#wherever green is worn

[just-some-random-blogger]

Seeing Green

Gwayne had enough of you and declared he would not be accompanying you on your travels to the town ever again. How glad you were to know Harwin would in his stead.

bodyguard!Gwayne Hightower x Lannister!Reader x Harwin Strong | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, enemies to lovers, forced proximity ig, im just a girl!reader, angst?, jealousy, typos, etc.

A/N: this is a p2 to seeing red but you dont have to read it to understand whats happening. I have made a next part!

Tagging: @lancedoncrimsonwings @targs-on-zorses @barbieaemond @arabellasleopardcoat

"GWAYNE!" I stick my head out of the carriage window. I scoff as I watch the armored man walk off, "you can not be serious!"

"Serious?!" he snaps, turning back to me with a raised brow and a tense jaw. He rubs his lips as he storms back towards me. His glare is so grave that I actually lean back into my seat and clench my skirt.

Gwayne stomps his foot on one of the steps up the carriage. A line forms between his brows, "you have WORN me!"

I grow tense as flails his hand around.

"I have done nothing but exact your cumbersome and frivolous commands with patience!" He snaps, "and now that I've met my limit yet you have the gall to ask me if I am being serious!?!"

Gwayne's eyes are wide and clearer than the skies. His pointed stare is piercing and I cannot deflect it as he speaks to me of my unreasonableness. Admittedly, my requests were some meant to annoy him, but I did not expect him to act so acridly. I mean, surely he was accustomed to it by now. Was I truly becoming too much to bear for him?

His face is flushed with rage. I stare at him, unable to speak, for in truth I did not know how to meet his apparently genuine frustration.

"Oh," he scoffs, chuckles bubbling out his throat, "she does not speak, for there is nothing else true to say." He grips the carriage door, "what? Have you realized you do work me worse than your own employed servants? That you ask of me more than what I am required of?"

"But it is my right!" I pipe up, though my voice is still small, "you must accompany me wherever I so wander."

Gwayne's jaw feathers, "I am tasked to protect you from peril and to prevent you from doing the unwise," he steps back, "not to carry your clothes and hang them in your wardrobes!"

I stare at him, dread building in my stomach.

"What?!" he quips, "do you truly not see the brunt of my frustrations?"

"... I do not think it unreasonable to-" I gaps when he closes the door with unnecessary force before storming away.

In truth, the gesture was harsher than it needed to be and bothers me more than it should. There is a tightness to my chest as I slowly open the door and watch the man so readily forsake me. Against myself, my eyes begin to prick with tears.

"Gw-" I shut my mouth at the sound of my voice breaking. I chew my lower lip and take deep breaths to calm myself.

I did not mean to make him cross— not like that. I feel my throat tighten as I replay what just happened. Guilt eats at me more each second and soon salt cascades down my cheeks. I sit there until the coachman knocks and asks if we should away. I dismiss him and tell him I will stay here for a little while.

I don't. It feels like an hour passed of me trying not to cry, crying, and calming myself. I start when someone knocks on my carriage door.

"My Lady Lannister?" a deep voice speaks, making me wipe my face in a panic.

I try to stifle my sniffle and use my skirt to dry my tears.

"Tis Ser Harwin Strong. You cannot leave your carriage here."

I clear my throat, but my voice still betrays me with a crack, "ap-ologies. I will have it m-" but my coachman is not here. I sigh and stare at my lap. My lips wobble as helplessness creeps up on me.

A prolonged moment of silence ensues before the man outside speaks again, "my lady... are you well?"

I huff and concede to simply opening the door.

I wipe my philtrum on my sleeve and feel twice as dreadful as I see the dark haired and bearded man outside my carriage. He is a beauty. His blue eyes narrow in concern, "my lady."

I shake my head and gather my skirts.

He instinctively reaches out a hand to me and assists me as I exit my ride. Once I am stood before him, I realize just how tall and broad he is. His brows tighten as he releases my hand. I offer him a smile, "I beg your pardon for the inconvenience. I do not have anyone to move the carriage."

Ser Harwin shakes his head, "one of the stable boys can move it." He turns over his shoulder and hollers for someone to do just that. A boy approaches us, nodding politely before climbing up the driver's seat to do what was instructed of him.

My stomach rolls when the towering man looks back at me. His demeanor is starkly juxtaposed to his stature. He ghosts a hand on my shoulder and raises an arm. He leads me off to the side and speaks softly, "is there anything I can assist you with, my lady?"

I shake my head, "I am well."

He nods and clutches his hands once we find ourselves standing just by the entrance of the Keep, "forgive me, but as a guard of the City Watch, it is my duty to uphold justice. I cannot stand idle in the face of trickery."

My brows quirk at his words. I tilt my head, "do you call me a liar, ser?"

"Yes," he answers simply.

My lips part as his brazen admission.

"True, it is not uncommon for one to weep with joy, but I recognize the distress laid upon your brow," he shakes his head, "would it not be simpler for you to say you require nothing of me than to pretend you are well?"

His words make me choke. I feel my eyes begin to fog with tears.

Ser Harwin's face falls. He raises his hands, "forgive me. I only meant-"

"No," I mumble, "you are right. I injure myself! I speak before I think and create inconveniences for entertainment." I scratch my tears away before they can fall. I look up to the man, feeling dread bite at me. I resist my instinct to slip further into my emotions and try to speak as evenly as possible, "the truth is... I had a... disagreement with my ward... we always get into disagreements, but... this time it was visceral."

The man shifts on his leg, "might I ask what the disagreement was over?"

"He says I work him like a dog, that I ask much more than what he ought to do," I sniffle, "and... perhaps it is true," I evade his gaze by turning to the sky. My lips quiver, "but I did not realize my presence was so heavily insufferable." I look back at him, "I am easy on the eyes, am I not?"

The man chuckles softly, "your features are quite comely indeed, Lady Lannister."

I nod once, "that is the only correct response, ser."

A rich chuckle fills the space between us. He hums and raises a hand, "have you expressed your orders were mere reasons to keep his company?"

My expression drops at his words. I laugh but it goes dry when I realize he spoke no jest. "Ser, my ward is Gwayne Hightower. He loathes me just as I loathe him."

"And do you normally weep for your enemies?" he tilts his head.

"I weep because he regards me so cruelly!" I snap in defense, "it is most twisted for one as he to raise his voice and show aggression to one such as I!"

Ser Harwin sighs.

I wipe my philtrum, feeling my body tremble with a mix of emotions.

"What was this errand you needed to be chaperoned to?"

I gulp as I bring my hands to my hips. I debate the sincerity of his words and decide he does not have the face of a man who would use my words against me. I huff, "the tailor's. I was to have a new dress made for me for-"

His brows quirk at my abrupt halt.

I feel blood rush up my neck, but I decide to ignore it and speak with as much scorn as I could muster, "Gwayne's nameday celebration."

I observe him carefully, ready to pounce and pound him if he so wishes to berate me for the honest admission. In truth, I am taken aback by the curtness of his reply. He nods and offers me an arm, "if it pleases you, I can accompany you to the tailor myself. I have finished my patrol and have nothing better to do."

My eyes dart from the curls framing his face to his meaty arm. My lips part as I find the words to say, "would you... rather not rest for the day?"

"My honor would not allow me after beholding a lady in her distress."

I stare at his arm for a few seconds and cautiously take it.

A good while passed until Gwayne returned to the stables to find his irritating lady. When he sees the Lannister carriage parked, he sighs and marches over, preparing himself to meet the rage of the woman that was still sitting inside in protest.

"Will you sleep-" he starts but stops when he opens the door to nothing. He raises a brow and closes the door. His attention falls on the passing servant, "you. Where is the lady of this carriage?"

The man looks at him then the carriage.

"Lady Lannister," Gwayne clarrifies.

He perks in recognition, "the lady Lannister and ser Strong headed to the tailor on horseback."

"On horseback," the knight scoffs in disbelief, "Lady Lannister?" his voice fades into a laugh. And he so enjoys himself laughing for a moment before sighing, "why, I applaud the good ser for his powers of persuasion."

Upon realizing that he no longer needed to be here, Gwayne grins and nods at him, "thank you my good man. Your news has made my day."

With that he walks off and heads to his quarters.

The next day, Gwayne has a spring to his step as he heads down the hall.

I am in the middle of having my hair fixed when I hear a knock on my door. I look at the reflection from the mirror before me, "come in."

I behold Gwayne and his grin as he struts towards my bed. He leaps into it, landing on his chest. He instructs one of my servants to get him a cup of wine. Each of these things would normally be cause to chew him up; all of these combined would make me unleash upon him the wrath due to his impertinence, and yet, I find myself uncaring of his blatant misbehavior. I merely instruct my servant to fetch the sapphire necklace that match my velvet dress and sit tight by my vanity.

Gwayne takes the wine that is served to him and sips before speaking out, "I hear Lord Harwin Strong was he who accompanied you to town yesterday."

I ignore him in lieu of twirling the baby hairs by my ears.

"And on horseback, no less," he takes another sip, "how ever did he get you to ride a horse by yourself?"

"I didn't," I turn to my servant who returns with my jewels, "we rode on the same horse."

Gwayne stills. He scrunches his face at the cup in his hand then looks at me, "what?"

I smile at myself on the mirror as the necklaces is clasped around my neck. I adjust the blue stone that sparkled between my collarbones and admire the look of it.

He sits up from the bed, careful not to spill his drink, "you rode the same horse?"

"Of course we rode the same horse," I roll my eyes, "he is not a fool who expects me to enjoy such sport."

The red haired man raises his brows. He waits for me to expound further, but finds I am distracted by my reflection. He scoffs, sipping again more before saying, "I pity the steed."

I grin at myself, pleased with my image.

"I pity the steed," he repeats, "that had to carry a knight, a brat, and her hundred dresses."

My eyes dart to him. He is already looking at me from the mirror. "He did not ride with me on the way back. He is not cruel like you."

"So he walked?" his forehead curls, "and on the way back, no less." He scoffs once more before drinking again, "well, the tailor is not that far."

I inspect my attire one last time before standing and heading to the bed. Gwayne lifts his eyes; the corner of his lips soon follow. He shifts on his spot and drinks deeply.

"You are dismissed, Hightower."

He licks his lips as his brows furrow, "what?"

I tilt my head and clasp my hands together, "you do so love making sport of me repeating myself."

Gwayne pulls his head back before standing. He lifts his nearly empty cup, "are you saying you— you have no plans for the day?" He purses his lips, "no errands you wish to force upon my being."

I clench my teeth but manage to pull a smile. Gwayne finds such endearment in the forced grins, not that he would ever admit so. I nod in agreement.

"So," he holds his cup with both hands, "I am free to do what I will for the day."

"Even more so to do it as far away from me as possible," I raise my hands before walking towards him to push him out of my room.

The man chuckles as he finishes what is left of his wine. He manages to hand the empty cup to one of the servants just before we both step out of the room. He licks his lips and tilts his head at me.

The smile that spreads on his face makes my stomach roll and I combat it with a glare, "do not wait on me. I will be promenading with a friend."

"Promenade?" he chuckles. The lines on his cheek remain as he raises his brow. He looks me once over, eyes lingering on the sapphire on my décolletage, "and pray tell, who in the Keep has merited the friendship of someone so high-nosed as you?"

"Ser Harwin Strong."

His grin falters.

I do not care to wonder why as I walk off and meet the man I named in the gardens as we had arranged.

