#v; Wanted to Be Just Like Him {Navy Career}

[hangmanssunnies]

Heat To Boil

Summary: After a failed Tinder date, you go to hang out with your friend Jake "Hangman" Seresin. When you get to his house, you unexpectedly find him with a baby, and it is a sight that rewires something in your head. Jake needs a baby of his own. Right now — like yesterday, actually. And that is a task you would be more than willing to help with; now, you just need to find the courage to bring it up.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Word count: 9k

AO3 Link

Warnings: 18+ Only, Friends to lovers, baby fever, smut, P in V, Oral, Hangman with a baby (deserves its own warning)

Author's note: The attorneys at work keep bringing their babies in and letting me hold them, and @top-hhun has done absolutely nothing to discourage the subsequent baby fever I've been dealing with. Anyways, that's where this fic came from. I hope you enjoy this. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

You had become friends with Jake unexpectedly some years ago, hitting it off at your mutual friend's wedding. Part of you had, of course, hoped the attractive blonde aviator would be interested in you, maybe in a romantic sense, but it never came to fruition. He shipped out the week after the wedding, but the easy rapport you carried with him started with sharing jokes about how trashed other people got at the reception, and eventually developing into a true and close friendship. 

It was for the best because the more you got to know Jake, it became clear to you that he didn't want the same things that you did. He was focused on his career and didn't have time for a partner. When he did talk about settling down, it was never in an authentic way, more joking that he was waiting to swoop in if Coyote's marriage fell apart or that his Mama would set him up with a nice southern belle who wanted to give her twelve grandkids. Jake would claim he was too busy for a relationship, away from home too much to be steady. However, none of that seemed to stop him from finding time for you, which is probably why you hadn't been able to completely repress your feelings for him despite some valiant efforts. 

Just today, after a failed lunch date with someone from Tinder, you texted Jake disheartened. He hadn't hesitated first to ask if you were okay and then invited you over for dinner to tell him all about it. He had even promised to cook you whatever you wanted. A special treat guaranteed to make you feel better, considering Jake's superb culinary skills. 

You walk into Jake's house without knocking or ringing the bell, knowing he left the door unlocked in anticipation of your arrival. After securing the front door's lock into place, you toe off your shoes, making sure to set them neatly in line with the others there. Jake's home is clean and tidy, just like it always is; the organization of the entry is no exception. You know from the smells and sounds wafting towards you that he must still be cooking, which is odd because he's almost always done by the time you show up. 

Venturing further into the house you see him, standing in the kitchen, with a baby strapped to his chest. It's an unexpected sight, and you're frozen by it. Jake's in a casual white teeshirt, jeans, and a dark navy blue sling with a camo pattern wrapped tightly around him, securing a tiny infant in place against his broad chest. His hair is fluffy like it often is on his days off, and the golden strands fall across his forehead. Seeing it like this always creates an instinctual desire to run your fingers through it. However, you can hardly even process that thought because you're so distracted by the bundle on his chest. Music is playing on his record player, and he is humming along. 

Jake suddenly stops the humming, and the prep he is doing, looking down at the baby. After a pause, a smile pulls at the edges of his lips, his eyes crinkle before he drops a kiss on the infant's head. And it's like everything is right. Jake with a baby seems so natural. The fact that he exists any other way than with a baby in his arms every day feels wrong. Your heart starts beating harder in your chest, and a thought pops into your head, instantly taking deep root: Jake needs a baby of his own. Right now — like yesterday, actually. 

You don't know what sound you must have made, but Jake looks up and finally notices you standing in the hallway. He doesn't appear at all startled as a wide grin spreads across his face as he greets you, "Howdy there, Doll!"  

"You have a baby," you say stupidly in an entirely delayed response. 

"Yeah, this little guy is Jackson. Coyote and the Mrs wanted a date day, so I offered to watch the baby for them. They were supposed to be here two hours ago to pick him up, but I'm sure they just got caught up." Jake laughs and presses another kiss to Jackson's head. Before continuing on, "I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind," you manage to breathe out, unable to tear your eyes off Jake or even pretend you're not staring. He quirks an eyebrow at you but otherwise doesn't comment. After he gestures for you to join him, he returns to the cutting board in front of him. You are transfixed; when you sit down at the bar in the kitchen, it occurs to you that you should probably say something and not just stare like an idiot. "Do you want me to take him?"

"I think he is just fine here," Jake says, examining the sleeping baby strapped to his chest again. Jackson has hardly moved since you showed up, clearly passed out, not disturbed by the music or any of the kitchen sounds. 

"At least let me help finish cooking then?" You request. 

"No, Ma'am. Bubba and I have this dinner taken care of. I did pick up that wine you like from the store. Maybe you can open it up for us?" 

Entering the kitchen, you pull out two wine glasses from a cabinet. Opening the fridge you see your preferred wine stocked, as well as a few of your other favorite drinks stored there. Warmth blooms in your chest that Jake picked up things for you when he was at the store last. It was touching that he would take care to buy something he would never touch but getting it anyway just to have beverages you prefer on hand. After pouring the wine, you set one glass next to Jake's cutting board, making sure it's in easy reach for him. 

"Thank you," he says appreciatively. You sigh and lean against him, pressing your face into the bicep of his arm, careful not to disturb Jackson or the sling as you do. Closing your eyes, you breathe him in, looking for the subtle cedar scent of his cologne to soothe you. However, only a hint of it tickles your nose, the cedar not as strong as it usually is. Today, Jake smells more like clean laundry and his natural musk than anything else. You are surprised to find it still does the trick in helping settle your nerves, though. Jake hums but doesn't protest your closeness, instead asking, "Long day?" 

You don't answer with words, just humming noncommittally against his arm. You leave your face pressed there for a moment longer. "Not enough wine to talk about it yet," you eventually say into his arm before pulling away. Settling on the other side of the counter again, you take a long drink of the wine you poured. Deciding to admire Jake again, you ask, "How was your day?"

"It was pretty good. Javy dropped Jackson off this morning. We had tummy time, went on a walk, and to the grocery store to get things for dinner. Then we got a little cranky, so we rocked in the lazy boy for a while." You took a moment to picture Jake doing these activities and can't decide which is most swoon worthy. Jake is always swoon worthy, of course, but knowing that he was caring for a baby while doing it feels like an extra kick to the stomach or maybe ovaries. 

"And?" You ask him, taking another drink of your wine and pillowing your face on your palm. 

"And what?" Jake asks. 

"What else did you and Jackson do today? I want to hear every detail." 

Jake gives into your request easily. Starting his description of the day over, he tells you how even though he has babysat before, the Machados were still anxious to leave Jackson alone here when they dropped him off that morning. Jake told you about tummy time, which toys they liked and which were uninteresting. How long their walk was, and what they saw. He told you about the old woman who fawned over them in the store and how they helped her with getting her groceries to the car. It was endearing that Jake used the first person plural 'we' as if he and Jackson were a team with equal agency in their day's activities. It was especially cute when Jake told you about the tantrum they had thrown earlier in the afternoon as if he had been crying right along with his godson. 

Just as dinner was finished and you were setting the table, Jackson woke up and started to get fussy. Jake cooed to the baby affectionately, leaving to the guest room, where Javy had stuffed almost a car full of supplies for Jake to watch Jackson. Some of the just-in-case supplies included toys and clothes Jackson wouldn't even be able to use until he was at least a year old.  

When Jake comes back, both he and Jackson are wearing different clothes. Jake is in a soft green shirt and sweats, while Jackson is now wearing a giraffe onesie. He has the baby propped on his hip and doesn't offer you any explanation aside from that they had an accident. Then he sees that you have plated and set everything for dinner at the dining room table, and he offers a soft thank you. 

You watch as he balances Jackson on his hip and starts following the written out directions for making a bottle that's taped to his fridge. Jake isn't someone who struggles, and you know that this is something that he is fully capable of doing, but you also can't help but think that it would be easier for him if he had two free hands. So, you gently pull Jackson from his arms and into your own instead. 

The baby blinks up at you, his eyes still soft and sleepy. He babbles a bit of nonsense but otherwise makes no protest at you. Jackson has the same brown eyes and skin tone as his father. Even with his chubby cheeks, you can tell that the little boy is going to be Coyote's mini-me. The similarities in their appearance are so close it's like the universe had just hit copy and paste. 

He is so cute you can't stop the grin that stretches across your lips when Jackson snuggles into you. One of his hands starts grabbing at your shirt's fabric while he absently gnaws at his other one. The little boy completely steals your attention as you walk around the living room and dining room with him. Asking him how he feels about his day with his Uncle Jake, pausing for his babbling like they were real answers. Jake comes up behind you several minutes later, setting a steady hand on the small of your back.

 "Here, let me take him," Jake mutters practically in your ear while reaching for Jackson. 

"No," you protest, turning away from Jake's reach. "You've had him all day. I've only gotten to hold him for a few minutes." 

"Now, darling," Jake drawls. 

"Don't darling me."

"Doll," He says 

"Don't Doll me either." You snap, though the aggression of it is completely manufactured. 

"Fine, fine," Jake says, holding his hands up. "You can have him for a few more minutes, but then it's my turn again."  

"How is that fair?" 

"It's fair because he is my godson." 

You pout at Jake, and he pouts back." I can't believe you're going to be a baby hog like this. Don't you know sharing is caring?" 

"Jackson isn't a rental car, sweetheart. Can't just hand him out to anybody."

"So what? You don't trust me with him?" 

"No," Jake says, suddenly dropping all of his dry, teasing tone. "Of course, I trust you with him. Of course, I trust you."

Jake steps closer when he says this, crowding a bit into your personal space. His sea glass green eyes hold you in place, and you don't think you imagine that they flick downwards, that he has his sights set on your lips, that Jake could be considering kissing you. However, a breath later, he is swooping Jackson out of your arms and into his own, quickly back peddling. 

"You can have the baby back after I feed him, okay? I don't want to risk him throwing up on that pretty blouse you've got on." 

"Kidnaper! Baby Snatcher!" You half gasp, half yell, and start to chase after Jake as he runs away, holding Jackson close and carefully but still managing to evade you.  

You're both laughing, and Jackson has started joyfully screeching as well when the doorbell rings, startling all three of you. Jake hands Jackson to you wordlessly before going to check who's at the door. It only takes a minute for him to come back with Coyote in tow. Who immediately rushes to sweep his baby from your arms and press kisses all over his cherub face. 

After Javy examined his son to ensure nothing was out of sorts, he handed Jackson back to you to hold while he and Jake packed up all of his stuff and moved the car seat. This was only after he made a sly comment about how good you looked with a baby in your arms, though. 

When you are alone with Jackson again, you take a moment to admire yourself in the mirror hanging on the wall. It wasn't such a hard thing for you to imagine holding a baby, and it looking normal, like something right, especially when you start to picture one with Jake's features or one that would take more after you, possibly even some sweet mix. The feeling of casual want that started from seeing Jake when you first arrived suddenly twists into an unexpected ache and intense need. 

You expect it to let up, but it doesn't. Rather, the feeling smolders in you, burning hotter and hotter until it feels slightly consuming. Seeing Jake hug and kiss Jackson goodbye, promising they would spend another day together soon, nearly does you in. Heating your feelings from a low simmer to a roaring boil. 

When you and Jake finally sit down to actually have dinner, it gets a little hotter with every sip of wine you take. Every time that Jake smiles and his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way he asks about your failed date with the perfect mix of sympathy and care, even the way he reheated dinner, all adds to the fire. As Jake is starting to put away the leftovers from dinner, refusing to let you help, you can't keep it in anymore, and you boil over. 

"Jackson was so precious," you say, casually swirling the bit of drink you have left around in the glass.  

"Little mans is so fun. I love him. It's always a treat to babysit," 

"You were really great with him today." 

"Aw, thanks Doll. Now, what do you want to do with the rest of the night? Play a game, watch a movie? We can do anything you want."

"Anything I want?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jake says easily as he pops the lids of his pyrex container into place.  

"I want a baby." You say in a quick breath. You nearly slap your hand over your mouth in horror that had just jumped out of your mouth. You really haven't had enough wine to be this bold, but then again, maybe you were a little intoxicated on having seen Jake be so domestic. 

"What?" he asks with a laugh, probably thinking he misheard you. You grip the edge of the cool countertop trying to steady your nerves and prevent your hands from shaking. 

"Jake, I want a baby," you tell him more slowly, making sure each word comes out clearly. 

"No, you don't," he laughs, shaking his head. He starts tossing dirty dishes into the sudsy water of the sink and stacking up the food containers to put in the fridge. Jake turns away from you before saying, "I thought you've said you didn't want kids."

"It's complicated," you explain softly. "Are people not allowed to change their minds about things anymore?" 

"Oh, so are you debating or like —"

"I don't really know how to say this more clearly. I want to have a baby with you, Jake." 

He freezes. You see his shoulders tense, and he stares into the fridge for a long moment, slowly finishing storing the leftovers. When he closes the fridge, he still doesn't look at you immediately. 

"You want me to be the father of a child you have? You want to have my baby?" Jake asks you incredulously. You gulp, now feeling entirely too vulnerable to speak, so you just nod in agreement instead. Jake's eyes are piercing, and his body language is tense as he stands in front of the sink again. He heaves a heavy sigh, his lips flattening into a tight line. Then he scrubs his hands over his face before narrowing his eyes at you, "This is not a very funny joke." 

"It's not a joke, Jake. I want a baby, and I know you would be a good father." When Jake's demeanor still doesn't change, you continue on hurriedly. "I think we could do the whole platonic coparent thing easily enough. We get along so well, and we're already such good friends." 

There is a long pause where he does not say anything, turning on the sink, waiting for the water to heat, and sudsing up a scrub daddy sponge. Only once this task is started does he answer you in a very stoic, perfectly level tone, "No, I don't think I can do that. I can't just sleep with you."

"Oh, well. I see. Forget that I asked, please." You mutter, embarrassed but trying to not let the sting of rejection affect your tone. You knew that this could backfire, but you didn't think it would feel this bad. Feel like the pit of your stomach falling so low you are almost nauseous. 

"I'm sorry, Dolly." 

"It's okay, Jake, really. It's just the wine getting to me."

"Are you going to ask someone else?" 

"What?" 

"Are you going to ask someone else to give you a baby?" Jake asks in a gruff tone. 

You wouldn't actually, you wouldn't want one without Jake. In fact, this urge to have a child came from seeing him. However, you didn't know how else to play off your out-of-pocket request than to commit to the bit. Nonchalantly, you say, "Maybe." 

"I could help you find someone," he offers. 

"Please, Jake. It's okay you said no. You don't have to try and fix my situation."

He practically ignores you, asking, "What about Rooster?"

"I'm sure that I would have fun with the process," you say. Jake, who has focused himself with dedication on the dishes, looks up at you sharply. He quickly looks away again as you continue, "I'd be worried about having a baby that's born with a full mustache, though. So, no, thank you." 

"I'm sure Fritz would be happy to help you out." 

"No —"

"Harvard—" 

"No Hangman. Stop," You say much harder with emphasis, cutting him off and leaving no room for argument. 

"I tell you no for one thing, and suddenly I'm Hangman to you?"

"No, you're Hangman when you disregard the people around you, no matter what they say. You're Hangman when you decide something's a mission objective, and you refuse to let it go. This isn't your problem to fix or one to pawn off on one of your friends." 

"You made it my problem when you just asked me to give you a baby," Jake says, frustrated. Roughly scrubbing the dishes, rinsing, and setting them in the drying rack. 

"Well, the moment you said no, it's not your problem anymore. I'm absolving you of responsibility. It's my problem, and I will find someone for myself to put up with me, at least for a night." You joke, trying to lighten the mood again, not wanting to ruin the whole night from this mishap. Jake doesn't react more than his face darkening significantly, a deep frown pulling at his lips as he rinses the last dish and closes the dishwasher. 

"Put up with you?" He asks, his eyebrows knitting together. Jake reaches for a dish towel to dry off his hands, and you're momentarily distracted by the thick fingers and web of veins tracing up his arm. It's a better sight than meeting Jake's intense eyes, those eyes that can stare you down and leave no room for you to hide. 

"I mean, I know I'm a lot, but I think even I can get someone to fuck me once or twice. If I want and am very lucky, I'll only need one night. There are also other options, of course, like sperm banks and adoption. Let's just let it go. Okay?" When you don't get an immediate response, you glance at Jake once more. He is staring at you, but it's not a look you like. He's looking at you like you are a problem to be fixed, a puzzle to solve, an item to take off his to-do list. So you force a chuckle out and smile.  

"I don't think I want to. Actually, I can't let this conversation go." 

"We have to," you insist. 

"Why?"

"Because Jakers, it doesn't have anywhere else to go. I expressed a stupid desire without thinking. It was awkward, and that's okay. It doesn't have to stay that way, though. Now we laugh and forget it. There is no other option." 

"A lot. Put up with. Stupid desires," Jake scoffs the words as he rounds the kitchen island. He spins the bar stool chair you're sitting on by the back, turning you to face him. Then he sets his hands on the marble countertop on either side of you, effectively boxing you in. Even sitting on the tall bar stool, you have to tilt your head a bit to look up at him. When your eyes meet again, the green isn't as soft or kind as you're expecting. "I don't like how you're talking about yourself right now." 

"I'm just being honest. I'm taxing to deal with; people get tired of me. My past relationships have certainly taught me that I'm only desirable under the right conditions. And I am stupid. I just ruined our whole night because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. What kind of normal person asks one of their best friends to fuck a baby into them unprompted?"

"Oh wow, I'm not even sure where to start with all that." Jake breathes. You can't take seeing his furrowed brow and disappointed frown. So instead, you examine his right arm that's stretched by you, mapping out the moles and freckles there. "You've developed a warped sense of the truth, Doll."  

It's your turn to scoff and roll your eyes. When you do, the arm you've been studying shifts, and Jake cups your cheek. Gently, he urges your face to turn back towards his, and a calloused thumb sweeps across your cheekbone. "Listen to me good now. The things you want and desire they ain't stupid, and neither are you. You're not too much. You're just enough."

"Thank you, Jake." You whisper. And while his words are kind, you don't really believe them.  

"Don't say thank you."

"What else am I supposed to say?"

"Say you believe me and mean it," Jake urges you. 

"I don't want to lie to you. That's not who we are, that's not our friendship," You say. Jake's hand drops from your cheek, and he steps back quickly as if he's been burned. After you had been so surrounded by him, you nearly reach out to urge him close again. Running a hand through his hair, you can tell he's resisting the urge to pace. 

"Is that our friendship, one built on honesty?" 

"I thought so." 

"Then I've failed you, and I've failed us because it's not." 

"Jake, what are you talking about?" You ask him, confused. He shakes his head at you and doesn't respond, instead backing away further until he is abandoning you in the kitchen. Swiftly, you stand to follow him, "Where are you going?" 

"I'm leaving." 

"And going where? This is your house," you remind him. You've caught up to him in the doorway of his bedroom, where he's grabbing a hat and his wallet. "I'm sorry I ruined tonight, and I'll leave. You have to be honest with me before I do, though. I have to know we're going to be okay tomorrow." 

"I can't," Jake says tersely, not meeting your eyes and attempting to sidestep you in the doorway. 

"I was wrongly under the impression there wasn't anything you couldn't do, Hangman. But I guess we are finding a lot of things you just can't do tonight, aren't we?" You aren't expecting the little lash out of a taunt to get you anywhere. Jake is normally always calm, cool, and collected, acting with decisive precision. However, nearly as soon as you've finished speaking, Jake's hands are on your arms, and he backs you up until you gently hit the wall of the hallway across from his door. 

"You're asking for more self-restraint than I have, Doll." He warns roughly. The sudden movement doesn't make you back down like he was probably expecting. Instead, the rush makes you feel emboldened. 

"I don't care. I can accept you don't want a baby with me, that you don't want to fuck me. I can accept that you want to force me to talk, but I can't accept you making me question our friendship." 

"Oh god. You really don't understand. My honesty is not going to make this better," he warns. 

"Yes, I do. Whatever it is, please tell me. I can think of many things you could be referring to, like that I'm not attractive to you. How I would make a terrible mother. Maybe I'm not a good friend. Or you don't actually like spending time with me. Whatever it is, you have to tell me. I've never thought you would lie to me. So, I need to know, or it's going to drive me crazy." 

"There you are, all twisted up again," Jake sighs. 

"And whose fault is that?" You snap back. Jake still has you pressed against the wall, so you set your hands on his broad chest with the intention of pushing him away. However, he doesn't budge; in fact, he does the opposite, coming even closer so he is flush against you. You refuse to tilt your chin to look up at him as he looms, rather only lifting your eyes in a cold stare. "I shouldn't be surprised that you're going to leave me hanging to dry, but you could at least —"

You don't get to finish the thought because a hand has snaked to hold the side of your neck, thumb tucking under your chin, turning your face upwards to Jake's waiting lips. The first brush of his lips on yours doesn't line up quite right, but that doesn't stop your breath from catching. Shifting to get a better angle, Jake applies two more feather light kisses. Your hands, which are still resting on his chest, creep up, and you loop them around his shoulders, using the leverage to lift higher on your toes and get closer to him. 

This prompts him to deepen his next kiss, lips moving harder against yours. When you open your mouth wider in invitation, Jake's tongue traces along your bottom lip but doesn't dive in. You whine when Jake pulls away to take a breath. 

"Forgive me, Doll, I should've asked first." 

"Asked what?" You wonder, not moving your eyes away from his lips and strategizing how to get them back on yours. You think if you could just get a little higher, you would be able to kiss him without Jake needing to bend down so much. 

"May I kiss you?" He asks. 

"Yes, please." You answer immediately. You tug your hold on his shoulders, hoping it will urge him to get right back to it. Jake doesn't, though. His hand shifts from your neck to cup your cheek again, his other leaving the wall to settle on your waist. 

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes, Jake." His hand traces up your side from your waist and back down again in what is a soothing motion. It's too soft and delicate for what you want right now, though, so you tug on his neck again, pressing your chest into his. He gives in this time, molding his lips to yours once more. 

When his tongue meets yours, a low rumble emulates from Jake's chest, and the sound sends a new wave of arousal coursing through you. Reaching up, you push off Jake's hat, not caring where it falls, only that it's no longer in your way. When you thread your fingers into his hair, it's smooth and silky, providing no resistance when you tug it. 

"Tell me what you want, Doll," Jake says when your lips part again. 

"You. I want you," you whimper, tugging his hair again. A wide grin breaks across Jake's face, and his eyes crinkle around the edges. He tucks his face into your neck, and you can still feel him smiling. 

"What else do you want?" He questions. When his lips brush a spot that makes you stretch your neck to give him easier access, he nips it lightly. You stumble, coming up with a response, just sighing his name as he finds another spot to bite. "Come on now, you said it so pretty earlier. Tell me again."

Once his request processes through your lust filled brain, you push on Jake's shoulders once more. This time, he doesn't resist, backing away from you and creating some space between your heated bodies. Sagging against the wall, you try to catch your breath while examining Jake. His hair is disheveled now, some of it falling across his forehead. 

"You said no, you don't want that with me. You don't want this with me," You answer, finally dropping your gaze to examine the grain of the hardwood floor near your feet. Confusion at this sudden turn in attitude from him settles over you as your head clears. One of Jake's hands enters your field of vision, turned upwards in an offering. "Come sit, we need to set some things straight." 

Taking Jake's hand, he curls his fingers with yours and gently tugs you back through the doorway of his room. With his direction, you perch on the edge of his four poster bed. Jake presses a kiss to the back of your hand and lets it go to settle on the accent chair that's in the corner. 

"We'll be honest, right?" You say hesitantly, already missing the feeling of Jake's hand in yours. 

"Yes. I'll be honest." Jake answers reassuringly before continuing, "From the beginning, I never wanted to be friends with you. 

"You didn't?" 

"Nope," he says, popping the p. "I never wanted to be friends, and then once we were friends, I was stuck. You didn't seem to want the same things as I did, and I'm not the kind of man to complain about the friend zone."

"I haven't friend you zoned you," you say, scandalized at the suggestion. 

"Just earlier tonight, you asked me to have a baby with you, platonically," Jake deadpans. 

"Because I can't conceptualize you wanting me any other way." 

"I want you. I've always wanted you, but not platonically, baby." 

Baby. Jake was a casual sweet name user, there was doll, sweetheart, honey, darling, those all were commonplace, but baby was new. Hearing it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. He called you baby, and he has wanted you. You could have had him from the start if your fears and insecurities hadn't held you back. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper. 

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to need me, to love me," Jake explains with more hesitation than you've ever heard from him as if he is tip-toeing through this conversation. Worrying your fingers together, you have to take a calming breath to settle your own hesitation before answering him, "Well, that's easy because I do."  

A gleeful grin stretches across his face, and it's so bright you feel a matching one appear. He rubs a hand over his face, hiding it from view for a moment, and when you see his face again, he is still smiling. He looks as if he is trying to bite it back but can't quite manage. 

"Well, alright, a few more things we have to iron out then. I love spending time with you. You've never not been desirable to me." You can't help a disbelieving laugh when Jake says that, and the look he gives you is disapproving. "I mean that. I was thinking about it even the time I came over to bring you soup when you had the flu. Wanted to bundle you up and crawl into bed with you." 

"Oh, come on, that can't be true. I was so gross." 

"It is. I promised I would be honest, and I'm not going to be breaking any of the promises I make to you. Can you believe that?" 

You study his face, tracing over his nose, and jaw. He still has the hint of a grin that hasn't slid off his features yet, and he looks so very earnest. You can't imagine that Jake would be in the business of lying to you, and the openness he is offering makes it feel like you can believe him. That you can keep trusting him just like you always have. "I can believe that."

"Great. So, baby —" 

"Yes?" You say entirely too breathily before he can even finish the sentence. It was really a surprise how much hearing him say that already turned your brain to some form of liquid. 

"I want to sleep with you," Jake says plainly. 

"Then why are you all the way over there?" 

"I didn't want you to feel any sort of pressure while we were talking, and wasn't confident I could keep my hands to myself." 

Standing up from his bed, you walk steadily over to the chair Jake is sitting in. Crawling into his lap more confidently than you truly feel, his hands automatically slip around your waist, steading you against him. Holding eye contact with him, you say, "I don't want you to keep your hands to yourself." 

"Fuck, you're going to kill me," he sighs, tightening his hold on you. You go to kiss him again, but when you do, he blurts out, "I don't have any STDs or STIs." His cheeks stain a little pink, and he looks as surprised by the declaration as you are. 

"That's good to know. I'm clean too," you inform him. 

"Good to know. I just thought it was important to put it out there. Got to do safety checks first and everything. I don't want us to have any questions or be unsure about anything, and it's important to consider all the factors involved with —" Jake's rambling comes to a halt when you dip your face into his neck, kissing at the underside of his jaw softly. 

"Jake," you say, linking your arms around his neck and playing with the short hair there. "Will you give me a baby?" 

"Fuck, Doll. I promise to give you anything you want. The ring, the house, the baby. It's yours." 

You don't waste any time kissing him. When your lips meet, all the hesitancy and nervousness that Jake had while you were talking melts away. His mouth confidently teases yours open for his tongue to quickly follow. Your hands thread into Jake's hair again as his start to roam your back, sides, and arms. When you wiggle closer on his lap, he groans and grabbing a handful of your ass, lifting you up. Jake stands easily and walks you back to the bed. 

He doesn't drop you on the bed like you're expecting. Instead, he sets you down gently, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as he does. Laying on your back with Jake standing over you reminds you just how large and broad he is. 

With surprisingly little fanfare, he pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the side. Jake shirtless is not a new sight; in fact, it's a tantalizing one you've seen too often. He has every right to be proud of his body, you know how much time he dedicates at the gym. So it shouldn't be a surprise that, never one to be self conscious, Jake hardly could be found wearing a shirt if the situation didn't require it. However, you realize this is the first time that you don't just have to look but can also touch. 

Wanting to get the nervousness of undressing out of the way, you sit up, quickly discarding your shirt and tossing it aside. Before you can shimmy out of your bottoms, Jake's large hands are on your wrists, stopping you. 

