houses around. It looks like it was made just for her with all the bells and whistles. Conversely, Jack's house to the left of Champ's looks like an almost Victorian-style ranch house with a wrap-around porch and a paint job as pristine as his mustache. It's much more your style than Champ's mountain cabin or Astrid's smart house, but since it doesn't matter at all you don't say anything about it. "Which one is yours?" The question is out of your mouth before you realize how exactly it sounds, and your eyes go wide with embarrassment just a split second later.

Tequila grins at you, sending you a small wink. “Come on, darlin’.” He drawls playfully. “I’ll give you the grand tour.” He knows you don’t mean it how it sounds, but he can’t resist teasing you. He moseys down the path and points to one of the small cabins. “That one there is mine.” He tells you proudly,

"It looks comfy." True to bachelor form, which you expected, the curtains hung in the windows are dark and 'masculine' in a deep shade of green, and a glimpse through into the garage reveals a large, shiny pick up truck that is probably his pride and joy.

“It’s where I hang my hat.” Tequila looks at the cabin fondly. It was probably the most secure he’s ever been in his life and he risks his neck on every mission. “And there’s where you’re stayin’.” He points at a newly built one off to the left, nearer to Jack’s. “It’ll be yours if you get the job. It’s furnished.” He rushes out. “So you won’t be sleeping on the floor or nothing.”

"We'd be neighbors," you laugh, as if everybody here doesn't live in the same neighborhood. It's a company town without feeling creepy or oppressive. This is the end of the road, both literally and figuratively, and you offer the man beside you a smile. "Thank you for the tour. And for being so friendly today. I've been nerve wracked since 9am, but whether you knew it or not, you helped calm me down. I appreciate it."

“No problem at all.” Tequila senses that you aren’t going to invite him in and while he’s disappointed, he’s not going to complain. Some women need to be wooed and you seem like the type to like the effort. “There’s a fresh bottle of the ‘93 in there, made sure of it. Lighter, but it’ll put you to sleep just like a baby.”

“Thank you.” There’s a hesitation, and though you can’t quite put your finger on why it’s there, you listen to your gut and squeeze his arm gently before slipping your hand out of it. You’ve never been one to fall into bed on a first date - and nothing about this very odd but fun day was ever a date to begin with. And hell, if you actually do get hired here, that could be a hell of an awkward situation. “Hopefully,” you shrug, feeling like if you don’t at least say something you’ll regret it later on. “I’ll see you again. Fingers crossed, and all that.” It’s so stupid when it comes out of your mouth that you almost wince. “I’m gonna retreat,” you announce, huffing at your own awkwardness and pointing a thumb toward the door of the little house you’re meant to stay in. “Before I embarrass myself or say something dumbass. Good night, Tex.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.” He sends you a wink and steps back from the cabin steps that you two had managed to drift towards. “Let me know if you need anything but I’m sure they put everything by you need in there.”

“I’ll come knock on your door if I need a cup of sugar,” you joke, reaching for the doorknob. Dumbass. You waited too long and said something dumbass. Chuckling instead of wincing, you say another good night and go inside. Time to call your family and tell them everything that happened today.

******

Jack tells himself that he is just making sure that you are safe. You are technically his responsibility now. At least until someone in the universe realizes they fucked up. Guilt is another reason why he’s standing in the shadow of the large oak tree, watching you walk into the cabin and close the door behind you. Tequila turns and strides towards his own cabin, whistling a jaunty tune under his breath and Jack sighs in relief when he doesn’t spot him.

The house is gorgeous. It’s simply decorated but welcoming, clean and crisp and clearly unlived in. The kitchen has a spectacular range and a huge fridge, which currently stands empty but has a map of the Statesman campus stuck to it with a Stetson-shaped magnet and there is a bottle of ‘93 on the counter as promised. Deciding to call home after you have a drink, you pour two fingers of single malt into a glass from the cupboard and continue to wander around the ground floor.

“You could always go talk to her.” Jack doesn’t react when Champ steps up next to him beside the tree. His own gaze fixed on the newly built cabin. “Can’t be more than thirty steps to her door.”

Jack purses his lips, unhappy that his friend is in his mind. “Champ…” He warns, not wanting to be pushed right now.

“Well,” the older man shrugs, a small smile on his face as always. Champ perpetually looks as if he’s up to no good - mostly because he is. “Somebody should tell her she’s got the job. Don’t see why she should be twistin’ til tomorrow morning.”

“You’re really going to do this? Open up some tea time type thing?” He huffs, unable to believe such a thing would go over well in the whiskey distillery. Even if you are an amazing baker. “Just to keep her here?”

“It’s a restaurant.” Champ reasons, hooking his thumbs in his belt as he watches you appear in an upstairs window. You’re on the phone now. “I wanted a steakhouse for the place, but Diana said it was boring.” He laughs, knowing his wife was probably right. “She’ll make a good run of the place, and she’s got a mind for expanding it to do weddings.” He glances down at Jack but doesn’t push the point. “Good head for business is what she’s got. We’d be lucky to snag her even if she weren’t who she is.” Or what you are to Jack.

Jack sighs, resigned to the fact that you will be here. He’s not opposed to the idea, he likes anything that makes money. But he knows this was catered to you so you would stay. “She’s gonna hate me.” Jack predicts, guilt hanging around his shoulders again.

“Maybe.” Though Champ chuckles affectionately. “Hell, you’re my best friend and even I hate you sometimes. But…she might surprise ya, Jack. Can’t know unless you try.”

“She’s not Abigail, Champ.” Jack whispers the words softly, almost shamed by them but he can’t help his feelings. He never expected to have another soulmate…ever.

“Of course not.” He answers immediately, brow furrowed over the very idea. “Nor should she be. You’re not the same man you were back then.”

“I– I don’t know how to be a soulmate anymore.” That’s his biggest fear. That he would be horrible at it, or God forbid, lose someone again. Jack is scared of nothing, but this has his heart hammering in his chest.

Champ sighs, softly and hopefully not enough for Jack to hear. “How about just bein’ her friend?” He suggests, wondering how in the hell this thing with Tequila was going to play out alongside Jack’s fears. You might end up being trouble for Statesman, he can’t know yet. “For all you know, this second soulmate of yours could be platonic and you’re worryin’ over nothing.”

Jack chuckles and it’s a harsh sound. “Have you ever known anything about me and another woman as pretty as her to be platonic? Few exceptions of course.”

“Only gorgeous woman you’ve ever been strictly friends with is Ginger.” Champ admits, snorting in amusement. “But I’d like to watch her wife whoop you for tryin’.”

This time, Jack’s laugh is lighter, more genuine. It was true that while Gabriella looks innocent, the woman could - and would - knock a grown man on his ass. He’s witnessed it at the bar more than once. “One if she crushes me with her thighs.” He jokes.