Gwayne watches. He is left alone in the corridor. He chuckles to himself and heads off to the library to unwind. The closer he inched to his destination however, the more sour the taste in his mouth became. Before he even comes near the library, he finds himself marching off to look for gods knows what he'll find.

And it seems the gods do want him to find the source of his sourness. As he marched down one stairwell, he heard an unmistakable sound of laughter that made his ears perk. He heads to the hall and looks out the window.

There, he sees a man stood in front of a woman sat upon a bench, both of them giggling and both of them in blue. His eye twitches as the dark haired fool carelessly picks a flower from a bush and offers it to her.

Gwayne finds no relief when she does not take it, for instead it seems she instructed him to place the flower on the side of her hair.

"Ha," he scoffs, pulling away from the window, "promenade, says she? Ha!" Gwayne shakes his head as his feet take him back towards the library, "neither of them are walking. HA!"

Gwayne cannot help the way his hands clench and unclench as he storms off. He scoffs once again, "fucking Strong," the ire in his chest is molten, prickly, and painful as he adds, "fucking Lannister."

[vwoop-prince]

YJ S3 Dick, still in the midst of his fever dream, hides underneath the 'souvenir' instead of behind some boxes, and accidentally opens the airlock trying to take care of the Parademons. The others get it to close... but not before Nightwing is thrown into space.

There, he stares at the ship holding his friends and mentors. There, he wishes more than anything that he can, somehow, survive. There, he tries to live, if only so his family don't have to bury him like Jason.

There, Nightwing dies, wanting to save everyone, even with the cold seeping into his bones far too quickly for a regular section of space.

Then, Dick opens his eyes to... Earth? There's a little house, and grass, and trees, but there's a bubble of green over it all. Outside of that green was an entire castle, one that looked like it should have far more support beams than it does for even a hope that it stays standing.

And the sky was swirling shades of that same green. It makes him think of Lazarus.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day." He whips his head behind him, a bit too fast for Earth's atmosphere, but it doesn't hurt him. Past the bubble of green was a blue-skinned adult in purple robes, the insides of a grandfather-clock fitted inside their torso, and a black staff with a stopwatch on its top. Beside them was a man with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, a crown of frozen fire dancing above his head, and the most galaxy-like cloak Dick's ever seen clasped to his shoulders. He's wearing... a hazmat suit? Maybe? The twinkling stars and odd lighting of wherever he is were giving him a bit of a headache.

But in front of those two, within this bubble, was...

"DICK!" Wally shouted with unrestrained glee, a blur overtaking his spot for barely a heartbeat before Dick's stuck in a crushing hug that he reciprocates once his brain stops feeling like its melting.

He doesn't know how long it took for them to calm down, but the man with the crown spoke up after a time, as Wally was still wiping their faces free of tears. "Welcome to the Infinite Realms, Nightwing." Dick barely even registered that he was still wearing his suit, but now it felt suffocating. "I suppose you're the one Clockwork was holding out for; There shouldn't've been enough Ectoplasm around you to form a Ghost, and your physical body's still in space. I can see why you like this one, though, Clockie," he states flippantly, turning to his companion. Almost like he didn't expect Dick to pay too close attention to what he was saying.

"Either way, there's two options for you." The man didn't let Dick swallow his tears and question anything. Dick's not sure if he's grateful or not. "First: Stay in the Realms permanently. You'll see Kid Flash whenever you want and learn to be a Ghost with the denizens of the Realms. Maybe find your parents."

"But..." Dick pulls away from Wally, keeping him at arms length, eyes flitting between them. The two outside the bubble were distinctly... ghost-like, so the mentions of 'Ghosts' make sense. But Wally looked... alive. A bit pale, a bit thin... but alive. Dick can't see any of his own skin to see if it was blue or tinted that way, but the Nightwing symbol on his chest kept flickering between its own blue and this 'Realms' green. "But--What about the others? What about you? Why can't you come home?" The last two, he focuses on Wally, because now he can feel a heartbeat beneath his gloves. Wally's alive. He's alive.

His friend just shrugs. "Something about their portals not fit for the living? I'm meant to wait for someone to figure out a permanent portal, but they won't tell me how long that'll take." Wally glares at the... 'Ghosts'? There was a heat to it, but it also seemed like this was a well-worn argument.

"The permanent portal was always an 'if', Wallace West. And that is entirely dependent on if Richard Grayson takes the second option," the clock Ghost--Clockwork?--speaks up. But instead of the adult Dick was expecting, there was an elderly Ghost in their place. Still with the time motif. Was that... more literal than Dick took it?

"Yes, the second option..." The crowned man glares daggers at Clockwork. The temperature dips below comfortable. Dick tries to blink the spaceship and stars out of his sight, withdrawing his arms from Wally to try and warm himself. Tries to remember he's not in space. "The second option is that you return to your body... changed. You'll be able to protect Earth better, stay with your alive family, save the Lost Ones... for a price."

Dick doesn't know if he should ignore the plural in 'Lost Ones'. He doesn't know if he's reading too much into how, in this Realm, apparently only his parents were able to be found. Where's Jason? He doesn't dare hope, but...

"What's the price?"

The man smiles and a ring of blue forms around his waist. It splits in two and travels up and down his body, replacing the cloak and whatever clothes he was actually wearing with a NASA shirt, worn jeans, and red sneakers actually duct taped together. The blue tint to his otherwise tan skin fades completely. His hair turns black. His eyes turn blue.

He was like a taller, slightly slimmer, way hotter version of Bruce.

The man walks through the bubble, but doesn't disturb the grass beneath his feet. "You become the Ghost King's vassal." Dick flinches away and almost hides behind Wally. "Not my idea! But, well... it is either this, or your permanent death."

"What does becoming a vassal do to him?" Wally asks, gently trying to stop Dick from breaking his ribs with how tightly he was hugging himself. Does he even have ribs?

"He gains my powers. Ice, electricity, invisibility, intangibility, flight... He becomes a Halfa. He becomes what I was, in life. Just... needing to make offerings to me, now and then. Something like that, at least. I give him powers, he gives me a chunk of, I don't know, chocolate once a week. Like a warlock."

Wally keeps talking to the man, keeps getting information that he knows he should pay attention to, but something in his chest screams to accept this deal, and he can't focus on anything else.

Nightwing can protect. He can return to life and go back to Blüdhaven, be the Vigilante they need. He can visit Gotham every now and then, help with cases and stop criminals from harming others. He can see his brother. He can see his friends. He can eat Alfred's cookies, and have little get-togethers with Babs and the Team--hell, he can argue with Bruce.

And all he has to do is... give an offering to this guy? The Ghost King? Every once in a while?

"There's no other price?" The King turns his attention to Dick. His eyes had shifted to a blue-green that almost hypnotize him. The green swirls, the blue forms and melts like snowflakes, and he can't look away.

He takes another step forward and Wally steps to the side. There was familiarity between them. Wally deferred to him. Dick can't quite tell why. Though, with how Wally hasn't once looked at Clockwork, maybe it's because he's... grounded? Are all speedsters in trouble with, what, the Ghost of Time? That... actually makes perfect sense.

"I'll be honest, Nightwing: You've impressed me." The weight behind the King's words lifts the ones that've been on his shoulders since he was nine. "You remind me of myself. Maybe, if I wasn't a Halfa... If I had a mentor... I could've been like you.

"Despite Clockwork's insistence over the years that I get back in touch with the living, I've held off. When he eventually suggested that I help create another Halfa, I locked him in his tower for twenty years. I didn't want anyone to go through what I had. But, now... I see that you won't. You can't. Even if you hide this deal--our shared powers... You'll still have people by your side. Strong people. Smart people. You can already handle yourself. And I'd love to see what you can do--who you can save--with my help."

There was maybe two inches between their faces when the King finishes speaking. Dick roves his eyes across the other's face, trying to find the common and familiar ticks that show lies and deceit and manipulation. All he finds is sincerity and genuine care.

Wally plays with his fingers from the corner of his eye, gaze hopeful as he looks between the two of them. Wally, who was alive and breathing and able to leave if he accepts. Eventually. Somehow.

Dick Grayson sends a quiet apology to his parents and hopes they will forgive him for being a little bit selfish.

"I accept."

He flings his eyes open. Above him, domino mask too wobbly to be properly secured anymore, was Robin crying and begging him to wake up. His hands were sloppily placed over his heart. Batman was trying to drag him away, the firm set of his jaw screaming grief.

Nightwing gasps once he registers his lungs burning.

There's a large cacophony of noise, multiple bright suits and people hounding over him, and the distinct artificial taste of slightly-too-much oxygen that the ship with the Parademons had. That he flew out of and died. He was still too cold.

Someone moves their arm beneath his knees and shoulder and Dick passes out.

(Dick 'Nightwing' Grayson dies in space. Ghost King Danny Phantom likes this too-human Hero. They split their souls in half, take one piece of the others, and all they know is that Phantom is now Nightwing's Patron Deity. Danny uses ice, for electricity killed him. Dick uses electricity, for ice killed him. They are opposites, and yet so incredibly similar. Clockwork was looking forward to when Danny starts putting off his paperwork to hang out with his new 'friend'.)

[teastainedprose]

Too Sweet - Ch. 1 (Cooper Howard x Reader)

A settler selling wares in Filly catches The Ghoul's eye. Inspired by a Tumblr post asking for an angst fic to Hozier's Too Sweet. 1,753 words | [AO3] No warnings yet, only innocent flirting. Banner from @eupheme

The first time he spots you, Cooper thinks nothing of it. Sure, you look a little less worn down compared to the usual rabble roaming Filly. Certainly scrubbed a little cleaner than most but so were the rest of your companions. The lot of you are a curiosity for sure, but he's seen plenty of attractive women over the ages and known a handful carnally. He's not the sort of man to let a pretty face distract him. No, you don't get a second glance from the ghoul as he goes about his business. 

It's not until your laughter catches Cooper by the ear that he starts paying attention. Jerks his head right round at the sunny sound, attention diverting from the bounty board as he watches you engage with a customer. You laugh again, a merry delight that lights your face right up while the elderly woman you're chatting with laughs along. She's made brighter for being so close to you while you've suddenly become the sun in Cooper's eyes. A brightness he has to squint at when he looks over again to drink you in. His long-dead heart decides that it's about time to do a little flip.

That's a sensation he's not keen on feeling. Cooper hums under his breath, frown settling on his worn lips. He tugs the brim of his hat lower, turning away as he tries to focus on the task at hand. No good can come of fancying any sort of infatuation on a smoothie like you. You're not the sort of creature deserving of the trouble he could bring.

Yet Cooper finds he can't quite help himself. Wasteland life is full of little pleasures and looking at you sure counts as a bit of pleasure. Why not indulge?

The rest of the day as he sits waiting for a client to show, his eyes flicker over you. Wherever you're from, it's certainly kinder to you than what most folks in the Wasteland see. You almost look as soft as some fresh-faced Vaultie, but he can see that your hands are well-worn as you exchange produce for caps. A farmer of sorts. Homesteader.

He listens with a keener ear to the gossip swirling about you and those in your group. A little settler band situated out east, closer to the mountains and closer to what manages to grow green. He picks up that your lot wanders in every few weeks with produce to sell, or trade to stock up the settlement the collective group runs. 