"You're doing my job," he chastises huskily. Jake is slow and meticulous in removing your clothes, running his hands over all the skin that's exposed to him. When he pulls off your bra, leaving you only in your panties, he just sits back and stares for a moment. Such intense scrutiny from his gaze has you covering your chest, crossing your legs, and looking away. 

"I wasn't planning on sleeping with anyone tonight," you mutter, knowing that you don't have the sexiest underwear on and perhaps were not as physically prepared for this intimacy as you would like. 

"Good," he says lowly. "No one else is going to get to see you like this anymore." Grabbing an ankle in each big hand, he spreads you out for him. He slides off your panties so you're completely bare, and takes up his staring once more. "Ain't you fucking gorgeous?" Jake mutters and you realize he ain't talking about you necessarily; he's talking to your pussy. Whining his name gets Jake to shove off his sweatpants, leaving him in a pair of dark grey boxer briefs as he crawls over your body. 

As he kisses you again, your hands greedily explore his exposed skin. His chest hair proving to be much softer than you had imagined it, and his shoulders are taut as he holds himself up. While Jake's lips move with yours, you use a leg to encourage him to ease more of his weight into you, seeking friction. Kissing down your neck he lavishes attention to your breasts, licking and sucking his way across your skin. 

"You know, I was too busy to make dessert," he says when he reaches your core. One of his hands teasingly traces all around the skin. Placing a kiss on your inner thigh, he asks, "Do you mind filling in?" 

"Jake, you don't need to." You say, trying not to squirm when his fingers dip between your lips. 

"I want to. Do you not want me to?" 

"I know it's not everyone's thing," you answer, giving him an out. 

"It's my thing," Jake says. His eyes lock onto the cleft of you, and he licks his lip, biting at the bottom one. Reaching up, he grabs one of your hands and brings it up to his hair, encouraging you to thread your fingers there. His fingers that are teasing you spread you open more, and he groans, "Oh yeah you're my thing." 

Jake's tongue traces over you, probing until he finds the spot that makes your hips jump. Once Jake finds your clit he doesn't waste his time. Widening his mouth, he latches on and sucks. While he starts gently, he ramps up to sucking hard and twisting his tongue as he does. When you pull at his hair, he moans encouragingly.

"More," you request tugging his hair gently. Jake listens, sliding a finger into you. Whispering praise into your thighs about how pretty you are and how good you taste. You don't know how long Jake spends between your thighs, but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry. He sucks and licks, fucking his finger into you until the sound is sloppy and wet. He slips a second finger in, stretching you, occasionally scissoring them wider open in you. 

Even when you are whining and gasping, working against Jake's tongue, he doesn't let up. You don't have the mind to worry how you're trying to suffocate him with your thighs, which he keeps pushing back open with no complaints. All that you can focus on is Jake, how good he is making you feel, and how close you're getting. It's a matter of time until you're shuddering and falling apart for him.  

Continuing to lavish attention even as you jerk with sensitivity, Jake seems content to keep eating you out. You try to pull him away by his hair, but he just licks into you harder. "Jake, enough," you whine, trying to wiggle away from his mouth.

 "I haven't had my fill yet, Doll," he says, pulling his mouth off you but not going far, pressing wet kisses to your thighs. 

"I haven't even seen your cock yet, and I don't know why it isn't in me." You say, trying to reason with him. It doesn't come out very strong, though as Jake's fingers curl in you, making your cunt flutter. 

"Patience is a virtue," he teases.

"Being virtuous isn't really at the forefront of my mind at the moment."

Jake sighs dramatically and presses one more kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his haunches. You can see the hard outline of him in his briefs as he gets off the bed. You watch his every move closely, more than ready to finally see him naked.

However, Jake is clearly taking some sort of joy from making you wait, because he detours to start picking up your hastily thrown clothing. As he is laying them out on the chair, you lose your patience. Grabbing one of his decorative pillows, you throw it at him. It smacks him between his shoulder blades before dropping to the floor with a thunk. 

Spinning to face you, Jake crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge, his eyebrow raised. "Did you just hit me with a pillow?" 

"No, I wouldn't do that," You deny trying to look innocent. Jake tsks at you, picking up the makeshift weapon and setting that neatly on the chair as well. 

"Being desperate for my cock isn't an excuse to misbehave, baby." 

"Big talk for someone who still hasn't shown it to me. It's okay if you don't have a pretty dick, Jake. It won't change how I feel. I'm still going to want you to fuck me."  

Goading someone into action was a wonderful tactic you had learned over the course of your friendship with Jake. Something he easily did with others, and something tonight that it proved was just as effective against him because he doesn't even respond to your words. Sliding off his underwear, his dick springs free. He's hard from eating you out, and just from the first glance you get, it's clear there isn't one thing for him to be self-conscious about. 

The fleshy pink length is nestled among dark hair, and the size of him is nothing to dismiss. It's a very symmetrical cock, lining up nicely with his balls and adonis belt. Bouncing a bit as he gets back on the bed, you can't bring yourself to look away. You know he is going to fill you so deliciously. When he's finally close enough for you to touch, you hesitate though. 

"Speechless?" Jake wonders, with no ounce of shame or self-consciousness present. 

"Can I touch?" You ask. Jake nods, taking your hand and bringing it to your mouth. You suck a few of your fingers in, wetting them with your spit. Then he guides your hand to his dick, encouraging you to wrap it around him. Jake's hand covers yours for the first few strokes, showing you what he likes, but then it falls away, letting you explore. He grunts when you trace one of the veins that runs along the side, following it down to cup his balls. He allows your teasing for a few more strokes before he pulls you close, kissing you hard. 

The hard planes of Jake's naked body pressed against yours is nearly too much. He is so close and yet not close enough. With some gentle maneuvering, Jake is in between your legs and checking that the position is comfortable for you. Jake runs his length through your lips, the head bumping into your clit. Despite all the encouragement and build up, he's still not in a hurry. When his cock is wet from you, it starts to slide effortlessly. Losing your patience, you cup Jake's face, making him look you in the eyes. 

"Jake, fuck me now. Please." You say. He nods, kissing you slowly. Then finally, he grabs his cock lining himself up and pushing the tip into you. When his pelvis meets yours, he holds himself there, your breaths mingling together in light pants as he stretches you out. The time he gives you to stretch and adjust is necessary, but once you have, Jake fills you deliciously. 

"How're you feeling baby?" He asks. Your thumb moves across his cheekbone, soothing until the worry lines between his eyebrows disappear. Only responding when you know you're okay and so is he, "Perfect. Feel so full of you."

"I'll fill you up," Jake promises. 

"Yeah?" You ask. He hums his agreement and rocks his hips against your experimental, drawing a small gasp from you. 

"Promise," he says, starting a lazy punctuated rhythm, moving his hips against yours. Your hands explore the skin of his back as he thrusts into you. You hike a leg up on Jake's hips, letting him get a little deeper in you. The action makes him moan, and he pulls your other leg up around his hip, too. 

Hooking your ankles together, you use the leverage to encourage Jake to fuck into you faster. Digging your heels into his ass and lifting your hips up to meet each of his thrusts increases the heat boiling between you. His face falling into your neck, Jake starts whispering dirty praise about how good you feel around him and how long he's been dreaming about this. 

Stamina clearly isn't something that Jake is lacking in. He fucks you until you are both dripping with sweat, and you are begging for him noncoherently, unable to process anything but how good his cock feels. He maintains a steady rhythm, snapping his hips to meet yours the whole time. 

"You feel so good. Want to get you there again. What do you need?" Jake pants huskily. 

"Harder," you answer shakily, snaking your hand to play with your clit. You're close, and you know it's not going to take much more for you to get there with how long Jake's been building you up. He listens, slamming his hips more pointedly into you, grinding his pelvis every time he bottoms out. 

Huffing, Jake pulls out of you a few minutes later. Making you cry out wantonly, reaching for his retreating body. He takes a moment to kiss both your hands that he unhooks from his neck. Then, shushing you gently, he grabs a pillow and lifting your hips, he slides it under them.

"It's okay, just a little better angle." He explains to you. You flop back on the bed, content to have Jake manhandle you any which way he wants if it means he'll be in you again.  

"Oh, you're such a needy thing, aren't you?" He asks, as your cunt clenches around nothing, empty and wanting him. His fingers dipping in to play with the wet dripping from you. A flash of shame passes through you as he asks that. You drop your arms that had been reaching out for him back to the bed, and you screw your eyes shut, turning your face to the side looking away from him. 

Jake had already got you to cum once, and it was possible he didn't want you all over him as he was trying to get off now. Preferences were probably something y'all should have talked about more in depth before jumping into intimacy. You didn't want him to think you were overly needy or hard to please. You didn't want to ruin what you and Jake could have the very first time together. Noticing the shift in your enthusiasm Jake immediately stops pressing his cock into you, worriedly asking, "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," you answer, staring up at the ceiling looking for patterns there. It's easier to play this off if you don't have to look at him; easier if you don't have to acknowledge the unexpected, unwelcome swell of emotion that's overcoming you. 

"Doll, look at me." He orders you, but you shake your head, refusing. Jake grips your chin, tilting your face to meet his eyes. They are intense studying you intently, completely focused on you. "The honesty we just promised each other needs to extend to sex nearly more than anywhere else going forward with this relationship," Jake says seriously. His hard dick is pressed against your thigh, and you don't know how he's able to have such a level-headed conversation considering the circumstances, just having been balls deep in you a minute ago. "So, what's wrong?" 

"I don't want to be too high maintenance or needy," You sigh, trying to work through your words. Knowing this conversation is important, but also not completely sure how to express what you're feeling. "Sometimes I might seem needy, or maybe I could take a while to cum or not at all, which wouldn't be a reflection of you. I don't want you to think, well, I don't want to be too much for you to change your mind about this, and now I'm ruining the mood with a dumb fucking insecurity."

"Stop," Jake says gently, but leaving no room for argument. "You haven't ruined anything. I'm sorry I called your pussy needy. I didn't know it would make you feel this way. Can I tell you something, though, Doll?" When you give a hesitant nod, Jake's voice drops so low it's nearly gravelly. "I want you to be needy. I want your pussy desperate for my cock, desperate for my cum. I want you as desperate for me as I am for you." 

"You're desperate for me too?"

"Frantically and wildly so." He answers easily. Then he asks with his thumb ghosting over your nub, "Are we okay? Is this still okay?" 

"Yeah, this is good," You sigh, enjoying the zing that runs up your back when he nudges your clit more pointedly. 

Jake grabs his cock, giving it a few languid strokes before he guides it back into you. You push your hips up to meet him. The new angle that the pillow gives him leverage to hit somewhere that's just a delicious feeling. As he rocks into you, his thumb maintains its place on your clit. Your fear of the mood having been ruined proves wrong as the coil in your core quickly builds, pushing you near the edge once more. 

"Cum in me, Jake, please. Give me a baby," you request, your thighs quivering as you near your orgasm. 

As his hips snap nearly frantically, Jake rolls your clit over in nearly the same rhythm. He moans your name a minute later, falling over the edge and spilling inside of you. Though his hips stutter to a stop leaving himself fully seated in you, he continues working over your clit. It doesn't take long until you're dissolving into pleasure along with him. 

The ripples run through your body, and you feel every muscle tense and relax, turning into jelly. Jake grunts when you spasm around him but doesn't move or pull out until you've fully melted into the bed on the downward crest of your peak. 

When he does pull out, he doesn't go far, shifting enough to spoon you. Settling behind you, Jake pulls you close to his chest, wrapping you tight in his arms. His hand is tracing lazy patterns on your hip and occasionally venturing to the soft skin of your belly. You don't have the mind to be self-conscious at the moment, still a little too blissed out. It takes significant brain power to process his question when he asks, "Do you actually want to have a baby?" 

"Do you?" You wonder. 

"You can't answer a question with a question," Jake chastises you. Turning in his arms so you are sprawled against his chest, you snuggle close, nuzzling him affectionately. 

"Do you know how it was seeing you with Jackson today?" You ask him. 

"If it was even half of how it felt seeing you hold him, then I'm sorry." 

"Whatever you felt, double it. Triple it even." You say lightly. "It was enough for me to ask my friend, who I thought could never want me, for a baby." 

"I do want you," Jake immediately reassures you. 

"Thank goodness for baby fever, then. Because at least now we know we want each other," you reason, slowly starting to draw mindless patterns of your own against his skin. 

Jake heaves a sigh and strokes his hand down your back, wondering, "Was this just baby fever?" 

"No," you answer after thinking about it for a long span of silence. "I would have a baby with you. It seems right. I want that, I think." You can feel the relief in his body, hearing that, all his tension easing into relaxation. 

"Good," is the only response he gives you, kissing the crown of your head. You expect more but don't get it. Rather, Jake seems content to just bask in the afterglow. That doesn't seem to be too bad an idea, so you close your eyes, listening to his steady heartbeat.  

When you wake up from your impromptu nap, you're not alone in bed. However, you are now under the covers of a different comforter than there was before, and Jake is no longer acting as your pillow. He is on the other side of the bed, but his hand is stretched out, grazing the middle of your back. 

Rolling to face him, you admire the sight he makes stretched out on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Jake's got a book open, folded in half, clearly abusing the book's binding just so he can have one hand on you. When he notices you sleepily admiring him, Jake shoots you a soft smile. 

"Hey baby," he whispers. 

"Hi," You whisper back scooting closer to him and grab the hand that had been touching you, threading your fingers together. 

"Let's go on a date," Jake suddenly springs on you, squeezing your hand. 

"I would love that," you respond, feeling giddy as butterflies erupt in your stomach. "Want something first, though."

"I already told you I would give you anything you want, and I meant it," Jake says, setting his book on his bedside table and giving you his full attention. 

"Good, because I want round two and a shower, which hopefully has round three involved." 

"Your wish is my command," Jake says easily. You move even closer to him so your lips are only a breath apart. "I meant it, the ring, the house, the baby. I can make it all happen by tomorrow." 

"Let's start with breakfast in bed," you say, kissing him hard. When your lips hardly touch because you're both smiling too wide, well, that actually makes it feel all the better. 

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter five: try to walk away

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 8.6k (long but lots to cover)

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced/virgin reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, mentions of food/eating, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, etc.), polite southern manners (use of sir), feeling familial and self-pressure, oral sex (f), fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, likely poor spanish grammar, ANGST

a/n: here it is -- the end of summer #1 with joel </3 more to come from these two. and a HUGE thank you to lovely sweet el @northernwindd for the beta read!!! appreciate you v much bb

Sunday morning air filters through the cracked window, the warmth from the sunlight radiating over your exposed skin. Goosebumps rise every few moments from a combination of the oscillating fan in Joel’s room and the way he’s been looking at you since the two of you woke up together this morning. Navy blue sheets drape over your nude body, head resting on the pillow while you lay on your side facing him. Birds chirp loudly to each other outside, melodic background noise to the slow-rise conversations you and Joel keep pulling each other into.

From how you take your coffee to where you saw yourself in five or ten years, there weren’t many topics off-limits in the vulnerable morning after. Joel learned that you take your coffee with enough milk to change the drink to caramelly color, and you learned that Joel takes his black. As for future plans, you both conveniently skate around relationships, focusing more on what you see for your careers. Joel confidently tells you that he wants to build his contracting business to be able to take on a more managerial role and be able to spend more time at home with Sarah, which stretches a smile across your face.

“So you’re telling me I’m out of a summer job in the next five to ten years?”

“‘Fraid so, darlin’. But you won’t need me by then, you’ll be off livin’ lavishly in Boston and making ads that we’ll be seeing on billboards down here.”

The look you’re sharing with Joel tightens your chest, your vision glazing over to fuzz Joel out barely out of focus. You can’t really tell if it’s from the emotion that’s filling your ribcage and squeezing your lungs or if it’s from attempting to keep your eyes open on him to not miss any minute signal of body language from him.

“Maybe so, but that will just gimme an excuse to come down and visit. To see all my billboards.”

He comes back into focus when you blink the moisture away, a crisp image of the crinkles next to his eyes and dimple on display.

“Oh, yeah? That’s the only reason you’d visit? Nothing else bringin’ you back?”

A hum rolls out of your chest as you pretend to think, index finger tapping against your chin. Joel huffs out an exaggerated sigh, cocking a brow as he looks at you expectantly.

“Guess my parents, and my brother if he’s still here. And I would love to see Sarah as a teenager, she’s gonna be so fun.” A smirk coats your words, teasing laced in the words.

Large hands ghost over your bare sides, fingertips moving quick and featherlight in a tickle that draws a loud giggle out of you.

“Quit ticklin’ me!”

“I’ll quit when you stop lyin’ through your teeth.”

“Okay, okay! Ask again, I’ll be honest.” You catch your breath when his hands stop, arms wrapping around your back to pull you closer,  inches away from his chest.

“Okay, I know my kid’s the best, but she’s the only reason you’d stop by?”

“I’d come to see you in a heartbeat. Might even be the first stop on any visit I make, but I think you knew that this whole time.”

The shoulder raised toward the ceiling shrugs up and down, a quip of a smirk raising one side of his mouth.

“I had a feelin’, but I like hearing you say it.”

“Mm, anything else you like hearing me say?”

“Think you know the answer to that, darlin’.” A wink follows his answer, his elbow moving under him to prop him up as he leans over you moving onto your back.

“Yes, I do, sir.”

Joel looks away to the side, a chuckle exhaling shortly out of his mouth before he turns back to you and shakes his head.

“Mi diablita, eres demasiado (My little devil, you are too much).”

Joel’s hand lays on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth while he steers his truck with the other hand. The cab is silent besides the soft trill of the radio and the wisping wind that whips in through the cracked windows as you head to pick up your car in the mall parking lot.

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, to recognize that you have to drive four miles away to go home when you live forty feet from Joel’s. Something swirls in your stomach, a similarly sinking feeling that guilt brings you but you don’t feel guilty about being with Joel. It’s not an ideal situation, and you would never want him to be subjected to neighborhood ostracization or gossip — but is avoiding that worth the dull burn you feel when you have to slink home after kissing him behind closed doors or staying the night? Not being able to go see him when you want to unless you sneak around to do it? Is it all worth it to him?

The pickup coming to a slow stop interrupts your spiraling thoughts, Joel’s hand patting your thigh to grab your attention. When you look over at him, brows creased with soft concern and brown eyes churning with sympathy. A tight smile presses your lips into a thin line, your hand laying over his.

“Before you go, um, I wanted to ask you somethin’,” his opposite hand stills on the steering wheel, curling his fingers around the frame tightly, “Sarah’s birthday party is coming up this Saturday. We’re havin’ it at the house, but I was wonderin’ if maybe you would come? Sarah told me about a million times that she wanted to invite you.”

Taut cheeks from your narrow smile relax, teeth showing when your top lip curls up. Your hand squeezes his under it, turning on the bench seat to face him more head-on.

“I’d love to come if Sarah wants me to,” his eyes dart to yours from their position looking out the windshield, eyes wide with hope, “But, do you want me to be invited? I mean, I know you said when you were planning the date that Tommy would be there and her friends’ parents — and her mom — so if it’s going to be too much, I can celebrate with Sarah bef—”

“My sweet girl, you’re fixin’ to work yourself up into a tizzy about nothin’,” Joel interrupts himself to lean over and catch your lips in a pacifying kiss, continuing when he pulls away, “I want you there. Probably will need you there, ‘cause I need help throwing the perfect “Little Mermaid, Lilo & Stitch, and Finding Nemo” party.”

A bellowing laugh rolls out of your chest, shaking your head as you reach out to pat his thigh, “Joel, honey, all of those movies are set in or around the ocean. Just make it sea-themed and Sarah will be extremely happy. I can help get things together this week.”

A long sigh exhales and deflates his chest, a sheepish grin on his face, “See? Need you there, sweetheart, ‘cause I clearly need the help.”

A few more kisses are exchanged, Joel escorting you the five feet over to your car and standing in the open door while you slide into the driver’s seat. His frame leans into your car, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Really liked havin’ you at home this weekend, darlin’. And being able to take you out on a date.”

“Me too, Joel.”

The look on his face is unreadable before his smile replaces it, a metallic thump sounding above you as he hits his palm against the roof of your car.

“Drive safe, sweet girl.”

The sound of children’s screams and laughter slowly muffled as you slid the porch door shut and stepped into Joel’s kitchen. The last of the snacks you’d come early to put together need to be brought outside for the kids, and Tommy’s been out on cooler duty — keeping it stocked with drinks for the parents in attendance. Your parents were out of town dropping your brother off at his new apartment for his sophomore year, so it was only you, the Millers, and some kids and parents from Sarah’s class and camp.

Standing at the island, you pour some more tortilla chips from the bag to fill up the bowl in front of you more, getting lost in fluttering around the kitchen to get everything perfect before you bring it all out. You don’t notice the sound of the door to the garage shutting or Joel’s footsteps coming through the living room to the wide entry to the kitchen. What does pull your attention away from your task is his voice, a smile playing at his lips as he watches you.

“Think you know this kitchen better than I do at this point, sweetheart.” He crosses the room and comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in the private moment. 

“I just know where all the stuff for the party was cause it was Sarah and I that went to the store to grab everything yesterday. And I put it away,” you shake your head with a grin, “You wanna grab some of this to bring it outside?”

His chin rests on your shoulder as he watches your hands move, his hands bunching up the fabric of your dress at your hips.

“Mhmm, can do, darlin’. In a minute.” He presses his lips to your exposed skin next to the strap of your dress, dropping the fabric from his hands and gripping you to turn you around to face him. A gentle kiss is placed on your lips, you pull away after a moment and him chasing you to pepper pecks on your lips and cheek. Your laugh pulls him away from your face, a boyish grin showing his dimple.

“Thank you for your help today, sweetheart. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. You made Sarah’s birthday real special.”

“You don’t have to thank me, I would have helped even if I didn’t get an invite,” Joel chuckles and squeezes your waist as you continue, “You’re the one who planned the day and invited everyone and got all the games and everything outside. You’re the hero of the birthday. And you’re a really good dad.”

Sincere gratitude fills his brown eyes as you get lost in them, a comfortable silence falling over the room as you take each other in. It’s only interrupted at the sound of the screen door, you flipping around quickly to busy yourself and cover up the intimate moment with Joel.

Tommy strides in, oblivious to how close you two are standing as he crosses over to the fridge to grab another six-pack of beer to put in the cooler outside.

“Either these parents are drinkin’ like fish, or we’re gonna have some drunk eight-year-olds on our hands.” Tommy turns to face Joel next to you when the sound of the doorbell echoes rings throughout the house. After the first ring, it keeps going incessantly and the two brothers share a knowing look.

Joel sighs, rolling his eyes and brushing his fingers against your lower back subtly when he moves to go answer the door.

“Y’all know who that is just from the bell?” you ask Tommy, a bracing expression on his face when he hears the door open.

“Yeah, it’s something that Ti—” he’s cut off when an unfamiliar voice speaks quickly at Joel in the other room, annoyance slick in her words. 

“Why’d you have to move across all of Austin, Joel? Makes the drive over here impossible. And made me late for my daughter’s birthday, so thanks for that.”

“Tiff, you’ve known my address since we moved and have known the time for the party for two weeks,” Joel’s voice gets louder as he follows Tiffany, Sarah’s mom, into the kitchen where you and Tommy are standing still. She looks over at Tommy, dropping her gift bag on the counter.

“Nice to see you, Tommy,” Tiff’s voice is laced with tension as she looks at the younger Miller.

“Always a pleasure, Tiff,” Tommy counters, a sarcastic smile on his face.

You’re watching it all from the far end of the kitchen, twiddling your thumbs out of nerves at the shift in energy. Tiff’s attention drags from Tommy, across the party food laid out on the island and up to you, her eyebrows raising.

“And you are?” 

Her head bobbles as she asks, Joel stepping forward and giving you a quick apologetic look before he makes introductions, giving Tiffany your name before saying, “She’s Sarah’s nanny for this summer. And our next-door neighbor. And this is Tiff — Tiffany — Sarah’s mom.”

He makes a vague gesture between you and her, his shoulders tense under his white t-shirt. He slips his hands in his back pockets, eyes avoiding you as Tiff locks hers on you like prey.

“Nanny, huh?” Her lips press together into a thin line, nodding slowly as she surveys you head to toe. Right before she speaks again, the door opens, and Sarah bounds in with her curls bouncing.

“Hi, Mommy!” She runs over and gives her mom a hug, pulling away and looking around with a big smile at all of the adults closest to her in a room altogether.

“Everyone come outside! I wanna show you my cartwheel, I think I got it perfect now!”

“Uncle Tommy’s gonna come out and watch you, and we’ll be out in a minute, Bug.” Joel smiles sweetly at her, his eyes turning to Tommy as he jerks his head outside.

Tommy puts a wide smile on his face, chasing Sarah back out the door to go play. Joel huffs out a sigh as Tiff fills the silence again.

“So, can we just address the fact that you two are definitely fucking?” She points between you two with a cold laugh and you try your hardest to keep a poker face.

Joel rolls his eyes, turning to face Tiffany head-on.

“Tiff, it’s Sarah’s birthday party. We’re not talkin’ about my personal life right now, and even if we were, there’d be nothin’ to talk about.”

“Oh, bullshit. But whatever, you keep your secrets to maintain the spark of sleeping with someone that much younger than you. And it isn’t personal if it’s someone who’s takin’ care of Sarah. That affects me, and her too. Better not be doin’ anything in front of Sarah.”

“Quit bein’ ugly, Tiff. I’d never do anything that would negatively affect Sarah and you know that. Now let’s just drop it, ‘cause there’s nothing even going on, and enjoy celebrating our daughter’s birthday.”

It’s like watching a tennis match, the two of them going back and forth across the room from you. You feel like slinking out of the door if you could without drawing attention to yourself, but you definitely can’t do that so you’re as still as a statute. The people-pleasing tendencies in you are screaming at you to say something to diffuse the tension.

“Joel’s right, there’s really nothing. He’s just my boss, and I wanted to come today 'cause Sarah invited me.”

Both of their heads snap to you in the corner of the kitchen, Joel’s stare softening as he sees the manifestation of your anxiety in the way your fingers can’t stop fiddling. Tiff scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

Joel speaks much more relaxed to you, “You do not have to defend yourself, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart? Well aren’t you just a precious thing, huh?” Tiff’s got a Cheshire smile on her face, shooting Joel a smug glare that makes your blood boil. She has the audacity to come over and blame all of her mistakes today on him, and to top it all off, accuse him of sleeping with you? And to call you ‘precious’? That’s a slap in the face in the South.

He is, obviously, but she absolutely doesn’t need to have the satisfaction of being right.

You watch her cross the room to head to the door to the backyard, sending a smirk to you. You muster one of your most polite smiles, catching her arm.

“Lovely to meet you, Tiffany, you’re so…self-willed. I can see where Sarah gets it,” you let go of her arm and hold your hand up to your chest to give her a “Bless your heart, hon.”

Which is Southern for “Fuck you.”

The door shuts hard behind her, shaking in its frame. You look at Joel, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose and eyes closed. You walk over to him and rest a hand on his shoulder. He jumps at your touch, his hand dropping from his face and his eyes opening to look at you to his right.

He immediately averts his gaze towards the floor, his downcast expression and furrowed brows telling you what he was going to say before he even speaks. You pull your hand away and swallow, giving him a tight smile.

“I’m gonna head home. I don’t want to be the subject of anything else between you two during Sarah’s birthday.”

“Darlin’, I’m sorry about all that. She’s quick to temper and insults. And with her talkin’ like that, I just don’t think we should—”

“I get it. There are a lot of people here, and she’s Sarah’s mom. Kinda pulls rank over her nanny,” you laugh to attempt to break the tension, biting harshly on the inside of your cheek, “I’ll see you Monday.”

“I really am sorry, sweetheart…Thank you for all your help,” he caresses your cheek, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Let me walk you out.”

You shake your head, patting his chest, “No, no you go spend time with Sarah. I’ll call you later to hear about her reaction to my gift.”