“I’m sure she’d oblige if you asked.” The two men laugh, feeling the tension dissipate a little, and Champ claps his hands on Jack’s shoulder in that brotherly way he’s become accustomed to do. “Tonight or tomorrow,” he tells Jack. “Tell her when you’re ready. But she’s goin’ home on the jet tomorrow to pack, not to leave for good.”

Sighing, Jack turns and watches Champ wander back towards his own house, Diana no doubt waiting for him. He should tell you tonight. Not let you wallow in misery and suspense. After you get off the phone, he’ll go knock on the door.

******

“I don’t know how it’s all going to turn out, but…I kind of love the people I’ve met so far,” you admit to your mother, sinking down in the window seat that faces the backyard of the little cabin that someone will soon be living in. The guest room has a beautiful reading chair and end table in it, but the master bedroom has a window seat so plush and comfortable that you could just sleep right here. “It’s beautiful here, too. It really is.”

“You said they loved it, that has to mean you are going to get the position.” As disappointed as she will be to have you move away, she knows that it would be fantastic for your career. “Your own restaurant! Just imagine what you could do without having to pander to someone else’s ego.”

“Dad will be thrilled to know the house has a guest room,” you joke, feeling hope flutter in your chest and staring out into the backyard with the now-empty glass still in your other hand. “And the yard could have room for a garden if I wanted.” You sigh, leaning back against the wall and wishing you didn’t have to wait until morning to find out. “If I don’t get it, we should bring him down here for his next birthday. Celebrate sixty-five with a distillery tour and a trip to Dollywood. It’s only a couple of hours from here.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” She promises, smiling at the wistful hope in your voice. You want this position, that much is obvious. “Tell me – how did the coconut cupcakes go over?”

“Like gangbusters.” And your giggle is nearly triumphant. “The owner’s wife joked that it’s good enough to get a proposal so I told the story about grandma and grandpa, and…” you grin to yourself thinking of Jack’s ecstatic reaction. “There was one guy at the tasting who doesn’t even like coconut who was completely in love with them. I think I may have converted him.”

“You know…your grandpa didn’t like coconut either.” Your mother practically cackles. “Said she won him over. Only coconut thing he would ever eat.”

“Seriously?” That makes you laugh a little harder, and you wish you had just one more sip of whiskey in the bottom of that glass. “I don’t want to jinx it,” you tell her finally. “But I have a really good feeling about this place.”

“Good feelings inspire good outcomes.” She hums, hoping that you will call her with good news tomorrow. “I can’t see them not hiring you after sending a private jet.”

“I hope so.” You really, truly hope so with everything you’ve got. “Either way, I’ll be home tomorrow. Either to pack or to wallow in disappointment.”

“Either way, we are going to celebrate.” If there was one thing that was taught in the household you grew up in, it is that even losses are celebrated. Because it meant you tried, and it would make you try again.

“Okay.” Nodding against your phone, you sigh softly again and roll your shoulders back against the wall. “I’m going to pour myself another drink and watch a movie until I’m ready to go to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Relax, sweetheart.” Your mother murmurs softly. “See if they have a soaker tub to lay in. You managed to work on your day off too.” She tells you that she loves you and ends the call.

She’s right, but you decide that whiskey and a movie sounds better than a bath and you wander downstairs again. The bugs sound different here. Kentucky air smells different from New Hampshire air. But still, somehow, it could very easily become home.

Jack sighs when he sees you walk back into the living room, phone not pinned to your ear. He should go talk to you. The first step seems to take forever - the length of time it takes you to pour a drink - before he starts slowly walking towards your house.

The knock is unexpected, and part of you wonders who you hope is on the other side of that door - Champ with his decision or Tex offering company. Or even Jack, handsome and slightly sad Jack, though you can’t figure out why he would visit you. “Coming!” You call out, leaving your drink on the kitchen counter and hustling through the living room. A split second before pulling open the door you decide you’re hoping it’s Champ more than anymore, but when you see Jack standing on the front step instead, your heart jumps a little. “Jack!” It makes your voice jump, too, and you groan inwardly about being awkward around him yet again. “I—I wasn’t expecting anyone. What do you…” Be polite, dammit. “Would you like to come in?”

Swallowing, Jack gives a small nod as he curses himself for being a fool. It’s talking to a lady, something he had no problems with. It didn’t matter that he is wearin’ your ink. “It’s not too late, I hope? I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all. I was just going to have a drink and relax.” There’s no reason on earth he should make you so nervous, but he does, and you bite the inside of your lip. “Would you like to join me?”

“Sure.” He’s not going to turn down some whiskey, even though they should have left you a ‘82. Better year in his opinion.

You pace back to the kitchen, pour a second glass, and bring it back to Jack with a thick swallow. “To what do I owe the visit?” If it were actually your house, or even a hotel room, you would feel so much more comfortable and be more at ease as you motion for him to sit. As it is, you just feel like you’re trespassing in somebody else’s home.

“Wanted to see if you liked the place.” Small talk is a good place to start, he guesses. Taking the glass with a nod of appreciation, he looks around. “Not just the cabin but Statesman itself. The whole shebang.”

"Honestly?" Sitting on the edge of the sofa isn't exactly relaxed, but you perch there with your glass in your hands. "I kind of love it. I mean I'm trying not to get too attached until I know what's going to happen with the job, but...I really like it. Everyone's been so nice and the whole place is so welcoming." It's silly to feel that way, you know that. But even after only a few hours, you can't deny it. "I have kind of an instinct about places, most of the time. And I have a really good feeling about this one."

“That’s good, sugar.” The endearment slips out, not the first time, but he realizes it this time. “Would you accept, if you’re offered it?” He’s curious to know what you are leaving behind, what you might balk at. Maybe you don’t believe in soulmates and have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.

This isn't the time to get all emotional over manners. Southern men using pet names is normal, not something to get you all flustered. Even though it does - as evidenced by the stack of cowboy themed romance novels on your bookshelf at home. "I think I would," you nod, letting yourself take a steadying sip of your drink. "It's...pretty literally my dream job, if I'm honest."

Jack nods, swallowing a mouthful of the whiskey, enjoying the burn of the liquid. He’s hesitating and it annoys him. “Then I guess that it’s a good thing you’ll get to live out your dreams, sugar.” He tells you with a whimsical smile. “The job is yours for the takin’.”

"Wait." Your eyes dart up to his, going from staring down into your cup to blown wide and hopeful in less than a second. "A–are you serious? Is that why you came?" It would be entirely inappropriate to start crying in front of a complete stranger, but you're instantly so excited you could burst.

“Champ’ll want you to sign papers in the morning, but I’m serious.” He nods and gives a small shrug. “Figured I’d bring you the good news so you didn’t have to worry all night. I always sleep like shit if I’m ponderin’ something.”