Idly, he wonders what horseshit sort of ideology your commune might be sunk into, but if you're looking to spread a new sort of gospel none of your ilk seem keen on sharing it here. You're a welcome addition to the economy of Filly and it's clear that many enjoy the taste of hope this band of settlers bring in with their harvest. Cooper figures that's indoctrination enough from the harsh reality the Wasteland offers up.

Cooper finds himself wandering over to Ma June's place under the pretense of stocking up on supplies. There's suspicion in her eyes as he drops his intended purchases onto the counter but that's not out of the ordinary. There's always suspicion in the looks Ma June gives him, but she'll take his caps all the same.

"Say, now what's with that group of lil' farmers hauling in their produce like that? Can't imagine those soft-lookin' sorts making their way all the way here unmolested," he drawls out. His smile is crooked as Cooper counts through his caps to pay.

"Settlers, but the well-armed sort. No point in trifling with them. Too well-liked here for their fresh food supply they haul in," Ma June pulls the caps towards her, gaze fixed on the ghoul as she mutters. "They'll trade with ya, but keep out of their business. Ya hear?"

A hum escapes Cooper as he considers this, leaning onto the counter while glancing out the dusty window towards where you stand at the stall. He casually stashes his purchases into his saddlebag while going on conversationally.  "Well- Is that so? They a regular sort of fixture here in Filly now?"

"Have been setting up that stall going on half a year now. Surprised you've yet to come across 'em. Best cherry tomatoes you'll find in the Wasteland." Ma June eases back, arms crossing over her chest as a sour look settles in place on her worn face.

Another speculative hum escapes Cooper as he digests this information before he tips his hat to Ma June and goes on his way. Which happens to lead him straight to your stall.

Once there, Cooper casually plucks up potatoes, a handful of cherry tomatoes, and okra. All of it looks as vegetables should, the sort he would have found at the grocery store before everything went to shit. 

"How much for this lot?" He sets the small bounty atop the open space on the stall. Cooper gives you his Hollywood smile that would charm the pants off of any woman in bygone days, except now his face is a leathery wreck and his teeth are yellowed with age. Most people instantly flinch away in disgust.

Not you.

You smile like the morning sun towards him as you step closer while dusting your hands off on your pants. The bit of dirt smeared on your face only seems to enhance your features in Cooper's eyes. The look you give him is almost shy once you meet his gaze, smiling warmly up to him. 

Cooper finds that curious. He's familiar with a scowl or grimace of disgust when anyone looks him in the face, but here you are gracing him with an easy smile. A customer is a customer, he figures, and he'll do well enough. Yet, your friendliness doesn't feel like an act. Even after all these years, Cooper Howard still can clock other actors.

"Fifteen caps for the whole lot, but I'll throw in an extra sweet potato for the smile." You wink. Wink right at him as your smile grows. "They're good for ya, handsome." You add casually, the smile tugging up further into a cheeky grin. Your expression shifts. Playful. Coy. Interested.

Ain't that something? Cooper doesn't falter at the full force of your attention. He's too old and worn for that, but he sure does grin right back with a twinkle in his eye. Even an old ghoul like him can enjoy a pretty thing like you openly flirting with him.

Now that he’s heard it, Cooper decides your voice is sweet as a silver bell. The sort of soothing tone that reminds him of rain softly pelting a windowpane. It's the sort of sound that makes him wish to stay and listen for a while, tucked into the warmth that he suddenly wants you to offer up. He wants to get you talking to hear more. Wonders how he can coax you into a conversation.

That’s a fucking stupid idea. Cooper mentally shakes himself free of the passing fancy, head tilting ever so slightly as he peers down at you from the shadow of his hat. "Mhm. Ain't trying to get me hooked now are you, sweetheart?

"Something like that." 

“Well now, reckon vegetables ain’t the worst sort of vice a man can get lost in.” Cooper still can’t help himself. He lets his eyes wander right down your body before flicking back up to your face, what sort of vice he’s pondering made clear.

That flush on your cheeks blooms all the hotter as you laugh for him, the sound an utter delight when directed his way. You smile, sweet and shy now as you pluck up a hefty sweet potato to set beside the rest of his purchases. 

“Oh, well-” You start, stop with a small shake of your head as you smile all the wider. Utterly disarmed.

Cooper counts out the requested coin with a speculative hum, mirth sparking in his eyes as it seems he’s rendered you speechless. It’s down-right adorable if he’s being honest with himself. You’re a right little temptation he’d like to play with further. A dangerous thought.

Setting the coins onto the counter, he's swift in sweeping up his new bounty and stowing it all away into a pouch within his saddle bag. This close you're too bright and Cooper knows he's in trouble. Best to break away before you pull him into your orbit in full.

“You take care of yourself now, sweetheart,” Cooper drawls. He tips his hat towards you and turns away with spurs clicking. You watch him go, cheeks still flaming.

You know who he is. The Ghoul, the most famous Bounty Hunter the radiated Wastelands has to offer. You've heard all the rumors and truer tales about him all your life but nothing could prepare you for seeing him in the flesh. A dangerous sort of creature. A man who always brings his bounty in. 

You'd been watching him all day, stealing glances as you work. Now that you've seen him up close and personal? You're down-right fascinated. He’s nothing like the monster the stories painted him out to be. At least, he certainly wasn’t monstrous to you. There’s something captivating about him. Charming, even. 

You’ve seen ghouls before, of course. You know their kind as some live on the settlement with you. The majority end up shambling and ungainly, limbs no longer listening as the radiation rot wars with their regeneration abilities. A confusion that makes most of them uncoordinated and awkward in their transformed bodies, but The Ghoul? He’s got a swagger to his step that reminds you of those cowboys you’ve seen on ancient holotapes. 

He’s been lurking at the edge of your awareness all day, your head cocking in his direction to listen to the cadence of his voice as he bartered for bullets and talked business outside of the bar over yonder.

A thrill had jolted through you the moment he started to move towards your stall. The nervous energy thrumming through you had been made all the worse when you met The Ghoul’s gaze for the first time. A woman could find herself lost in such eyes and you’d certainly tripped right into them. Boldly meeting this stranger’s gaze and enjoying every second his attention was on you.

Shame he left so quickly. You sigh, turning back to count out bottlecaps he’d left as you turn your attention back to work. Best not to think about it. You’re unlikely to see that legend ever again.

[flamingpudding]

Ghost Twins: Lost in Gotham

A/N: I finally got my copy of AGIT and it sparked this prompt idea, I might continue on...

"Of all the times why were we thrown into a different dimension…"

"I am not happy about this either, twerp."

Danny gave his body double a scorching glare. Dan only shrugged as he leaned back into the park bench, hiding a chuckle. Even if the situation was dire, it was kind of funny too. Good things had changed so much since he got a human body. Danny had become more of a brother to him than his nemesis or time original, especially since Danny had gotten the crown and was trying to smooth things over for ghosts and humans. Plus he finally understood why Jazz like to tease them so much as her younger siblings. He got to tease his time original / cousin / 'younger' brother now too, well he did see himself as the older one when they could technically pass as twins.

"We are stuck looking like this! Our powers don't work and I can't open a portal, Dan!"

"And what do you want me to do about it? Clockwork is not responding to either of us."

Dan studied Danny who was still pacing in knee-high snow, then looked down at his hand which was smaller than he remembered. He tried reaching out to his ghost powers but nothing responded. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Danny stopping his pacing and looking back at Dan, his voice soft from resignation.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"It's... nothing." I don't remember what I did last. Why do you ask?"

"It's the same for me. We are stranded for some unknown reason in an entirely different Dimension in six-year-old bodies, with no clue or solution to get home and our ghost powers being all wonky as shit! And clockwork won't react to us yelling his name into the snowstorm we are currently in! At least we are cold-resistant!"

Danny resumed pacing in the snow, kicking random little snow hills he was making with his pacing as he ranted. Dan was watching him from the park bench with a scowl of his own. Both had found themself waking up to each other in a pile of snow in a park that was located in a city they had no idea about, the only thing they had was a green sticky note with the words 'Code Bat: Different Dimension'.

That led to Danny yelling for clockwork into the starting snowstorm. They knew their powers weren't completely gone. Wherever they were they were in a place with a lot of ambient ectoplasm.

"We should look for a way out of the snow twerp. Even with cold resistance, we should stay out here." Dan huffed as he tried to make out the buildings around them outside of the park, Danny instantly stopped pacing tilting his head.

"Where should-"

Both boys yelled in absolute horror as they suddenly got picked up and were carried like a sack of potatoes under the arms of strange guys. Instincts kicked in and the two instantly fought back but the guys carrying them didn't appear to be bothered.

The wind whisked past their ears making hearing anything difficult until they finally got put down next to each other. Instantly Dan took half a step before Danny, glaring at the ones that abducted them from a park. "Who the fuck are you, guys?!"

"Language kid. And I should be asking what the fuck you little kids were doing out in the middle of the worst Snowstorm Gotham had in a long time?" The guy in a red helmet said towering over them with crossed arms. "I know you street rats are smarter than staying out in the open like this. Don't you kids have a shelter?"

Street Rats? Okay, so what if their clothes looked a little ratty? Hold a second. Danny and Dan looked at each other briefly as if for the first time noticing how worn the clothes they had looked compared to what they were used to wearing. Great so not only were they in twin six-year-old bodies but also wearing such worn-out clothes that people saw them as street rats.

"None of your fucking business." Dan retorted, the fun of the situation now gone and anger and frustration settling in as he glared at their abductors. Danny on the other hand tilted his head miming the confused child as he stared up at them.

"We got lost."

"You got lost?" The other guy in blue with a mask asked them unbelieving and Danny only nodded.

"Yup, we got lost."

Dan watched how the two adults playing dress up exchanged glances. He peaked back at Danny and then back at them. Before making a probably short-sighted decision.

"Fuck this!" He said out loud and grabbed his twin's hand. Once more he reached for his ghost core and powers, internally yelling at it to get a response. And it worked, sort of.

He felt intangibility wash over them so he attempted to escape by phasing him and Danny through the ground only… to get halfway stuck as the old on his ghostly powers got lost. Dan's eye twitched as he realized he was stuck in the ground up to his tights.

"Dan what the fuck?!" Danny who was now stuck knee-deep into the floor yelled.

"I was at least attempting to escape!"

"We are stuck now! This is even worse! You could have just let me talk our way out of this!"

"Oh hell no. I remember the others saying often enough that you should not do the talking!"

"Phasing us through the floor is not better at all! Our powers are wonky or did you forget that?!"

While the twin boy's where fighting Nightwing and Red Hood exchanged worried glances.

"Hood…"

"Yea… Probably Meta Twins on the run."

"I will contact the others."

[dumpywrites]

Tears and Poetries - Kim Namjoon / RM

Prompt: “You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Fluff, comfort, idol Namjoon, non fan reader 

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

a/n: Come back to me got me feeling all inspired soooo yeah :)

It was late. Frankly you did not bother to check the time but you knew it was at least way past twelve. You just needed some air. Late night polluted air might not be the right option, but it was the best you could have at the moment. Getting out was the only coping response your mind could think off. Getting out from where exactly you could not be sure. 

Work life had been a real shit-show. You were on your fifth revision for your company project and your manager still would not accept your draft. While life? Life had been pretty exhausting. Recently your mother had been pestering you about wanting you to achieve more, comparing you to her friends’ sons and daughters, while also underestimating your own accomplishment. 