Joel nods back to you, watching you from the kitchen as you leave him with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, gathering the things you’d brought for party preparation and stepping out their front door. The echoes of giggles and screams carry all the way to your house, only stifled by the door closing behind you as tears sting your eyes.

The streaks on your face were long dried, your sundress exchanged for an oversized t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, and place taken laying out on the couch as your third episode of Friends reruns starts. You curl into the throw blanket laid over you, pulling it up to tuck it under your chin. Rachel and Ross are yelling back and forth about if they were on a break or not, the sound tinny from the loud volume you’re playing it at. The couple on the TV is drowned out by a loud and steady knock on your front door, your head snapping in the direction of the entryway. You slowly climb off of the couch, tiptoeing over to attempt to hide yourself from any possible danger. Looking through the peephole, you see Joel’s back, all wide shoulders and messy hair as he kicks his feet against the pavement of your porch.

There’s a tightening in your chest as you debate whether or not to open the door or let him think you’ve gone to sleep already, but it is only 9pm and he knows you can be a bit of a night owl.

The deadbolt clicks undone and you twist the knob, gingerly pulling the door toward you. Joel turns around at the noise, half of his mouth quirking up in a nervous, closed smile. There’s nothing said for a few beats, the two of you only staring at each other.

You break first, huffing out a quiet exhale and leaning against the doorframe.

“You need something, Joel?”

A flash of hurt travels through his eyes at your aloof tone, pressing his lips together before he speaks.

“Wanted to come by and bring you a slice of cake,” he admits sheepishly, holding up an ocean-themed paper plate with a piece of the funfetti cake you’d baked for the event on top of it.

You extend your hand out to take the treat from him with your eyes dropping from his to follow the movement. His fingers brushed yours and his other hand gently closed around your wrist to keep you there for a moment.

“Can I come in? And maybe we can talk, or just hang out, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flick back up at his face, brown eyes pleading with you.

“You don’t have to get back to Sarah?”

He shakes his head, “Her present from her Uncle Tommy was a ‘sleepover at his house with loads of candy and doing what your dad says you can’t do’. She took him up on that offer tonight.”

You can’t help the chuckle that slips from your mouth, a faint smile on your face as you nod.

“Can’t say I blame her,” you take a step back and jerk your head to the side to gesture inside, “C’mon in.”

Joel kicks off his shoes in the entry, following you back to the living room and taking a seat next to you on the couch. You curl your legs up underneath you and face him, leaning your side against the backrest after lowering the volume on the TV further.

“So, what’d you wanna talk about?”

Joel lets out a deep sigh, leaning back and swiping a hand over his face before he looks at you.

“Today. All of that shit. You leavin’ early wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for everything Tiff said, and you ending up being in the middle of us arguing like we always do.”

“Yeah, there was certainly a lot…passion there.” You bite your lip and he shoots you a warning stare.

“Easy there, darlin’. Ship’s long sailed there.”

You laugh and nod slowly, silence falling between the two of you again.

“I meant what I said. It wasn’t fair to ask you to leave early or imply that you should. I just, I didn’t want anything to kick up dust or have anybody pick up on…” he trails off, not wanting to say what he thought out loud.

“Yeah.” It comes out as more of a sigh than a word, turning towards the nearly mute show playing on the TV.

Joel shifts closer on the couch, one of his hands coming up to hold your jaw and turn your head back to him.

“I care about you — so much, sweetheart, I do. I need you to know that. I just, I don’t want you to get hurt from what everyone says or have this affect your family or somethin’.” His thumb brushes your cheek, eyes locked on yours.

“I get it, Joel. I do. It was just, I don’t know, it was just hard to see you so easily say I was nothing but Sarah’s nanny today. That’s what upset me the most, how smooth of a lie it was — if it was even a lie.”

He cringes at the last part, a sting to his heart as his eyes linger closed for a moment.

“It wasn’t a lie, my sweet girl. You’re—you’re mine. In every way you’ll let me have you. You’re not nothing to me. You’re, you’re something incredible.”

There’s a candor in his eyes and in his words that mollifies the heartache burning your throat and your chest, your body melting into his touch and falling closer to him, chasing the warm puffs of air that blow from his lips.

You kiss him, his plush bottom lip puzzling in between yours in a tender touch. Both of you are still there for a breath before you pull back just inches, eyes looking at his through your lashes.

“I want you to have me in every way. I want you to be mine.”

“I’m yours, darlin’. You tell me what you want, I’ll give you anything.”

He searches your expression, waiting with bated breath for you to respond.

Instead, you stand from the couch and smile softly as Joel’s clearly confused, his hand grabbing yours to tether himself to you. You squeeze his fingers, tugging on his arm to get him to stand.

“I told you, I want you to have me in every way. I want it to be you, the first time. All the time.”

Joel smiles tenderly, wrapping his arms around you to squeeze you against him.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Ahead of him, you guide Joel up the stairs and to your bedroom. He shuts the door behind him despite it only being you two in the house, enclosing you in the bask of the warm, yellow lamplight from your nightstands.

Joel observes the space that he’d peaked into so many nights this summer, a smirk playing on his lips as he reminisces. Your touch pulls him back to you, his smirk turning into a grin as his eyes filled with affection. His fingertips graze your cheekbones, one holding your jaw as he murmurs to you.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Que hermosa.”

His lips capture yours in a wistful caress, the exchange heating up as his hands move from your face to dance along your curves, giving soft squeezes to your supple skin. Little, faint sounds that you’re making encourage him further, his large frame walking you backward as he tugs your t-shirt over your head — discarding it to the floor haphazardly.

There’s nothing more covering your chest, and Joel eagerly arcs down, one arm around your waist as his mouth encapsulates one of the peaks of your breasts, sucking and prodding his tongue over the perked-up nub. His name comes from you breathlessly, his lips removing with a faint pop.

“Lay down on your bed, sweetheart. ‘M gonna take care of you,” he pulls his own shirt over his head, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them off his legs before he moves to kneel on your bed in his boxer briefs. You do as he said, climbing onto your mattress and propping yourself against your pillows. Joel asks with a tug to remove your shorts, you give him a yes and lift your hips for him to pull off your shorts and panties, leaving you completely bare.

His hands skate back up your calves, hooking in the creases of your knees to spread your legs for him. They continue their journey up your thighs, one moving to skim over the softer skin at the inside near your throbbing core.

“Eres divina, mi dulzura. Una visión absoluta. (You are divine, my sweetness. An absolute vision).” His gaze pours over every inch of you, his touch exploring every spot his eyes linger. The attention he’s paying to you simmers inside of you, a quiet beg slipping out.

“Please, Joel…”

“What, baby? What can I do for you?”

His fingers are rubbing circles down your torso, stopping to brush against the curls at your mound while he waits for your command.

“Touch me please, like you did before.”

He hums contently at your request, licking his lips and swiping a finger through your arousal. His thumb presses languid circles on your clit. He bows his head down to yours, lips pressing against yours in unhurried kisses, swallowing the delicate whimpers that seep from your throat. Your sounds get louder and more persistent when he glides one of his fingers into you, a slow rhythm building before he adds a second.

“Taking it so well, darlin’. Feels good, yeah?” He speaks against your skin as his mouth dawdles along your neck to your collarbone, teeth grazing and lips sucking a mark onto your chest.

“Mhm fuck, Joel, I love your fingers inside me.”

“Gotta get you ready for me, sweet girl. Think you can take another?”

At your nod, he thrusts in a third, the stretch of his thick fingers reeling you to toe against the edge, your mind clear of anything other than the feeling of him filling you up. Your head pushes back into the pillows, his name repeated in a prayer each time he hooks against the spongy spot on your walls.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, my pretty girl. Show me how beautiful you look filled up with my fingers, squeezin’ around me,” his jaw dropping ajar to mirror your own as your release barrels into you, hands gripping Joel’s shoulders and digging you nails in. He works you through your euphoric descent, humid kisses pressed into your breasts.

Your fingers card through his hair, pulling his head up to yours and kissing him deeply. Joel hums a moan into your mouth, tongue melding with yours and grinding his tented boxers against your drenched heat, a dark wet spot forming on the light grey fabric. He pulls back, lips swollen red and puffy as he rasps out.

“Will you let me taste you, darlin’? Wanna feel you come on my mouth,” his nose nudges against yours as his words add to the humidity between the two of you, a whimper from you in protest.

“I want you inside me, please.”

“I will, sweet girl, promise. Gonna make it easier to take me. And I wanna have you on my lips for the rest of the night. Pretty please, sweetheart. I’m beggin’, even just a little taste.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh lightly, “‘M all yours.”

“Debes ser de mis sueños, cariño (You must be from my dreams, darling.) Don’t know how I found you.” A path down to your thighs was carved by his mouth, kisses, bites, and licks left on your skin. Joel settles on his tummy between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs to leverage your hips up to his mouth.

Joel purses his lips and exhales, sending cool air onto your wet folds. You hiss, one hand finding his hair as he chuckles darkly, his hooked nose nestling into the curls at the top of your center, inhaling deeply before his mouth finds your clit.

His tongue flicks your bud, flattening against it and moving in slow, teasing circles. He pulls his tongue back and puckers his lips around the button, sucking with a lewd noise as he takes some of your arousal in, exchanging for his own saliva.

“So sweet, pretty girl. Fuck, can’t get enough of you.”

The strong muscle of his mouth licks up from your tighter hole to your clit, a few figure eights flicked against it and driving your hips to jerk up involuntarily.

His thumb replaces his tongue, freeing it to dip down along your folds and lick into your tight cunt, a quick rhythm found that has you drenching his chin, high-pitched moans hyperventilating from your chest.

“Oh my god, Joel…”

A chuckle rumbles from him, vibrating against your skin and adding to his treatment of your cunt. Your fingers tug in his curls, eyes screwing shut tightly.

Right near the peak of your pleasure, he switches up his positioning and brings his lips back to nurse on your clit and two of his fingers replace his tongue inside of you.

The nearly pornographic noises he’s creating between your legs mix with your wanton moans, quick huffs of air giving you enough breath to shout his name as you come hard. Your hips push against his face to ride out the high, Joel moaning as you take control to fuck his face to keep it all going for yourself. Twinkles of light sparkle in your vision when you open your eyes again, colors kaleidoscoping at the edges of your gaze. You sit up to look down at Joel still on his stomach, a drunken smirk on his face when he looks up at you.

He groans as he lifts himself to rest his weight on his hands, climbing over you to bring his face even to yours. Your come glistens on his skin and coats his mustache and beard, a giggle slipping out as you shake your head.

“You’re a mess,” you say as you reach to wipe him clean, his head jerking back and eyes widening incredulously.

“Don’t get rid of it. Told you I wanna be tasting you for the rest of the night. You’re gonna taste yourself, too.” He smirks smugly, tracing the tip of his nose along the side of yours, his lips ghosting yours before catching you in a sloppy kiss.

“You taste good, don’t you think?” He winks as he studies you from above, a smirk still evident on his face. Your hand coasts down his soft torso, wrapping around his hard length after you slip your hand beyond the waistband, stroking him slowly as you watch his cockiness fall. His eyes flutter close, mouth ajar as tiny whimpers escape from his throat.

“I need your cock.”

With a shudder, he opens his eyes, the shade of them nearly black as his tongue sweeps across his bottom lip.

“Care to ask nicely, sweetheart?”

His low timbre sends a tingle that flutters your walls around nothing, huffing out before correcting your manners.

“May I please have your cock?”

Joel tsks from over you, his head slowly shaking left to right.

“Not quite. Again.”

“May I please have your cock, sir?”

He hums satisfied, kissing you tenderly and smirking against your lips.

“That’s my good girl,” another smack of your lips connects you two before he pulls away, looking at you adoringly, “You sure you wanna do this, my sweet girl?”

“Absolutely. Nobody else I’d want it with.”

“Ay Dios mío, ¿Cómo podría renunciar a ti? (Oh my god, how could I ever give you up?)” Disbelief floods his eyes, taking one last kiss from you, slow and sweet. Joel pushes himself up to stand on his knees, making quick work to strip himself of his boxers. Your mouth waters as you look at his cock sprung against his stomach, pre-cum dripping from his head and a twitch jerking it before his hand wraps around and gives it a few lazy strokes.

He spreads your legs wider, making sure the position is comfortable as his hips crowd against you.

“Alright, sweetheart, it might be a little uncomfortable at first, but the beginning's gonna be the worst part. Once you feel good about that, rest will make you feel even better.”

You nod in understanding, feeling heat prickling around your whole body as nerves bubble in your stomach. Joel smiles tenderly at you, guiding his hard cock to line up at your entrance.

“You ready, cariño?”

“Yes, ‘m ready. Please, Joel…”

He takes the moment of your relaxed exhale to push the tip of him inside your walls, the stretch of his girth burning you in a different way than his fingers. It’s not an overly painful burn, feeling like the stretch of a muscle. His hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing your skin and speaking quietly.

“You alright, darlin’? ‘M not hurtin’ you, right?”

Your head shakes quickly, breathing out a breath you were holding and feeling your body relax around him and adjusting with the lack of tension.

“Not hurtin’. Just feels…different.”

“Different’s alright, sweetheart. ‘S just something new.”

Joel’s chest is taut as he breathes through his own pleasure, willing his hips still until you give him the go ahead to push a few more inches of himself inside of you. You feel fuller than ever before, even without all of his length inside. He pulls his hips back slowly, the drag of him inside squeezing a moan from you. He starts at a slow pace with only a few inches of himself, encouraged to give you more with the louder, repeated sounds you're making under him.

“Fucking hell, pretty girl. So tight, god…”

“In a good way?”

“Yes, baby, course it’s good — everything about you is good, no, great. You’re makin’ me feel so unreal right now. You’re perfect.”

After a few more slow thrusts, he slips himself inside of you completely, his head rolling back with a moan of your name as you gasp loudly at the feeling of him against every part of your cunt. He loses his composure, lack of self-control seeping through as Joel starts to really fuck you, quick snaps of his hips burying him to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling, mouth opening with silence choking any words from your mind. One of his hands grips your waist to hold you in place on the mattress as he drives into you, the other cupping your breast and squeezing while his index and thumb pinch your nipple.

The attention all over your body ripples pleasure throughout every one of your nerve endings, his name falling from your mouth over and over in breathy whines. He folds over you, lips finding the shell of your ear and whispering to you as he pushes you to toe the edge of Cloud Nine.

“Te adoro, hermosa. Cada toque tuyo se siente como la luz de una estrella tocando mi piel. Cada beso me respira nueva vida. (I adore you, beautiful. Every touch from you feels like the light from a star touching my skin. Every kiss breathes new life into me.)”

He doesn’t translate for you, leaving his words a mystery to your love-drunk brain. With his next thrust, he pushes you over that edge, a fall from the heavens as you plummet back down from euphoria into your body.

“Fuck, baby, you’re made for me. Gonna make me come, god damn.” His hips move back to leave you, your instant reaction to hook your legs around, digging your heels into the flesh of his ass to keep him inside.

“Please, please inside of me. I’m on the pill, take it religiously,” you whine out a beg, desperation slick in your tone. 

“Who am I to deny you, my sweet girl?” He shakes his head, hips thrusting into you a few more times before he spills his come, coating your walls and rolling his head back with a throaty groan. Both of you are still as you catch your breaths, his cock softening inside of you before he pulls it out slowly and lays next to you.

“You alright?”

A laugh first before answering, “‘M feelin’ amazing right now.”

Joel chuckles himself, a kiss to your cheek before he climbs out of your bed and traipses down the hall. You hear the swish of water from the tap turn on and off, bare footsteps slapping quietly against the wood floors as Jole comes back in through your doorway.

He cleans you up with a wet, warm cloth, exhaustion weighing your eyelids. Fluttering around your room, he moves smoothly as he gets the covers out from under you, tucking you in before discarding the cloth in your hamper and climbing under your comforter on the opposite side. He wraps you up as the little spoon, nose buried in your hair to smell your shampoo. 

Half awake, you reach to shut off your lamp. A confession floods your mind in the dark, faint voice whispering to him behind you, “I love you.”

It’s been a week.

A week since you revealed your heart and yourself fully to Joel.

A week of him not acknowledging either event.

A really weird fucking week.

Your return to school looms over your head, this lull coming at the most inopportune time.

Every day you see Joel, it’s awkward and disjointed in your embraces and kisses when Sarah’s off playing or he’s walking you to the door. Nothing feels as smooth as it was before last week, and there’s a nagging feeling in your chest that Joel taking your virginity ruined everything. That your friends were right, that guys never wanted to be that for someone because “women get too attached.” It sounded like bullshit to you before, and you don’t feel like you’re any more clingy than you’d acted before, the most attention you ask for is a kiss goodnight when you leave his house. He was always the one initiating more.

One night, you’d had a horrible thought that now he’s had you, he didn’t want any more. That it was about the chase, the finish line at the end of the summer that he’d crossed early.

But Joel wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be that type of guy.

He was a father. And a good one at that. An honest man. Someone who looks out for his family, even for strangers.

How could Joel become so lackadaisical with someone he said he cared about?

Today had been another stuttered dance of a goodbye, a chaste peck against your lips and a mumbled “see you tomorrow” before he sent you on your way, the door already closed when you glanced over your shoulder.

It had been eating away at you, carving out a part of your heart as you mulled over it all night. Your parents were asleep at this point, and looking out your window quickly, you saw his living room light still on.

You padded silently downstairs and slipped on shoes, quietly leaving out of your front door and crossing over to Joel’s porch. You knock instead of ringing the bell, not wanting to wake Sarah. The minute it takes Joel to answer the door feels like an hour, the courage you had about this confrontation fading with each passing second.

The entrance cracks open, half of Joel’s revealed as he takes you in. The rest of the door swings open, concern washing over his face with a furrowed brow and downturned mouth.

“It’s late, sweetheart. What are you doin’ out over here? Did something happen? Do you need help with something?”

With your arms crossed over your chest, you shake your head, glancing back at your house over your shoulder and debating if you should just forget this whole thing. Maybe he’s been having an off week — maybe it’s not worth bringing up if it could make things worse before you’re going to be three hours away at school for nine months.

The smallest part of you still urges you to push, to make him say what he’s feeling, even if it’s as simple as ‘I had a bad week at work’. If he can’t talk to you about what’s wrong now, what could happen if something starts bothering him when you’re going to have phone calls and limited visits?

It’s easier to justify a breakup when the person isn’t around for you. 

“Nothing’s happened, I—well, I wanted to come talk to you about this week. Just, things’ve been off. With us.”

Joel’s eyes hit the floor as you say that, his shoulders tensing along with the forearm that’s gripping the door. Anxiety pools in your stomach, the taut silence adding to your nerves. Is he angry?

“Think you should come in and sit down, sweetheart.”

That can’t be good.

You trail behind Joel after he shuts the door, following him into the living room and sitting at the end of the couch he gestures to. He sits near the middle, not quite the complete opposite end but not the spot he would have chosen before this week. Quickly grabbing the remote off the coffee table, he shuts off the TV and leaves the two of you in near darkness save for the soft light of the lamp behind you.

“Guess I should explain myself for this week.”

You can’t bear to look at him right now, your eyes turned down to your lap where you're picking at nails and a hangnail around your thumb.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot this week. About us. About the summer,” Joel sighs, his own eyes watching your nervous hands, “It has been a great summer. One of the best for me, I really do mean that. You’re so incredible, darlin’ b—”

“But what?”

Your gaze has risen to Joel, bile burning your throat when you see the look on his face — no hint of a smile when he said those words, no joy in his eyes. His mouth is in a downturned pout, his eyes rounded with sadness. The placement of his hands on his thighs is rigid, back straight as he cheats himself to face you more.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep goin’. For us to continue…this.”

Tears blur your vision until you blink them back, a few stray ones falling down your cheeks. You sniffle as Joel brings a hand up to wipe the drops from your cheeks — you let him, thinking it might be one of the last times, if not the last, he ever does anything soft like that for you.

“Why?”

Water wells the corners of your eyes again, lips pressed into a hard, flat line to hold in your sobs. Joel’s hand lingers against your skin, a flash of regret in his eyes that makes you think he’ll take it all back and you can forget about this ever happening.

But that look fades, replaced with the sadness from a minute before.

“You’re gonna be away at school, sweetheart. Three hours away. Busy as all get out for your last year. And I’m gonna be here. Bein’ a dad. And a mom too, most of the time. Plus with working full time on top of all that, I just, I couldn’t even promise a phone call to you, sweetheart.”

“But you could come visit on the weekends that Sarah’s at her mom’s…or-or I can come down. I would drive down every weekend to see you.”

“How'd you explain coming home every weekend to your parents? And you'd miss all the fun of your senior year for me? I couldn’t let you do that, darlin’. I wouldn’t want you to ever resent me for taking something like that away from you,” he shakes his head, definitiveness laced in his words, “I didn’t get to have all those experiences with Sarah being born, I didn’t even go to college. You have so much ahead of you, I don’t wanna hold you back.”

“How come you’re the one that gets to decide what I should do with my senior year? You’re not even giving me a choice. You’re not even giving me a chance if you do this, Joel.”

Tears fall freely at this point, not bothering to hold them in. Anger burns white hot in your chest, jaw clenched as you think about how he’s gone and decided what your life was going to be from now on.

“Sweetheart, you know it’s not like that—”

“It is. My whole life I’ve been making decisions to please people, if you can even call what I did making decisions. I listened to my parents, did the extracurriculars they told me to, never partied or got in trouble. I went to the college that they thought would be the best for me, even chose my fucking major — my career path — based on one thing my dad said to me years ago; he said ‘Y’know, you’ve got a smile that could sell ice to a penguin.’ I was twelve when he said that. And immediately I thought — if I could sell things like he said, he’d be proud of me, so I went into advertising,” you sit up on the couch further, shaking your head in disbelief, “I thought this summer was the first time I was choosing for myself. That nobody knew about how much I felt for you, that I was the one who was deciding that I wanted you. And when I decided that, when I told you I loved you, I wanted you to know that I was always gonna choose you. That this was the one path I could fully control.”

“Now I think I realize that I wouldn’t have done anything about it had you not kissed me first. I would have never made that decision without you deciding first. I’ve been following blindly my whole life. I wanted you to be the first thing I really chose. But I never really had a choice when it came to us. You were always gonna call the shots for what happened to us.”

“I didn’t go into all this knowing it was gonna come down to this at the end of the summer,” Joel’s voice is low and raspy, “I would never hurt you on purpose or string you along, sweetheart. I was in the moment with you. It was easy to forget about anything else when I was with you. You know I'm not going anywhere, I’ll always be here if you come back. But I think we both know you're destined for great things after you graduate.”

“I need you to do this for me, darlin’, please. Go have fun, be selfish this year. Spread your wings, mi mariposa. My butterfly.”

You stand from the couch, a sob escaping your lips as you turn to walk out the door. Joel follows you closely, grabbing your arm and turning you to face him.

“Joel, I don’t want to do this back and forth anymore. We’re done. It’s fine, it’s what you want and I am clearly not going to change your mind.”

“I just—I want you to know that I’m always going to care about you, sweetheart. I'll always be here for you.”

A sharp pain crackles in your chest as your heart crumbles, shards of it nestling to prick your lungs and steal the air from them, scrape against your ribs, spread everywhere in your body until it all hurts. Without another word, you take your arm from his grasp and leave out the front door. No looking back this time, no seeing if he’s watching you walk away from his life.

The trunk of your car slams shut with a push, all the belongings you’d brought home packed up again to make the drive back to school. You’re moving in earlier than you thought you would, heading back at the same time as your roommates instead of at the last second like every summer before. 

It’s been a dull last few weeks.

You didn’t have your job anymore to fill your days. Joel had messaged you that you were off the hook the morning after, and you spent the rest of the afternoon in quiet tears about not being able to say goodbye to say goodbye to Sarah. You had barely gotten glimpses of Joel, mostly seeing his truck parked in the driveway or coasting down the street in the mornings, but not much of him.

You’re not entirely sure if that’s helped or not.

But it doesn’t matter much now anyways, decisions were made and now you were finally leaving home.

On your driveway, your parents hugged you goodbye, your brother has already left for his school year to start baseball season training. With one last kiss on the cheek from your mom and a pat on the shoulder from your dad, you climbed in behind the wheel and backed out of the driveway. As you face towards the exit of your street, you take one look at the Miller house.

Joel’s standing on the porch with Sarah standing in front of him, a beaming smile on her face as she waves wildly at you. You roll your window down and wave back at her, laughing as she yells out a goodbye and good luck to you.

Flicking your eyes up to her dad standing behind her, hands on her shoulders and a closed, faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts his hand in a short wave to you, and all you manage is a nod of acknowledgment back to him. You start driving away, watching both houses next to each other shrink in the rearview mirror. You blast the AC after rolling your window back up, turning on the radio to fill the silence and distract your mind.

The station host finishes up an ad read and immediately goes into the next song, trills of piano and slow, bright vocals.

American Pie.

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @clingontolife @elizabeth01585 @wandaandellie @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @livinxdeadxgrl @sw33tp1xie @starsandsaints07 @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @whydontyoysaynodoja @beee-haw @shmaptainshmerica07 @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @spursgirl14-blog @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @grapejuicesny @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @lisa-ru @jupitren @ziggy-star @miaispunk @oneofutoo @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @marchai @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @helllsent @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @angie2274 @owod3 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @sunakochansama43 @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain

[sassenach082]

i'm curious: since mav is bradley's legal guardian (permanent, I assume) does that mean he's probably on shore assignments (or top gun, i guess) for the majority of his naval career instead of what he does in the original canon (quits top gun, never goes back to teach after that first time, presumably is on deployment a lot before he gets in trouble for something and gets put in the test pilot program?) that's an interesting prospect to me since it seems similar to a lot of pre-tgm fic, where mav just... like, stayed at top gun after '86, and never left, but obvi in most of that, he didn't have a kid to take care of. i mean, things probably change a lot after bradley... maybe cuts ties in the 00s?? if the pulling papers things still happens, but with all the family support and no mention of carole ever explicitly telling mav in the beginning about not letting bradley fly, i'm also curious how that plays out too since it's also probably v canon-divergent. and also — how do u think ice's career trajectory goes? ive seen many takes on how he got to compacflt lol

Hey nonnie! Whew, buckle up, I have a lot of thoughts.

They're going to be at Top Gun for a while, but they won't be staying there. Ice will come back later on, but Mav will be doing other things. This is going to be long and rambly so if you want to read (and aren't bothered by vague spoilers) more under the cut!

With wars coming up they're going to be shifted around back to active duty flying, particularly in Desert Storm. Mav figures out a way to make it work but he refuses to let Ice go without him, and Bradley gets it because he's a military kid. They also aren't going to always be together; actually, they spend quite a few years apart, which is going to hurt my heart to write.

They try to stick to the West Coast. I don't know how much you know about the Navy, but the two main hubs are San Diego and Norfolk, Virginia. In real life they shifted Top Gun out to Fallon, Nevada, but since in the canon of the movie it's still in Fightertown it will be staying there. Most Naval Aviators on the west coast are actually stationed at Lemoore, a base in the middle of California which is a bit of a shithole if my cousin Jay is to be believed, lol, while the east coast aviator hub is Oceania, Virginia. Aviators go through cycles of on a ship, leaving a ship, and then into fleet replacement training to go back on a ship. As soon as my cousin the aviator gets a good night sleep I'm going to pick his brain more about it. If anyone reading this is an aviator or knows one hit me up! I adore my cousin but talking is not his superpower. I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS.

Anyway to answer your question it's going to be a bit roundabout. IRL you have to have a plan for your dependents in case of deployment and Mav gets it figured out with Ice's help as for who will watch Bradley which will be a whole other can of worms but I don't think Mav or Ice are the type to watch their friends go off to war without them. I haven't fleshed it all the way out but Mav is going to CHOOSE the test pilot path, mostly because it keeps him close to Bradley, and he's going to be doing some special ops shit because in my brain that's literally the only reason the kids in the movie have no fucking clue who he is even though they've all been to Top Gun and walked past his picture EVERY DAY in the atrium, haha.