"Oh my god." Your heart is pounding and you feel like the blood pounding in your ears is so loud that he can hear it too, but frankly you're just glad that you manage to put your glass down on the side table without spilling it all over yourself. "Oh– oh my god." The way you practically squeak with glee makes you clamp both hands over your mouth in embarrassment despite the excitement glistening in your eyes. "I'm sorry, I just... really? Champ said yes?"

The genuine excitement and happiness that fills your face and eyes has Jack grinning despite himself. Your little squeak was full of joy and he can feel you vibrate with energy from where he’s sitting. “Champ said yes.” He confirms. “Hell, I think he’d be a fool not to say yes.” Maybe a bit of an embellishment on his part, but that’s because he knows you would be offered a chance to stay regardless of your skills. However, you truly are talented and Champ wants to make this tea room a reality.

“That’s so kind of you.” Your hands slip down, resting over your heart as you try to contain your excitement. If this wasn’t a complete stranger in front of you, you would be literally dancing with joy right now. “That’s so unbelievably kind of you Jack and I—” Breathe. Don’t get so breathless that you embarrass yourself. “I swear I won’t let any of you down.”

His heart clenches, knowing you will be saying something far different if you knew what he had done. There wouldn’t be a sort of hero worship he sees in your eyes even though he just delivered the good news. “Sugar, you make sweets.” He jokes. “There’s no way you could let us down. Unless the cake don’t rise.”

You laugh, charmed slightly at the term of endearment that is in almost every one of your cowboy novels but somehow seems even more appropriate now that it’s be used pointedly with you as a baker. “I would never let that happen,” you promise him, crossing one finger over your heart like a solemn oath. “My Grandma Jane would sense it somehow, rise up, and come down from New Hampshire to see me straight.”

Of course you would be from New Hampshire. Jack manages to not react and instead he gives a small chuckle like he was supposed to. “Now you should be able to sleep like a baby.” He considers it for a second and shrugs. “Or not sleep at all because you’re excited. This will be your house by the way. So imagine how you’re going to move things around.”

“I might not sleep because I’ll be rearranging things.” You’re brimming over, practically giggling and tearing up as your heart pounds with excitement. “This is…it’s…” The breath you blow out comes with another barely contained squeak. “I feel like I want to celebrate but I have no idea where to go around here.”

Jack lifts a brow, surprised you don’t want to get back on the phone but he chuckles. “Well, there’s Shootouts, about five miles down the road.” He tilts his head. “It’s a rowdy place most nights. But it’s fun.”

“Rowdy sounds fun.” Most of the time, the dive bar you frequented at home was full of locals having shouting matches and screaming at the hockey game on tv or bitching at each other over a shot at the pool table. Working in kitchens, rowdy is par for the course. Most people just don’t expect that of you when they find out you make dainty little cakes for a living. “Do you…” you tilt your head at him slightly, wondering why your chest clenches at the thought. “Would you want to come with? Or do you have someone to get back to?” That big house of his must be lonely if he lives there all alone.

He shouldn’t but he also can’t leave you on your own at Shootouts. He could see that being a disaster in the making. “Warning.” He cautions. “They sell beer and whiskey, no mixers or cocktails.”

“You say that like you think I’m going to fan myself or be scandalized.” Which is what most people who don’t know you assume, so you can’t blame him. “But whiskey’s always been my favourite flavor.”

Jack smirks, automatically coming up with a dirty come back but he doesn’t say it. Flirting would be wrong, even if you are beautiful. Instead he tilts his head towards the door. “Get your jacket then, sugar.” He tells you. “We’ll take my Bronco.”

Glasses abandoned to side tables, you grab your leather jacket off the rack by the door and pat the pockets to make sure your cash and cards are inside before following him out the door. His house is a mere five minute walk from the – from your house – and you marvel excitedly at the neighborhood around you when you step outside again. This is it. Your new home.

“Don’t eat the bar nuts.” Jack chuckles as he motions you towards the Bronco. “Think they’ve been there since the 40s. Let me grab the keys and we’ll go.”

“Got it.” You chuckle as he heads into his house. It gives you a moment to quickly pull out your phone, tapping out a text to the family text thread to let everyone know you’re going out celebrating your brand new job.

Jack changes from his sports jacket into a black leather one that would be better suited for the bar. Unconsciously matching you slightly with your own leather jacket. He grabs his keys and heads out the door and jogs over the Bronco, showing off by hopping in rather than opening the door.

“So is Shootouts where you usually go to hang out?” Tucking your phone away, you slide into the Bronco’s soft leather seats and buckle up. Now that you know you’re staying here, you want to know absolutely everything.

“It’s been known to be taken over by Statesman personnel.” Jack grins. “The locals can be a bit much but they are half drunk most of the time.”

“I’ve spent years hanging out with line cooks,” you tell him honestly, settling back in the comfortable seat as he pulls out of his driveway. “So that sounds pretty relaxing to me.”

“From what I know about kitchens, that checks out.” Jack laughs as he starts driving down the road to lead out of the Statesman property.

The ride is cordial, and fairly short. You mostly listen to the radio together, comparing notes on mutual favourite classic rock bands and talking about Kentucky in general. Finding out that Jack isn’t actually from here surprises you initially, but it’s a fond reassurance that this is a place that people grow to love and feel at home in. Something that you’re already starting to do after just a few hours.

Pulling into the gravel parking lot, Jack throws the Bronco into park and turns towards you. “If it ain’t your style, lemme know and we’ll get outta here.” The jukebox is cranking out a country rock song and the noise from the bar reaches all the way past the shine of the neon light.

“Don’t worry about me.” You assure him. Jack is funny and sweet, you’ve discovered, when he doesn’t have resting sad face. You lend him a grin and point your thumb at the bar. “I like a good country tune and a little line dancing now and then.” It’s an understatement, considering how much you love to dance, but you’re trying not to be overeager or infodump.

“Oh you’re gonna be like a tornado in a trailer park, ain’t cha?” Jack huffs and he hops out of the Bronco and walks around to help you out.

“Maybe.” You grin, tip of your tongue between your teeth and nose wrinkled on a grin when he comes around to the other side of the truck. “Very gentlemanly of you.” It’s simple, and polite, but when you put your hand in Jack’s to accept his help in climbing out of the Bronco you nearly shiver at the contact.

Jack’s mouth is suddenly dry and he needs a drink. The tingling of your skin against his is subtle, so much that he swears he’s imagining it. “Right,” he clears his throat and closes the door behind you. “Let’s celebrate.”

It’s loud inside, raucous patrons and well-placed speakers blasting country rock as a few people dance and some play pool; but most are gathered in booths and around tables talking and laughing and having a good time. “I like it,” you declare unequivocally, sensing immediately that this place is full of the best kind of fun.

Jack smirks, appreciating that you can enjoy the lack of fussiness. It’s a rustic place and some, especially the women who came here from big cities, didn’t care for its appeal. “Then let’s get a drink.”