And not even two weeks ago, a guy who you were seeing just admitted that he apparently had a girlfriend. He really just dropped that info to you like a bomb, as if you did not spend time with each other the past six months. True, you never really put a label on whatever you both had, but in your head you were single and so was he. Until he told you that he got a girlfriend and had dated her for a month already. 

The wound still felt fresh especially with all the external problems added to the equation. Bearing the feeling of unwanted, unimportant, and never enough at once, was hard. Even labeling it as only hard sounded like an understatement. 

So you ran. Theoretically speaking you did not run away, you just took off from your apartment randomly to wherever your feet and your worn off sneakers took you. And they took you to a random spot near a river. 

You sat down on the dirty grassy ground, not minding how your shorts could get dirty from it.  Just sitting down and looking at the night sky, as if the cold breeze would calm you and do anything besides giving you a possibility of catching cold. 

Five, fifteen, maybe it was around half an hour you had been sitting there with empty thoughts, just letting the cold air hit your skin, when you suddenly heard a sound of a bicycle stopping and footsteps approaching. 

“Hello? Are you alright there?”

The deep voice started you and made you look back in an instant. There was a tall and quite big built guy standing with his bicycle. He had a buzzcut from the very faint image you could see due to the low light. 

Although skeptic, you decided to answer. “Yeah, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

You realized how shaky and stuffy your voice sounded. It probably was not a very convincing “don’t worry”. And when you did not voice another reply, the person parked their vehicle and slowly walked towards your direction. 

“Hey! Stranger danger!” You said, backing off from where you were seating. 

The guy stopped in his tracks but did not walked away. “Do you mind if I join your pondering session? Who knows two great minds might think alike.” 

You stayed still in your position, eyes searching for his in the very confusing lack of light. You could barely make out of what he looked like. 

“I’m not a creep, I swear!” He threw his hands in the air. “There’s a police station nearby if you wanna shout as loud as you can, they could hear you from here.” 

He took your silence as a green light and stepped closer until he reached a spot on your left. He cleared his throat and sat down next to you. 

There you could eventually fully saw his face. The first thing you noticed was the nicely shaped nose, and his plump lips, then his dimples which showed when he politely smiled at you. 

The first ten minutes was spent in complete silence. You did not expect the man to whip out a notepad and pencil and just started writing. A story? Poem? Or song? You tried your best not to sneak a look. He was even humming at some point when he wrote, and it was strangely enough, soothing. 

“What are you writing?” You finally asked, the suspense was killing you. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” He replied with excitement. “I’m writing a poem. Though I’m starting to think it’d sound better as a song.”

“You’re a singer or something?”

The man looked at you in disbelief for a good second before chuckling. “Sorta.”

“Am I suppose to know you?” You eyed him back with the same questioning look. 

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t know for today.”

You looked at the guy suspiciously, which earned a laugh from him. “The more I think about it, I think I’ve seen your face somewhere…”

“Oh yeah?” He said, a light tone of nervousness was visible in his voice. 

“You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

He almost choked on nothing. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“Yeah, that one dude from BTS.” You repeated. “Although I don’t think any one from them has a buzzcut… Idols always seem to have either colorful hair or beautiful long locks.” 

“Really…” The man voiced out, sounding unsure. 

“Are you perhaps an indie artist? K-hiphop? Don’t tell me you are a DPR member that I somehow don’t know about or something…”

“Okay, enough about that it’s not important.” He dismissed. “You wanna take a look of what I’ve written?”

“Uh, sure…”

You leaned a bit closer to him and peeked over his notes. He took his notepad nearing it to your side so you could read better. Despite the low source of illumination, you could read the delicately written words. It was deep and meaningful. Whatever he wrote on that paper seemed a little too real to just be a song, it almost felt like it came from true experience. 

“You sound like you went through hell to get to where you are right now.” 

You commented, you were not aware of how reading through his words affected you until you could practically hear your heartbeat. You clutched at your chest, trying to calm it down. 

“I’m not only talking about the sufferings.” He pointed out. “I also mentioned about the journeys in between.”

His expression brightened as he explained further. You found it really attractive for some reason. 

“The feeling of loss, left out, were there alongside the feeling of excitement, growth, and wanting to change for the better.” He grinned. “And I think life needs that small bits of flavor to complete us as human beings… Wouldn’t have loved myself so much without all my struggles and flaws.”

You gazed at the guy in front of you in awe. “Guess you’re right.” You finally broke into a smile. “That was beautiful though, almost got me tearing up.”

“Thank you.” He grinned, showing his dimples. “What about you though? What’s on your mind?”

“It’s kinda lame…” You nervously laughed. 

“I’m listening.” He scooted closer, making your knees touched. 

“There are a whole list of messed up things happening in my life right now, but I guess I could name one or two…” 

You took a deep breath and the guy in front of you patiently waited for you to speak. 

“Basically my mom’s been yelling at me saying stuff about how unsuccessful I am for my nine to five job, while getting bullied by my manager at work, and not to mention, how I just got dumped by a guy who I was seeing for six months.”

“That’s fucked up…” He looked at you with wide eyes. 

“You tell me.” You replied sassily. “I mean I guess for the most part it wasn’t really about the problem itself. I’m aware of how perfectionist my manager could be and multiple revision is expected. My mom never really feels content with anything, so that’s also expected. And that fucking guy leaving me? It was probably for the better…”

“Hey.” He grabbed your shoulder suddenly, catching you in a surprise. “Don’t downplay your feelings like that. You’re allowed to feel sad when other people treat you like utter shit. It’s valid.” 

There was something about his words that triggered an emotion within you. Unknowingly, a tear escaped your eyes, followed by more next. 

You leaned backwards to free from his grip, only for him to lose it but proceeded to take off his knitted sweater, revealing a black oversized t-shirt underneath. He took it off with one hand before shoving it through your head so you could wear it. 

“It’s chilly. You might catch a cold.” 

Hesitantly, you rolled the sweater through your body. You felt the neckline stained with tears and wondered if it was his polite way of helping you wipe your tears. You thanked him and he told you to continue. 

��I don’t know what else to say, I don’t want to trauma dump on you.” 

“How are you feeling though?” He asked, eyes gently looking at you. 

“I just… I felt unwanted? Unimportant and undesirable? It happened all at once and it got me connecting strings. The root cause of my problem felt like it came from me as a person and I felt sick…”

He gazed at you and quietly nod, allowing you to continue. 

“I came here because it was loud and deafening in here,” You tapped your head with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “And I’m glad I did. Not only did I manage to tone it down a couple notches, I also get an exclusive song preview from a top star!” 

Both of you laughed in unison. You were the first to break the eye contact due to the sudden invasion of butterflies in your stomach. It might be dark and late at night, but your eyes could not lie about the beauty of the stranger in front of you. 

The silence was soon broken by a buzzing notification from his phone. It was on silent mode, but the multiple vibrations got him shuffling his hand on his pocket, fishing his phone out from his cargo pants. 

“Damn, I gotta head back. Someone needs me in the studio…” 

“At this hour?!” You argued immediately.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He ran his hand through his short hair in a frustrated way. 

“What’s your name?” 

You both stopped and looked at each other, dumbfounded. Both of you asked the same question at the same time. Laughter filled the air once again. 

“You first.” The guy gestured. 

You got up and he followed right after. Now looking at how tall he was compared to you, spelling out your name felt a little bit harder. Your heart was beating in an abnormal rate. You finally managed to tell him your name and you patted yourself internally for not voicing out like a squealing hormonal teenager. 

“I’m Namjoon.” He said with a huge contagious smile. 

“Now where did I hear that name—“

“Can I have your number?” He interrupted. Glancing at his phone screen, a small groan escaped his lips. “It’s almost three, you have to go home.”

“Oh.” Your lips formed a small O shape. “Sure. Here, give me your phone…”

You both then exchanged phone numbers. 

“I want to take you back to your home so badly but I really can’t…” Namjoon sighed. “Besides, my bicycle can only do so much…” He chuckled. 

“It’s okay, I live nearby.” You smiled. “You take care, though.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll text you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded happily. “Thank you, Namjoon.” 

“Don’t mention it, I’m really glad we met today.” He nodded at you before retreating to where he parked his bicycle. 

“Wait!” 

You followed, running to his direction. You stopped when your arms barely linked behind him, hugging him tightly. It was bold of you but it just felt right at the moment. 

“Thank you so much, I mean it.” You said with voice muffled a little by his clothes against your mouth. 

And you did. You meant it, it felt really nice having someone who actually listened to your problem and seemed like he cared about it too. 

He hugged back. “You’re not unwanted, okay? You are loved, please know that.”

You nodded and broke off the hug. A big smile plastered on your lips and he mimicked it. “Okay, you may go now.”

You both bid your goodbyes and that was how you found yourself smiling and giggling at three in the morning, by yourself, on your way back to your place, all while hugging the sweater that you forgot to give back. That encounter was weird, but in a very good way. It almost felt like the universe sent you an angel knowing how down you were feeling. In a peculiar way, it almost felt like he saved you. You went to sleep easily that night. 

The next morning you were awaken by a text notification popping up from Namjoon. You smiled like an idiot to yourself before opening it. 

“Good morning! I hope you slept well. Did you arrive safe yesterday? Sorry something came up, I wished I could stay longer.”

You quickly replied to him. “I slept good. Probably thanks to you, hehe. No problem though! Maybe we could hangout again someday? I need to return your sweater after all :)”

After typing the text and sending it, suddenly a curious thought filled your head. His name did ring an unknown bell. Namjoon did mention that he was a singer, an idol maybe? You could not be sure. You tapped your Google app on your phone and started typing his name followed by the word “singer” behind it. 

Maybe this was your cue to be more aware of the Kpop industry. You had your fair share of listening to K-hiphop, and were even an avid listener of groups like Epik High and Balming Tiger. 

So how come you failed to notice that last night you in fact just hugged Kim Namjoon, aka RM from the internationally well known boy group, BTS???

Thank you for reading! 🌙

a/n: this was a rather short one but i hope y'all like it nonetheless <3

Prompt request: HERE

[chigirisprincess]

⠀ ︶︶ 　 ˚ ᡴꪫ Don't Bring me to Tears

— Ajax

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn!afab!reader, reader is traveller but not lumine, reader is plus size, reader has long hair, friends to lovers, love confessions, kissing, first time together, fingering (reader receiving), oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, lovey dovey sex, teasing, and banter. ⊹ Run time. 4.3k ⊹ Note. I found this in my drafts from 2022 and decided to polish it up for his birthday! I thought I had posted it! Silly me, I hope you enjoy <3 Happy birthday Ajax!

❝Tensions grow between you and the harbinger you inadvertently befriended as you invite him into your teapot for the first time, your home.❞

It’s quiet, that is the first thing Ajax notices when he enters the teapot, the second is a strange bird-like creature that perks up at your presence, perched at the entrance of the mansion you called home. It sits large and out of place amongst the swaying palm trees and salty ocean breeze, much too big for one person to call home but he supposed you were not alone, not really. There was Tubby the teapot spirit whom he’d learn the name of in passing, and Paimon your travelling companion, and whoever else you decided should be so lucky to become acquainted with your private dwellings. Surely he hadn’t been the first and he likely would not be the last.

“For an adventurer, you sure have a knack for design,” he says while idly skimming his fingertips across one of the many bookshelves in your home. He’s poked around more than he should, pulling out books and touching whatever he could get his hands on, “If I didn’t know any better I might question your merits.”

“It’s all thanks to Tubby.”