He's still Mav so yes he will still be pissing off Admirals.

As for Ice, I haven't figured out exactly how I want to get him there I'm still doing research. I do know that they have to command ships so at some point he'll get a carrier most likely because he's Ice and who the hell better to hand a carrier to, in my opinion. He leaves the sky fairly early in his career if you look at the whole span of it, partly because flying is something he loves but doesn't define him like it does for Mav, and this way he can keep Mav up there doing what he loves while he also gets to climb the ladder. It's a lot of politics which I hate so I'll be grumpy about having to research all that shit but I mean COME ON, it's Ice. Of course he gets a fucking Fleet. I also headcanon that the Joint Chiefs are beating his door down and he's just like that Obama eye meme saying THEN PERISH because he likes being able to go to the ocean to escape them.

Anyway back to the Navy, not sure if you or anyone who is into Top Gun knows this, but Ice is quite literally AS HIGH as you can go in the Navy. There hasn't been a Fleet Admiral (with the five stars) since Nimitz died in '66 and has only ever been held by four dudes: William Leahy, Ernest King, Chester Nimitz, and William Halsey Jr. (names you may recognize if you know your WWII Naval history but I digress). So basically four-star Admiral is IT, like that is the top of the ladder, unless you get asked to join the Joint Chiefs of Staff and work directly with the president. Tom likes to be in charge of things so I think the Joint Chiefs would be hard for him - they have no direct control over the Navy at all and it's a desk job in Washington D.C.

Maybe one day he could become the Secretary of the Navy, but I don't know if I can see Tom doing that, tbh. They have to be 5 years removed from military service at minimum. So I dunno. Still up in the air as far as Tom! Right at this moment he's being an asshole on an aircraft carrier in 1987, so there's that.

[tiredassmage]

🖊 for Tyr 👀👀 maybe early Intelligence days thoughts?

Experienced a Thought I've been delaying acknowledging for like a month now??? Probably??? Aaauhhhh that spawned a potential emotion-busting revelation, so I MEANT to talk about this in like, a constructed manner, but then I busted out a fic musing about the latest ping pong ball of a thought to go flying across the room like that scene from the first Men In Black, so uhhhh Merry Crisis with me?!

I'm still rotating this in my head wondering if I really need to add another layer of complexity to Tyr's already botched life, but also: it's real damn good and it hurts me, so, naturally, I'm going to release that upon the world now, too. xD

Anyway. Vague context if you want it: I posted this trying not to chew on this like a stick and go absolutely insane about it, bUT it only encouraged me, so now we have this instead.

x-x-x-x-x-

DECKARD, TYR V.

Keeper stilled as his eyes landed at the top of the next file, the steady hum of air circulators and databanks blending into a yet more quiet background noise. Carding through potential recruits was a lengthy process, even with the rigid requirements of the Intelligence Academy.

Perhaps his wife was right, he considered idly. The long days and dwindling nights had long characterized his career with Intelligence. Surely it was, on some level, partially responsible for a few of the permanent lines dug in across his features and the graying, receding hair. He still hadn’t pinned whether work at the head of Operations division outpaced the weight of being in the field.

Such idle musings would do little to cull the ever-growing list of his responsibilities.

He turned away from the face of the chrono again with a sniff. Briefly, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed aching eyes. He’d call it soon, but he’d opened this last report, so there was little sense it putting it off further. Academy leadership had urged him to take particular interest in this potential officer.

A frown set a bit further across thinned lips as he read over the name again.

Deckard.

High marks in weapons proficiency, infiltration, negotiation… High marks relatively across the board. Impressive. Very impressive for such a young recruit.

For the moment, he skipped the file attachments. Data first. Early twenties. Successful shadow and support on a wet-foot operation local on Dromund Kaas. Adaptable in the field. Good at taking orders.

Limited connections with family - that would make operations easier long-term.

Deckard. Fairly ranked officer in the Imperial Navy. Marriage to a testy, if moderatly influential Sith Lord some three decades back or so. He remembered the one rather well, had exchanged some mild pleasantries over the engagement… Hot headed, their daughter. She'd be about the age to send to Korriban now, he reckoned, if she hadn't been already.

The son, it seemed, had managed to dodge that ill temperament thus far.

Deckard, Tyr V. Reportedly orphaned by fleet action and charitably raised by the then-Commander Deckard - the officer had been related to the boy’s parents and had taken him rather than pass him off to an impassionate system.

That same piece of action had earned the patriarch a promotion to Captain following, if memory served him correctly.

Keeper drew a hand across his chin. The boy’s discipline and piloting training would have made him a just fit for the Navy to keep, but Academy recruitment had singled him out during early martial skills training.

His fingers hovered - hesitated - over the attached shots from Academy entrance.

Outplayed, or simply mocked by whatever forces were or were not at work in this wretched galaxy, Keeper mused with a scowl threatening his lips. A Watcher or three were always fond of telling him it’d make those lines around his eyes more permanent - a sentiment the wife often echoed.

That was the bloody thing about Ciphers - they were damn difficult to truly eliminate. Silent fingerprints left across the galaxy despite retirement or reassignment or even gross and utter failure.

Keeper closed the file and dimmed the lights in his office before he leaned back in his chair and released a long, bone-deep sigh slowly, hands steepling to touch fingertips to his forehead.

He was all but the top of his class - strong potential to be an absolute asset to Operations. An opportunity that couldn’t be passed up in a right mind.

Particularly with whispers that the military was still probing for weaknesses along Republic lines, they could ill-afford to be short-staffed. The… competitive nature of their Empire always bred opportunity. The grass was tall and there were vipers aplenty.

Duty seemed to remove the choice in the matter.

He opened his eyes and leaned forward. They had a number of sensitive operations that would need delicate, well-trained hands coming up. He’d examine this latest grouping of operatives personally, he decided.

That would show him painfully well just how much a son would manage to follow a father. Even as well-removed from a Cipher’s imprint as had been affordable by the circumstances.

He picked up the datapad once more, finished off the approval for the select few that would be moving forward to finalize their training and transition into active service. Then he stood and prepared to head home, but not before lingering a few moments longer over that last file.

He should have sent the boy much farther than Dromund Kaas.

A moot point and an ill-advised longing now, he reasoned as a finger brushed the edges of the screen. Whether or not it would’ve saved the boy from Intelligence, they’d never know now.

At the absolute least, he’d avoid mentioning this to the wife. For now. Their illustrious Emperor, even in sleep, knew she worried plenty enough as it was.

[mrrockcandy]

This Genius Skunk Can Really Play

Don’t ask guitarist/producer Jeff Baxter how he got his nickname, ‘Skunk’. He won’t ever tell you. It's not that he doesn't like the name, he just doesn’t want to tell. It’s his secret to keep and he can definitely keep a secret just ask the US Navy One day, roughly 45 years ago, I was looking at the back of The Best of the Doobies album. Definitely one of the stellar greatest hits collections in American pop music history. On the back of the album is a typical group picture. It’s the 1976 version of the Doobies and one of the members stuck out to my wise-ass teenage mind. I kidded my sister’s boyfriend, Gary, about the guy at the left end of the picture, with the snakeskin cowboy boots. “What kind of boots are THOSE?” “And those tight pants?” “This guy looks like a freak,” my inexperience on full display. 

Gary tells me, “If you are as badass as Jeff “Skunk” Baxter, you can wear whatever you want.” I was a Doobie Brothers fan at the time, everyone was. But I was unaware of Jeff Baxter and his history. In 1976 it was rare to see a rock band on TV so I hadn't caught him in action yet.

Seated?

I did eventually catch the Doobies on TV and noticed Baxter because he performed while seated on a stool. He had headphones and dark sunglasses on. His long hair and walrus mustache flowed as he jammed flawlessly. He was uniquely cool. It is said that Jim Henson, of Muppet fame, designed a rocker puppet based on Jeff’s look to play along with Animal! The Muppet's name is Floyd. I was unaware that I had already heard Jeff Baxter's guitar work many times on the radio. Baxter was a founding member of Steely Dan. Now it was all making sense. Again it was Gary who turned me on to a song called “Peg” by Steely Dan. My rock and roll heart wasn’t ready for Steely Dan at that time. It was years later that my appreciation came for these masters.  Baxter’s stint in Steely Dan ended up being very advantageous for the Doobie Brothers. It was through Steely Dan that Baxter met a singer/keyboard player named Michael McDonald. Baxter recommended McDonald to the Doobies when leader Tom Johnston left the group.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpaIfCY79gc One of the most memorable Doobie TV performances around this time  is from Soundstage

Musical Success

The addition of McDonald to the Doobie Brothers brought a string of hit records and a new sound. Thanks to Baxter’s recommendation, the band had new life! Baxter was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2020 as a member of the Doobies. Jeff “Skunk” Baxter’s music career is considered a smashing success!  At 75 years old, he can look back and see evidence of his greatness all over music. As a bandmate, a session player or producer, Baxter did it all! However his music career is NOT the story I want to tell. 

The fascinating story of Jeff "Skunk" Baxter is his life OUTSIDE of the music business. The impetus for this post is my discovery of Baxter’s first solo album Speed of Heat, released in 2022 (it is extraordinary, by the way). This spurred me to, once and for all, get to the bottom of Baxter’s “day jobs”.  Actually he has multiple day jobs as a consultant on ballistic missiles systems and counterterrorism among other ‘secret agent’ duties. This fact has confused me ever since I heard it mentioned years ago.  Once I learned about Baxter’s early life and achievements, it became apparent, almost destined, that he would become much more than a rock star. From starting classical piano lessons at five to learning Spanish at age 9, after his family moved to Mexico City, the young Baxter was a prodigy. This is about the time a young ‘skunk’ first picked up a guitar.  Baxter was and continues to be an eager lifelong student with an insatiable appetite for learning. 

The Birth Of A Genius

When he was just 10 years old, he was playing in a little Mexican rock and roll combo. It was 1958, rock and roll was in it’s infancy but the young Baxter was absorbing all the music. He was especially fond of surf-rock pioneers, The Ventures. (Baxter’s amazing life came full circle when he produced a Ventures record). His love of the guitar and natural curiosity caused him, like many guitar-heads, to take apart his guitar and learn how it worked. This helped him later in his teens when he began working part-time in Manhattan for legendary guitar maker Dan Armstrong.

The Birth Of A Musician

The young, brilliant Jeff Baxter turned to music full time after he spent a year in New England at the University’s School of Communication. He joined a psychedelic folk-rock band Ultimate Spinach in 1968. Two years later his guitar playing was featured on a recording by Tim Buckley and Linda Hoover that recently resurfaced. This song was written by Walter Becker and Donald Fagen. These two future Steely Dan founders were impressed with Baxter’s guitar chops. After a move to Los Angeles, Steely Dan was born with Baxter onboard on guitar. That debut album “Can’t Buy a Thrill” drew a lot of attention. Scoring Baxter many, many jobs as a studio musician. In 1974, he left Steely Dan for the Doobies where he remained until 1979.

Finally...the story

Somewhere around this time is when our story takes a severe turn. Baxter was helping a neighbor in Los Angeles dig out from a mudslide. This neighbor was a retired engineer who helped design the Sidewinder missile for the US Navy. As a thank you for his mudslinging, this neighbor gifted Baxter subscriptions to Aviation Week and Janes Defense. Baxter took to these publications and found his interests pointing to missile defense systems. This began a deep-dive that lasted years and resulted in Baxter writing a paper proposing a conversion of the military’s Aegis plane defense program. How does a musician, no matter how brilliant, go from playing and producing music to designing a missile defense system?

CDs and Defense Missiles

It was the early 1980s and the music industry was changing from analog to digital! A producer with the curiosity of “Skunk” would have learned all he could about digital compression and how to manipulate it. His deep-dive into the new technology opened up a new world and stimulated him to imagine applying the technology to other scenarios. He married this knowledge with what he was studying in defense missile systems and the result was a technical paper. Baxter shared the paper with a California congressman friend of his, Dana Rohrabacher, who shared it with the chair of the House Military Research and Development Subcommittee. This must have made an impact because in 1995 Baxter was nominated to chair the Civilian Advisory Board for Ballistic Missile Defense.

Many Jobs

The rocker who sits and plays beautifully, whose likeness is borrowed by a Muppet, is indeed working for the government and he CANNOT discuss any of it with you. This was only the beginning for ‘Secret Agent” Skunk. The government then asked Baxter to lead enemy forces in war game simulations. When pressed, Baxter will reveal his other affiliations over the years.  He is a consultant for the Global Security Sector of the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, a member of the Director’s Strategic Red Team at MIT Lincoln Laboratories and a Senior Thinker for the Institute for Human & Machine Cognition. He is also the chairman of the Civilian Advisory Board for Ballistic Missile Defense for the Potomac Institute for Policy Studies.

Rebecca Sapp  Getty Images for The Recording Academy

More Jobs

In between guitar solos, Hall of Fame Inductions and winning 2 Grammys, Baxter has worked as a consultant for Northrop-Grumman, Science Applications International Corporation, Ball Aerospace, General Atomics Aeronautical Systems, Photon Research, General Dynamics Information Technologies, and other companies. He is also under contract with the Department of Energy, the Department of Defense among others.  Jeff “Skunk” Baxter is a man of multiple talents. To the general public, he is more famous for his musical prowess than for his civic duty. To those in the National Defense realm, he is an invaluable American asset. It’s hard to decide which one benefits humanity more. One thing is for sure, we can hear and see the evidence of his musicality all over the airwaves. What he does in the dark corners of our military establishments is none of our business.  Read the full article

[legends-and-savages]

Tag Dump

[siempre-bucky]

the one piece

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake had seen you in everything under the sun, but a single black one-piece swimsuit turns him absolutely feral.

warnings: suggestive, no smut. afab!reader

wc: 1.1k

a/n: i feel like one piece suits don't get enough love and here we are...

Penny had invited the team to her house, kindly offering her backyard and her pool for the team to decompress and celebrate a successful mission. The southern California sun was calling for chlorine-ridden water and cheap beer. Jake stood back with Coyote and Fanboy, watching and internally critiquing the way Maverick and Rooster grilled a few feet away. He was about to say something to the younger man that would ruffle his tail feathers but a sharp jab to his side drew his attention away. “Your girl’s here,” Coyote smirked, pointing his beer bottle in the direction of you and Phoenix. 

You managed to take his breath away with a single flash of your eyes. You looked at Coyote and sent him an excited wave, then you looked at the tall blond, flipping him off and grinning sarcastically. “Not my girl..." Jake grimaced, but he really wanted you to be.  

He continued to discreetly watch as you and the other aviator walked to the pair of lounge chairs. His death grip on the neck of the dark brown bottle tightened as you removed your long-sleeved shirt, revealing your pitch black one-piece swimsuit. “Jesus,” he hissed under his breath as he saw how stunning you looked and how your curves fit deliciously in the material. He was still a man and absolutely noticed how your breasts looked in the deeply cut neckline. 

“You need a pillow to cover that or somethin’?” his friend teased. 

“Shut up.” 

Hangman had seen you in everything over the years that fate had cruelly intertwined your careers. His emerald green eyes had grown accustomed to seeing you in every outfit the Navy issued, familiar with the certain way you tied your flight suit around your waist. He knew your preferences of sundresses for the spring and large sweaters during the winters. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you in a two-piece for the first time on a day off. 

But this certain piece of attire made him want to take a dive into the coldest water on the planet. He’d always thought you were beautiful, not even the baggy flight suits couldn’t conceal how pretty you were to him. 

You noticed his eyes on you for most of the afternoon, even while he played football in the water with the other guys you could feel his glare. It was never unwanted or made you feel uncomfortable, you rather liked when the cocky aviator looked at you. You weren’t sure why he was looking at you so much today, your hair was up and out of your face, and sunscreen was slathered on your skin. You didn’t look special. 

After a while, Jake’s shadow loomed over you, the words of your book becoming harder to read. With a frown, you glanced upward at the source. Your thighs closed instinctively as Jake’s toned chest shone in the light, the lucky water droplets sliding down his skin. God, he looked good in the dark green board shorts that hung low on his hips, the beautiful v shape tempted you to your core. “Bagman,” you greeted. 

“Of all the things to do at a pool party and you choose to read, princess?” he quipped. 

You sat up and placed your closed book at the foot of the plastic pool chair. “You should try it sometime. Enrich that pea brain of yours.” 

Jake chuckled, unphased by your jab at his strong ego. “You’re funny,” he laughed sarcastically and watched as you put your book in your bag and stood up from the chair. His eyes followed your frame as you walked towards the edge of the pool. Fuck he swore your hips were swaying more than normal just to taunt him. The curve of your ass already doing a wonderful job at plaguing his mind with filthy thoughts. 

He turned and saw you nonchalantly pat the spot next to you, your eyes focused on the small blossoms falling from Penny’s tree. Jake took the hint and sat next to you, his knee brushing against yours as they gently swayed back and forth in the water. “I’ll never understand you, Hangman,” you sighed, leaning back on the palm of your hands. 

His eyes darted away, trying not to stare at your chest. “How so?” he snickered. 

“Pretty girls swarm you all the time and yet you choose to stare at me all day.” 

His cheeks turned red as roses in an instant. “You noticed.” 

“Mhm,” you hummed in acknowledgment, looking over at him. “Was it the pasty sunscreen? The book, the hot pink beach towel?” 

Jake shook his head and slid off the edge and into the pool. He shivered at the cold water and turned to face you, his arm outstretched for you. Rolling your eyes, you joined him in the water and let his hands fall to your hips. His strong hands brought you closer until his lips were dangerously close to your ear. “The swimsuit,” he growled. 

You bit back a chuckle. “Of all the things I could wear, a one-piece gets you all hot and bothered for me?” you whispered back. His fingertips brushed along your lower back, two of his fingers trailed along your skin while the others felt the material he was so obsessed with.   

“How have no idea what you do to me every day, baby, but today,” he all but moaned in your ear, his eyes looking down at the exposed valley of your breasts, “you chose that and I swear to God it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever worn.” 

“Jake,” you whimpered, the magnetic force of his words drawing you in closer to his chest, your forehead pressed to his collarbone. You swore you could hear his heartbeat pound against his ribcage from being so close. You eventually pulled back and lifted your chin to meet his cocky smirk. “Looks like you need a cold shower there, Seresin,” you told him, regaining your confidence. 

“You could use one too,” he retorted. 

You looked towards the patio door, the reflection of you and Jake standing in each other's embrace glaring back at you. “We could go take one together,” you offered, slipping out of his arms and making your way to the steps. Jake let you get out first and started to casually follow after you walked inside Penny’s house.

He entered the kitchen and wrapped his arms around your waist, his lips connecting with the side of your neck. He placed scathing kisses on your skin while his strong hands gripped the outer layer of black material that covered your stomach. “Keep this on,” he growled.

[barbiewritesstuff]

Fantasies : Part 3

-- Part 3 is here (finally!!) Thank you to @lgg5989 for proof reading, you're the best bestie 💜💜

(Picture has nothing to do with the fic, he's so done and I love him)

Tw. NSFW, p in v sex, unprotected sex, etc

Previous part

Taglist: @luckyladycreator2 @feedthemadness-sweetie @ravensmadreads @whywhathowseriously

--

He thinks about what you sound like for the next week and a half, not really sure what to do with himself. His thoughts are going haywire, not giving him a minute of respite, constantly presenting images of you fingering yourself in a shower stall, or rubbing your clit, or even getting off on the jet of water alone. He’s started making mistakes, Warlock’s even asked if he was okay. And worst of all, he ran out of lube three days ago. He feels a little shameful that half a bottle took so little time to disappear, but the shame lies more in the fact that even porn can’t seem to do it anymore. 

Only you. 

Fantasies of him pressing himself deep inside of you, til you’re so full it almost feels overwhelming, and then fucking you til you drench his cock and milk him til he has no cum left to give you are the only thing that even get him off now that he knows you want it too. 

But as much as he wants it, Beau’s not stupid. He knows, rationally, that he can never act on his urges -- needs. His needs to feel you, taste you, see you -- despite what his post-orgasm brain told him in the showers. He just wasn’t thinking clearly. There’s rules against fraternisation and as an Admiral, whatever goes for the lower rank navy personnel goes triple for him. If he acted on his needs, and someone saw, or something happened, it would ruin his career. It would ruin your career. 

And despite how much he wants this, he just can’t risk ruining this for you.

So when he sees you in the carrier’s gym room in booty shorts and a sports bra, alarm bells are ringing in his head and he tries so hard to remember how bad this could get. 

“Everything alright Lieutenant?” he asks and the alarm bells ring louder, telling him to stop right now and turn around. Telling him that sex isn’t worth losing a thirty year career over, or destroying a budding one. 

“All good,” you smile, stepping away from the punching bag you were destroying not a minute earlier. It still sways slightly in the air, less to do with the fact that the open seas are turbulent tonight and more to do with your assault. 

Your cheeks are flushed and it looks ever so flattering on you, Beau thinks, taking in your form. Your legs are slender, graceful and long. Your torso, usually hidden underneath a beige navy uniform is now on display for him and Beau has to stop himself from staring at the dark line between your full breasts in order to avoid growing hard. 

“I usually spar with Lieutenant Trace, but she couldn’t make it,” you say, “So I have to make do with the bag,” you over explain. It’s not an invitation to anything but his groin takes it as one and speaks without asking his brain for permission.

“I could always replace Lieutenant Trace.  I may be older, but I’m sure I can make up for your youth in years of experience,” he replies, fairly certain he’s not talking about sparring when his mouth forms the second sentence.

You seem surprised for a second, and then your face breaks out in a large smile that makes hs stomach flip, “You’re on,” you say and Cyclone is vaguely aware of familiarity with which you address him and he might have said something, if only to keep up the appearance he didn’t want to rail you into next week, but you turn around and bend down to pick up your towel and your phone and the words get lost in his throat as he stares.

You move towards the mat at the other end of the room. It’s an assortment of thin multicolour mattresses, fitted into each other like puzzle pieces, placed there more to keep health and safety off their backs than to actually prevent any injuries. Beau drops his stuff off next to yours and follows you to the middle. You stand a few feet apart and in a show of both sportsmanship and self control -- because he wants nothing more than to pull you close and kiss you -- he shakes your hand. 

Beau’s impressed, the second he says ‘go’ you jump into action and he really has to fight you off, ducking left and right to avoid swings and kicks, his training kicks in eventually though and soon he has the upper hand. You fight fair for ten more minutes, but he sees you getting frustrated, not thinking you would cheat -- and technically it isn’t cheating -- he bumps his foot against your leg and you yelp. You make such a pitiful sound that he stops short, too focussed on seeing if you’re hurt to see your leg swing behind his and wipe him to the floor. 

You move up to him and in a move practised by years of sparring with Lieutenant Trace, you swing one leg over his hip and grab his hand, pinning them above his head. And then, as your brain gets overridden by the months of wet dreams and masturbation sessions, you involuntarily roll your hips against him. You let out a moan as Cyclone groans before both of you freeze, realising what has just happened.

“I’m so sorry, Admiral, I didn’t -- I don’t know what h--”

"Again," he orders his voice immediately dropping two octaves. The alarm bells in his head have stopped ringing now, it's too late. He was toeing a line and with one accidental movement, you have caused him to sprint across it.

You look at him for a moment and Beau's afraid you might not do it, that you're stronger than him and can resist the urge but after a moment, so gently he might have thought it was a dream, you roll your hips again. And then again. And again. And again. Your pupils dilate more with every movement and Beau is overtaken by the sudden urge to kiss you.he sits up, knocking you to the floor and he doesn't waste any time in moving up to you to crash your mouths together.

His lips dance against yours until neither of you can breathe and when you come up for air, the passion of the moment doesn't have the time to dissipate before you take each other's clothes off. Or rip, in Beau's case. He takes one good look at your attire and decides it needs to go, now. Grabbing your sports bra with both hands, he pulls and rips it in half. 

For a second, when the arousal induced brain fog has lifted, he feels bad. That is, until he takes in your dilated pupils, hard nipples and the way you just let out a soft little 'oh' and he realises that you liked it. Taking it as a silent invitation to do it all again, he rips your booty shorts off, accidentally snapping your underwear in two at the same moment.

Spurred on by his surprising display of strength, you waste no time pushing off his shirt, and pushing off his gym shorts.

Beau looks down at you, naked in front of him. You look perfect, his dreams and fantasy did not do you justice and the way you're staring at his dick like you're not sure it's going to fit is something he didn't think he'd ever get to see, and now he does, he never wants to not see it again. 

With one strong hand, he pushes you back on the mat. He grazes your skin with his fingertips, looking at how your eyes flutter shut and you lose yourself in his touch, however little and fleeting it is. Eventually he reaches your core. His thumb grazes over your clit and your back arcs off of the ground like you've been struck by lightning.

"Been thinking of this for so long," you admit, embarrassed at how your body reacted, but he doesn't mind. He wants more, in fact. His thumb leaves your clit as his index finger roams down to your aching core, you're dripping. Your slick juices coat your folds, making it glisten under the fluorescent lights.

Beau groans before sinking his finger into you until it reaches the knuckle. Before you can stop yourself, you release a pornographic moan and your hand comes to cover your mouth a second too late.

Beau smiles, "So wet for me," he groans, "Been wanting me to fuck you for so long?"

"Yes," you say breathlessly, rocking your hips up to meet his fingers half way when he fucks them into you.

"Think you can take me?" He asks, removing his fingers from you before wrapping them around his cock and jerking it a few times, smearing your wetness over his tip with a finger.

He lines himself up with your entrance,"Finally mine" he says, breathless, slipping his length in your soaked pussy

"Yours, yours, yours, yours," you chant, unable to think about anything other than the way he's stretching you, tearing you apart. He doesn't leave you any time to adjust to his size and you're grateful for it. You've been so desperate for him for months now, unable to cum to anything but the thought of him. If he'd taken the time to let you adjust, you think you might have just cried.

"Mine," he growls as his lips attack your jawline, nipping, kissing and licking his way down your neck to your collarbone.

"Mine," he says again, sinking his teeth in the soft flesh he finds there, and sucking an angry hickey. He raises his head and admires his work with a smirk, before lowering it back down and soothing it with a few licks of his tongue.

His hand moves to your breasts. Beau takes your nipple in between his thumb and index finger and rolls it gently, making you mewl in response. 

"Please," you beg, your voice needy and high pitched, "Faster."

"Is that what you want?"

You nod

"Sometimes it's not about what you want, Angel. It's about what you need," he says lowering himself down so his chest is flush against yours. He's trapped you in and the idea that you're entirely at his mercy makes you both wild. With his lips next to your ear, he whispers, "And you need to be patient."

Beau pulls out and you whine, sounding deliciously bratty. It sends a shiver up his spine and lights his brain on fire. When he lines up with your entrance again, his legs shake with the effort it takes for him to gently glide in instead of slamming into you like he desperately wants to. 

He manages it though and even gives you a few lazy thrusts to satiate you a little. Soon you’re mewling under him, desperate for something more. You try to lift your hips to meet him halfway, and he stops. 

“Please,” you beg, letting out a frustrated sob.

Beau furrows his brow, “You want more, little brat? You want to come on my cock?” he asks and you nod furiously

“Please, please, please,” you say, “Please, Admiral.”

“Okay. Do it yourself,” he says, pulling out again and laying down on his back on the mat. In an instant, you’re straddling him again, immediately sinking down on his length. Even though he’s felt you before, it knocks the breath out of him. 

You look so beautiful riding him. Your perky, round breasts are bouncing up and down as you lift yourself up and fall back down, your soaking core swallowing him whole. Your face contorts and he can feel you tighten around him. He’s so close behind but he holds it in just a moment longer. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, your eyes shut tight and your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. You’re pussy is gripping him so tightly that keeping his resolve not to cum right then becomes a herculean task, but he hangs on, wanting you to make one last fantasy come true

“I need you to hit me,” he groans as soon as you seem to recover slightly from your high

“What?” you ask, groggily 

“With your hand. Just slap me across the face,” he repeats

You obey, slapping him hard. The sharp sting is followed by intense pleasure and he teeters over the edge. He doesn’t even have time to warn you, or to pull out and ejaculate against something else, and perhaps he doesn’t want to. You whimper as he fills you, shooting ropes of cum deep inside your belly, your oversensitive core feeling every pulse. 