You’re not an unrealistic person, and no matter how often Jack or the crew from Statesman might come here, almost nothing gets a bartender’s attention faster than being flirted with, so you pull on the front of your blouse just enough to deepen the vee of the neck and sidle up to the bar. The man behind the bar makes the expected beeline for the unknown pretty woman batting her eyelashes at him. “Statesman Red Label for me, and a glass of whatever my friend wants,” you tell him, motioning to Jack just beside you.

Snorting in amusement at how fast the bartender’s eyes drop down to your cleavage before even giving him a second look, Jack raises his brow. “Just gimme a beer.” He tells him, knowing that he should pace himself, especially given how rowdy the place will work itself up to as the night goes on.

“What kind of beer do you drink down here?” Even as you all the question, you’re checking out the tap handles to see if there’s any you don’t recognize. After all, local beers change region to region. You’re not exactly betting they’ll have Sam Adam’s Summer Ale here when the weather gets warmer.

“They have all the domestic.” Jack tells you as he nods towards the draft handles. “But they also keep the Kentucky Bourbon Ale on draft.” He chuckles, knowing that it’s a bit of a cliche. “Best damn beer you’ll ever have.”

"That will have to be drink number two," you tell him, taking the recommendation seriously considering he - and you now - work for a distillery. You'll pace yourself, of course, but you're celebrating and can drink most line cooks you've known under the table. Two drinks is nothing. "The Red Label is always my celebratory drink. Well...normally it's a Red Label Manhattan, but you said they don't mix drinks here."

“We’ll have to make sure you have a bottle of Red Label then.” Jack leans against the bar and decides that it’s only polite to ask a question. “So Statesman isn’t a new whiskey to you, huh? Do you drink it often?”

"It's my dad's favourite. And became mine, too." He smells clean and woodsy and there's something musky like surprisingly high end cologne coming from him that makes you want to just curl into him and sigh in comfort - but that's a goddamn weird thing to think, so you just enjoy the sort of halo around him. "Today is definitely not the first day I've used Statesman in my baking. I just never knew much about the company before." You shrug slightly, trying to seem relaxed instead of like a damn cavewoman with goosebumps from being so close to him. "I guess that's going to change pretty quickly."

“Considering you can go into the distillery and draw some straight from the barrel to put into your cakes and pies, I’d say so.” Jack groans as he imagines it. “If you make bourbon soaked peach cobbler with vanilla bourbon cream, I’d sit up and beg.”

"That sounds like a hell of a twist to my peach cobbler. Bourbon soaked grilled peach cobbler with vanilla bourbon ice cream that also uses Bourbon vanilla." You hum a little, digging for your credit card when the bartender reappears with your drinks.

“Now you really expect to pay?” Jack might have his moments, but he’s a gentleman. “Put that away. Drinks are on me.” He tells you, turning to the bartender. “Put them on my tab.”

"As long as you let me pay next time we go out." You shouldn't get a little thrill at the idea, but Jack is the spitting image of every single cowboy love interest in every one of your books - or at least the way you picture them. Even if he's just a friendly face you see from time to time, you're damn well going to enjoy it.

He frowns but doesn’t say no. It’s hard to let someone else pay, especially when it was a woman. Not because he was sexist or some shit, but because his daddy would roll out of his grave and whoop his ass for letting a woman pay while she was out with him. Instead of making it a thing, he picks up his beer. “To new jobs and delicious sweets.” He toasts. “Cheers, sugar.”

"Cheers." The rim of your glass taps the neck of his beer bottle and you smile before taking your first sip, loving the familiar burn and cherry-caramel tones of this particular bourbon. There's a reason it's your favourite. "So tell me about Statesman," you ask, turning and leaning against the bar to face Jack. "How long have you worked there?"

Jack hums, thinking about it. “Since ‘99.” Champ had come around the year after Abigail had…. “So you can say I’ve been there awhile.” He interrupts his sad train of thought and quickly takes another swallow of his beer. “It’s turned from a two bit operation into what it is now.”

Since ‘99? You blanch a little thinking about how young you were then but decide not to say anything since it hardly matters anymore. Grown ass adults are grown ass adults. "Tex said you used to work security?"

He can't answer that. Or, doesn't want to so he merely grunts and gives a quasi nod. Delving into his background would reveal too much that he doesn't want you to see. Champ still hasn't told him what kind of security clearance you will have, if any, and it wouldn't be right to start unfolding how Jack had been recruited to the agency.

Okay…maybe not talking about work, then? He seems reticent and you don’t want to accidentally upset the man you came out with - for various reasons. Not the least of which is that you do not like being the reason people are upset. “He, uh– Tex speaks very highly of you,” you try again, steering it in a slightly different direction.

Snorting, Jack sends you a look of amusement and lifts his beer up before taking another sip. "He should, I got him the job." He tells you, remember the skirmish that he had gotten into and been surprised when the rodeo clown had been very cool under pressure.

“Yeah?” That would definitely account for some of the way Tex talked about his older coworker, and you have to wonder if more people at Statesman have close working relationships or if these two men are outliers. “That must be a good story.”

"Not much of one." Jack hums, giving another slight shrug. "Way he tells it is that I was having my ass handed to me and he had to come save the day. But I was holding my own. It was eight to one." He smirks and sends you a small, cocky wink.

It is extremely cavewoman of you to find that so sexy, you tell yourself, burying the way you have to bite your lip behind your glass to keep from saying something suggestive, and taking a sip. “What did you do piss off eight guys?” You ask instead, trying to look only mildly curious instead of on the edge of your seat.

He can't tell you that he was running down a human trafficking ring so he just sends you a small smirk. "They were pissed off that I hit on one of their girlfriends." He boasts, figuring it was as good of a story as any. The real story was that he had managed to get one of the women out and they hadn't been happy when they stumbled upon them leaving.

“Scoundrel.” It’s just teasing, and you don’t hear how much like flirting it really sounds as you shake your head at him in amusement. “I hope she was worth fighting over.” It occurs to you for the first time that he might have somebody waiting for him in that house on the edge of Statesman grounds and your stomach twists unpleasantly.

"Comes with the territory." He looks around for a moment, trying to ignore how your lopsided grin makes his pulse tick up. "You bringin' someone special with you?" He asks, telling himself he's just asking so he can assuage this guilt over killing your soulmate.

“Oh, sure.” You know what he means, but it isn’t the case. There hasn’t been much time for dating lately and with the disappearance of your soulmate’s marks, you’ve been processing the disappointment in knowing that true love is officially off the table - which might make you feel dumb sometimes but at least you’re honest with yourself about being disappointed to have to live without it. “I think my goldfish is really going to like the new house.”

Not sure if he’s relieved or even more guilty, Jack nods. “Sure think Goldy would like the eastern window, huh?” He asks, chuckling to himself as you take a sip of your drink. You’re easy to get along with and if it weren’t for who you are, he can’t even deny he’d be doing his damndest to take you back to his bed tonight.