You seem to take no offence to his gross implications, rather curling up in front of the large fireplace that is sat in the centre of the room. Despite the fresh summer air and bright beaming sun, the fire crackles loudly within the office the two of you found your way into. It isn’t uncomfortably hot nor does it seem out of place. The warmth is pleasant as is the smile you sport, reminding him of home.

“And a bit of Adepti magic,” you mutter as you sprawl out on the floor. The plush emerald green carpet swishes with your movement, comfortable looking. Ajax can’t help but want to sink to the ground with you, but he remains, opting to stand across the room, “I don’t think I could have pulled all this off by myself.”

Tearing his gaze away from you, Ajax inspects the photographs scattered along the wall, there's a collection from the city of freedom; Mondstadt, well worn and frayed around the edges but they’re still hung with pride, even some from Liyue with traces of him in the background. He felt out of place standing amongst your precious memories of people who helped guide you on your travels. Guilt bubbles up in his chest, he didn’t understand why you’d bring him here when all he ever seemed to do is bring trouble wherever he travels. The pictures which captured the time before, before he betrayed you before he dared to sink the city of contracts. There was no joy to be found in that memory and yet you asked him for assistance once more, a desperate plea for someone of his standing to help find you a way back to the faraway land you hailed from.

“You helped save not one but two great nations, I wouldn’t sell myself short if I were you, comrade.”

Your nose crinkled up at the word, “I saved one of them from you,” it's a joke, you’re making a joke but he doesn’t laugh. He shouldn’t laugh, it was a failed mission and reflected poorly on him. The other harbingers already looked down upon him and this was just another reason to shun him, “Though you are forgetting Inazuma so if anyone is selling me short, it’s you.”

His body seizes up, his shoulders and jaw tense.

Ajax often boasted how great he was, how skillful he was with a myriad of weapons, and how powerful he became once being given a vision but in all his time with you, he had not given you praise. At least, not one that didn’t in some way insinuating that you were still the slightest bit inferior to him. He wondered, did you take his words to heart? A part of him felt regret though he couldn’t help but be prideful of himself. There truly was no one in the world like he, still, Ajax valued your strength and company even if his manner of expression was odd.

“Thank you for inviting me in but I’m afraid I must be going now.”

“You’ve only just got here!” You frown, stumbling forward on your knees to get closer to him, “You can’t leave now,” your eyes grown round and wobbly as something, perhaps insecurity or doubt flashes amongst them, “You once told me if given the chance you’d walk away from the Fatui and travel across Tevyat with me so why now when I’ve offered you a place free of responsibility are you trying to leave.”

It all tumbles out faster than you intend for it to, slapping your hands over your mouth to bottle up any lingering words that might jump out.

Ajax runs his fingers through his hair, ruffling his copper locks, “When I said that stuff, well I forgot myself,” he says, his lips curling up with distaste, “I’m kind of a bad guy and you know this,” sighing, he shakes his head, “You don’t want my company, it’ll only slow you down.”

“If I cared about any of that, do you truly think I’d have tried to make a connection with you?”

Patting the floor beside you, you give Ajax your best pleading eyes so rather than run away, maybe he’d talk to you. So he sits, all arms and legs, lanky. His jacket opened even further to expose more of his stomach, his vision clinking against his belt. 

“I’ve never had friends before, not really.”

It’s true.

His fellow harbingers were his coworkers and nothing more, close relationships in his line of work were nonexistent. At fourteen he left home, he’d changed and no one wanted him. Friends weren’t hard to come by for someone like him.

“There's a first time for everything,” you say turning back to the fire, “And you have me and Zhongli, kind of, and Xinyan too.”

Ajax frowns, there’s something more he wants to say but he can’t. It’d be cruel, unnecessary so he lets it sit in his mind. He doesn’t have friends in the way you do, no one who’d have his back through thick and thin. Ajax doesn't expect you to be that for him, and he isn’t sure he wants you to.

“Maybe.”

He doesn’t want to just be your friend. 

The thought strikes him when he finds himself admiring the wistful look in your eyes. A friend didn’t admire their friends, or that’s what he thought, Ajax couldn’t be sure what friends were supposed to do with one another. It made him feel pathetic. He was in his twenties, the youngest person to ever become a harbinger, adept in all forms of battles sans the bow, he still needed to work on that, and yet he didn’t know what this thing between you and he was.

We’re friends supposed to want to kiss their friend?

“Don’t sell yourself short, there’s a lot to like once you get past the exterior,” you smile to yourself, twisting the fur of the rug between your fingers, “There’s a lot that I like.”

“There is?”

The admission draws him closer, like a magnet desperate to cling to the nearest surface. 

You nod your head, your bottom lip catching between your teeth, “Oh yeah, lots,” it doesn’t feel like a joke when you say it and his heart dares to jump in his chest, “For starters, you’re a good cook.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nod with a laugh.

“What else?” Ajax needs to hear more, he can’t live without hearing more praise from you, “Do you think I have dashing good looks? Or perhaps do you admire my exceptional battle stance?”

He regrets those words as soon as they leave him, but he’s lacking something, something that stopped him from making an ass out of himself in front of you.

With your finger pressed to your chin, you pretend to be lost in thought. His words don’t bother you nor does his demeanour, “Of course I do,” surprisingly, there’s no hint of sarcasm, “But actually, I was thinking that the things I like about you are far greater than the things that scare me about you.”

There’s a hint of bashful embarrassment behind your voice, coating your words and leaving you covered in a heat far more powerful than the dwindling fire before you. It doesn’t disappoint him though, it excites him, the knowledge that the good outweighs the bad, that you see him and not the masquerade of the man who presented himself to you so long ago.

“I don’t scare you?”

Ajax inches closer, strangely embolden to close the space he put between the two of you out of fear. It’s comfortable in the air between you, he isn’t afraid to breathe it in and share it. He never thought you were delicate, he knew you could handle yourself— you’d slain your fair share of dragons, he just wondered if he’d do something wrong. A stray comment could crush someone like a flower beneath the heavy sole of a foot. Ajax could be cruel even if he didn’t intend to. 

“No.”

He wants to laugh, his own parents could not handle him. Though, in his younger days fresh out of the Abyss, he’d admit he was a tad more unrestrained. Either way, Ajax has always been a handful, his lust for chaos and bloodshed not exactly the trademark for a hero or even a likeable man. If it wasn’t fear that his presence caused, it was discomfort, even disdain.

“Though, I suppose that those are my personal feelings blindsiding me.”

It catches him off guard, the notion that you harbour personal feelings for him, “Care to elaborate?”

That’s all he can muster up, a cool few words.

“Well,” you start, nervously picking at the, “I simply mean that I’m able to look past all the things you’ve done and see the person underneath.”

“And your feelings? They are…?”

“Childe-“

“Ajax,” he mutters, turning his head to the side, “My name is Ajax.”

With a slight nod you sputter, “Ajax, let’s not,” his true name on your lips is perhaps the most satisfying thing he’s ever experienced, “Let’s just enjoy each other’s company.”

He feels the need to push, prod, and poke until you break and ‘fess up to whatever it is you’re keeping from him. 

Ajax inches closer, his hands settling on either side of you. Dull blue eyes bore into yours, leaning in so close his breath fans across your face. He can smell the faint aroma of glaze lilies and apples. You’d taste of them, he’s sure of it, he caught you snacking on them just before you roped him into visiting your abode.

“I don’t think I can do that, not until you’re honest with me.”

Pressing your hand to his chest, you laugh, “You’re terrible,” it’s without malice though he notices how your breath catches ever so slightly, “Being so presumptuous and demanding when I wouldn’t dare to do the same.”

He raises a brow at you but doesn’t falter.

“I’ve taken notice,” you grit, “Of the way you stare when you think I’m paying no mind,” there's a moment of pause that overtakes you but you press your lips firmly in a line, “So let’s just forget feelings and complicated emotions and just enjoy a moment of peace.”

Something comes over him, a surge of adrenaline or maybe it was desperation; whatever it was, it filled him with the overwhelming need to kiss you. So he did, cupping your cheeks with a depraved fever, all the air in his lungs disappearing the moment your lips met his. They’re slightly chapped, warm as is the rest of your face, whether from your own flushed skin or the roaring fire dwindling away behind you. The small squeak you let out dies on your tongue, your tensed body melting into his grasp, your own two hands taking hold of his shoulders, twisting the fabric of his coat between your fingers. Ajax nearly collapses into you, inching himself as close as he possibly can to you.

Pulling away from him, your head hangs low between your two bodies. “Ajax,” you pant, furling his coat in your fists, “That is the exact opposite of what I said.”

“I want you.”

The admission is truthful, it weighed so heavily on his chest that just uttering those three words filled him with such relief. So, he said it again, mumbling against your lips and he desperately curled against you. Sighing into his mouth, you melted against him, your own desperation dwarfing whatever lingering apprehension you may have had. He wasn’t any ordinary member of the Fatui and you knew him well enough to know when he was being genuine. 

It felt immensely better to succumb to the calling of your heart than to deny yourself the wealth of bliss that lay ahead.

The fire crackles to life, growing so hot that the clothing you wear is unbearable. 

“Do you want me, too?” Ajax asks, his lips chapped and crackled, though slick with saliva, “Because, I’ve been thinking about this for so long … Dreaming of it.”

His eyes, however brilliant of a blue had always looked so pallid and devoid of life, blazed with something startling as he peered at you through his lashes. 

“I don’t think I could go on if this is all I could have of you.”

You suck in a sharp breath, your eyes flickering between his face and the carpet. His words sent butterflies fluttering amongst your rib cage, your stomach growing heavy and twisted as his gaze seared holes into your skin. Wisps of copper-coloured hair brush against your forehead, his breath hot on your face as he rests his head on yours.

“Shut up,” you mutter, tossing aside the caution you used as an excuse to push away whatever it is that you felt for him, “Shut up and kiss me, Ajax.”

Ajax laughed against your lips, his entire body practically vibrating with need and something scarily close to desire. He’s never desired much, not in the way one ought to and he’s never desired another person. The closest thing he could compare to such an overwhelming desire was his drive, it was so powerful it too often overshadowed his morals. Sometimes he wished he never felt any emotion like that but now, he didn’t. It only took a split second for him to press against you, his lips greedily claiming yours and his hands finding your body. 

And he kissed you for all the times he thought of kissing you, desperately praying to the Tsaritza and even Celestia that none of this was some sort of cruel mirage, that you were really there, your fingers toying with his hair, his name hot on your lips when he pressed his hands against your rib cage, giving your torso a small squeeze to remind him that you really were there.

“There anything else I can do for you?” He mutters against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip when you chuckle, “Because I’d do anything for you.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap straight from your chest and splatter out onto the floor before you. The apples of your cheeks grew warm as blood blotted the surface of your skin– he was just so cute, it made you melt.

“You’re eager, I like that.”

Tightly gripping the lapel of his jacket you couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled in your chest. 

“I prefer perfectionist.”

Ajax grins, a bit smug and you know he enjoys the way you playfully roll his eyes. It was true, he was a perfectionist. He could fight with just about any weapon you threw at him like he’d been using it for years and he was enough of a masochist to use a bow and arrow every day until he mastered it. You wondered what that might mean for you– if he’d be good– if he knew what he was doing. He had to have been because a pit had begun to form in your stomach and your breath grew laboured as his teeth grazed against the supple skin of your neck.