Once he can think again, he flips you underneath him again, wanting nothing more than to lay with his head on your chest. He tries to pull out, barely even thinking of the mess it would make on the mat but you stop him.

“Stay,” you whisper, “Stay.”

“Okay,” he says, all too happy to listen

“Stay,” you whisper again when he accidentally moves, subconsciously trying to lighten the load on his knees, the mat not thick enough to make prolonged kneeling comfortable. 

“Needy,” he chuckles, “I’ll need to pull out eventually,” he says and you pout, sticking your bottom lip out and giving him your best rendition of puppy dog eyes. He chuckles again and drops his head into your knees. After another moment of comfortable silence, he starts lazily thrusting into you. Overly sensitive and very full, you gasp softly.

“Good?” he asks

“So good,” you reply, “you?”

“Very good,” 

“Think you can come again, Angel?”

“Mhm,” you answer, biting your bottom lip to stifle the loud moan that threatens to release itself when he hits the spongy bit inside you.

“Been wanting to do this for so long, Angel. Been wanting to bury my cock so deep inside you, fuck you till you come, fuck load after load inside your pretty pussy,”

“Trying to breed me, Admiral?”

“Fuck,” he gasps, “Yes. Yes, I wanna breed you. Make you mine,” he whispers. He suddenly lifts himself up on his forearms, one of his hands coming to rest itself against your throat. Cyclone squeezes gently, enough to stop your breathing but not enough that it hurts.

“Tap my leg if I’m hurting you. Three taps means stop,” he says 

“Mhm” you managed to humm

He picks up the pace, thrusting himself into you, hitting your sensitive spot with every movement. The stifled moans coupled with the sight of you brings about a familiar sensation in his stomach. Even though he came not too long ago, the idea that he’s just fucking his cum into you and is about to empty himself in you again is making him feral. His hand releases your throat and before you can voice your disappointment, Beau grabs your chin. Instinctively, you open your mouth and Beau spits straight into it. He watches you swallow and lick your lips. He lets out a growl, the kind that starts from a rumble deep in his chest. 

Your pussy tightens around his cock and he can tell you’re getting close. Wanting to give you what you so desperately want, he picks up the pace once more, forcefully driving himself into you. Bottoming out and pulling out almost all the way, eliciting pornographic moans until you can’t take it any more and that tight coil inside you snaps. Your eyes roll back into your skull and the beginning of a scream escapes your lips. Quick to act, Cyclone covers your mouth with one of his large hands, and with one last thrust, fills you again. 

After a few moments, he pulls out without too much protest on your side. He gingerly stands up and thanks himself for bringing a bag and a change of clothes. Your sports bra and shorts are ruined with no chance of repair so he hands you one of his shirts with a wink. You pull yourself up on your legs and put it on. Because he's so much taller than you, the shirt falls just above your knee. It smells like him, and you're not sure you'll ever give it back. You'll keep it as a souvenir of the best sex of your life, in case you never get to do it again.

“You should drink something, you’ll feel better,” he says, noting how wobbly your legs seem as he ruffles through his bag and fishes out a water bottle. He twists the cap off and takes a swig, no doubt as a miracle cure for his own unsteady legs.

“I didn’t bring my bottle,” you say

“Well, you could always come to my room… I might have something for you to drink,” Beau says, thinking of the bottle of whiskey he snuck in on boarding day. 

“I’m sure you do, Admiral,” you reply, staring straight at his crotch with hungry eyes, licking your lips. He swallows, all thoughts of the whiskey forgotten as you stand up and pull yourself against him, “Lead the way,” you whisper into his ear, your hot breath fanning across the skin of his neck, making goosebumps appear in its wake.

“Is that an order, Lieutenant?�� he asks, half-joking, well aware of what your words are doing to him as a shiver shoots up his spine

“Would you like it to be?” you ask, “Do you like receiving orders, Beau?” you say, your teeth coming to nibble at the shell of his ear. 

“Yes, ma’am,” 

[hobipaint]

Graffiti and Chalk - one.

summary: You thought you knew him. You thought him gone. Kim Taehyung was part of you that you had carefully suppressed, keeping his memories to one box near the wall of your mind. That was your fault, though - empty walls demand for art. And who other than your own neighbourhood vandal?

↳ pairing: ex police student turned vandal! taehyung x officer! female reader

↳ genres: angst, eventual fluff?

↳ word count: 4.7K

↳ disclaimers: pg15!, vandalism, police officers, criminal past and heavy discussion of it, mentions of attempted murder.

one | two

a/n: this was supposed to be a one shot, but i decided to make it a two shot because inspiration struck at the twelfth hour. This is based on stigma tae, and has massive massive references to hyyh tae as well!! I'm warning you all. Written for the @bangtanwritingbingo prompt: chalk drawings. Beta read by @vaekth and @kookiestarlight who are possibly the most supportive and appreciative people I could have asked for, thank you so much!!

You'd thought that being an officer would mean solving cases for people who genuinely needed help. Not hunting around for a missing pumpkin. 

"It's round, large, and I think it was slightly squishy, Y/N," the kid who had run up to you exclaimed again, while making gestures for round, large and squishy. 

If the kid weren't this adorable, you'd squish him for being too loud at 8 in the morning. 

You unlocked the door to your office, taking in the sight of the homey little cubicle that you maintained alone. Being the sole officer in a neighbourhood should be hard work, but in a neighbourhood where practically everybody is asleep? Not as much. 

You sighed as you pulled the kid in - who by now had told you that his name was Sungwoo, and he was eight years old. His mother told him that if he ever lost anything precious he should head to the police, so here he was. 

"Can you find my pumpkin?" He peered up at you as you tried to get the coffee machine started- well, as well as you can with a kid in the way. "It's round, large and squishy." 

"Round, large, squishy. Got it." You smiled wearily at him, seeing how his eyes lit up at the sight of your notebook- the one he obviously thought you wrote your cases in. You took your espresso in a mug, running over to him before he damaged it. He ran over to it, picking it up, dropping it because of its weight and picking it up again. 

"Can you write a message for Peter here?" He asked you, eyes wide and round as he stared at the brown leather bound book. 

"Peter? I thought we were talking about your pumpkin?" 

He nodded vigorously- strong enough to make you worry if his head would fall over. Flopping his hair to the side messily, he scampered to you as you settled in your chair, opening the last page of your book - where you had kept your post-its. "Peter is pumpkin! It's made of something- mom told me-" he put a hand to his head, trying to force his small head to think of big words, "Is it pushy?" 

"Do you mean it is a plushie, Sungwoo?" You said, sighing and writing it down on a post-it note and sticking it on your desk. 

"Yeah!" His eyes sparkled, and he bent his head down to the paper you gave him to scribble a hasty note for Peter. Once satisfied, he raised his head, giving the chit two pats before turning to you. "It's missing, Y/N. Can you find it?"

"Of course I can," you reassured him the best you could while half-asleep. The boy suddenly pulled you into a hug, happy tears spilling out of his eyes as he murmured thank you's over and over. 

You held him for a few more seconds, understanding the worry that the kid would have over his plushie. You didn't understand why he had to bring it to you, though. 

You felt a soft yet insistent buzz in your pant pockets all of a sudden, realizing it was your phone. You pulled yourself away from the crying child, and caressed his head while picking up the call. 

"Good morning, Officer L/N." The coarse voice of your chief barked at you. 

You sighed, not wanting to deal with any of his tantrums right after you dealt with the case of Peter the Pumpkin. "Good morning, Chief." 

"I'm arriving at your office in about ten minutes. We have to discuss something important." 

You sighed again, hand grabbing Sungwoo's as you led him outside the office. Time to clean up. "Of course, Sir."

"Why is this place so messy?" was the first thing you had to hear in the form of a greeting. When your chief said ten minutes, he clearly meant half an hour.

You'd spent some time clearing up cookie crumbs from your table, dusting any evidence of your multiple ramen packets, arranging the tables in proper order, lining the chairs up, and stuffing all the stuff you couldn't clear into a closet. It seemed clean enough to you.

"I shall clean it, Sir." You bowed your head once, carefully maintaining your expression so that the chief doesn't think of you as any more insolent than he already does. 

"It doesn't reflect well upon the force to have a messy office, Y/N. I'm sure you were taught that," he said, pressing his finger to a certain spot on a table, and raising it up to show you. "Dust in our offices speaks of nonchalance. That is the last thing we'd want anyone to think of us is that we're nonchalant."

"I apologise, sir. I shall rectify it." 

"I expect you to. Anyways," he said, dusting his hands and moving to another corner of the office, "that is not what I came here for." He settled into the chair-  your chair, with the note for Peter the Pumpkin intact.

You prayed for him to ignore it. 

"There's been growing signs of vandalism in the neighbourhood you're patrolling, Y/N," The chief said to you in a gruff tone, looking like an angry cat with his whiskers trembling. He wore a scowl to match the whole look. Luckily, his pondering eyes missed out on the missing pumpkin report. "I want you to catch that person. Why isn't it done yet?"

"They were untraceable, Sir. All we could capture was a navy blue hoodie and jeans. Nothing else. There's only graffiti and chalk all over the places he's been at, Sir. I tried looking for clues-" 

"Keep looking, then."

"I'm trying, sir. I have asked the owners of all the shops on the street to hand over any CCTV footage they have of the person so that I can analyze it and try to nab him. It is a futile task till now, though." 

The chief rubbed his hand hard on his thigh, the sound of his palm scratching against the coarse trouser fabric reaching you. "They are being a menace, Y/N. A nuisance to those who want peace in this neighbourhood. You are supposed to bring that peace for them, not complain about not being able to get that person. That is your job." He looked you directly in the eye, anger clearly visible. "Or would you wish to leave?"

You twitched in anger, forcing yourself to remain calm. The chief had a penchant for transferring those who were unsuccessful in their cases to different stations- the more transfers, the more incompetent you seemed. You had already begun at a relatively low level, and you couldn't afford going lower. You nodded stiffly. 

"Any more complaints, and I'd be forced to transfer you somewhere else and hand this case over to someone competent. And you know it wouldn't be safe for your career, Y/N." He rose up from the chair, heading towards the door. "I want it resolved. Soon." 

You bowed your head, in a sense of respect for your senior you'd actually never felt. It was annoying, honestly, and your hatred for this man just grew more and more. You had requested since the day of your graduation from the academy to be put in the forensics department - something that actually was your specialty. But no, here you were, patrolling a neighbourhood where the only problem was a kid scribbling on walls and leaving an alphabet behind. 

V.

Taehyung kicked a pebble aside, letting it roll aimlessly along the half-paved, half-broken road. "I'm out of green paint, again." 

He glanced at the aluminium shutters he had decided to vandalize- no, beautify- today, deciding that the subtle decor of the florist's shop and the grim outside of the tattoo shop - both needed redecorations. He didn't care who was the owner. He didn't care how many reports they filed about the eerie similarities of the vandal to Mrs. Kim's son - they never cared about him before, so they'd never care about him now. That, he was sure of. 

His red paint had been used to make the outer petals of a rose that he had dedicatedly been drawing the previous day, until the owner had yelled from his house above for him to stop. That was early, though. 11 AM was a predictable time for a vandal to walk through the streets, spraying graffiti and dusting chalk over every nook and corner until he was satisfied by the art he had created. 

His wristwatch ticked three as he picked up his blue paint can. Just a few hours later, but effective enough for the owner to have fallen asleep - Taehyung could definitely justify that by the snores that echoed behind the shutters. 

"Reporting. Reporting. Vandal. Street 13. I repeat. Vandal. Street 13." 

The cuckoo clock that your mom had gifted you to decorate the less than neat office struck three just when the report came through. Just when you were about to settle for the night.

You pushed your papers aside, leaving the missing car complaint on your table. Holding your baton, slipping your ID into the pocket of your jeans and dusting crumbs off your chiffon blouse, you picked up the radio. 

"Street 13. Officer Y/N reporting." 

The gruff voice of your chief growled back at you. "The vandal has been found on camera, finally. The florist's CCTV; he sent a complaint. In fact, he's been wandering the streets for half an hour now, Y/N. Where have you been?" 

You were about to form a legible enough response, say that the paperwork he had set for you was what consumed your time, but he beat you to it. Sighing into the phone, he said, "Nevermind that. Get to his location immediately, and capture him." His voice stumbled for a second. "Take the taser, just in case." 

"Yes sir," you responded meekly, and disconnected the radio. 

You looked around for your keys, going past a board full of cases that were never relevant enough to be solved - especially the one of the missing pumpkin. The types of cases you received here made you shudder, this wasn't why you had spent so much time training at the university. You tucked your radio into your jacket as you pushed it on your shoulders, grabbing onto a half-eaten sandwich to satisfy your hunger along the way.

"I have to get that person before he robs me of a chance at the forensics department forever," you thought while speeding towards the location told to you - while maintaining the speed limit, of course. No space for nonchalance. 

You'd wanted to finish all your paperwork today and get back to an analysis you were working on - preferably get a nap too. Capturing a neighbourhood graffiti artist- this isn't what you had wanted to do.

This wasn't what Taehyung had wanted to do. 

The paint dried off slowly on the metal surface, a small drop of ink trickling down where Taehyung had stopped. The design wasn't matching what he had thought at all, he thought as he stared at it. Time to switch it up. 

He picked up the painting from right where he had stopped it - merging blue into the red petals as he was on his way to the centre of the flower. Painstakingly, he traced lines that would capture the delicate curves of the outlines, serving to further merge into the picture. 

His vandalism wasn't ugly drawings, nudity, or someone just spraying 'SUCKAZ!' all over a wall. That is for amateurs. His was nuanced art. Art that he couldn't do in the day. The ones he could never showcase in the galleries. The ones he buried in the deepest recesses of his mind, burning a hole into the boxes he stuffed them into. This was his freedom. 

Taehyung picked up the black can. Fixing the nozzle in the proper direction, he shook the bottle- once, twice. The paint came out in spurts at first, before settling into a steady spray. Black always enhances everything, doesn't it? Enhancement that never seemed beautiful - it was just there to make it stand out. Be noticed. Be shamed. Be suspected. Look deadly, or even look dead. Even the most innocent faces look devious with black. What's to say his flower would still look alive? 

The black slowly spiralled across the expanse of the shutter, coiling over and over in what Taehyung thought could be the leaves. The thorns that held the flower back from reaching the epitome of beauty- at least, outwardly beauty. He detested how overhyped a rose was- just as destructible as all other flowers. Where's the beauty in something temporary? 

The green paint can had been used up last time when he had sprayed ivy all over the fashion boutique's doors- all of which had been washed away. A shame, Taehyung thought, and picked up his airbrush. Filling a little green into the small holder, he tested it a few times on the footpath - he'd scrub chalk all over it later on, he still needed to add more to beautify the shops. He carefully painted leaves all over the black he had sprayed, letting them flatten out against the metal at the back and form a protective layer around the rose. Unnecessary by all means. 

He then switched to a darker green, picking up the airbrush once again to add some subtlety in the leaves. He watched the spray slowly settle right where he wanted it - paint, unlike his life, was something he had full control of. It was liberating. 

Standing back and twirling the can over and over in his hand, Taehyung was somewhat satisfied with what he made. A rose. Simple, overrated. Just like flowers. The leaves stood out more to him, along with the thorns; their prickly points being the focus of the picture. Perfect. 

He picked up his personal favorite - a small can of black paint who's nozzle had been crafted by him. Stooping down to the corner of the shutter, he slowly sprayed across it. Black settling on silver gray, one single alphabet. V. 

That's it. He was done. Just an hour's work. 

He turned to the tattoo artist's shop, the shutter a colourful mess littered with messy black stains and drawings the owner probably thought was hip. Taehyung cringed. How was it possible for an artist to be that bad at decorating their own shop? He walked a few steps back, admiring the size of it and thinking of what he could fill there. Something that would really annoy a tattoo artist- he deserved it after having ruined the shutter like that. Picking up a blade, Taehyung set to scrape away the skulls- which, he found, were stickers. Gross. Peeling them off, he set to chip away at the paint- the soft thunk, thunk of the blade slapping against the metal echoed around him. Hopefully, not too loud. 

The metal loudly protested as Taehyung pressed his blade against what seemed to be an outline of a body, done with black, and some random inscriptions that he could notice were wearing away. This had to be really old. 

Scratch, scratch, scratch. The blade kept pushing at the layers of colour, forcing them off the metal. He could see glints of silver shining underneath it, dim under the streetlight.

Scratch, scratch, scratch. He kept pushing at the paint, tongue poking out as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He had to do it now. There was no other time for him to do this. Now. Now. Now. 

The silver suddenly glinted more brightly- a shade impossible under the dull, flickering yellow of the streetlights. White lights created a halo of sorts around him, and Taehyung knew his time was up. He smiled. At least one place got the beauty they deserved. 

"Hands up!" A voice yelled behind him, and he could hear a click that definitely sounded like a taser gun. 

Looking up, he cursed loudly at everyone and anyone. He could have finished it tonight. His work would have been done, and he would have been on his way. He turned around, annoyance sparking in his eyes with sarcastic acceptance lining his lips in the way they curled. "You found me," he murmured, before letting himself get slammed against the very shutters he was painting.

Fate played wonderful games, and for now, you were its newest loser. 

"Name." You spoke, your voice monotone yet clear. 

"You know me, Y/N. Don't pretend you don't." Taehyung crooned, smirking while he rotated the glass that rested atop the table. 

Your annoyance only grew. When you were told that there was a vandal in the streets, you didn't expect it to be a familiar face. 

Kim Taehyung was known to you. Someone who had lived right next door. Someone who had been known as a lovable, obedient boy by the neighbours- you still remembered how your mother would gush about him. Someone you knew, and once, cared for. 

Someone who was later only known as the kid who flung a bottle on his stepfather's face and was sentenced for five years - which, in fact, was a misjudgement. He was innocent, and the video of him attacking the man was manipulated. Fake. Edited. Whatever you chose wouldn't be enough to change anything in the past. 

Taehyung had come out of jail a changed man, weeping openly in the streets when he heard of his family's fate- what he had heard, though, was something you were unaware of. Two years had since passed, and you no longer heard your mother talking about the Kim's boy. He had simply vanished, for you. No traces anywhere. 

But here he was. Kim Taehyung. Alive, breathing. Smirking. And spinning a glass over and over. 

"Give that to me." You said, snatching the glass away from him and keeping it aside. Settling into your chair, you pulled your laptop closer once again, mustering the most serious look you can. "I'm not playing around, Taehyung. Talk properly. Behave. You're already in a rough spot." 

Taehyung laughed; a mirthless, almost painful laughter. "I can't see how anything can be bad here, officer. With all due respect, of course." He straightened up, still keeping that smirk on his face.

You exhaled your breath slowly, holding back all the words you wanted to hurl at him. "Name?"

"Kim Taehyung."

You typed it in, feeling the way each letter pad was pushed down before you moved over it- momentary, but fulfilling. "Age."

"As of today, 25." 

"Job."

"Nothing. Add the official vandal of Street 13 if you want." 

You raised an eyebrow, fingers abruptly coming to a stop. "Behave." 

"No job, officer." Taehyung said, settling further ahead in his seat and pausing, before speaking again. "Why do you need this though? I already have a criminal record, don't I?" 

You turned your face to him, the sudden change in light exposure hurting your eyes. The hurt they felt couldn't possibly fathom the depths of pain you saw churning in Taehyung's eyes, like pits of fire. They were seemingly blank,  but you had known him. Known him long enough to know that this wasn't who he used to be. This wasn't him. 

"Once you were proven innocent, your record was wiped clean. The manipulators were given the charges that you had." You looked at him while saying this, trying to notice any emotions that would make way to his face. None. No twitching lips, no annoyance in his eyebrows. Just his eyes that seethed anger. "Family?" 

"None." 

You raised an eyebrow. "None?"

Taehyung groaned, getting up from the chair and turning around, hands on his waist. "Don't make me repeat all that shit again. You know it, Y/N." 

"Sit back down, Taehyung." You said, irritated by his tantrums. It was four in the morning, for God's sake. You didn't have the energy to deal with him. "I need details if you want to get out of this without any charges." 

"Dead. Most of them. Those who aren't, disowned me as soon as I got into jail. Something about not wanting to be related to a criminal." He said lowly, a gruff tone to his voice as he spoke the last words. 

You hummed lowly, not knowing what to say. How do you possibly respond to something like this? You weren't trained for interrogation at university. You specialized in forensics. This wasn't supposed to be your job. 

"I'm sorry that happened, Taehyung." You managed after a few moments of silence. 

"Don't be." He shrugged, then looked up. "You don't mean it." 

"I still need a reason as to why you are destroying the places around here with your graffiti and chalk drawings, Taehyung." You ignored him and continued, rising from your chair to let your sore limbs relax. "Unfortunately, I can't let you leave till you give me a reason." 

Taehyung stayed mum, much to your annoyance. 

You slammed your hand on the table, a loud slap that stung your hand, but also Taehyung's ears, it seemed. "Reasons. Now."

"I just wanted to." 

"Wanted to? So you were voluntarily damaging someone else's property?" 

He raised his head to look at you; once, twice. Then with a resigned sigh, he responded. "Yeah. But I was beautifying it." 

"A beautification they never asked for?" You said, as Taehyung groaned behind you. 

"No one gives a damn, Y/N-" 

"The police do." You say, preparing to send a message to your chief over the radio. "Got him." 

"The police didn't care when I was innocent in that case, Y/N. Stop pretending like they'll care for me when I'm actually guilty of something." 

"That case was mishandled."

"Yeah, Y/N. It was mishandled. But only for you." You turned to him, shocked at the venom that suddenly laced his voice. 

In the few seconds that you had turned away from him, his eyes had turned bloodshot. Red rimmed the remaining white of his eyes. "You wouldn't know what it is to be locked up for harming people you loved, Y/N. You wouldn't understand that pain," he murmured, loud enough for you to hear him in the echoes of the office. 

You wanted to scream at him. Tell him how he had hurt you. Remind him of all the things you had forced yourself to forget over seven years. The way your heart still hurt for him. 

"You're right. I won't understand. So sit here, and explain yourself." You pulled your chair back, seating yourself in it and gazing up at him expectantly. 

He was just staring at you- you couldn't say whether his gaze held expectations or disdain. Then, shaking his head, "You're still just as stubborn, aren't you," he said, softly smiling as he slipped into his chair. "Adamant, and so, so confusing."

"You don't know me anymore, Taehyung. Don't pretend. Anyways," you said, turning to your laptop again. "I need-"

"No." He stood up once again- why was he standing? "Answer me, now." 

He rested his arms on the table, chest leaning forward to balance himself- and now, you could see the changes he had brought in himself. In place of lean muscle there were defined biceps you could see being flexed. In place of short hair was curly locks that fell until his crown, now hanging over. In place of a cheeky grin that sent your blood rushing to your cheeks was a pair of lips, set tight in one line that sent chills down your spine. There was warmth to him, yes, but it was different. This wasn't the Taehyung you knew. 

"You knew that I was back." Your eyes moved back to look into his. And you noticed more changes. Instead of a carefree twinkle, there was dark, brooding black filling his pupils. "You knew. I'd seen you that night." 

The night when you had seen him falling to his knees, soaking himself in the rain as he gave his tears as a tribute to the gushing skies. The night he returned. The night you thought he didn't know you. 

"I'd seen you after that as well. That day at the convenience store, I'd seen you buying candies. You still buy the same kind, don't you? Lemon flavoured." 

The night you gave up on your dreams to become an analyst in the forensic lab for the police. The night where you stared up to question everything you did as your feet soaked in the snow. Two years ago. The night he thought he knew you. 

"You're hurting me by not remembering us, Y/N." 

"We were nothing to begin with." You cleared your throat, settling further back into your chair. "You asked me on a date, and stood me up. We're nothing. Absolutely nothing." 

Taehyung opened his mouth to speak again, but leaned back, standing tall, straight. You almost missed his warmth - no. This wasn't the warmth of a person you had cared for. 

"It's so cold outside, Y/N, why haven't you turned on the heater?" Your chief's voice filled the room after a few minutes of absolute silence. Taehyung had taken to leaning on the wall, now, maintaining an anxious distance. "Did you get the man?"

You simply pointed towards Taehyung, watching the chief's face flash with recognition, brows hastily furrowing as a frown formed on his face.

"Kim Taehyung?" Your chief asked, coming up to the two of you. "Is it really you? Are you the vandal?"

Taehyung remained silent, head hung. 

The chief inhaled, then exhaled; loud enough for you to hear him - "It is you, isn't it. What happened after the attempted murder case?" 

"Proven false, Sir." You informed your superior. For some odd reason, you felt like you had to come to Taehyung's defense. 

"I am aware of that, Y/N." The chief said, looking Taehyung up and down. As reported, he was in the navy blue sweatshirt and ripped jeans- and you could see in the clear light of your office that he had ripped the holes into them himself. Something he did before to look fashionable, he used to say. 

"I don't really want to put any charges on you, Taehyung. Why did you do it?"

Taehyung spoke, voice gravelly. "It was liberating, Sir." 

"You broke the law, though." 

"The law broke me, Sir." 

The chief took another deep breath and settled onto the chair where Taehyung was sitting just a few moments ago. His wrinkled skin seemed to age even more. Taehyung was close with the chief as a student, that you knew- you had seen him going multiple times to his office to get clarifications after class. You wondered how the chief felt - did he feel the same sting of recognition you had felt? 

"I don't want you to get any charges, Taehyung," he said, before laughing and adding, "all these years, and I still have my student in my head." 

He stood up and turned to face Taehyung again, worry reflecting in his eyes as he held him by the shoulders. "You're still the Taehyung I know, right?" 

Taehyung looked away, down, his face coming in your line of vision - you could see the small rivulets that flowed from the pool of emotions in his eye, down the lines that worry, anger and disbelief had formed on his face. Sniffing softly, he turned back to the chief. "Yes, Sir." 

The chief visibly relaxed, his arms coming down to his sleeves, gripping Taehyung. "Good. I hope it remains that way." 

He returned to his stern stance, and faced you. "I suggest you keep him here for the night, Y/N." he looked outside, the sky just turning sapphire. "I shall return in the morning to talk. Get some rest while you're at it. And Taehyung? Eat something." 

The chief swiftly departed the office, and Taehyung slumped into the chair. "Seven years, and the old man still remembers me," he laughed mirthlessly, lips twisting in an amused smile. "Always appreciated him." 

"And so did he," you mentioned. Taehyung was always brought up as a comparison for your batch of officers to emulate. Even when he was in jail, he was remembered among you as a diligent student and worker. "'Remember his good', he used to say. He always remembered you."

"And you?" He suddenly looked at you. His eyes were no longer bloodshot - there were small remnants of anger, but all you could see was wistfulness. "Did you remember me, Y/N?" 

a/n: yup, I stopped there. Do leave some feedback if you liked it- in the comments, or as an ask! Also, if you wish to be tagged for the next part, you can ask for that too! Thank you for giving your time to this fic,, and I hope you enjoyed reading it! love, hazel💞

masterlist

[honeymoonjin]

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

--

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

--

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

--

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment,  unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

--

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

--

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

--

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

[satashiiwrites]

MReyder Works/Mreyder week roundup

Mreyder Week:

To Follow (Chapter V, E) Part Two of I’ll Follow you Wherever You Go When Reyes first met Scott it was on the dance floor and he thought he was beautiful. He thought that for at least the night he could follow Scott home. Soon, he began making regular runs to Arcturus just to have a few hours of stolen time with his Vida. Finding out that his Vida had run away to another galaxy due to events out of his control really just meant one thing. Reyes was going to follow Scott to Andromeda and make sure his Vida understood that his family’s problems didn’t matter. Reyes didn’t plan on Andromeda. Didn’t choose it. But he’s damn well going to find Scott and make sure his lover knows he’s here for him.