“Yes, the Doormouse will love the eastern window,” you over-exaggerate, laughing as you think of walking your little fish tank around the house presenting the goldfish with multiple options for a view. “He’ll insist on a stroll around the garden each day, I’m sure.”

“You should build him an outdoor swimming hole.” He chuckles, leaning into the idea. “Maybe a stream so he can pretend he’s free.”

“I think the backyard of the house is too small.” It’s not something that bothers you at all, since you hadn’t even thought of it yet, but you hum over the image and let yourself indulge in the fantasy. “A pond with a little stream and a garden of flowers and herbs. That’s what he’ll get to adventure through one day. But maybe not yet.”

“Hell, that sounds like a good little adventure to me.” Jack muses, an amused little smile on his face.

“Should I call you the Doormouse, too?” You tease, even though you have a feeling that grin of his makes him more like a troublesome Cheshire Cat.

He realizes that you are making a reference to Alice in Wonderland and for a brief second, his mark - your mark - seems to burn. “Like the movie or the book?” He asks casually.

“Well…the Doormouse is in pretty much any adaptation of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland or Alice Through the Looking Glass.” The fact that he recognizes the character isn’t exactly niche, but it’s certainly not like you called him a Mad Hatter or something. “They’re…they’re my favorite stories. They have been since I was a kid.” As if to prove it, you pull up your right shirt sleeve and show him the tattoo on your arm. “I guess you can blame my obsession with tea parties on it, too, honestly.”

He learns a little bit about you, probably more than he would have if he guessed. “What’s the appeal?” He asks, curious as to why a child’s story has carried into adulthood.

“Haven’t you ever felt terribly ordinary?” To you, it seems like it must be a universal experience. Everyone, at some point in their life, has felt like the least extraordinary person in the world. “Maybe it’s juvenile, I don’t know. But the idea that Alice feels so entirely ordinary in her existence, and then falls into someplace entirely wonderful…even if it’s scary at first? It seems like that’s something everyone deserves. To find the place and the people that make them feel that life is extraordinary.”

“Have you found your wonderful place yet?” He can’t fault your logic, understanding now the ink that is in his own skin. “Or are you still looking?”

“I’m still looking.” Shifting your sleeve back into place, you shrug half-heartedly. You had thought that finding your soulmate would help you to that extraordinary life, but now that will never happen. If anything, you feel farther from it than ever. Although you’re not the sort to give up hope. “But who knows? Maybe it will be Statesman.”

“Statesman has a way of collecting a ragtag bunch of people.” Jack confides, knowing he is better because of his involvement with the organization. He would have been dead by now if Champ hadn’t come along. “And we have whiskey.” He adds, sending you a wink.

“And now you have crawfish sandwiches and coconut cake, too.” A little wink shouldn’t be anything to fluster over, but you can feel your cheeks heat instantly.

“For someone who said they are a baker, you make a mean crawfish salad.” Jack groans, wishing he had some right now.

“They’re even better when they’re on fresh baked bread.” You tell him, maybe a little smug even though you’re just being honest. “Champ said I get to design my own full menu, so I promise they’ll be on there.”

“I’ll be swinging by everyday for lunch if you’ll let employees eat.” Jack promises, lifting his beer to his lips again. “Have to start running again. Or beat the shit out of Tex in the boxing ring some more.”

That makes you snort - as inelegant a laugh as it is - and you’re just lucky you hadn’t taken another sip of whiskey yet. “What did the poor boy ever do to deserve a beating?” You plead his case for him since he isn’t here to do it himself. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were brothers with that kind of threat.”

For a split second, jealousy rears its ugly head before Jack tamps it down. The defense of the younger man has him puffing up his chest slightly and he exhales on a laugh. “Near as, I guess. But I’m the older, more handsome of the two.”

Well…he isn’t wrong, and you’re not going to contradict him. Instead, you down the last sip of whiskey in your glass with a tip of your head and hold out your hand. The jukebox is playing good music and you’re feeling bold. “C’mon, older and more handsome.” You put your hand out to him, praying you’re not making a mistake. “Can’t celebrate without dancing a little.”

Jack doesn’t hesitate, but he’s cautious. Sure that he’s going to fumble and reveal something. “Don’t complain if I stomp on your feet.” He teases with a grin.

“I might be a bull in a China shop ” you tease, thrilled that he didn’t turn you down as you step away from the bar together. “Only one way to find out.”

“Only one way.” Jack murmurs, remembering Champ's words about getting to know you as he turns around and walks backwards onto the floor holding your hand. Before he pulls you into his arms, he twirls you around to the beat of the music.

You practically squeal with glee at the surprise of being spun around, expecting that he would be able to dance but not necessarily expecting he could move. Stevie Ray Vaughan is blasting out of the jukebox and you’re suddenly glad that one boyfriend in culinary school had been into swing dancing, because Jack definitely knows what he’s doing on a dance floor. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room while you’re talking - which they also say about politicians and other charismatic characters - and it’s magnified when he dances. There’s something carefree about him like this, or maybe it’s that he makes you feel carefree. Either way, each time he spins you back into his arms or slides his hand around your back, you swear you hold on just a little bit tighter.

It’s been a long time since Jack has danced for the pure pleasure of it. For a mission, to seduce - he’s put himself out on the dance floor. But he’s not on a mission and he has no intention of seducing you so this is almost carefree. Making him grin when you give a throaty laugh as he swings you around again.

The song changes but the tempo doesn’t, and you’re having so much fun that you barely notice the other couples that have gravitated to the dance floor with the magnetic energy you and Jack are giving off in waves. ’Sharp Dressed Man’ seems like an anthem for the men of Statesman from everything you’ve seen, and you laugh happily at the whooping and hollering from the other patrons of the bar. As long as you’re attached to Jack somehow, everything else in the world just drips away.

There’s a softness in your laugh, the way you toss your head back that makes Jack relax. Right now he’s not thinking about soulmates or his sins. Just the pure pleasure of dancing with you. There are no ulterior motives here, no games. Nothing but joy and exactly what you came here for - celebration. But when Jack spins you back into his body and your arms fall around his shoulders to hold him to you on the last beats of the song, you swear your heart has leapt to your throat.

There’s a two second change from the songs. Suddenly slowing things down and the laughter of the moment gives way as your features settle, making Jack clear his throat. “Um, uh, you want to play some pool?” He asks, knowing that it wouldn’t be a safe bet asking him to slow dance with you. He can’t get pulled into the moment and he feels like that would happen.

“I—um…sure.” Disappointment. That’s what the bitter taste in your mouth is, you realize once you process the complete hundred and eighty degree turn the moment just took. It could not be more loud and clear if he had said it in words: Jack has no romantic or sexual interest in you whatsoever. Well, fine. If that’s the way he feels about it then you’ll just compartmentalize for now and deal with it later, as your disappointment definitely is a sign that you were on your way to feeling something. You step back, not wanting to crowd him and make him uncomfortable, and nod awkwardly as you wipe your damp hands on your jeans. “Let me just…grab us another round?” You can still be friendly, after all. There’s no harm in that.