Plucking the Fatui mask off the side of his head you hum, “Gonna show me what that means?” you ask, a gasp cutting you off as he pulls your shirt off you.

“You’re beautiful,” is all he says, his mouth working down your body with a flurry of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses in tow. His teeth and bottom lip drag against the smooth expanse of your chest and down to your belly. The blunt edge of his teeth digs into the fat of your hip as he takes a playful bite, threading your fingers into his hair and you roughly tug them, “Ouch!”

“That’s what you get!” You chuckle, pouting down at him, “If I see teeth marks you’re gonna be in big trouble!”

Ajax rolls the waistband of your bottoms further down your hips and your thighs. You kick your legs out to aid in his undressing, chuckling to yourself at the garish display that unfolds before you as he slowly peels off your socks. The weight of his gaze on your near-naked body doesn’t feel as heavy as you thought it should. Your shoulders ease and the pinpricks of nerves that spark off your skin roll into waves of excitement.

Your adventures and escapades while thrilling had long since worn your spirit; the feel of his calloused hands and chapped lips on your body gave your spirit new life.

For too long you danced around the adoration you felt for Ajax, afraid of all the labyrinthine complexities that shrouded him like an endless smog. It might have been love, you realise this now that you’ve dove head first into the pool of desire that too often filled your thoughts. Ajax filled up your life in a similar way, slinking between the nooks and crannies, popping up when you least expected it. A Fatui Harbinger wasn’t much of a travelling companion, not by any conventional standards, they were much too busy to be anything more than a passing ship in the night. 

But even so, Ajax has always been a man of his word.

When he confessed to you that there was nothing more he longed for than to be your travelling companion, he did everything in his power to bring that wish to live. You had thought him foolish, said as much to his face and yet here the two of you were together in the one place you could call home in Teyvat. Years of late-night chatter and heated exchanges coming to fruition. It left your skin tingling, heat bubbling across the surface as you watched him take in the sight of you.

Now as he cups your cheeks, you’re starting to regret not allowing him entry into your sacred space sooner.

“Can I tell you how stunning you are, or are you going to pull my hair again?”

The cheeky smile he sports does little to disguise his flushed cheeks or the way his eyes remain widened and glued to your bare figure. 

“You can say it,” you say in a small, bashful voice.

“You are absolutely breathtaking.”

There’s adoration in his eyes, it pools so strongly in his irises that you have to turn away. Your skin burns pleasantly with want. But his raw emotion makes you shy.

“Thank you, Ajax,” you whisper, ducking your head down.

His calloused fingers graze your chin in an instant, tipping your head upward until your gaze meets his, “Can I touch you?” He murmurs with such sincerity it makes you whimper, “Please?”

“Yes,” you pant, your eyes lidded.

Ajax tentatively drags his other hand down the length of your spine before settling between your thighs. Gently, he strokes your pelvis, his fingers lost amongst the thatch of curls that leads him to your cunt. Your hips twitch eagerly as he brushes against your clit.

“There,” you whisper, “Touch me there, Ajax.”

He nods, his mouth slightly agape, a moan slipping out. Your sensitive sex can hardly handle how he circles his fingers around your clit even for a moment before he dips into your hole to collect some of your arousal on his digits.

You sigh lowly, digging your fingers into the meat of his muscular shoulders, your head daring to tip back. His thumb keeps your head firmly in place as he darts between watching your expression unfold upon your visage and your needy cunt. Your slick folds swallow up his hand as he languidly strokes you, taking note of what you seem to enjoy. Blood prickles around your nails. His freckled skin breaks and bleeds from your rough treatment but it makes Ajax moan even louder. You keen at his obscene sounds, your own mixing in. You can see his cock straining through his slacks, the grey fabric dampening.

“Please,” you whimper, pressing your bottom lip between your teeth, “Keep touching me like that … I’m going to-”

“Can I kiss you? I want to kiss you down there?” Ajax asks needily, his skin flushed a pinky hue and gleaming with sweat.

“Please, please, please.”

Your back is pressed flat against the floor before Ajax has settled between your thighs. His chapped lips leave balmy kisses between your breasts, down the expanse of your round tummy, and amongst your pubes. You shiver when his hot breath fans against your wet cunt, your clit twitching in anticipation. Your fingers find his way into his tousled locks with ease, the blunt edge of your nails scraping against his scalp as he drags his tongue through your folds.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, wrapping his arms around your thighs, “I swear to you that I’m not exaggerating.”

A giggle bubbles up in your throat, “I already like you, there's no need to flatter,” you joke, drawing in a sharp breath when he sucks on your clit, “Archons above… Please do that again.”

Ajax obliges you, obedient like a dog but twice as loyal. Your pleasure is his sole focus as he lavishes your pussy with licks and kisses, his grip bruising but evidently filled with tender devotion. You come undone on his tongue with dizzying ease. Your head swirls and swims in search of purchase and reprieve but leaves you stranded as your vision spots. The only thing that keeps you grounded in reality is the burn of his skin on yours.

Your cunt gushes and wets your thighs, and his chin but Ajax doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too eager to have his lips on yours again. You taste yourself on him and it fills you with a turbulent pool of lava. His erection pressed against your pussy, eliciting a moan that you swallow.

“I want you inside of me.”

“Yeah?” Ajax preens into your mouth.

You nod your head before you’re able to form words, “Yes,” you pant, “Now.”

His belt clicks and clunks haphazardly as he rushes to undress himself. You watch with a small smile and laugh. His eagerness made your stomach flutter and your heart jump. Your rib cage rattled with each new summersault. You wondered if he could hear it. 

The sight of his flushed, dripping cock makes your cunt clench and twitch with need. A sharp breath passes between the two of you as he drags the fat, engorged head between your folds to gather your arousal. The wooden floorboards creak as you claw at them, your chest heaving with haggard breaths.

“I’ll go slow,” Ajax promises, tenderly caressing your cheek.

A muffled noise of agreement passes through you and reaches his ears, but in all honesty you didn’t much mind if he didn’t.

His cock stretches you out deliciously, slowly filling you to the brim. Ajax braces himself on the ground, his arms caging you in. Your hands wrap around his wrists, your thumbs pressing against this pulse point. His blood pumps erratically through his veins. Your heart matches his and that thrills you to no end.

Ajax presses his forehead against yours when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, his chest flush with yours.

“Are you okay, Ajax?”

He hums, his chest rumbling, “Yes,” he whispers, his nose brushing against yours, “But if I move … I’ll finish.”

He doesn't want to finish.

Something about that pleases you.

“It’s okay,” you assure, “It’s okay if you do because we can do this again.”

“Yeah?”

His hips rock into yours, his cock slowly rubbing against your snug, slick walls. The head of his cock stretches out your entrance before Ajax slides him back inside of you. Your breath trembles and you shake with need. You can feel him twitching inside of you. 

“Yeah.”

Ajax nuzzles his nose into the side of your neck, his sweat damp hair tickling your cheek, “Fuck, I love you.”

Ajax’s hips stutter as he thrusts languidly into you, his pace inconsistent as he contemplates savouring you and indulging in his own ravenous appetite. 

“I love you too,” tears prickle at your eyes as you’re overcome with emotion.

Warmth spreads throughout your cunt as he spills his spend in you with a final thrust. Throwing your hands over his shoulders, you burrow your face into his shoulder, hiding away your expression. You’re sure he can feel it pressed against his skin but you placate yourself with the knowledge that he can’t see you unravel before him. Though, you wet him with your tears that spill past your lash line.

Your heart pangs, with sadness, with adoration, with contentment. The current sweeps you up, your consciousness lost amongst your emotions. You loved him. You well and truly loved him, Ajax. Not even his status as a Harbinger could change that. And, you weren’t sure you wanted it to.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

networks: @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum

[irndad]

double vision in a rose blush -s.r.

a/n: first fic in like a year and my first spencer fic! please let me know what you think!

summary: she is the best part of his days, his life, these days, really. the only problem is she never touches him. s/o to @bitesizedgremlin for writing the most adorable touch starved spence fic that got me 🥰

wc: 1.6k

He loves looking at her. 

It feels hedonistic, like drinking a too-expensive wine. Looking at her brings a warmth that spreads all throughout him, like threaded gold embedded in her movements. It’s a lovely kind of ache, how she can bring the most open, the most raw parts of him to the surface. She is captivating, the way she laughs, the way she moves, the slightest intonation of affection she offers him in her tone. 

Tonight, she sits across from him at the team’s favorite bar. She’s wearing a deep emerald green top, the kind of thing that makes her look like something out of a dream. 

It’s not like it shows how much he likes her. He hopes it doesn’t. 

Sure, people tease them. She’s a consultant with their teams, one with a desk right next to his one. He initially thought he’d hate the company, but even on their first meeting, she was relentlessly kind. She had sat next to him, wearing a beautiful periwinkle sweater, and somehow he was talking for far too long about how the original blue pigments were sometimes made from toxic materials and how much modern effort it took to make a sweater that color.

He’d felt a familiar humiliation, the knowledge that a beautiful woman had sat down next to him and offered him kindness, and he’d met her with his own personal brand of anti-charisma.

But she hadn’t interrupted him. In fact, she granted him maybe the most welcoming, kind smile that he’s ever seen in his life.

And she’d asked more about the pigment. 

Spencer- he’d never known the kind of affection she offers so freely. It almost reminds him of Penelope- how open she is, how kind. Objectively, he knows she likes him at least a little bit. He’s a profiler, and he can tell at least that much. 

The hitch is, he’s the only one she doesn’t touch. 

Morgan gets shoulder brushes. Penelope hugs, and he even remembers her once giving Rossi a warm squeeze of her hand. But not him. Even now, she sits across from him after having held Morgan in a long hug of greeting. 

He looks up at her, her pretty fingers wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. She moves with such grace, no matter what the action. The way she tops her head back, how a lovely grin spreads across her face. He’d give anything not to be her exception. To be one of the people she touches. 

“What you thinking there, wonder kid?” She says, and somehow her voice carries across the crowded bar. He thinks he could pick her voice out anywhere.

“Nothing really,” he says back. He never likes the way his voice sounds around her. He wants to be confident, smooth, like Morgan. She leaves him too weak for it. “How are you feeling?”

“I am wondrous, Spencer.” She’s leaning into his space. Her tone is just a little shaky, influenced by the alcohol. He’s near enough to smell the lily-scented perfume she wears, and it’s everything in him not to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He’d gotten it for her for Christmas. 

He remembers her reaction to it, unwrapping the bow and wrapping he’d sent an hour trying to make perfect. It was one of the few times she touched him, however brief- a squeeze of his hand and that earnestly grateful look- the image kept him warm all year. She’d worn it to work more often than not. It brought him a shameful sense of satisfaction. 

She carries me with her. She has a piece of me with her wherever she goes. 

I want to be touched by you, he thinks, I want to be the one doing the touching. What is it about him? He knows his limbs are a little spindle-y, and he’s not exactly experienced in most forms of physical expression. But he could be, if he was given the chance. If it was with her. It’s not something he could say, though.

“You look lovely,” he says, unprompted. “I love that shirt on you.”

She flushes, and almost, almost, touches his knee in thanks. He preens at the praise, even though it’s not verbal. She’s just so beautiful. It’s always been about more than beauty for him, the mind behind the doe eyes and sweet smile. 

Still, it’s hard to deny how much of an effect she has on him- how she can glance at him with that honey sweet look, how the red on her lips has him wondering what it would taste like. If there could ever be anything better. Without thinking, he grabs one of her hands; it looks just so pretty in his own. He runs his thumb over her knuckles. It’s like electricity, passing through them. 