Whatta Man (complete, T) Sara meets her brother’s boyfriend for the first time. She can’t help the music that plays in her brain upon first glance.

Double Trouble (Or That One Time Scott Met Reyes’ Doppelgänger) (complete, M) Scott is surprised when his lover shows up on the Nexus—the last place in Heleus he thought he’d see him. Alternatively, Scott’s not sure who’s the evil twin in this situation.

Andromeda 5-0 (Chapter 1, eventually E) A deadly mistake brings Scott back to the Nexus—a place he had avoided returning to for too many years. Returning stirs up a lot of old problems as well as new complications. He’s been so career focused he forgot what normal was until he quite literally runs into someone at gunpoint. Reyes has moved cross country, been financially drained and taken from his family all so he can spend just a few precious minutes in his son’s presence each week. He interrupted his career that had been going places just to start all over again. When Kandros offers him an assignment that would put him back on track his gut instinct is that it’s dangerous so he does some investigating on his own that puts him right in Lieutenant Commander Scott Ryder’s way. Grief driven, Scott takes an offer he’d initially refused. Reyes is going to protest that he’s not navy and Scott doesn’t get to press gang him—this isn’t the eighteenth century.

If I See You In My Dreams (Chapter 1, eventually E) Never tell anyone. That was the rule that Reyes had lived by his entire life.  He’d seen the consequences of someone finding out when he was eight years old and his father was taken by mercenaries for his abilities.  Reyes would have been next if it weren’t for his Abuela’s actions. Never tell anyone. Reyes had always felt a kinship with the story of Cassandra.  He knew exactly how she had felt. He won’t let Kadara be his Troy.

Reinventing Scott (Prologue and Chapter 1, eventually E) Betrayed and left for death, Scott Ryder gets to reinvent himself how he wants to be.  He tried being what others wanted or expected him to be but now he’s going to make his own decisions and it starts with repaying a life for a life.  They say if you save someone’s life you’re now responsible for them.  Scott would argue he owes his rescuer the rest of his life not that they need to watch over him. Scott’s second life ends on Eos.  His third belongs to Reyes Vidal. 

The Mask of the Charlatan (snippet, eventually M)

What Happens in Vegas (aesthetic)

Your Guide To Andromeda (snippet, eventually M)

Completed fics

Blackmail Material (T, 334 words) Reyes recieves a message from Sara. Scott has some explaining to do.

Just Friends? (T, 3,934 words) Reyes and he were friends. Just friends. There was no reason for Gil to be jealous. None… Until Scott realized maybe he’d missed something. Something big.

Fashion and the Green Eyed Monster (M, 1,592 words) Scott couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His eyes felt like they were bleeding so garish was the picture in front of him. Where had his boyfriend found such an ugly shirt??

A Soul’s Weight (unrated, 1,376 words) The future he had seen taunted him, drew him, seduced him. The possibilities that Scott Ryder presented were… intriguing. The cry of the ibis called across the sands, chased by the howls of the golden wolves of Anubis that hunted this night. So little interested him anymore…

Seguir (E, 22,363 words) Andromeda was never Scott’s dream—he’d left his dreams along with his poor shattered heart back in the Milky Way. Part one of I’ll Follow You Wherever You Go

On the Edge of a Blade (E, 3,411 words) Sometimes it’s the small, private moments of life that are the most important, that you treasure. Simple acts can affect you in not so simple ways. Or, Scott didn’t know he had a shaving kink until Reyes.

Some Like It Hot (G, 448 words) It is a fact, universally known, that biotics run hotter than normal humans. Reyes really should have thought about this before getting involved with Scott.

My Answer Has Always Been Yes (E, 1,934 words) An intimate moment between Scott and Reyes with an important question asked.

Karaoke Night on the Nexus (T, 674 words) Sara learns what is traditionally the Pathfinder Team song.

All I Need For Christmas Is You (T, 2,922 words) Scott almost missed the fact that it’s almost Christmas. Luckily, his lover has friends who are willing to kindly send him reminders about how important it is to be with family during the holidays.

The Sentinel of Andromeda (E, 9,060 words) Coming online with his father’s death, Scott relies on SAM to keep him from zoning as a five sense sentinel. He’d assumed that he’d never find his perfect guide but maybe he already has and just didn’t know it at the time.

Works in Progress

An Andromeda Tale: The Making of a Pathfinder and a King (E, 673,530 words) Scott Ryder never saw his life going this way, not that anyone ever asked him his opinion. Now he's pathfinder with too many people depending on his young shoulders and trying to figure out what he actually wants for himself. Reyes Vidal, man of mystery, former pilot and now sometimes smuggler. Who knows where he came from or his motivations but he's come to Andromeda to change his destiny. What neither Scott nor Reyes could have predicted is what their lives would be once they came to Andromeda.

Shipwrecked (E, 4,294 words) Five years ago, Reyes and Scott were fighting the good fight against the Reapers when the Crucible fired. Caught in the blast, they crash landed on what most would call paradise but they just called it home. With no way to send an SOS, they have made the best of it but now their happiness is about to be disturbed. When everything changes, what stays the same?

Recurrence (T, 10,608 words) Reyes thought he’d reached the end… only to be sent back to the beginning by an interfering AI. If you had to do it all over again, would you? If you could change things for the better, would you? It seems Reyes is going to have to answer those questions.

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

🚨Warnings: Light p in v smut. Some angst. Lots of fluff. My grandfather’s name really is in the Smithsonian.🚨

Plain Gold Ring V:

Exactly Like You

“I know why I waited

Know why I've been blue

I've been waiting each day

For someone exactly like you” - Nina Simone

——————————————————————

Your last day in D.C. felt like the last day of your life. This life. Every article of clothing was packed. Every knickknack and tchotchke sent with the movers. You were ready for your next life. Did your next life include Andy?

The weather was beautiful. Sunny. Not too hot. You and Andy had planned on spending it outside seeing the sites. He had never toured any of the museums. You invited Jacob along. The second you said it you wished you hadn’t. You felt like a home wrecker even though Andy promised Jacob wouldn’t see you that way.

Andy was bristling with excitement. “He’s going to love you, baby.” You were not great with kids. You actively chose not to have them. You loved your nieces from a distance when they were little. Now that they are teenagers you feel a little more at ease with them. You are their cool rich aunt who spends an absolutely outrageous amount of money on them when you visit. You nearly fainted when Andy asked if you’d like to have children.

“Aren’t I too old for that?”

“You’re only three years younger than me. I know a lot of women who had their career before they had a family.” Your face snapped from terrified to anger real quick, “Not that you can’t have a career and be a mother. People do it everyday. Shut up, Andy.”

“You’re cute when you’re nervous. Have you thought of having children with me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, yeah. I’d like to have a couple more.”

“Oh. A couple he says.” You could feel the hives forming. “This seems like a good conversation to have right before I leave.”

He ran his hands up and down your arms. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you. You haven’t thought about it? Not even a little?” The door buzzed in the nick of time.

“Jacob’s here! Hallelujah!” You wiggled out of his arms to grab your shoes.

He laughed shaking his head. “We’ll finish this conversation later, young lady.” he pressed the intercom button, “Hey come on up, buddy. This is going to be great, honey.” He loved your nervous laugh and the way you fidgeted with your fingers. Just the fact that you were nervous told him you would love his son.

You heard voices coming from the living area. Fucking hell. Was that Lori? You contemplated going out of the window. You went into the bathroom to grab some lip balm. You knew full well that it was in your bag on the kitchen island. You were just staying out of their way. When you heard the front door close you reemerged.

“Ready to go?” Your eyes were wide and you were way too smiley. If Andy didn’t know better he would think you were on drugs.

“Yeah. I think no more coffee for you ok?”

“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Y/N.” Jacob extended his hand.

“Nice to see you too. So! The Smithsonian. What part are you most interested in seeing?”

“Air and space I think.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start. My grandfather’s name is actually on a plaque. I’ll show you. He was in the navy and built planes that were used in Korea I think. And my dad’s picture is there. He works for a division of NASA back in Louisiana where I’m from. He developed this little part of the rocket booster. He’s literally a rocket scientist.”

“That’s really cool. I’d love to meet him sometime…..”

Andy was loving every second of this. You and Jacob really got along. You were making plans to visit your father and stepmother over the summer and maybe hit the beach in Florida. Jacob’s face lit up at the prospect of meeting your family. Both Andy and Lori were only children. Jacob didn’t grow up with cousins or really any kids his own age outside of school. He seemed pretty comfortable with the idea of you and Andy together.

Andy tested the waters a little by holding your hand. Jacob didn’t seem to notice. By the time you got to the next part of the museum he had his arms around your waist. He even kissed you a couple of times. Nothing but a tender peck here and there. Jacob didn’t seem to mind when he showed you affection.

After lunch Andy dropped you off and then ran Jacob back home.

“So, what are you thinking?” Andy asked with nervous trepidation.

“The museum was cool. I really liked the rockets. It’s cool that Y/N’s dad made those.”

“Did you like Y/N?”

“Yeah. Sucks she’s moving. Do you think you’ll move to Chicago too?”

“Kind of depends on you, bud. I know you’re getting older and you don’t need Dad around very much anymore. I don’t want to miss anything. You’re my only baby.”

“I could spend summers with you. You look really happy. I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. Even before the trial. I’d miss you but you should be happy.”

The whole way inside Jacob talked about you. He clammed up when Lori walked in.

“Hey, guys. Did you have a good time?” She kissed Jacob on the forehead.

“We had a great time. Ok, Jake. You have the number where I’ll be. I’ll be back on Wednesday. If you’re not busy next weekend you can spend the night. I have your room all set up. Love you.”

“Ok. Love you. Have a safe flight. Tell Y/N I said bye.” He escaped to his room before the arguing started.

“If it’s ok I’ll pick him up from school Thursday. Did you sign the papers?”

“She went with you?” Her voice was deadly quiet.

“She did.”

“Didn’t want to tell me that before hand I guess.”

He sighed and wiped his face with his hands, “I’ll have him back Sunday night. See you later.”

“Fuck you, Andy. You can’t even give me the courtesy of telling me my son would be meeting his father’s whore!”

He slammed his fist on the counter, “Did you sign the papers or not?” She threw the manilla envelope at him.

“They’re signed.” He took the papers and walked out slamming the door. He contemplated moving again. He has a month to month lease on his place. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find a job. He knew Jacob would be fine. Chicago was looking better and better. After all the baby talk this morning he wouldn’t burden you with anything else domestic for today.

——————————————————————

You were zipping your last suitcase when you heard Andy come in. You packed all of your sleep clothes so you were wearing Andy’s t-shirt and panties. Dinner was ordered and he had a drink waiting on the counter. He called out for you. When you rounded the corner into the living room he caught you in his arms.

“Hey, handsome.” you cooed in his ear. He nuzzled your neck and stroked your back. “You ok? Was Jacob….he hates me. I knew it.”

He tightened his hold on you, “Honey, he loved you. He talked about you the whole way back.”

“Then why is your face all worried?”

“Because I’m keenly aware that this is our last night together in my place. That when I come home Wednesday you won’t be here. I’ll go to work on Thursday and Jeremy will be in your office. I have really good memories in that office and now they’re ruined. I don’t want to wake up without you.”

His hands traveled up your bare back then back down to cup your ass. “The delivery app says they’re going to be here in twenty minutes. Think you can finish in time?”

He lowered his head between your breasts and nodded yes. Before you knew it your panties were off, his pants were down and he was fucking you against the wall. His pace was relentless. You hooked your ankles at the small of his back and leaned back so you could rub your clit. Your fingertips brushed against his dick every time he pumped in and out of your cunt. You both came in fifteen minutes.

You ate dinner on the veranda loving the cool breeze on your bare skin. As much as he wanted his t-shirt to smell like you, he like naked picnics way more. Admittedly, a big chicken Caesar salad wasn’t the sexiest food in the world. Still didn’t stop him from licking dressing off of your chest when it dropped off your fork. He was determined to fuck you in almost every room in this place.

You slept tangled and sticking together all night. You had finally gotten over your need for bed space. You’d miss it when he wasn’t there. All night the two of you wanted to bring up moving in together. Neither of you had the guts to say it. You didn’t want to beat a dead horse. He didn’t want to freak you out. Good thing you’d be long distance for a while to work on your communication skills.

——————————————————————

Your new place was beautiful. You rented a big new condo close to Millennial Park. Your office was on Michigan Ave so you weren’t far from there thought walking was highly discouraged. It wouldn’t be possible in heels anyway.

You and Andy worked diligently unpacking and cleaning. When the last box was unpacked and broken down you both collapsed on the couch. “I feel disgusting.”

“You have that nice big bathtub. Bet we can both fit.” He raised an eyebrow at you and nudged your side.

“You are insatiable, Mr. Barber. Whatever will I do without you?”

“You’ll bust from horniness. Come on.” He hoisted you up from your comfy spot and pulled you into the bathroom. While he undressed you filled the water with soft musky oils and some bubble bath. You lit candles and eased in to relax. He washed your hair massaging your scalp with his fingertips. He held you in the warmth until your fingers and toes were pruned.

For the rest of the week, if you were sitting it was on Andy’s lap. If you were sleeping it was in his arms. By Tuesday morning, you had both finished up conference calls and responding to emails. You had cleared the rest of your day to spend together.

As the sunlight dwindled it had become harder and harder to part. You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to have the conversation you had been dreading since you stepped off the plane.

“Andy, I don’t want to sound like a nagging girlfriend but, I really want you to move in with me. I know it would be so hard leaving Jacob but I have plenty of room. He can spend every summer here if he wants. I’d love to have him. I feel really strongly that this is leading somewhere. I’ll even talk about babies if you want.”

His heart was bursting. You kept rambling on trying to convince him. Little did you know he was already convinced. “Stan is going to kill you.” He laughed and pulled you onto his lap. “Give me a few weeks to wrap up everything.”

When you dropped him at the airport there were tears but you knew you’d see him soon. “I love you, baby. I’ll call you as soon as I land.” He kissed you like he would never get to do it again.

“I love you too. See you soon.” He smiled through his tears.

“See you soon.”

——————————————————————

That weekend he spent all of his time with Jacob. He planned on spending every moment he could with his son. Jacob even had his first few weeks planned starting with meeting your family in Louisiana.

When he brought Jacob home on Sunday he worked up the courage to tell Lori the news. “Do you have all of your stuff for your English assignment? If not I can bring it by before school tomorrow.”

“I got it, dad. I had fun this weekend.” They hugged. He smelled Jacob’s hair and kissed him.

“Love you. Be good for mom.”

“Love you too!”

Lori stood in the doorway with her arms folded protectively over her chest. “So she’s gone?”

“Yep.”

“So what now? What does this mean for you?”

He pulled out the kitchen chair and rested his head in this hands. “This wasn’t a fling, Lori. I’m moving to Chicago. Jacob is real excited about spending summers with us.”

“Do you love her?” Tears shimmered in her eyes and her voice wavered. It would be cruel to lie to her.

“Very much.” It stung to hear. With nothing left to say Andy stood to leave.

“Andy!” she called after him. When he turned she wrapped him in a hug. The two of them embraced for several minutes.

When he stepped onto the sidewalk outside of the building his phone buzzed in his pocket. He saw your face smiling back at him.

“Hey, baby. How was your day?” He looked up at your old window and thought of how the two of you started, the past he left behind and smiled at the sound of his future on the other end of the line.

[prettyinlimegreenboots]

This I Promise You - Life in the ER

I’ve been playing around with this for a bit now. I had an itch to write Katherine and Jack’s wedding date from the “Life in the ER” series. So without further ado, here’s their wedding.

Disclaimers: I do not own anything that you’re familiar with - names, songs, lyrics, etc.

Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, mentions of blood

Katherine’s Dress

Also, I have the next three “Life in the ER” installments figured out. If there’s something you would like to see in this series, please send me a message.

Many, many, many thanks to @thebarkeepwrites for your many chats with me regarding this section. This wouldn’t have been written without your help and encouragement!!!

June 3, 2017

She stared at herself in the mirror. She had just put on her emerald green dress and was giving herself one more glance before the rest of the wedding party would see her, most importantly before Jack would see her. She had never wanted to be the blushing bride in a white dress. She had found the A-line V-neck asymmetrical dress online and had fallen in love with it immediately. It had lace on the skirt and her niece deemed it the perfect twirly dress.

She was in an old barn, turned wedding venue, where she would marry the love of her life. Her and Jack had been dating for five years and after six months of an engagement, they were finally saying their “I Do’s”. And she couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day, the sun was shining bright and the temperatures were in the mid 70’s, a perfect day for an outdoor wedding.

Taking a deep breath, she smoothed down an invisible wrinkle before relaxing her shoulders and turning away from the mirror. She slipped into her kitten heels, making her way across the room. She took a deep breath, hand on the handle, opening the door.

Stepping into the doorway, her eyes down to the ground, hearing several gasps as she slowly lifted her eyes to those waiting in the room for her. “So?”

“You look gorgeous, Kat. Absolutely stunning. That dress looks 1000 times better than you lead us to believe.” Spot exclaimed. Race eagerly nodded his head, adding on. “Pure perfection, Kat. Jack’s not going to know what to do.”

“That dress is stunning.” Albert wolfwistled, grinning at her.

Davey stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. “Jackie’s not going to know what to think or say when he sees you.”

She bit her lip, blushing. “You sure?”

Abby, her college roommate, stepped forward and grinned at her best friend. “He’s sure; I’m sure; we’re all sure. You look perfect, Katie. Absolutely amazing. You clean up well girl.”

Kat laughed. “Thank you, you all know how to make a girl feel good on her wedding day.”

“If you didn’t already steal his heart, this would’ve definitely done it.” Ellie, her older sister, grinned.

The door opened, drawing her attention away from all of them to whoever entered the room. Penelope, the wedding planner they had hired, was standing there with a tight smile on her face. “Hi Penelope. Is everything going smoothly today?”

“Absolutely. We’re on time with the timeline.” She smiled. “Jack’s ready for your first look, if you are.”

Kat took a deep breath, putting a smile on her face as she eagerly nodded. She gave her friends a wide grin before she walked out of the room, following Penelope to the designated area she was going to have the first look with her future husband.

Weaving through the old barn to the accompanying garden, Penelope slid open the door, giving her a grin. “You have ten minutes. I’ll come get you both when it’s time.”

Stepping through the doorway, she closed the distance between where she stood and where Jack stood with his back to her. She knew the photographer was hidden somewhere in the vicinity but she only had eyes for the man in front of her. He had his back to her, dressed in jeans, a white shirt, and a navy vest. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows.

Walking closer to him, she reached her hand out and put it on his back. She felt the hitch in his breath as he realized she was behind him. “Can I turn around now? You’ve kept me waiting a long time, Pulitzer.”

“You can turn around.” She said, as she took a step back.

Jack didn’t waste any time turning around. She smiled seeing his jaw drop as he slowly dragged in the sight of her. “Kat, you look-.” He trailed off as he reached her hand and laced it with his, giving it a squeeze. “You look amazing, like a princess. You told me you had a different dress but I love it. You look stunning. I’m a lucky man, Kat.”

“And look at how you dress up.” Kat reached out and smoothed out the invisible wrinkle on his white shirt. “You look quite handsome, Kelly. And I’m the lucky one.”

He leaned over and nuzzled her cheek. “Oh how much I want to kiss you right now.”

“The feeling is mutual, sir.” She murmured, leaning up and kissing his cheek. “Only fifteen minutes before you and I are standing in front of all of our friends and family saying our vows and we’re married.”

Without another word, Jack pulled her to him, his right hand in hers as his left gripped her waist. Her left hand wrapped around his shoulder as he started gently swaying. “I love you so much Katherine Pulitzer and I cannot wait to vow myself to you and become your husband.”

“I love you too, my sap.” Kat’s eyes welled up with tears. “Dammnit Kelly, you’re not supposed to make me cry yet.”

She heard the door slide open, knowing their time was up. He took their linked hands and gently kissed the back of her right hand. “I’ll see you at the end of the aisle, hot shot.”

“See you soon, beautiful.” He winked, squeezing her hand, watching her walk away, with a smirk on his face that she would soon be his wife.

Kat had a big smile on her face as she walked back through the barn to the room she had gotten ready in. She could hear the murmured conversations of their guests as they took their seats.

When she entered the room, she saw Race, Spot, Abby, Albert, Ellie, and Davey all standing there talking along with her parents and Medda. She grinned at all of them, pulling the door shut behind her. “Hello.”

“Can we have a moment alone with you, Katherine?” Medda asked, motioning to her parents with a smile.

Nodding, Katherine watched their friends leave the room. She smiled at her parents and Medda, waiting for someone to make the first move. Medda sighed, stepping forward, lacing her hand with Katherine’s hand. “You have made Jack so happy for so long. I’m so excited that you’re finally joining our family. I’ve long considered you a daughter and I’m glad you’re making it official today. Jack’s a lucky man but so are we. Welcome to the family, Katherine.”

Medda pulled her into a hug, as Kat quickly wiped her eyes. “Thank you Medda. Love you.”

“Love you too, dear.” Kissing her cheek, Medda stepped back, allowing her mom and dad to step forward.

Her mom, Kate, grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “You look gorgeous, my girl. And your father and I are so proud of you. Jack may not have been our first choice but he’s been wonderful for you and he’s going to be a good man to you as you step forward together in marriage. We love you.”

“Love you too, momma.” She said as she squeezed her mother’s hand.

Looking over at her father, she could see he wanted to be anywhere but where he currently was. Joseph Pulitzer was a man of many words, when he wanted to be. But on his daughter’s wedding date, he seemed to lose them all. “Katherine, you’ve always been the daughter of ours that forged her own path. Your mother and I tried to steer you in a direction we thought was right but you always went your own way. A career in the medical field wasn’t what we had in mind but you have flourished at being a physician assistant. We’re so proud of you and the life that you’ve created for yourself. Love you my darling girl.”

Throwing herself into her father’s arms, Katherine breathed in deeply the familiar scent of ink and paper that she had always associated with her father. “Love you daddy.”

“Thank you three for all your support these last few years. It’s been a crazy ride but thanks to you three, you have supported us through this journey. Your love for Jack and myself have been a great blessing. So thank you for everything you’ve done. Jack and I wouldn’t be here without you.” Kat smiled at them, just as Penelope opened the door.

“It’s time.”

Her mom and Medda gave her another hug before they left the room, leaving her with her father. She looped her arm through his before tugging him out of the room and to the grassy area where she would wait until it was time for her to walk down the aisle.

Penelope handed her bouquet, a mixed colored bouquet filled with white ranunculuses, pale pink peonies, white hydrangeas, blush and navy roses, and eucalyptus to tie the entire bouquet together. Her bridesmaids carried similar bouquets while Spot had a white ranunculus pinned to his lapel, just like Jack, Davey, Race, and Albert.

Her father stopped as she looked at the people in front of her. Davey, Race, and Albert were standing up for Jack and would be up front with him already. Ellie, Abby, and Spot were standing up with her.

Spot turned around and winked at her as Penelope slid open the door and motioned Ellie to start walking down the aisle. She watched Ellie walk as Abby moved forward, ready to make her way down. She looked up at her dad with a smile. “Don’t let me fall, daddy.”

“Never.” He promised as she watched Spot walk down the aisle with a swagger he always carried himself with. She chuckled to herself watching him until he joined Ellie and Abby at the altar.

She listened to the piano music change to Pachebol’s Canon as her father guided her forward. Just as the cello joined the piano, she felt her dad walk forward as the two made their way slowly down the aisle.

She gripped her father’s arm tighter, afraid she might trip on the slightly uneven grass. Taking a deep breath, she looked down the aisle towards Jack and his groomsmen. Locking eyes with Jack, in that moment, everything came together. Nothing else mattered in that moment. She was walking towards her future of being Mrs. Jack Kelly. The butterflies erupted in her tummy at the thought but she smiled at him, excitement radiating off her body. Though she had seen him fifteen minutes ago, he was still in awe of her and his mouth dropped.

Soon, she was standing in front of her beloved, as her father squeezed her hand before putting it in Jack’s. He kissed her cheek before joining her mother. Their minister, Fr Williams, smiled at them both.

“Dearly beloved, we gather here to witness the union between Jack Kelly and Katherine Pulitzer. Before we begin, does anyone object to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Kat and Jack glanced around the chapel, daring anyone to speak up. After a few uncomfortable moments, Fr Williams chuckled and continued on with the ceremony.

“Marriage is a sacred act, between two people in the presence of God, their family and friends. Jack and Katherine have decided on their own twist to the ceremony. I believe Amelia will start us off with a poem.”

Katherine smiled at her younger sister as she stood from the pew, making her way to the lectern. “A poem from Elizabeth Barret Browning.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day’s Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right; I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Amelia smiled at Katherine before making her way back to the pew. Fr. Williams waited until she was seated before looking at Katherine and Jack.

“Jack and Katherine have chosen to write their own vows. Jack, you may go ahead.”

Squeezing their linked hands, Jack smiled at his bride. “Do you remember the very first day that we met? I knew the very first moment I saw you, I was going to marry you someday. I knew we were meant to be together for all of our days. You have become my lover, my companion, and my best friend. There's no one else I'd want to build a life with. I get to have you by my side, my love and my wife, for eternity. From this day forth, I promise to listen to you and learn from you, to support you and accept your support. I will celebrate your successes and mourn your losses as though they were my own. I will laugh with you, cry with you, scream with you, and grow with you. Give me your bad hair days, your long nights, your burnt dinners, and lost keys. Give me your everyday, and I will give you my love to make it alright. This I vow to you today and always.”

Katherine reached up and wiped a few stray tears away, squeezing Jack’s hand. Fr. Williams smiled at the couple. “Katherine, you may recite your vows.”

“How lucky am I to call you mine? Your love and trust makes me a better person, each and every day. Not only do I promise that my love for you will grow with each day, but I promise to be your friend and partner every step of the way. I will be there for you, day or night, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. I trust, appreciate, cherish, and respect you. I promise to share with you my hopes and dreams as we build our lives together. You make me laugh, you make me think, and above all, you make me happy. You, my love, are my everything. This I vow to you today and always.”

“You have chosen to seal your vows by the giving and receiving of rings. The ring forms a perfect circle, without a beginning or an end, and is thereby a symbol of eternity and signifies the duration of the commitment you are making. Let us now exchange these rings.”

Handing a beat up gold ring to Katherine, Fr Williams looked at her. “Katherine, repeat after me: I give you this ring, as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and with all that I have, I will honor you.”

“I give you this ring, as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and with all that I have, I will honor you.” Katherine smiled, sliding the ring onto Jack’s ring finger. He squeezed her hand with a smile before Fr. Williams continued.

Handing a dainty gold ring to Jack, Fr. Williams looked at him. “Jack, repeat after me: I give you this ring, as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and with all that I have, I will honor you.”

“I give you this ring, as a symbol of my vow, and with all that I am, and with all that I have, I will honor you.” Jack grinned, sliding Katherine’s wedding band onto her ring finger, so that it nestled close to her emerald and gold engagement ring.

“And now, by the authority invested in me as a preacher, and in accordance with the laws of the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Jack, you may kiss your wife.”

Catcalls, clapping, and excited cheers rang out from both sides of the aisles as Jack pulled Katherine into his arms and dramatically dipped her before kissing her not so chastly. Settling Katherine back on her feet, Jack pulled her close to him and dropped a chaste kiss on his lips before linking their hands together.

Fr. Williams grinned at the couple before clearing his throat. “It is my pleasure to introduce to you, for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Jack and Katherine Kelly.”

The noise level in the small area escalated as the two raised their hands in celebration before walking down the aisle to the catcalls of their friends. Walking straight into the barn, Katherine drugged Jack behind a column, where the two wouldn’t immediately be found. Pulling Jack to her chest, she grinned before kissing him. “Hello husband.”

“Hello wife.” He pulled back, enjoying the flustered look on his wife’s face as she grinned. “Well, we did it. We’re married.”

“And thank goodness it’s over. I was so nervous I was going to mess up my vows.” She confessed, looking

Jack leaned over and kissed her. “Your vows were perfect, you look amazing, and I love you so much. Thank you for making me the happiest man alive.”