“You go pick a table sugar, I told you that you ain’t paying for drinks tonight.” Jack gives you a friendly grin, seeing the disappointment in your eyes. It echoes the same sentiment that is beating in his chest, although he knows you would feel different if you knew the truth. “You want a beer this time?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you nod, assuming he won’t have shitty taste in beer. Not if he works for a distillery.

“Be right back.” He can’t help himself, hand reaching out and squeezing your hip reassuringly before he turns to head towards the bar to get the beers. Maybe have a shot too.

Blowing out a gruff, annoyed-at-yourself breath, you turn in the opposite direction to find a pool table like Jack suggested. There’s a group of a half dozen or so men milling around with cues and drinks and you can’t quite tell which tables they’re occupying, so you figure it’s just easiest to ask. “Either of these tables free, fellas?” You ask, shoulders tipped back with your hands in your back pockets, figuring that tits subtly on display is just an easier way to cut into the conversation. It worked with the bartender, didn’t it?

The self appointed leader of the group, a tall, burly biker complete with leather riding vest and an American flag bandana on his head, looks you up and down and chuckles. “Do you want us to teach you, baby doll?” He asks, the thread of mocking obvious in his tone. Holding up his pool stick, he points to it. “You hit the balls with this. It’s a pool stick.” The other men laugh and snicker along with him.

“I’m sure you boys don’t wanna be bothered with some girl in the way, so I’ll just grab the other table for me and my friend.” It’s not worth explaining to these Neanderthals that you know how to play. That your first cooking job was in a bowling alley and pool hall that served the most amazing burgers and sandwiches of all time. The other line cooks and the chef had all been fans of the games and taught you all their tricks.

Chuckling again, he places his que on the floor and leans in. “How about you play with us, sweetheart?” He asks, grinning. “We’ll only bet small amounts.”

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. They’re assuming you can’t play and you’re absolutely certain you can hold your own — if not downright wipe the floor with them. But your pride is stinging a little from feeling like Jack rejected you, so you flick your eyes up to the leader of the group and shift your weight into one hip. “How small is small?”

Like a shark smelling blood in the water, the group of men seem to crowd around you. The talkative one rubs his chin and pretends to consider for a moment. “We’ll say…hundred bucks a ball?” He offers, like is the deal of a lifetime.

It's too good. They're too cocky and too blinded by their own ridiculous posturing to see that you have given them absolutely no reason to think you can't play. But hey - you started the morning playing patty cake with your niece, punctuated it by flying on a private jet and being offered your dream job, and now you're about to end it by whooping these idiots' asses. What does it matter that one handsome brand-new acquaintance didn't want to slow dance with you? This isn't middle school. Shaking off the urge to smirk, you put out your hand with full confidence. "You got yourself a deal."

Jack whistles to himself when he comes over, two beers and two shots in hand to see that you are around a table with the Broncos Bike Club. Assholes when they get beat and sore winners when they don’t. “Well sugar, I see we are in for some fun tonight.” He drawls as he sets the beers down on the side of the table and hands you a shot. “You know what you’re doin’?” He asks quietly.

"I wouldn't get sucked in on a hundred bucks a ball if I didn't," you whisper back, tapping your shot glass against his before downing the liquor and sighing happily at the burn. That definitely wasn't Red Label, but it was good. You'll have to remember to ask Jack what it was later.

Jack grins and gives you a small chuckle. “Lemme guess, they think you don’t know what a pool cue is? Did they call it a stick?”

"A pool stick." Nodding solemnly to keep from giggling, you pick up the beer that Jack brought you and take a sip. The choice earns a happy hum from you, and you reach for a cue and chalk from the rack on the wall. "All I did was ask if one of the tables was free."

“Morons.” Jack huffs before he moves closer and leans down towards your ear. He knows what the outcome will be but he encourages you anyway. “Kick their asses, sugar.”

"Oh, I will." Playful instinct tells you to smack a kiss to his cheek but you don't, figuring that there's no use in anything affectionate like that if he has no interest. And though you might be playful or casually flirtatious with your friends most of the time, you don't yet know if he is - so it's better to just not. Instead you chalk up your cue and turn to face the table. At a hundred dollars a ball, this is going to be a hell of a game.

“Well boys.” Jack puts his hands on his hips and chuckles. “Rack ‘em up.”

They make a big show of it, condescendingly pointing out the order of the numbers on the balls and laughing amongst themselves, and you swear it just makes you wish you were wearing heels so you could grind them into the floor with the spikes. "Are you gonna keep running your mouth or do you actually want to play?" You ask, leaning against the pool table with your beer in one hand and the cue in the other. At this point they're bordering on pissing you off.

Buster, the leader of the group, sends you a condescending smile and motions to the table. “Lady’s first.” He chuckles and looks back at his buddies. “Bet she can’t even break properly.”

Jack huffs, watching as you take a large swallow of your beer and set it down on the edge. Leaning over the table as you line up your cue, he can’t help but glance at your ass. Lord have mercy, you have a nice one. You set up on the right of the Baulk line and look up at him right before you take your shot. “Stripes.” You call before the cue ball even strikes the group and Jack watches as the 9 and 11 balls drop into the corner pocket.

“Damn.” Jack whistles, grinning at the sour looks on the boy’s faces. “Lucky break.”

"Beginner's luck," grumbles one of the other men, leaning back on a nearby table with his beer in one hand and several empty glasses nearby.

"No givin' her pointers," demands another, pointing at Jack threateningly. He saw the dandy checking you out when you bent over to break and dancing together before that. And he ain't an idiot.

Jack holds his hands up and makes a face of compliance. He’s not going to try to sway the outcome of this game, although he knows how it’s going to end up. Luckily, the bartenders and bouncers are used to Statesman agents quelling bar fights, or starting them only to finish them, so they never interfered. “Lady’s game.” He promises, watching as you walk around the table, analyzing your next shot before deciding that you would bank the cue ball off the left corner of the table to drop it into the right pocket. Jack sips his beer as you do exactly that.

Buster shifts the way he's standing with affected laziness, seeming as though he is barely paying you any attention while he actually watches to make sure you're not cheating. "At least do us the favour of bendin' further over the table when you shoot, babydoll." He chuckles, not giving a single goddamn ounce of care for manners. He takes what he wants, and right now he wants a view. You roll your eyes subtly at Jack, letting him know that you're not bothered, and intentionally squat at the table instead of bending as you check out the angle for your next shot.

Jack huffs in amusement, a small smirk on his face when he watches you sink the next two striped balls without so much as brushing by the solids.