There has to be something he’s done. There has to be, if she touches everyone but him. He always notices, but tonight, with liquor and courage in his chest, he wants to ask. If he knows, if there’s something- maybe he can fix it. Maybe then she’ll put her pretty hands on him just like this. Touch him in any way she wants.

It wouldn’t be close to what he wants. But it would be something. 

“Hey,” his voice comes out uneven and shaky, but his eyes are locked on hers, “I-I’m sorry if I’ve done something.”

Her face blooms into an adorably confused expression. 

“I-,” His stutter jumps out but he’s still holding her hand, and it’s so soft and his stomach just won’t stop that flipping feeling and he just cannot let go, “I know you like to touch people. I don’t know if I-I’ve done something, but you- you never touch me.”

Suddenly, the bar feels a good bit quieter, and her eyes feel like they can see right through him. Her hands are the only thing tethering him here. 

“I don’t touch you?”

“Touch is actually one of the most well-regarded indicators of closeness and geniality in personal relationship.” 

“Spencer-“

“It stands to reason that if you touch everyone but me, there should be a reason and it’s like something that I would have done to offend you.”

“Hey-“

“I just want you to like me.”

Her face, the most beautiful face he’d ever seen- softens into a delicate expression of fondness. 

“Spence,” and god, doesn’t that sound lovely, “I thought you didn’t like touching.”

He pouts without thinking, and all thoughts leave his mind when her other hand reaches out to hold his face, her fingers on the junction of his chin and neck, stroking the side of his cheek.

The truth of it is he thinks of her hands on him in every way. Pictures hands laced together, her graceful fingers running through his hair as they lay on his couch. 

He’s imagined kissing her way too many times.

“Not with you. You’re different.”

He’s too honest. But it’s overwhelming. Her hand in his, the other brushing delicately over his face. He leans into it, a little too eager, but the sensation of it is just too much not to. 

“Remember the second day of me being with the team? You told Garcia she’s the only one allowed to touch you?”

“I think so?”

“Well, I like to repeat your boundaries.”

“I like you to touch me.”

She tips her head back, laughing, and she looks ethereal, the kind of smile gracing her face that’d have you believe everything you’ve every worried about in your god-forsaken life was worth it to witness this. 

“I’d like to touch you too, Reid.”

“You can call me Spencer,” he says, realizing how close they are. Lilies. He’s overplaying his hand. He’s a friend at work, he wants to remind himself. He’s the guy who bought her perfume and hands her files and gets her coffee and that does not mean the same thing as a partner. He’s not even the kind of person someone like her would want.

It’s just hard to remember that. 

“Spencer,” she says, more tender than anyone else had ever been with him., “I could be reading this wrong, but-“

It’s actually a small distance, kissing her. If she’d been more than a few inches from his face then he wouldn’t have done it. But she was so close, and she smiles into him, open and warm and his arms are around her waist, hers cradling his face, and it’s more touch than he knows what to do with, far less than anything he’d be willing to give up. 

It lasts a languid second and then ends too soon, her gorgeous eyes meeting his own, her basically in his lap. He knows that this is basically a bar-kiss between two coworkers, and that it is unlikely to be anything but that, but he kind of needs it to not be. Needs it to be more. 

“I don’t-I don’t know if you wanted to do that or if you want me to stop, but I really, really like you, and I know we work together and you might not like me back, I mean, probably not, right? But-“

“Spencer.” Her soft fingers are still brushing against his face, and he can’t help but be grateful for it. “I’m free tomorrow night.”

He’s not usually good at deciphering social cues that don’t relate to serial killers, but this one- it seems intentional. Her hands move from his cheek (and he winces, visibly) before wrapping both arms around his neck. It’s awfully romantic to be anything else. 

“Do you want to be my plans?” 

“Yes.”

[cheollipop]

☂˚.⋆｡ 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙨

navi | taglist | part of svthub's fall-ing collab

pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader

w.c.: 5.0k

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship, apple picking and pie baking and some sweet lovemaking <3

a lovers’ retreat—golden rays cast shadows over high, blushing cheekbones, flour-kissed noses and eye smiles as warm as the oven’s embrace, secrets and tender kisses shared with the starry night, and in a wooden cabin fragrant with the aroma of cinnamon and caramel, the love shared was sweeter than the finest apple pie.

☂ warnings: food/eating mentioned, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, praise, edging, some begging, some cockwarming, overstimulation (m), multiple orgasms (f), nicknames (min; baby, babe, love), some aftercare, seokmin is so fucking whipped (so is reader), there's so much love talk in this, I hate myself.

☂ A/N: nobody come for my inconsistent pie recipe, I didn't use one (also idc if you don't knead the dough, i needed it to describe seokmin's bulging muscles tyvm). other than that, this fic means a lot to me and despite struggling for the most part, I really enjoyed writing it. happy reading! :]

nsfw under the cut—minors dni 🔞

Slender fingers rounded the hanging fruit, examining for imperfections with eager eyes and the tip of a tongue held between pearly whites. The crisp air contrasted the solacing warmth of the morning sun under which you basked, strolling between green leaves and bright reds with a near-empty basket dangling at your side. You wanted him to work faster, to disregard whatever negligible bumps lay on the apples’ exterior, but you opted to remain silent, simply watching him from the sidelines while he carried on with his meticulous inspections.

Seokmin was spring. Smiles that could bring a barren land to life, vivid flora and singing birds fluttering around within the glimmers decorating his irises. But spring had long since ended, now treading deeper into the cooling weather of autumn, and yet, Seokmin still offered verve to everything he touched. Even as green turned to yellow then amber, and tanned skin rested beneath thick layers of cashmere and fleece, he still wore his spring smile—a reminder that the season of life will come again. He carried warmth wherever he went, and the biting chill attempting to penetrate thick layers of clothing stood no chance while his towering figure remained by your side.

You watched him throw the fallen end of his scarf over his shoulder, a woven cream he’d worn on your first date. Hoary yarn ends peeked out along its length, and you reminisced the store tag he’d forgotten to remove while he fiddled with his fingers and laughed anxiously before you all those years ago, so young and eager to impress. You’d mused over the giggles shaking his tense shoulders, the pretty pink painting his face and ears when you failed to rip it off in a discreet manner, and though the embarrassment was debilitating in the moment, the worry weighing down on Seokmin’s shoulders faded away as you laughed. It was well into winter when you’d walked alongside the river, steaming cups of hot chocolate resting between your palms—going cold before you had the chance to sip on them, only there to fight off the bleak midwinter breeze numbing your appendages. Young and dumb, you both were, walking by the river on a chilly day, but young and dumb brought upon you years of easy smiles and hearty laughs, unconditional love and unending happiness, all sprouting from sharing arbitrary details about yourselves with that same cream scarf draped around you both.

Dark locks now dyed the colour of changing leaves, the morning rays casting their golden hue over the wavy strands and reflecting off the specs perched over his nose bridge. Seokmin was a few inches taller now, and his shoulders broader, but the smile he wore, the sparkle in his eyes as he laid them on you were no different than those from that day by the river.

Chatter at your side dragged your attention off Seokmin’s profile and onto the family walking past you—two curious children and their parents inspecting the ripe fruit hanging before them. Scripts of late-night conversations you’d had with Seokmin flooded your mind, your face flushing and butterflies swarming your lower belly at the thought of starting a family with the man. Seokmin's fascination with learning how to braid your hair, his whispered comment—’for the future’—did not go unnoticed as he brushed gentle fingers through the stands he’d tangled in his attempts, a hint of a promise in his tone. He also promised to never leave them alone with Hoshi, which you appreciated. For obvious reasons. You were still young, and had much to experience together before taking a step that significant, but part of you was ready to offer Seokmin the world. A man who’d brought nothing bliss and warmth into your life, how could you not?

Turning your head back to the man in question, your eyebrows raised as you watched him eying the passing family alongside you, and you wondered whether the same thoughts were running through his head as well. But then his attention shifted back to you, and the amiable smile while he took you in told you everything you needed to know.

The curve of his lips persisted as he reached a hand to push the stray strands blown by the chilling breeze off your face, pinching the fat of your cheeks between his pointer and thumb before dropping them back to his side. A gentle gesture, but it lit your insides on fire, blinking quickly as you processed an action so natural to him, yet one that set you ablaze. Swallowing nervously, you redirected your gaze to the three apples resting over Seokmin’s palms as he presented the flawless, shiny Honeycrisps with a proud grin.

You giggled, “those look great, Min.”

“Only the best for you,” he leaned forward to plant a kiss onto the cheek he’d just pinched.

Flustered, you watched him throw the apples into the basket you held, his fingers brushing against yours as he swiftly pulled it out of your hand and carried on walking through the orchard. You might have missed a few additions to the small pile while you pondered about a lifetime by Seokmin’s side, and yes, the basket was significantly more weighed down now that he did. But it wasn’t that heavy.

You skipped a few steps to catch up with him, your bottom lip jutting out in protest. “Min. I can carry it myself.”

“Mm, I know,” he hummed, eyes trained on the novel batch of apples swinging gently at his eye level. “Don’t want you to, though.”

You pushed away the fondness warming your chest, capturing his coat’s sleeve between two fingers as you sulked at his side, his attention still set on those damn apples. He moved the basket to his other hand absentmindedly, allowing you more space to come closer to his side, his free arm wrapping around your waist, and head twisting to look over your moping features with tender adoration gracing his own. Leaning down, he pressed soft lips to your forehead, their warmth seeping into your skin and fluttering your eyelids shut.

Placing another one at your temple, playfulness mingled in his tone as he spoke, “Stop complaining, you’re not getting it back.”

And this time, all you could do was laugh.

The hours hurried by while Seokmin’s endless chatter kept you company, and perhaps you wish it hadn’t, wanting to treasure each passing second you shared in the presence of the man with the unwavering smile. You walked between the endless trees with leisure steps, the fingers entangled with yours occasionally dragging you with them to inspect the gradient of red and green. Some apples made the cut, thrown into the pile of spotless fruit he’d gathered over the past few hours, while others remained swaying with the gentle breeze, bruised exterior reflecting the golden rays.

A particular shade of green caught Seokmin’s eye, leaving your hand behind at your side to wrap slender fingers around the glossy circumference, rotating it gently to inspect it, going as far as leaning forward to get a closer look. Nodding to himself, he snapped its stem off and placed the weighted basket down, wrapping the apple in his cream scarf to give it a good wipe. You felt yourself salivate at the satisfying crunch sounding as Seokmin’s teeth breached the unblemished skin, and you watched the pucker of his lips as he chewed with wide, expecting eyes. A breathy chuckle contained within tightly pursed lips echoed in the back of his throat upon viewing the anticipation etched into your expression, and he moved the unbitten side towards your already-parted lips. Too focused on the apple nearing your waiting mouth, you’d missed the sly smile, the giggle he’d nearly failed at suppressing, and bit into the polished green.

A stream of its juice slipped past to flow down your chin, bitterness overwhelming your tastebuds and forcing your eyes firmly shut. A shiver ran down your spine as you struggled to chew on the unripe fruit, tears prickling in your eyes as you willed them open to glare at the man before you, hints of guilt mixed in with amusement on his face. Underneath all the kind smiles and caring gestures, Seokmin loved being an asshole.