“And you’re going to make your new wife cry.” She warned giving him a look. “Thank you for making me the happiest woman alive.”

Penelope came up to their side, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry but I need you two for the receiving line then afterwards you can sign your marriage certificate before we leave for photos.”

Jack and Katherine sighed, stole one more kiss before they went to stand outside the doors of the barn to greet all of their family and friends. After many hugs and kisses and compliments, they quickly signed their marriage certificate with Spot and Race by their sides.

They had a few yard games set up and an open bar for their guests to enjoy while the wedding party went for photos. There were several acres that were a perfect set up for photos. Katherine was laughing most of the time due to the antics of the bridal party. She couldn’t wait to see the photos and hoped that there were a few great ones.

Dismissing the wedding party, the photographer wanted a few photos of just Katherine and Jack. She gasped as Jack dramatically dipped her, causing the photographer to grin at the great shots the two were providing her.

After the two were done with photos, they headed back to the party. Standing just on the outside of the festivities, Katherine squeezed Jack’s hand and grinned. “Thank you for making me the happiest lady around, Kelly.”

“That wasn’t just for your benefit, Kat. I’m so happy you’re my wife.” He leaned over and softly kissed her. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” She grinned. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

Stopping at the bar, they each got a beverage before they started to mingle with their guests. Katherine was tugged over to where her grandpa was sitting while Jack was pulled in the opposite direction to see colleagues of his from work. The entire time they were apart, the smiles never left either of their faces.

Penelope got everyone’s attention and directed them to the tent so they could start the speeches and festivities. One of the things that Katherine was adamant about was not having a seating chart. There were tables set up but everyone could sit wherever they wanted. There was a long table at the front of the tent for the bridal party but everyone else could sit wherever they wanted. She wanted it to be intimate by not enforcing a seating chart - she wanted her guests to sit wherever and with whomever they wanted.

As soon as everyone was seated, Race was handed the microphone. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Race, Jack’s younger brother. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Jack for most of his life. Before I begin, here’s a heads up, I asked Jack before writing this speech if there was anything that I shouldn’t say, and he said no. So if I spill the beans today, it is all his fault. Katherine, you look radiant today, the most gorgeous bride I have ever seen. Jack is definitely a lucky man. And I’m luckiest to have gained another sister today.”

Katherine blew him a kiss as she smiled. “Alright, alright, before Jack kills me, I should stop goofing around! In all seriousness, Kat by marrying my brother, you are getting a husband who is kind and compassionate, who will not only be a great husband but a best friend who will be there for you at each step of the way. In you, he has found the love of his life, which shouldn’t be a surprise for anyone because you are the most tender-hearted woman I have ever seen. And I know that you will make the best wife for Jack. I can see in Jack’s eyes how much he loves you, the kind of love that keeps growing every single day.”

Race cleared his throat, as he looked at his older brother. “Jack, you have always pushed me to be a better person, and seeing you today becoming the man you are and starting a family with this lovely lady is so inspiring to me. Let us all raise our glasses to the new Mr. and Mrs. Kelly and wish them a long and beautiful married life!”

Jack stood up and pulled Race into a hug as Katherine did the same. She pulled back, wiping her eyes before hitting him. “That was the sweetest speech ever. Thank you, Race.”

As Katherine’s Man of Honor, Spot took the microphone from Race. “As Race said, I want to welcome you to this reception where we’re going to celebrate Katherine and Jack for finally tying the knot. They took their sweet time but it’s time to celebrate the long awaited ceremony. If you do not know me, I’m Spot Conlon, Katherine’s Man of Honor. Kat and I have known each other since college, where we met in our freshman Biology class. She split strawberries all over me as we were supposed to extract the DNA from them. Despite that sticky situation, we became best friends.”

She rolled her eyes as he grinned brightly at her. “I never had a sister, but Kat has been my stand-in sister for all these years. Kat has always been there for me, through good days and bad days, and usually with a glass of wine in her hand. She is always ready for anything, from an evening curled up on the couch in sweats, to a night on the town. Jack has truly met his match in my best friend and I couldn’t have picked a better man for her. I have one final piece of advice for you two lovebirds: Never stop laughing, even when the jokes are lame. I wish them well for a long, happy, and prosperous future together. I would like to thank you both for the honor of giving this speech, it has been a great day, and I, like everyone here, am privileged to share it with you. Ladies and Gentlemen, please be upstanding and raise your glasses for the first of many toasts. Here’s to the future, for all that you look forward to together. To the Bride … Katherine…The new Mrs. Kelly.”

Everyone cheered for them as Kat walked over to Spot. “That was great. Thank you for bringing up the strawberry DNA story.”

“It’s the best and it cemented our friendship forever and ever.” Spot grinned as she pulled him into a hug before kissing his cheek. “Love you Spottie.”

“Love you too Kat.” He grinned as he shook Jack’s hand.

As they took their seats once more, Penelope explained how the rest of the night would go. The bridal party would get food first then the rest of the guests could help themselves. Katherine didn’t waste any time as she beelined it for the buffet that had been set up. They had several options of BBQ, mac and cheese, and baked beans. When her and Jack had set the menu, she didn’t want any fuss when it came to food. She wanted to spend time with friends and family and not have a big production. She wanted her wedding and reception to be very laid back and fun and so far, it was working and she couldn’t be happier.

After she grabbed a plate, she headed back to the tent to sit. Releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding, she eagerly dug into her food, not eating since earlier that morning at breakfast. Jack soon joined her while Spot sat on her other side. “So what is your first dance song going to be?”

Kat shrugged before shaking her head. “Don’t know. I had Jack pick and made him promise he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Jack picked your first dance song?” Race asked, sitting on Spot’s side looking at his brother and new sister-in-law.

Nodding, Kat finished her last bite before pushing her plate away. “It was one less thing I didn’t have to decide on. Besides, he’s really good at picking songs. I’m not worried.”

“What if he picks “You’re Beautiful” by James Blunt?” Spot asked, while Kat rolled her eyes.

Smacking Spot’s shoulder, she glanced at Jack before turning back to Spot. “He knows I hate that song so he’s not going to pick that.”

“You’re a brave woman to let him pick.” Race smirked. “When I get married, it’s going to be “At Last” because it’ll be a long time coming.”

Spot threw his head back and laughed. “Honestly, their song should be “At Last” because it’s taken them five years to walk down the aisle.”

“No, Jack won’t do that. It may play later but I don’t think he will do that.” Kat gave them a look before pausing, narrowing her eyes at the two. “Unless there’s a bet on the line. Sean, Anthony, do you have a bet going on right now?”

Race put on a surprisingly shocked face. “Us, a bet? Katherine, I think you’ve officially lost your mind. We would NEVER bet on your wedding.”

“Don’t believe them, they are totally betting on the first dance and who’s going to hook up with who.” Jack leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “Between you and me, they’re not even in the ballpark for the first dance song.”

Race gave his older brother a look. “Thanks Jack for ruining that. Now she’s going to kill us.”

“I don’t want bloodshed at my wedding so I’ll save the killing for another day.” She stood up, giving them both looks, pointing her finger at them sternly. “No more betting at my wedding.”

Penelope called her and Jack over to the small cake they had gotten. Jack had the great idea of having a dessert buffet rather than having just cake served. They had worked with a baker to have cupcakes, lemon bars, chocolate chip cookies, and sugar cookies made for their guests to enjoy.

Standing beside her husband, she narrowed her eyes at him. “No getting cake on my dress, Kelly. I want to wear this again someday soon.”

“So I can smash the cake on your face, just not your dress?” He had a glint of mischief in his eyes. All she could do was grin, shake her head, and lean over to kiss him.

Gripping the knife, she watched him put his hand on top of hers before they cut a small piece. She cut that piece into two, setting down the knife and picking up a piece. Holding it up, she fed it to Jack, who hummed his approval. “That’s really good.”

He picked up his piece and fed it to her, careful to not get any of the icing anywhere besides her mouth. “You’re right, that was good. I was anticipating a smashed piece, to tell you the truth.”

“Well I thought about all the ways you could punish me and I decided against it.” He whispered in her ear, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, before pulling back and looking at her mischievously.

She laughed loudly, leaning up to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you too Kat.”

They posed for several photos with the photographer before they made their way to the dessert table to grab a few treats. Making their way around the area, they mingled with guests, made small talk and thanked everyone for joining them on their big day.

Walking over to the bar, she got a glass of water and took a moment to herself. Unfortunately, that moment was short lived as Davey came up to her and wrapped her in a hug. “Congratulations, again Mrs. Kelly.”

“Thank you.” She hugged him back before sipping on her water. “And thank you for everything you’ve done for Jack and me. I know we don’t say it often, but we truly appreciate everything you’ve done.”

Davey waved her off with a grin. “You and Jack are some of my best friends, it’s no worries at all. But you’ve opened my eyes to more stuff about a wedding in the last few months than I ever wanted to know so I don’t know if I should be really thanking you for that.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “You loved every moment of it Davey. Don’t deny it. You’ve got a good thing going with Maisie. You should make it official.”

“There’s a reason I won’t be married for a really long time. I think you may have scared me of weddings for the rest of my life.” He grinned as Jack came up to her and slid his hand into hers. “I think it will be a long time before I can look at fabric swatches again.”

Jack laughed, shaking his head at his wife. “She won’t let you forget it for a long time. Hon, it’s time for our first dance.”

Kat shook her head, looking at Davey. “Catch up/wind down dinner some time this week before you and Maise leave us for California?”

“Absolutely. I’m looking forward to it.” He grinned, as Jack tugged her towards the barn for their first dance.

“Ugh why do people have to move away?” She pouted, as Jack paused in the entrance of the barn. “It’s not going to be the same as having Davey down the street. He’s going to be across the country.”

Leaning over, Jack kissed her. “Well we now have a place to go visit.”

Throwing her arms around his shoulder, she grinned standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Have I mentioned lately that you’re brilliant?”

“No but I think you should remind me several more times.” He grinned, returning her kiss with a sweet one of his own. “Now come on, we’ve got a first dance to do.”

He led her to the middle of the makeshift dance floor, pulling her into his arms as the DJ announced that this would be their first dance as husband and wife. He took her right hand in his as she threw her left over his shoulder. “So what did you pick for our first dance?”

She lit up as she heard the beginning notes of “Feels Like Home”, a song that had always had a special place in her heart. “You know me too well.”

“You should’ve seen me listening to so many acoustic songs trying to narrow it down to two or three and go from there.” Jack smiled. “Momma, Smalls, and Albert weren’t helpful and Race hated every song I listened to. I was about to give up when I heard this version and knew it had to be this song.”

She quietly sang the lyrics to him as he gently swayed them around the dance floor. “You know, you’re my home, right?”

Her eyes looked up at him with amazement and awe. “You’re my home too, Jack. Always have been since we were in college and more now than ever as we build our home together. Love you.”

“Love you too Kat.” He gave her a kiss as the song came to an end. They both drastically bowed as their guests clapped at their dance.

She had no sooner stepped away from Jack when Race swept her into his arms and started dancing with her to “You Got a Friend In Me”. “Did you specifically request this song?”

“Of course. We had to dance to this song with our mutual love of Toy Story.” Race enthusiastically nodded as he twirled her around.

There was a weekend that they had watched all three Toy Story movies back to back and they had memorized most of the quotes. Both of them had been bears to watch any Disney movies as they often quoted the movies and sang loudly and off tuned to the songs.

“Hey Race, I know I thank you for the speech earlier but thank you for everything you and Spot have done for Jack and I. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you two by our sides.” She smiled.

Pressing a loud, slobbery kiss to her cheek, he shrugged. “I’ve always wanted an older sister. Sure, Smalls is a great sister but I always wanted a sister who was older than me and could give me all the great advice. I have you now and I couldn’t have asked for a better older sister. Spottie and I will always be here for you and Jack.”

"So who won the bet?" She asked, raising her eyebrows warning him not to dodge the question.

Race chuckled. "Neither of us. I had "At Last" picked and Spot had "Stand By Me". Neither of us won. But I did win the bet about who would hook up with who."

"You've got to spill the beans on that one." She said, looking around the space, trying to figure out who was talking about.

Pressing his lips together, Race quickly shook his head. "Come find me later and I'll tell you."

“Love you Race.”

“Love you too Kat. Now I think my boyfriend has been waiting for an opportunity to dance with you before the big surprise.” Race grinned.

Before she could ask about the big surprise, Race was gone and Spot had taken his place. “You okay?”

“Your boyfriend mentioned something about a surprise and left before I could ask him about it.” She tilted her head in confusion as Spot took her hand in his. “Know anything about that, Conlon?”

The music faded from the previous song into “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol as Kat smiled. This was definitely a favorite of hers and Spot’s; they often sang it off key and loudly as they baked the afternoon away in one of their kitchens.

Spot shook his head. “Nope - but I know he and Jack have been brainstorming about something but they didn’t clue me in. Albert may know something.”

“I’ll have to track him down later.” She said as he twirled her around. She let her eyes wander as they gently swayed to the music. “You having a good time? It looks like everyone is.”

Spot nodded. “You were a genius to have yard games set up for the guests to have something to do besides dance and mingle. There have been several competitive cornhole games going on.”

“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to happen.” She smirked, sighing. “I’m glad now we can just relax, have fun, and dance the night away.”

Spot gave her a look. “Have you talked to your Aunt Patty and Uncle Stan yet?”

“Ugh, I hate you, Spot Conlon.” She gave him a look. “I know I have to do it but I don’t want to. I don’t like them.”

He laughed. “There’s a thing called alcohol that can give you the liquid courage needed. Besides, I can always interrupt you telling you we need you for something.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” She asked, giving him a grin.

Jack, dancing with his younger sister, gave Spot a glare. “Hands off buddy, she’s mine.”

“Duly noted, Jackie.” Spot grinned. “Besides, my significant other is around here somewhere and I want to pin him down for a dance of my own.”

As the song finished, Kat and Spot parted, her to go say hello to her distant family members while Spot went to track down Race.

An hour later, after Ellie and Abby saved her from making small talk with her family, she found herself standing in front of the cornhole boards with a vodka lemonade in her hand. She heard the loud scratching from the microphone as it was passed between the DJ and someone.

“Ummm excuse me. Can I have your attention?” She looked up as Jack stood in the barn door with a big grin on his face. Spot, Race, Albert, and Finch were slightly behind him, each man had a grin on their face and a microphone in their hand. Normally, Kat would worry but she was too blissed out at seeing her husband with a microphone in his hand. “I would like to thank you all for coming to our wedding. Katherine and I are so grateful for your support and love. Before we all part ways, I have one more surprise for my blushing bride.”

He shielded his eyes from the sun as he scanned the crowd for her. Pointing in her direction, he smirked. “Now, as some of you may or may not know, Kat is a big boy band fan. I mean, her first concert was *NSYNC when she was a kid. In the course of five years of dating, I have been to a few boy band concerts, including One Direction, Hanson, and Backstreet Boys. But one boy band remains supreme for Kat. So, my wife, this surprise is for you.”

Before she could do anything, familiar music started playing as her hand flew to her mouth. One of her favorite *NSYNC songs, “This I Promise You” started playing as Jack started singing. She felt people crowd around her as she mouthed the lyrics along with her husband. But the biggest surprise was when Race stepped up and belted out JC’s lyrics. She knew he could sing well but he rarely shared his talent with them.

It was such a simple thing but she couldn’t help falling in love with Jack Kelly once more. And the fact that he roped Spot, Race, Albert, and Finch into it as well, well that was just icing on the cake for Katherine.

Her eyes went wide, watching him swagger towards her with a smirk on his face. He pulled her into his arms as he crooned along to the song. She felt like she was the only one in the world at that moment and he only had eyes for her.

Just close your eyes each loving day And know this feeling won't go away Every word I say is true This I promise you

As he continued to sing, he made his way back up to where the other four were to finish the song. He continued to lock eyes with her as he made a promise through the song.

As soon as the song ended, she rushed forward, throwing herself into Jack’s arms and kissing him. “Best husband ever. I love you for doing that. How long did it take you to learn the lyrics?”

“So long. I listened to that song thousands of times just to make sure I had them right.” Jack grinned. “I think I was more nervous to do that than to say my vows.”

She kissed him again. “You just earned yourself a butt load of brownie points.”

“And what do I do with those brownie points?” Jack wiggled his eyebrows up and down as a blush crept across Kat’s cheeks.

Standing on her tiptoes, she whispered in his ear as his eyes went wide. Nodding quickly, he grabbed her hand and tugged her into the barn for one last dance before they left.

Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her as an acoustic version of “God Only Knows” started to play. The old style lights they had meticulously strung earlier in the week had been turned on so there was an intimate setting to the big barn. Others joined them on the dance floor as they twirled in the night.

Jack leaned down, whispering the lyrics in her ear as they swayed gently as the night faded behind them. Katherine wished she could stay in that bubble, swaying slowly with Jack as he sang the lyrics in her ear. She knew there would be few memories that she’d remember for the rest of her life but that was one of them.

God only knows what I'd be without you If you should ever leave me Though life would still go on, believe me The world could show nothing to me So what good would living do me God only knows what I'd be without you

Thank you for reading. What did you think? Did anything surprise you? Feedback would be amazing.

Like I said, I have the next three installments for this series planned but if there's anything you'd like to see, feel free to leave a comment or send me a DM.

[vmficrecs]

Every school has an obligatory psychotic jackass. He’s ours.

It has been one year since The Incident. In celebration of this beautiful, snarky, dynamic, passionate, beloved, smug, asshole, essential, etc., etc., character I have complied a lengthy (but by no means exhaustive) collection of some of my personal favorite fics focusing on Logan, or on his relationships, or fics that i just think do something neat in terms of Logan/his journey/his character. ❤️

Previously on vmficrecs: 

dark_roast, “Fish Out of Water,” Mature, Post Season 1 AU 

Logan opts to leave Neptune, and spend summer vacation with his grandparents.

Notes: This AU is essential reading if you love Logan. His characterization is nearly perfect, and the premise of the fic is endlessly engaging and smart. 

wily_one24, “Sleep, Perchance...,” Mature, Pre-series AU

Logan thaws towards Veronica and sets out to save her.

Notes: I want to eat this fic. If you’ve never read it, read it-- it will linger endlessly inside of your brain in the best way possible. So many of the things Logan does or says in this fic exist in a very tangible and palpable manner for me, it’s that good. I think about it constantly. 

ghostcat, “What We Have in Common,” Teen, Post Season 3 AU 

Weevil Navarro, his incredibly poor choice of a research paper prepping locale and the close talking, finger waving jackass that interrupts and effectively hijacks his night. Set in 2010, three years after The Bitch is Back.

ghostcat, “A Trace of Meaning,” Teen, Pre-series 

13 year-old Logan Echolls and 14 year-old Veronica Mars wait at the Kane Estate for their held-up sleepover hosts to show up. 

theohara, “Rich Dirt,” Mature, Pre-series AU 

And Logan wouldn’t let you have anything. He’d danced over to you and smirked in your face and twirled your plastic cup right out of your hand and cooed that just because your Daddy wasn’t sheriff anymore didn’t give you license to break the law, and he’d acted all shocked with his hand over his mouth and he’d laughed like breaking glass and nanced off with your drink.

anjou, “Into the Blue,” Mature, Post Season 1 

It’s almost summer, and Logan is sinking into the blue.

flyingcarpet, “Mexicali Blues,” Mature, Post Season 3 AU

When he reaches the water he doesn’t hesitate, just keeps walking until he can duck his head under and start to swim away from shore, letting the salt and the waves wash away the residue that Neptune’s left on his skin.

absolutelyiris, “Truth for a Dream,” Teen, Future Fic (Pre-movie)

Fleet Week 2012. A reformed bad boy turned sailor and a former party girl turned career woman meet in a bar…

Notes: A LOGAN AND PARKER FRIENDSHIP FIC!!! pure fucking delight 

absolutelyiris, “Come Around,” Mature, Future AU 

A woman travels the world over in search of what she needs and returns home to find it.

Notes: I will talk about this fic until the day that I day, and then I will still talk about it. One of my absolute favorites. Pure gold Logan/Keith dynamic. I would 10/10 die for Razia. and, of course, the l/v is so damn good 

TheLastGoodGolfish, “The Phenomenal Pixie, #1,” Teen, AU 

Veronica is a masked avenger who stalks the streets of Neptune. Logan is the intrepid reporter who’s on the story.

Notes: PERFECT. PERFECT PERFECT PERFECT. also-- “That’s ridiculous. My favorite person is a sorority girl.” in my head, rent free, and i am forever indebted. 

bryrosea, “Waste of Breath / A Quartz Contentment,” Mature, Post Season 2 to TDTL 

Part one: Logan Echolls, the nine years, and the Navy. Part two: Veronica Mars, the nine years, and a new normal.

Notes: I am recommending specifically “Waste of Breath” for my boy, although Veronica’s piece is excellent as well. 

always_winter, “Written Out,” Teen, Season 2 AU 

Duncan has some residual guilt and Logan wants to be left out of the story.

always_winter, “White Combs and Sweet Honey,” Mature, Season 1

Even when Aaron is trying to be a good father, there’s still a lot he’s doing wrong.

Notes: This fic is so tender to me!!! A beautiful Logan and Aaron piece. 

sadiekate, “Grand Canyon,” PG-13, Season 1 to Future AU 

Three friends reminisce several years in the future, snarkily and pointlessly.

sinaddict, “Necrosis,” Explicit, Season 2 AU 

Death in bits and pieces, denial as a religion… Or ‘normal’ in Neptune.

sowell, “Surviving the Wreck,” Explicit, Season 3 AU 

Nothing’s ever simple with Veronica Mars. Weevil’s day at sea gets a little complicated.

Notes: THIS FUCKING FIC!!!! i love everything about it and especially at this moment in time, the part where logan gives weevil a blow job but weevil notes that somehow, in spite of this, logan retains the upper hand. this fic is world class and i am grateful everyday for it 

theohara, “Broken Toys,” NC-17, Pre series AU 

One glance across a street saves Lilly Kane’s life. It changes everything; it changes nothing.

Notes: This is the most heartbreaking Veronica Mars’ fanfic ever. I have such a deep love for it. It takes Lilly’s character and Logan/Veronica’s relationship to places I don’t ever think they would go and yet it works in this and it works so damn well. a truly devastating and beautiful au 

fluffernutter8, “The Ninety Nine Percent,” Teen, Post Season 3 AU 

Junior year of college, Logan gets some news that proves that no matter how hard he tries, life is just going to keep throwing him curve-balls. Post season 3, non movie canon compliant.

youcallitwinter, “gravity is gonna keep you tied down to this city,” Teen, Post Season 3 to TDTL 

[your life in extended parenthesis] the lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean, and the fire that was starting to spark. From the love to the lightning and the lack of it. 

Notes: please don't fall out of love with me, okay? don’t you dare give up on me. I DIE EVERY FUCKING TIME youcallitwinter is a force with all of her writings, but this one.......my god every single bit about it is fucking flawless 

petpluto, “Of Scars & Consequences,” Teen, Post-series AU 

Almost a decade in the future, Logan's still a little messed up. And Veronica's still a little closed off. They make it work.

julietbravo, “one brutal thing after another,” Teen, Pre-series to Season 1 

These rich boys think they can get away with anything, don’t they.

querulousgawks, “there should be stars for great wars like ours,” Teen, AU 

It’s gotta be some Alliance mind game, a holdover, the Operative’s last trick: Logan’s old secrets manifesting everywhere around them. Where are you, how are you doing this, he wants to scream, but he doesn’t know which ghost he’d be railing at.

SilverLining2k6, “Sometimes (You Can’t Make It On Your Own),” Teen, Season 1 AU 

Silly Duncan stopped taking his meds. Now, one dead Fitzpatrick later, Logan and Veronica need to get him out of town. Too bad they hate each other.

SilverLining2k6, “Control,” Teen, Pre-series AU 

Don’t you mess with a little girl’s dreams. ‘Cause she’s liable to grow up mean. Pre-series. Oneshot. - A twisted little tale of hate and revenge.

Notes: CONTROL!!!!! I love Control so much, it’s one of the first fics I ever read for the fandom and one of the finest. The Logan that exists in this is sooo good and his relationship with Veronica is deeply flawed & wonderful. M is in the process of writing a remix to Control (more in-depth emotion) and I for one am foaming at the fucking mouth every day about it. 

nevertothethird, “Reunions,” Teen, Post Series AU 

Sometimes it just takes a little longer to get things right. Two high school reunions and a birthday party should do the trick.

youcallitwinter, “you give love a bad name,” Teen, Season 2 AU 

“Hey, did you guys know there was a sensitive poet-type hiding behind this hard exoskeleton of expensive alcohol and bitter cynicism?” In which Logan Echolls is, well, Logan Echolls.

scandalpants, “Something to Remember,” Mature, Post Series AU 

Facing a separation, Logan and Veronica spend their last night together exchanging gifts.

Notes: I am always in a goddamn state about this fic. Logan jacking off in front of Veronica at her request? Yes, thank you please. thank you so much 

leurocrystal, “Take Your Time,” Teen, Post Season 2 

Keith doesn’t know how to look at or touch his daughter for the first time in his life.

petpluto, “We Are Nowhere, And It’s Now,” Mature, Series AU 

“You know there is another way of looking at this, Logan. If you’d still been together, you might be dead too." Logan and Lilly both die on October 3rd. But for Veronica, it’s not like they’re gone. And she still works to solve their murders.

absolutelyiris, “Delay,” Teen, Post TTDL

Logan reflects on his first Christmas with Veronica after a ten year separation, as well as how his life has changed with her absence.

New to vmficrecs: 

Christmas in Arkham Author: dark_roast Pairing: Logan Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort, A Really Good Hug  Setting: Season 2 Spoilers: 2.09, “My Mother, the Fiend” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 10128 Status: Complete Summary: Sequel to Fish Out of Water. Logan spends christmas with his grandparents.  Notes: This is, full stop, my favorite Veronica Mars fanfiction ever. I am so protective of this fic that part of me doesn’t even want to give it a formal place on the blog, which is ridiculous because I’m sure plenty of people have already read it and obviously it’s so good that I want people to read it but....this belongs to me, somehow, like I feel like it’s mine that’s how much I love it. ANYWAY possessiveness aside-- Every word, every sentence, every punctuation mark in this fic is perfect, devastating insight into Logan’s character. Absolutely beautiful and wonderful and every other good thing. 