One after the next, the striped balls drop into the pockets on command, and the men around you grow more and more flustered with every shot. By the time only the 8 ball remains, there is practically steam pouring out of their ears and one of them has all but literally thrown his hat on the ground, but you remain placid. No gloating or teasing that will make their moods worse is due here. The satisfaction of proving them wrong by winning is all you're aiming for.

“Now, if I ain’t mistaken things….” Jack drawls, rubbing his chin and staring at the table. “She sinks this, she wins. Right? Or are you wantin’ her to clear the table?”

The deliberation happens in grunts and glances, as Buster's minions decide that the best way to teach you a lesson is to have you do more of what you have amply proven that you're good at. They only need you to fuck up once for them to run you off the table with insults and heckling. "Clear it." Buster insists, somehow managing to follow the string of unintelligible sounds that the men around him made.

The smirk Jack gives you is smug and he nods. “You heard ‘em sugar.” He chortles. “You gotta clear the board to win. 15 balls.” It’s obvious that the numbskulls didn’t think about the fact that they would have to pay you an additional $700 for that, but Jack did. He sends you a small wink and an encouraging nod.

If, one day many years in the future, you're ever a famous enough chef for there to be a film of your life, you're going to insist that this pool game be a part of it. Each ball is its own geometric problem to solve, but you do it carefully, and you do it well. The expressions of sheer and utter dismay on each man's face turn to ruddy anger as you call “Eight ball, corner pocket” and sink the very last ball with a tiny tap, sending it spinning into the corner pocket that it was sitting next to. "Well, boys," you lean against the table with a satisfied grin and rest one hand on your cue. "Looks to me like this empty table is going to end up emptying some wallets."

Jack finishes the rest of his beer with a sigh, draining the mug and setting it down on the high top table a few steps from the pool tables. He knows what’s about to happen and his lasso and whip are tucked away behind his jacket, ready to go.

“You tricked us, you bitch!” Buster growls, backed up by the agreeing ‘yeah’s from the motley crew behind him. “You said you couldn’t play pool.”

“Did I?” Sure you’ve hustled a few times in your life, but you definitely didn’t tonight. Your head ticks to one side and you lean against the table easily. “Or did you just assume, because I’m a girl?”

From the way his face blanks for a moment, buddy boy knows that’s the truth but when it passes, there’s a decidedly mean look on his face. “I’m not payin’ a fucking hustling whore a fucking dime unless she’s sucking my dick.” He growls, making Jack’s jaw instantly tighten.

“Now Buster,” Jack slowly drawls out, turning their attention from you to where he is standing with his hand on his hip as he shakes his head. “You kiss your momma with that mouth?” He asks. “You owe the lady an apology and fifteen hundred dollars. Fair is fair.”

“She ain’t play fair!” The scrawniest of the group points at you like he’s about to accuse you of witchcraft. “Schemin’ cunt don’t deserve anythin’ but a lesson.”

There’s a lot of talk that Jack will let slide, especially in a rough and tumble place like this, but the boys don’t know they just fucked up. His eyes darken and go flat, the edge of a smirk on his lips has no humor in it. “You might want to take that back, Junior.” He spits, fingers itching to grab his whip. “No need for that or I’ll be teachin’ the lesson.”

“Jack…” Glancing back at the man you came here with, you can feel the change in the air here without hesitation. While it would not in any way be your first bar fight, you’re not sure that these are the kind of fellas you ever want to throw the first punch against. Not because you’re afraid of getting your ass handed to you, but because you don’t like the prospect of spending your first night in Louisville getting arrested.

“What the fuck are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?” The scrawny one - the one Jack called Junior - drawls as he reaches into his pocket. Out comes his hand again a second later, now adorned with brass knuckles. “Only thing you oughtta even be considerin’ is gettin’ this dried up cunt bitch out of our sight before we make her regret lyin’ to us.”

His chuckle is low, rusty and his own hand reaches behind his back to pull out the butt of his retractable whip. “Manners maketh man, Junior.” Jack hums. “That’s the lesson today.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Scoffs another man in the group - the broadest of all of them - as he cracks his knuckles in your direction.

“It means a Kentucky ass-whooping.” Jack declares, right before Junior decides to launch himself at Jack. With the single press of a button, the whip spirals out from the handle of the whip and Jack wastes no time cracking it through the air to wrap around the man’s throat as he yanks back on it to send the burly biker careening past him and into the table right behind Jack.

It all happens in a split second, and you’re smart enough and quick enough to dive behind Jack right before it does. You can defend yourself. You absolutely can, and have on multiple occasions. But fuck if seeing Jack step in for your honor isn’t one of the goddamn sexiest things you’ve ever experienced. Two of the bikers throw themselves at him on command, with just a glance from Buster, as Junior’s face comes into collision with the flat of the table.

A fight is like a well coordinated dance. Timing and footwork are everything. Jack flicks his wrist and the whip unwinds from around Junior’s neck to slash around and strike one of the two across the cheek, slicing open the skin as neatly as any knife. Causing the man to howl in pain and stop in his tracks as he grabs his face. The other keeps coming, making Jack smirk as he pulls back the whip and tucks it away before pulling out his lasso. He might be showing off as he twirls the rope, but he doesn’t look over for your reaction as the man charges towards him.

A barfight it’s not supposed to be sexy, you lecture yourself sternly, finding that you’re too mesmerized to even hide. The men clearly don’t feel the need to fight you, only Jack, so you’re left standing with your back to the nearest wall in awe of how fucking agile he is. But where did he—? Is that a lasso? What in the hell…

When Jack ropes the man, he drags him towards him. His fist coming out as he strikes him directly in the nose with one, two, three rapid punches.

“Fuckin pretty boy city slicker and your hustlin’ whore!” Buster’s patience has worn thin, watching his minions drop around Jack like so many fruit flies. He charges at the two of you like a bull, and for a second you’re certain he’s aiming to ram his head right into your stomach against the wall.

Jack looks over, whirling his lasso over his head now that the other man has crumpled to the floor at his feet. Snagging the table, Jack rocks back on his heel and heaves, the momentum dragging the lightweight table up and hurling it through the air towards Buster.

Ducking to your right, you dive out of the way just a second before the table connects with Buster’s side. It sends him in the other direction, propelling him into the wall and crumpling in a heap on his side as he clutches his bleeding head and howls in pain - bandana’d skull connecting with the sturdy wooden walls instead of with your abdomen and compounded with the force of splintering wood on his back.

There are two more that had decided that the better part of valor was staying out of it and Jack raises a brow at them to ask if they wanted to try their hand at him.

The older of the two remaining men clears his throat and straightens his back, knowing he doesn’t have a dog in this fight to begin with. “Pay the lady,” he orders his friend, a little under his breath.

Jack watches warily, coiling his lasso up as the other one begrudgingly pulls out a stack of bills. “Lay the bills out on the table and then get your friends out of here. They’re done for the night.” He tells them sternly. He doesn’t trust them not to try to cheat you out of the full amount and it’s also a lesson in humility.