The Teeth by the Shoulder Author: ghostcat Pairing: Fab Four, Logan/Lilly, Veronica/Duncan  Rating: Teen Genre: Friendship, Angst  Setting: Pre-series Spoilers: 1.01, “Pilot”  Chapters: 3 Word Count: 17273 Status: Complete Summary: Two couples, two friendships. The Fab Four in three Octobers. Notes: WE’VE NEVER FUCKING RECOMMENDED THE TEETH BY THE SHOULDER BEFORE?????? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE OH MY GOD jesus this is one of the greatest fanfictions ever written. three pre-series explorations into the fab four friendship and it is impossibly good. i am especially in love with the logan/lilly in this fic (the first chapter!!!!) and as always special care is given to exploring the logan + veronica dynamic. the third chapter will break your fucking heart so bad in the best way 

Seven Times Logan Echolls Went to Jail Author: sowell Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Veronica/Piz  Rating: Teen Genre: Angst, Romance, Logan Echolls is a Little Shit   Setting: (Post) Season 3 AU  Spoilers: 3.12, “There’s Got to Be a Morning After Pill” and 3.16, “Un-American Graffiti”  Chapters: 1 Word Count: 6701 Status: Complete Summary: Who thinks Logan behind bars is sexy? I do, I do! // Logan goes to jail and calls Veronica to bail him out. Again and again and again and again.  Notes: WE HAVEN’T DONE THIS BEFORE EITHER???? oh my god!! I remember finding this one a few months before the movie came out and i would just lay in bed in the dark and re-read it endlessly. and then i left it alone for a few years and when i went back to it holy shit it undid me all over again. perfect logan and veronica relationship. p e r f e c t!!! i firmly believe this is exactly what shape their relationship would’ve taken if veronica hadn’t cut and run 

Love is Just a Four-letter Word Author: bigboobedcanuck Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Keith, Weevil  Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort Setting: Future AU  Spoilers: 1.12, “Clash of the Tritons”  Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1753 Status: Complete Summary: Set a few years down the road from high school. Logan hits rock bottom. Keith and Veronica help him back up. Notes: Lynn’s body turns up and it is fucking DEVASTATING. A short piece that’s told from Keith’s POV (anyone who knows me knows how much of a sucker I am for Keith + Logan interaction) and holy hell Logan is so good in it and I think about it all the fucking time 

Serendipity  Author: TheLastGoodGoldfish  Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Veronica/Piz, Carrie, Gia, Stu Cobbler, Ensemble Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Detective-ing  Setting: Post Season 3  Spoilers: 3.20, “The Bitch is Back” and The Movie  Chapters: 4 (out of a planned 6, fingers crossed!!!) Word Count: 59763 Status: Complete Summary: During her sophomore year at Hearst, Veronica takes on your run-of-the-mill blackmail case: the clients hate her, the evidence is impossible to destroy, and her ex turns out to be a bit of a distraction, but Veronica is a sucker for a damsel-in-distress. Even if the damsel is an intoxicated, pissed off Carrie Bishop. Notes: I AM HIGH PITCHED SCREAMING. Transplanting the movie plot to this timeframe works tremendously and TLGG’s execution is fucking perfect. Carrie is a powerhouse in this fic and god, Logan is such a honey it in which is why it is being recc’d for him. Him practically letting Carrie move in with him and doing his damnedest to protect Carrie and Gia (much to Veronica’s chagrin) is so, so important to me and I love him so much. 

The Phenomenal Pixie - Interlude #1 - “Bugs”  Author: TheLastGoodGoldfish Pairing: Logan/Veronica, OC’s  Genre: Humor, Fluff, Logan and Veronica Are Smarter Than You  Setting: AU (Season 3)  Spoilers: uhhh n/a Chapters: 1 Word Count: 5072 Status: Complete Summary: Dating a superhero poses a unique set of challenges. Notes: Tiny sequel to The Phenomenal Pixie which you absolutely must read first (and is recommended above) because it’s a fucking delight. Logan is incredible in this fic and I would die for him, like always. The part where Steve can sense Logan is thinking about punching him in the face-- a million chefs kisses. 

The Medusa Jewel  Author: TheLastGoodGoldfish Pairing: Logan/Veronica  Genre: Established Relationship Bliss, Fluff  Setting: MKAT Spoilers: MKAT  Chapters: 1 Word Count: 5336 Status: Complete Summary: Logan and Veronica's new neighbor is a writer. Notes: is my TLGG obsession shining through? good because it fucking should be. The Logan/Veronica in this relationship is so sweet and perfect and is 100% my reality and i would like to bathe in this fic and live in it forever as is my right.

Drowning Together Author: bryrosea Pairing: Logan/Veronica Genre: Romance, Hurt/Comfort Setting: Season 3 Spoilers: 3.07, “Of Vice and Men” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 897 Status: Complete Summary: AU of the confrontation scene from 3x07: Of Vice and Men (Logan and Veronica both need a hug) Notes: Absolute wonderful insight and even some reconciliation into a canonical season three fight. Logan calming down while Veronica falls apart as they hug is so important to me. 

Interrupt Us  Author: bryrosea Pairing: Logan/Veronica Genre: Romance,  Hijinks, They Want To Fuck So Bad  Setting: Post TDTL Spoilers: through TDTL  Chapters: 1 Word Count: 17223 Status: Complete Summary: Logan Echolls is home from deployment. Time to cue the sweeping movie montage, right? Notes: Logan and Veronica try to have sex everywhere and it is my life force. The car scene when they get pulled over and Logan instinctively hiding under Veronica’s desk....god i love everyone in this bar

Ready to Go Author: Amberina Pairing: Logan/Duncan; Veronica  Genre: Friendship, Romance, Angst Setting: Post Season 1  Spoilers: not obvious but 1.22, “Leave it to Beaver”  Chapters: 1 Word Count: 6346 Status: Complete Summary: "Let's leave. Let's go. What's left in Neptune for us anyway?" (AKA Duncan, Logan and Veronica have wacky adventures on the road! Also angst.) Notes: Logan getting hissy and storming off from the car while Duncan and Veronica just watch him and then calling a taxi once he’s out of their sight is PEAK logan. I love boyfriends, even if they’re angst-ing in this, and they big time are. 

Nashville On My Mind Author: hjcallipygian Pairing: Logan, Veronica, Duncan Genre: Friendship, Hijinks  Setting: Post Season 1 AU Spoilers: 1.22, “Leave it to Beaver” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1659 Status: Complete Summary: Every year, they take a road trip together. This year, it's to Nashville, Tennessee. Notes: i just spent forty minutes trying to find this fic to the point where i was genuinely concerned i had hallucinated it. it’s so fucking good. a sequel/prequel of sorts to grand canyon by sadiekate (recc’d in the previously section). logan is a mess and by god do i love him 

Six Times Logan Echolls Got Wet Author: bryrosea, CarolineShea, ghostcat, kmd0107, marshmallowtasha, SilverLining2k6 Pairing: Logan/Veronica Rating: Teen Genre: Romance, Friendship, Hijinks Setting: Everywhere Spoilers: All series to MKAT  Chapters: 6 Word Count: 11568 Status: Complete Summary: aka: The Wet Henley ChroniclesSix stories in which we probably give Logan Echolls pneumonia, inspired by the movie's infamous wet henley. Set variously across the series and post-MKAT. Notes: each chapter is written by a different author, they’re all good but bryrosea’s chapter and silvery’s chapter are my favorites. set during the summer between season 1 & 2 and post season three respectively they do such a great job dealing with the fractious and tumultuous nature of Logan/Veronica’s relationship at the time and i love it so much

A Little Dysfunctionality Goes A Long Way  Author: fluffernutter8 Pairing: Logan/Veronica Rating: Teen Genre: ANGST with a side of fucking ANGST, happy ending but jesus   Setting: Post Season 3 AU  Spoilers: 1.22, “Leave it to Beaver”  Chapters: 1 Word Count: 2878 Status: Complete Summary: Despite their history, Logan and Veronica might be somewhere on the brink of normal. A few years post season 3. Notes: i just read this for the first time 07/13/20 at 9:08pm because when i asked shelby for her favorite logan fics she included this one. i am fucking dead now and-- there’s nothing else to say about it. i’m just fucking dead. for YEARS i have said that nobody with the username fluffernutter8 should be able to write shit this goddamn emotional and yet, time and time again, i find myself here fuckign wrecked and furious about it 

these are just ghosts that broke my heart before i met you Author: theviolonist  Pairing: Logan, Veronica, Carrie, Dick  Rating: Teen Genre: Introspection, Angst, I Love Logan   Setting: Pre Movie & Movie  Spoilers: Movie  Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1326 Status: Complete Summary: In the army they say, don't think of the target as a person, otherwise you won't have the guts to pull the trigger. Notes: fuck, you guys. this one is so beautiful. an exploration into logan’s grief and him trying to move on and it cuts like a damn knife because he can never really do it but fuck he wants to so bad and [lucas scott voice] that’s gotta mean something, right? truly so so wonderful 

Fugue Author: vaeran Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Logan/Lilly, Dick  Rating: Teen Genre: Angst, hopeful ending  Setting: Post Season 1 Spoilers: 1.22, “Leave it to Beaver”  Chapters: 1 Word Count: 4137 Status: Complete Summary: It's something he refuses to let go because it defines who he is and what he has become. Notes: deviates from the PCHer confrontation on the bridge, which means logan takes a little longer to come around to reconciliation with veronica. it’s perfect and i particularly love the logan/lilly in this, he’s hurt but still so impossibly and eternally in love with her 

One Flew Over the Echolls Nest Author: Wynn Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Duncan Rating: Teen Genre: Angst, Friendship Setting: Post Season 1 AU  Spoilers: 1.22, “Leave it to Beaver” Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1507 Status: Complete Summary: Open wide and see what's inside. A bridge and a bed and Veronica. Logan finds himself in a mental institution after the events of "Leave it to Beaver." Veronica, Duncan, and Logan's psychiatrist attempt to help. Notes: so sad and so good!!! the part where Logan’s psychiatrist asks him when the last time he was happy was fucking wrecks me everytime!! 

Free at last  Author: querulousgawks Pairing: Logan, Weevil, Aaron Rating: Teen Genre: Frenemies, They Are Boyfriends Setting: Season 2 Spoilers: 2.09, “My Mother, the Fiend”  Chapters: 1 Word Count: 1242 Status: Complete Summary: Logan and Weevil and fire go a long way back. A flashback scene interrupts their Season 2 meeting in the Neptune Grand. Notes: I LOVE EVERY SINGLE THING ABOUT THIS SO GOD DAMN MUCH 

The Right Shade of Red Author: ghostcat Pairing: Trina, Logan, Aaron  Rating: Teen Genre: ANGST Setting: Pre-series Spoilers: 1.15, “Ruskie Business”  Chapters: 1 Word Count: 883 Status: Complete Summary: Trina finds her jerky little brother hiding in her closet and does the unexpected thing. (Or, A time Logan trusted Trina) Notes: If you want 883 words to be able to make you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck this is the fic for you! I love the Echolls family dynamics so much, and this one is excellent. 

[myhockeyworld87]

Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 1

Word Count: 3,296

POV: Starts with Reader and switchs to Crosby

Warning: Language

Notes: Ok so I’ve wanted to do a Crosby series for awhile and this idea has been stuck in my head. I’m not sure how long this series will be, kind of just seeing where it will go. Hopefully you’ll all stick around and see where this goes.

READER POV

It was September of 2015, that was the first time Sidney Crosby met the woman who would change his life; only he didn’t know that then. He first saw you at Marc-Andre’s house, when you were standing there talking to Flower’s wife, Veronique. He didn’t know that a chance encounter at the same salon had led to you and Vero becoming best friends. What he did know was that you had to be one of the most beautiful women he ever saw.

You were wearing a pair of white shorts with a navy peplum off the shoulder top. To Sidney, you looked gorgeous, cute and casual; not really trying too hard knowing you were at a party with a room of NHL players. He could already see all the young single guys on the team sniffing around you. He couldn’t really blame them, considering where his thoughts had drifted the moment, he laid eyes on you. Wanting to know more about you, he made the decision to introduce himself. “Great party Vero, thanks for having everyone here before the season gets underway.”

“Yeah sure, it really wasn’t anything. Marc-Andre and I were glad to do it.” Sid shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for his friend to make an introduction to you. Veronique finally took pity on him after a minute or two. “So Sid, this is my friend (Y/N). (Y/N) this is Sidney Crosby.”

You held out your hand to him, and he took. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Sidney…or Sid…I mean everyone calls me Sid…so if you want…” You hadn’t really intended to say his name, and it seemed like he just realized that as a small blush crept up his cheeks.

“Well, Sid it is, then.” And then you added, just to put him at ease. “Everyone calls me (Y/NickN), so feel free.”

  That comment seemed to put him a little bit more at ease. “So how do you and V know each other?” You proceeded to tell him how you and Vero met at the salon and bonded over the same Starbucks order. When she found out you were in marketing, she asked to pick your brain for her children’s clothing line, she was starting with Catherine Letang. The three of you became fast friends, going to brunches and dinners; so it was natural when they invited you to this pre-season get together. The conversation with Sidney was so natural neither one of you noticed that Veronique had left the two of you alone. Sid talked a lot about hockey, but you really weren’t surprised, as the face of the NHL and one of Pittsburgh’s premier athletes; you expected as much. What you were surprised about was when he switched the topic of conversation to history. It was as if he knew you were a history buff.

You found yourself talking about your last trip to Europe, where you tried to take in as many historical sites as you could, and Sid chimed in with some of his favorite places. It wasn’t until both of you had an empty glass that you realized you’d passed the last couple of hours just chatting essentially about nothing with Sidney Crosby.

“So, can I get you another drink?” He asked staring at your empty wine glass.

“Yes, please.” He took the glass and headed inside the house.

Catherine was the first one to sneak over to your side. “Looks like you and Sid are hitting it off.”

“Oh stop. We’re just talking is all.” Grant it, it was probably one of the best conversations you’d had with a guy in a long time. “I mean…well, he’s Sidney Crosby and I’m just…well, I’m just me.”

“Oh my god (Y/N), you have no idea how absolutely great you are, and Sid would be lucky to be with you.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but I’m not going to get my hopes up. It’s literally one conversation.”

“Fine, but don’t mind me if I give it a little nudge in the right direction.” Catherine raised her eyebrows as Sid came back with the wine.

“So where were we, was it Rome, Paris or London?” You smiled at his cute little joke, as the two of you continued talking. By the end of the night, you felt like you were floating on cloud nine. He walked you to your car, but never really made a move; which was both sweet and confusing at the same time.

By the time you made it home, you convinced yourself that the whole night really didn’t exist. This was only confirmed when you didn’t hear from him the following week, not that you really expected him to call, but it set the tone for next time you saw him. Which ended up being after the first home game of the season when everyone went out to celebrate the win. You’d ended up at the game with Veronique and Catherine, so it was only natural when you went out to the bar with them afterward.

Sid was casual and maintained a safe distance around you. It felt kind of weird after the great evening you’d had before, but if that’s the way he wanted to play it, so be it; you were not one to go chasing after someone that didn’t want you. So, you spent most of the evening talking and laughing with Beau. And so went most of the season. You’d basically become an honorary wag, just without being a wife or a girlfriend of a player. You were at most home games and ended up going to several events that involved the team. Each time, Sid was polite, but things never went back to the way they were the first night that you met.

As the season went on, you got a behind the scenes look at what it was like to either be married to or dating a player and if you were being honest; you were glad things with Sidney hadn’t progressed. It was stressful and you saw what a toll the long road trips and constant on the go schedule took on relationships. It wasn’t until later in the season though, that you truly saw how difficult being a significant other could be. Marc-Andre had gone down, after taking a puck the helmet. Everyone in the arena could tell something wasn’t right, and as you saw him get help skating off the ice Vero grabbed your hand for support. There was no news, no one went running down to the tunnel to see what was going on and no one called to say what had happened. You literally just sat there telling your friend that things would be fine. It wasn’t until after the game was over that you found out he had suffered a concussion and was being taken to the hospital for further evaluation. Since it was his second of the season, the Pens were taking every precaution possible with their star goalie. The question in your brain though, was why someone hadn’t told his wife that.

A week later when you, Vero and Catherine were having dinner you questioned them about it. The answer coming back that it’s just the way things work. “Well, I think that’s stupid. They should have a person that keeps in contact with you guys and lets you know what’s going on. I mean what happens if it’s at practice do you get a call then?”

“Not usually, unless it’s from one of the other guys.”

“See that’s just messed up. There should be someone, I don’t know like a…what’s the word I’m looking for?” They both exchanged a confused look with one another as if they had no idea what you meant. “A liaison, that’s it.” To which they stared at you as if you grew three heads. “I don’t mean it like that, like a go-between. Someone that helps with communication and such.”

“I totally agree, but it seems like no one has any time to do that,” Vero told you. “They’re too busy playing the game and working on the injured player to think about us who are sitting there worried sick out of our mind.”

“So, they should create a position. I mean I’ve seen a couple places where the organization is falling short on things and you guys seem to be stepping in.”

“What do you mean?” Catherine asked.

“Well like when the WBS players get called up there’s nowhere for them to go, but a hotel, unless they end up staying with one of you guys. If you had a liaison there, that person could facilitate a place for them to stay and stuff. I mean other than just getting them here. They could do the same for any players that get traded as well.”

You seemed to have both Vero and Catherine sold on this idea. Though for some reason you didn’t think you were selling anything, this was just more like a little rant because you’d seen how upset Vero had been when her husband got hurt. The three of you hashed out all kinds of details about it the entire night. What you didn’t expect was the phone call you received, several days later, from Mario Lemieux’s office asking you to come in. You assumed it was about the position you’d mentioned to Vero and Catherine, but also expected them to be there. However, it was quite evident they weren’t when you finally went to talk to the legendary NHLer.

You’d been introduced to him before at parties, but never truly sat down and had a conversation with the man, and even though you’d met some famous people in your life; you were still a bit intimated meeting Mario. “Have a seat (Y/N), I assume you have an idea why I called you in?”

“Well, I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I would say it has to do with the lack of a position in your organization that I talked about with Veronique and Catherine.”

“Yes, they both called me, as well as their husbands and were quite excited about the prospect of us implementing this into the team. Honestly, I can’t believe we hadn’t thought about it before.” You never expected Mario to say something like that. “When I spoke to my wife about it, she agreed that it would’ve been something that eased her mind when I was playing, especially later in my career. So tell me a bit more about it?”

You then proceeded to highlight some of the situations the girls and you had discussed previously. “It might not be a full-time position, more something that could be distributed out to a couple different people who are already on staff.” You added that part because truly you didn’t know, this was really uncharted waters for you.

“I disagree. I can see this being a very full-time for someone. I would expect them to be at every practice, every game, both home and away, just the way our training staff is. Plus, there would be all the outside interaction as well, like contacting people we’ve just traded and getting them settled; not to mention transitioning the WBS players as you said.” When you looked at it that way, you supposed that the job would definitely be over forty hours a week for whoever took it over. “It’s why I want you to take the position.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You’d heard what he said but you really hadn’t comprehended it.

“This is your idea and a hell of a one at that. You seem to have the vision of it, and I can’t see anyone better to run it.” To say you were flabbergasted was an understatement. Never did you anticipate that this was where your conversation with Mario would go. “Obviously, there will be kinks that need to be worked out, and who better to iron them, then you.” You simply nodded your head, still digesting the whole idea. “You already have a great rapport with the team and their significant others, so there’s already a trust level there. Which is something I feel the job would need.” You had to agree about that factor, though you hadn't thought about it until he brought it up. “I’m not saying this a lifetime position, but it’s definitely something I want to try for at least the next year or more. So, what do you say are you in?”

Were you? Part of you was dying to take the job, it would be something so completely different than what you were doing now, but then your current job paid you pretty well so you weren’t ready to give that lifestyle up for the unknown. Mario must have seen your hesitance. “Look, I’m going to make it worth your while.” He scribbled down a figure, sliding the piece of paper over to you. You couldn’t hide your reaction when you saw the amount scratched out on the paper. It was definitely more than you were making now, but there was still that unknown factor of where you would be in a year.

Weighing the options out in your mind, you decided that this was a once in a lifetime chance. You held your hand out to Mario, saying, “It looks like you’ve got yourself a new staff member, Mr. Lemieux.”

“Welcome aboard (Y/N) and from now on it’s Mario.” Later, after you went over the details of when you would start, which you both decided would be after you left your current job; you walked out of the office looking forward to what new adventures lay ahead, for you had an idea it was going to be very interesting.

  SID’S POV

After that first night that you’d met (Y/N), you literally couldn’t get her out of your head. She was the last thing you thought about that night and the first thing that came to your mind when you woke up. Maybe it was how incredible she looked last night or the way she carried on a conversation with such passion, but you couldn’t seem to get her out of your brain. It was the reason you were late for practice, as you found yourself lying in bed just a little bit longer daydreaming of when you would talk to her again.

All through drills, you couldn’t get her off your mind. Wondering when you should call her; was today too soon? What you didn’t notice was that you’d missed half your shots, made extremely sloppy passes during the powerplay drill and practically had a puck hit you in the head as you were thinking of all these things. Geno, finally skated up to you, tapping your helmet with his stick. “Earth to Sid. Where you at today?”

“Sorry, Geno. Guess my mind really isn’t in the game today.”

“Well, you better get it together. Season is starting soon.” Geno was right, if (Y/N) could occupy your thoughts after one conversation, what would happen after one date, and if you were worse after one date, what would happen if you were actually in a relationship. It was that thought that convinced you not to call her. There would be time for relationships when hockey was over. So, (Y/N) might be the perfect woman for you, but if it was meant to be she would still be there when your career ended.

Still, it was hard to see her out at the team get-togethers. She’d practically became a member of the group. Of course, you tried to be nice, but you could tell that when you didn’t call her after that first night; she’d taken the hint and kept her distance. Still, it was hard to watch her laugh at something Jake or Schultzy would say. Harder yet to see her touch Beau’s arm in an intimate way.

It may have been killing you inside each time you saw her, but you knew it was better for your career this way. If there was any silver lining to this, it was at least you didn’t have to see her all the time. There were times when she came to the games, dressed all cute in jeans and a sweater, and you wanted nothing more than to take her home with you those nights, but (Y/N) wasn’t the kind of woman you took home for the night and then forgot about. She was too much of a distraction, so you tamped down your lust for her and focused solely on hockey. That was until you walked into the film room and she was standing there with Mario. Seeing her at parties and the bar was expected, but having her invade your work-life caught you off guard. There wasn’t a chance to ask her what she was doing here, as players filtered in and she remained in conversation with Mario.

Once, everyone was settled Coach Sullivan turned things over to the owner. “I know you all know (Y/N), so I’ll save the long introduction, but I’m sure you’re wondering why she’s here.” It was the question foremost in your mind. “I’ve hired her on as the team’s new Personal Players Assistant. I know you’re probably wondering exactly what this position entails, so I’m going to let (Y/N) fill you in on that.”

“Hi guys, I know most of you never thought you’d be seeing me here that’s for sure, and on the other hand, a couple of you may already know about this. This position was brought about because of the lack of communication between the team, players and their significant others when there is an injury. I’m basically going to start off being a liaison or go-between for you guys, along with a bunch of other things, like…” You sat there listening as (Y/N) talked about her new job with the team, though you wouldn’t lie it was hard to pay attention when she looked so damn beautiful. As she spoke, you couldn’t help but watch the way her lips moved and couldn’t help imagining how they would feel on your skin. You closed your eyes in hopes that would make your mind stop wandering, only it served to have other images pop into your head. Thoughts of those lips wrapped around your cock, as she knelt before you looking up from between your lashes, permeated into your brain. Your eyes flew open and it was then that you realized you’d missed half of what she said.

“So on that note, I have these papers here for you guys to fill out and get back to me.” She handed them over to Rusty, and he took one and started passing the rest. “Hopefully, this crazy idea will end up being advantageous for everyone and you won’t get too sick of looking at my mug at every practice and game.” Wait did she just say she was going to be at every practice…and game? Shit, you should’ve been paying attention instead of daydreaming about this woman. “If you guys have any questions, my contact information is on the paper, and my office is just down the hall. I’m looking forward to working with all of you.”

“Thanks (Y/N). I’ll make sure these get back to you.” Coach Sullivan said and then she and Mario slipped out of the room. You stared at the paper in your hand, seeing nothing but (Y/N)’s face staring back at you. How were you going to make it through every day seeing her face, her body? The better question was how were you going to concentrate on hockey with (Y/N) around you? There was only one answer, and that was you were going to have to avoid her at all costs.  

[duvetsandpillows]

Max Verstappen Fluffy A-Z

A = Attractive: what do they find attractive about the other?

Your hands. They were the perfect size to fit into his.

“It’s destiny, you see...” he said as he took your hand in his. “A perfect fit, I was destined to find you.”

B = Baby: do they want a family? why/why not?

You two didn’t really get a chance to think about it. A couple of weeks after you had celebrated his Germany win, you’d found out you were pregnant. You were nervous about Max’s reaction. He was at a point in his career that he didn’t have time to start a family. When you told him he stayed silent for a moment, you were on the brink of tears.

“How big is he? Or she! When can we see photos?” He began babbling away as you just stared at him with the biggest smile.

C = Cuddle: how do they cuddle?

Max would engulf you and hold you tight, as if you would disappear if he let go. It always made you feel safe, especially after a tough day.

D = Dates: what are dates with them like?

Max would devote whole days for dates. One date he took you to the top of a hill overlooking the harbour of Monte Carlo to have a picnic, making sure he packed all your favourite foods. In the evening the two of you went out for dinner at a small restaurant you’d pass often and kept mentioning that you wanted to go there. The evening ended with the two of you stargazing on the roof of your apartment building.

E = Everything: “you are my ____” (e.g my life, my world…)

You are my forever.

F = Feelings: when did they know they were falling in love?

He knew when he was away at a race weekend. He hadn’t seen you in a few weeks due to races and training. You completely understood and made sure he know so, it was then that he realised he had feelings.

G = Gentle: are they gentle? If so, how?

You and Max play rough a lot so you knew how hard each other could take but he would never intentionally hurt you.

H = Hand/Hold: how do they like to hold? how do they like to hold hands?

Max likes to hold your hand tight. He is very protective of you and doesn’t trust other men around you because of how kind and beautiful you are.

I = Impression: first impression/s

Max was very shy around you. He was taken back by your beauty and charisma. He was fumbling over his words and thought he made a complete embarrassment of himself, however you found it very cute.

J = Joker: are they into pulling pranks?

Your days are filled with the two of you making each other laugh, constantly cracking jokes or embarrassing each other in public.

K = Kisses: how do they kiss?

Max’s kisses are always full of passion. He always makes sure to leave 5 minutes before he leaves the house to give you kisses because he knows he has to wait all day before he can get other, He insisted you came to as many races as you can because he hated having to wait so long to give you a kiss.

L = Love: who says I love you first?

He said it first. He spent all evening venting down the phone to you after retiring from Silverstone. The white time you were listening and comforting him when needed.

“You know I love you? Cause I do, so very much.”

“I love you to superstar.”

M = Memory: their favourite moment together

After you’d just given birth. He had his arm around you as you held you beautiful little girl. Everything felt perfect, he had his queen and his princess.

“Hey, when do you think we could have another?”

“If you’re the one pushing it out then go for it.”

N = Nickel: do they spoil? do they buy the person they love everything?

Max would randomly surprise you with gifts. You knew there was no point in telling him he doesn’t have it, you you were always extremely grateful.

O = Orange: what colour reminds them of their other half?

Navy. On one of your first dates you two were lying in a field, watching the clouds float past. When you sat up, lots of navy flowers were tangled in your hair. Even with you hair looking like a birds nest, Max was mesmerised by your beauty. From then on Max always made sure he has a bouquet of navy flowers for you.

P = Pet names: what pet names do they use?

Angel, My Queen, Baby Girl

Q = Quaint: what is their favourite non-modern thing?

Cloud or stargazing. He could live there for hours as long as you were next to him.

R = Rainy Day: what do they like to do on a rainy day?

You two would go out for long walks, enjoying the rain. When back you two would share a hot shower before cuddling up in bed together to watch a movie.

S = Sad: how do they cheer themselves/each other up

It took you a while you work out when he’s sad because he hid it well. You usually gave him space until he was ready to talk to you about it. Once he got it out he would cling to you like a koala, needing lots of love and affection, which you happily gave to him.

T = Talking: what do they love to talk about?

Anything that isn’t related to the season. You help him keep his mind off of all the stress. You were his best distraction.

U = Unencumbered: What helps them relax?

He loves gaming with Lando and the boys, you usually take this time for yourself, calling a family member for a catch up or watching a tv show that Max has no interest in.

V = Vaunt: what do they like to show off? What are they proud of?

You. He is so proud of you and wants everyone to know how lucky he is to have you.

W = Wedding: when, how, where do they propose?

A year after you gave birth Max took you for a weekend away. The two of you were stargazing when he rolled onto his side and pressed a kiss to your lips. He sat up in between your legs, getting onto one knee.

“My angel, you have given me the world. You are the love of my life. Will you marry me and stay with me forever?”

X = Xylophone: What’s their song?

Should I Stay or Should I Go? - The Clash

Y = You’re the ___ to my ___ (e.g the cookies to my milk, the macaroni to my cheese)

You’re the princess to my frog.

Z = Zebra: if they wanted a pet, what pet would they get?

You two had a dog. You got him while Max was away at a race weekend as you were getting lonely. You waited until he got home to tell him so he couldn’t say no because he was too cute.