The younger man bristles at having to be the one to pay, but he begrudgingly does as he’s ordered. Fifteen hundred dollar bills all lined up on the felt would be a big enough adrenaline rush even without everything that had just happened, and you watch him count them out carefully. Once the total you’re owed is sitting in plain sight you reach for the bills, tucking them into the front pocket of your jeans. “Well?” You nod your head toward the crumpled, groaning masses of their friends. “Pick ‘em up.”

Only when they turn to their friends and the atmosphere of the bar has turned friendlier as other patrons return to their drinks or conversations does Jack grin at you. “Weeeewh.” He huffs, reaching up and readjusting his cowboy hat with a cocky jaunt. “Kinda feelin’ like a tornado in a trailer park.” He jokes before he cocks his head towards the bar. “Want another round?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed that.” One eyebrow ticks up at Jack as you look around at the mess you made. One broken chair and one smashed table, with other things out of place - it could be much worse. You can’t help the way his sheepish smirk makes you smile, relieved laughter bubbling out of you. “Yeah,” you agree, feeling the pulse of excitement and attraction. Even if he’s not into you, you absolutely can’t deny being into him after that Purebred Cowboy display. “Let’s get another round. And I can give some of that cash to the bartender to pay for what we broke.”

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “It’ll go on the bill to Statesman.” He promises. “This ain’t the first rodeo in this place.”

“Hell of a first impression to make on my new employers,” you grumble ruefully, although you’re still grinning. “Or was that some kind of rite of passage I didn’t know about?”

Jack considers it for a moment and chuckles. “I guess it could be.” He shakes his head and leans against the bar again, lifting his hand to the bartender.

“You causin’ trouble again, Jack?” The bartender eyes him suspiciously. “Or did they deserve it?” He knows damn well those bikers are always trouble, but they drink their body weight and always pay, so he usually doesn’t fuss.

“They wanted to call the lady four dollar words and didn’t want to pay when they got beat at their own game.” He tells him, giving him a small shrug. “So I taught them some manners.”

“Long as they deserved it.” The bartender brushes it off. “Another round?”

Jack looks over at you for confirmation and when you nod he does as well as he turns back to the bartender. "Let's do another round of shots and beers." He tells him. "She worked up a thirst beating their asses at pool and I worked one up beating their asses."

The feel of being very pleased with yourself rolls down your spine like a drop of sweat and you sit up just a little bit taller on your barstool. Jack’s smug expression says that he’s just as proud of himself as he is of you, and you raise your shot glass to him in salute when it’s set down in front of you. “I am definitely going to like it here.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @lunarcatbun 118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088 @sunnygrey99 @lexinicolenix @lazyemisfandomtrash @curiouskeyboard @qualityearthquakes @spider-284748 @unnecesarysstuff @sgt-morgan @love-affair-with-fandoms @lunarcatbun @kstar770 @kykymarty @supergingerlocks @hell0kittybimb0222 @a-birds-fin @loidforgerishotashell @mythical-writer @ghostshalo @avengersimaginesfan @sccialcasualty @lordecult @petalo-dropsart @i-quite-like-eating-carrots @svudetective @hasta-la-pasta-bb @manicpixiedreamgirly @destinydog @skeppycarnation @anaisweird @critters-beware @fruityforcocoapuffs @linnnniie @spideyromantic @paupeach2024 @faithxyu @fxramir @legomyeggo @jjggdfvvy @hi-my-name-is-riley @kasaikawa @lost-ghost-thats-sleepy @callmegkiddo @2dead2function @failingclassesinmygucciglasses @thebeesknees42 @moonmoon007 @wi0na @cilliansangel

[actuallymoon]

Ficlet: Strawberry Costume 🍓

Narcissa Malfoy had always believed her son was destined for greatness. Not just because he was a Malfoy, but because he was, undeniably, the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. From the moment Draco was born, with his silvery-blonde hair and piercing grey eyes, she knew he was special. So, it wasn't long before she decided to share his beauty with the world, signing him up to be a baby model.

Draco's early career was illustrious; his chubby cheeks graced the covers of baby food jars, and his tiny feet were the star of toddler shoe advertisements. As he grew older, he transitioned seamlessly into a child model, showcasing everything from high-end toddler clothing to magical toys. Narcissa, proud of her son’s accomplishments, kept every photograph, every advertisement, in a pristine, leather-bound album.

Years later, when Draco and Harry found themselves in love and dreaming of starting a family, Narcissa couldn't help but drop a subtle hint over tea. "Draco was such a beautiful baby," she mused. "He even modeled. I do hope your child inherits Draco’s looks rather than yours."

The underlying jab at Harry’s ‘inferior, half-breed appearance’ went unnoticed, as Harry’s ears perked up at the word “modeled.” His curiosity was sparked, to say the least. "Modeled? You mean like… professionally?"

Narcissa’s lips curled into a smile as she reminisced nostalgically. "Indeed. I have an album, if you’re interested."

Harry was beyond intrigued. When Narcissa handed him the album, he couldn’t help but gasp. Draco, as a baby, was even more adorable than he could have imagined. Page after page revealed little Draco in various poses—tiny wizard robes, enchanted toys, and the cutest baby outfits one could find in the magical world.

But it was the photo of Draco dressed in a strawberry costume that truly stole Harry’s heart. The way the baby Draco pouted at the camera, his tiny hands clutching at the plush strawberry suit, was too much. Harry’s eyes sparkled with delight as he turned to Narcissa, practically begging, "Can I keep this one? Please?"

Narcissa, who could easily say no to anyone else, found herself unable to resist the hopeful, puppy-like expression on Harry’s face. “I suppose,” she relented, though she secretly relished how even the Boy-Who-Lived was smitten with her son’s baby pictures.

Harry kept the picture a secret from Draco, a mischievous plan forming in his mind. Months later, when their son James was born, Harry finally unveiled his plan. With a grin, he presented Draco with a tiny strawberry costume—identical to the one in the picture—and two adult-sized ones as well.

“We’re going to recreate that photo,” Harry announced, holding up the old picture of baby Draco.

Draco couldn’t help but laugh, rolling his eyes at Harry’s suggestion and refused. Harry, of course, didn’t give up and begged him to reconsider. When he saw how excited Harry was, Draco reluctantly relented. Soon enough, the three of them—James, Draco, and Harry—stood together in their strawberry costumes for their new family photo.

The picture found its place on the mantel, right next to the original photo of baby Draco. Every time guests came over, they would pause, bewildered at the sight of the three matching strawberries, before bursting into laughter.

And Draco, though he would never admit it aloud, found himself rather fond of the ridiculousness. After all, only Harry could turn a forgotten moment from his childhood into something so wonderfully, absurdly memorable.

Story inspired by a tiktok I saw of a child wearing something like this picture