He’d watched you persist and push through finishing the bite, too many people around now to spit it out. He even leaned forward to kiss away the tangy juice cooling over your skin, scrunching his nose at the sourness he’d willingly stolen another taste of. At least he was aware enough to take a step back once you’d swallowed the unpleasant bite down, what you thought was fear flashing across his features.

“Hey,” he put his hand up in defence before you could speak, “we share everything, right?” He took another step backward while giggling anxiously, and he nearly tripped over the apple-full basket he had resting over the soft grass. “Why should I make an exception for fruit?”

“Bad fruit,” you corrected, an eyebrow raised.

“Babe,” he started, but didn’t know how to continue, perhaps hoping the sparkling brown of his irises would do the trick.

And it almost did, you admit. But the bitterness lingered over your tongue, and Seokmin found himself scurrying away and out of the fire zone of the incoming apples you’d launched at him, laughing while you entertained the couples and children harvesting their own fruit with your lively act of revenge.

--

You smoothed your hands down the fresh set of clothes you’d thrown on, the fleece warm against your skin. The ligneous scent of your rented cabin added to its coziness, gentle winds blowing against closed windows and floorboards creaking with every socked footstep guiding you to the small kitchen.

Said footsteps quickened upon spotting bright green reflecting off the sharp metal of the very large knife in Seokmin’s hand, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on dividing the apple into even crescents. The hurried shuffling drew his attention, twisting his head just as you reached for the sharp tool, gently untangling his fingers off its handle to set it down over the cutting board alongside the botched fruit.

“Baby?” Tilting his head to the side, he stared at you in confusion.

You held both his hands in yours, flat over your palms as you inspected the tanned skin. Running your thumbs over polished nailbeds, you followed the protruding veins lining his slender fingers, all the way down each knuckle until you’d made sure he was unharmed. You enclosed his fingers within your palm, bringing them up to press your lips against, finding his pointer to plant an especially tender kiss over the scar stretching across its side.

“I was being careful,” he spoke through a melodramatic pout.

You smiled. “I know you were, Min. But let me handle the chopping this time, okay?”

Averting his eyes to the side, pretending to focus on the yellowing trees past the windowpane, Seokmin nodded, his hands limp in your hold. You lowered them to his side to cradle his jaw, tilting his head down to meet your eyes once again and staring him down in hopes of breaking his composure, but Seokmin’s pout persisted. And so the kisses began, soft and delicate over his cheekbones, forcing his eyes shut as you trailed your lips over the trembling skin. Leaning your head back, you watched his evident struggle against a betraying smile, finally curling the corners of his mouth when you’d dragged his head down with a forceful kiss to his cheek, the skin stretching under your lips while you kept them pressed there for a few more seconds. You moved away with an audible smack, Seokmin’s pout nowhere to be seen as he stared down at you with an uncontainable smile.

“Why don’t you make the dough instead?”

You picked up where Seokmin left off—half an apple chopped sloppily, which you ended up munching on while you worked—going through the washed apples to pick out the greenest, cutting them into even pieces and throwing them in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar. You remembered the nutmeg later on, after the frustrated noise at your side caught your attention, confusion raising your eyebrow when you’d noticed the powdery dough Seokmin was working with. He’d forgotten the eggs.  The embarrassment on his face was adorable, rose-tinted cheeks and restrained smile while watching you crack an egg into the crumbly mess he’d been working on for a shameful amount of time. A quick kiss to his jaw and a whispered ‘it’s okay, Min’ seemed to do the trick, though.

Tossing the last of the apples into the seasoning bowl, you sprinkled nutmeg over the shimmering crescents before grabbing a clean spoon from the dishrack, the spices’ aroma wafting in the air around you as you mixed them in with the fruit. Glancing over at Seokmin, you realised he’d begun kneading the dough, flour dusted over the marble counter as he rolled the raw crust in on itself, and as you took in the hard muscle bulging against the sleeve of his t-shirt, your fingers unconsciously loosened around the spoon you held. Your eyes wandered over flexing biceps and defined, broad shoulders, veins protruding from tan skin as he worked the dough under his palm. Bottom lip tucked between a set of pearly whites, his eyebrows furrowed occasionally while the ball gradually smoothened in his hands, growing less crumbly and eventually forming a near-perfect sphere.

Absentmindedly tumbling the apples with a limp grip around the spoon, you followed Seokmin’s movements, lower belly fluttering with every faint, airy grunt sounding in the back of his throat as he worked the dough.  Your thoughts strayed as you eyed the distracting flex of his muscles—the smile he wore, so sweet and tender, contrasted broad shoulders and the strength to manhandle you without much thought. You were almost certain Seokmin had no awareness of the fact, going about what he was doing without much regard to the blushing mess he’d left behind, the butterflies violently thrashing around within your stomach. The sparkling orbs with which he gazed at you, with charming innocence, oblivious to the effect he had on you. Perhaps that was for the best; you weren’t sure you’d want to find out what would become of him should he learn of the hidden power he’d been holding this entire time.

Sudden eye contact dragged you out of your daydreams when the man before you turned in your direction, the smooth doughball resting over his palm, and a proud smile on his lips. You held back the one threatening to break out on yours when you’d spotted the white dusting the pointy tip of his nose, some lightly powdering his cheeks as well. Instead, your chest warmed at his wordless flaunting as he slowly moved the undented dough towards you, sparkling eyes fishing for praise. And sure, you basically made the dough for him, and yes, all he did was mix the ingredients together with firm, hard-earned muscle, but the slight falter in his smile the longer you remained silent was enough to sway you.

“It looks great, Min!” You stepped closer, inspecting the roundness with wide eyes for a few seconds before straightening up to meet his eyes, “I’m proud of you, my love.”

Though a simple gesture, Seokmin’s face lit up, all but hurling the dough onto the counter to pull you into his arms, grinning into your shoulder while he squeezed your laughing frame closer to his chest. His arms still around you, he pulled away slightly, stars dancing in his eyes as he gazed at you gleefully, smiling against your lips as you got onto your tiptoes to kiss him lightly. But that didn’t satisfy Seokmin, his arm wrapping across your back to pull you back into him, locking his lips with yours once again, this time with hunger and hints of desire laced into the action. He kissed you once, twice, until he’d had a taste and realized he’d never have enough, needing sweetness and plush lips to forever bless his senses. While you held on to his biceps for balance, Seokmin was everywhere—hands up your back, over your arms and waist, and suddenly he was kissing you harder, deeper, tongue swiping across your bottom lip and teeth digging into it with a fervent want that sent waves of heat soaring through your body.

Pulling away for air, your chests heaved in unison, flush against one another as Seokmin peered down at you with hooded eyes, a spark of lust igniting the dark irises. And suddenly you were back in the present, the forgotten apples browning in their bowl, and the dough witnessing the heated exchange from its place on the counter.

“T-the pie!” you quickly diverted, pushing Seokmin away to shift your focus back to the task at hand, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull. “Can you preheat the oven please?”

An amused laugh sounded behind you at the shakiness of your voice, “yes, boss.” Just as you were about to sigh in relief, you heard him take a step towards you, his chest bumping into your shoulder and a gentle whisper blowing against the shell of your ear. “You have flour all over your face, by the way.”

And your pants, you thought, as his palm landed a playful slap onto your ass before he made his way to the other side of the kitchen.

The heat coursing through you dwindled as you fixated on the unfinished pie, save for those resulting from the not-so-hidden glances you’d stolen of Seokmin’s defined biceps as he moved the rolling pin over the dough. It was smooth sailing after that, though, missing the heart eyes directed at you as you spooned the filling into the rolled-out crust, perfectly fitted into the baking mould. You attempted to control your expressions as Seokmin tried and failed to cut straight lines out of the leftover dough, begrudgingly allowing him to place the uneven lattice in a questionable pattern, the chipper smile stretching his lips while he worked more than enough to excuse an ugly pie.

Carrying the raw pie over his head like Simba, Seokmin made his way to the oven. You held the door open for him, eyes following the baking mould as he transferred it onto the rack, gasping when his finger met the scorching metal. He placed the pie down and pretended nothing happened, ignoring the forming mark on his knuckle as he swung the oven door shut. And despite the whining and attempts of reassurance, you dragged Seokmin to the sink and ran cold water over his hand, once again kissing his pout away while you stood with barely any space separating your bodies.

His free hand slid across the small of your back, his other leaving its place under the running water to shut it off, wiping the droplets over his sweats before holding onto your hip. Leaning down, he met your lips once more, then again, until short pecks deepened, and a sharp nose nuzzled into the side of yours as he pulled you further into his body.

You pulled away with a gasp, startling Seokmin away from your lips, “the sweet potatoes!”

The initial shock replaced by softening eyes and a breathy laugh, Seokmin squeezed your waist once before releasing you. He stood to the side while you wrapped foil around the sangria exterior, offering to put them in the oven for you, but backing down at the disapproving glare you threw at him. Perhaps Seokmin had unintentionally caused a case of Pavlovian conditioning, one you remained unaware of, because the very second his bottom lip jutted out, yours were pressing consoling kisses over its plushness. Sometimes it took a few tries, but that’s only because you enjoyed watching the man—broad shoulders and all—sulk and whine when he didn’t get his way, only to lighten up and grin once your lips met his. It’s unclear who the winner was in this game, both parties working with a motive and ending with a satisfying result. Peculiar, really.

You settled down on the creaky floorboards across from the oven, your back to Seokmin’s chest and his thighs on either side of yours. His arms rested comfortably around your waist, hands limp at your hips, occasionally squeezing at the clothed flesh. Watching the pie crust brown through the glass, you basked in the cosy aroma circulating the cabin, the heat emanating from Seokmin’s body gentler and more comforting than that caramelising the sugar drizzled over the wonky lattice. Delicate fingers smoothed down your hair, and a silky voice lulled you to a tranquil state of comfort, strong arms holding you within the aura of warmth until a sharp click sounded, with the nostalgic scent of cinnamon and caramel to guide you out of slumber’s enticing grip, and back to toothy smiles and a cordial embrace.

--

The night’s breeze was crisp against slick skin, the warmth encased within the confines of the thick blankets now infiltrated through a window forgotten open. Seokmin noticed the raised goosebumps over your arms, and lowered his body until your chests laid flush, his forearms on either side of your head keeping his weight off your form.

“Cold?” he asked, lips pressing against your jaw and up to your cheekbone, over the frosty tip of your nose.

You shook your head, “not anymore,” and wrapped your arms around the soft skin of his waist.

Seokmin smiled, gentle features illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the cracked-open blinds—a cool-toned hue casting shadows over his face, moving as he pressed his pelvis closer to yours with an exhaled moan. Moving his weight over to one arm, he slid the other down to your core, splaying his palm out over your lower belly to thumb at your clit.

He’d been teasing you for so long—his cock filling you up the way you wanted, but only barely teasing your g-spot, refusing to move despite your repetitive whines; instead, he occasionally reached two slender fingers between your legs to relieve some of the arousal burning underneath your skin. This time, though, you’d reached your limit, clenching around him as a sudden high rushed through you, shaking your body within his hold.

Despite a day’s worth of lingering touches and heated kisses, a hand placed a little too low on your back, and eyes lit with unconcealed glints of want, the patience Seokmin exhibited as he guided you through your orgasm was not surprising. He’d always enjoyed giving—curling his fingers just right to take in the elegant arch of your back, your sweet taste on his tongue while he nuzzled his nose into your soaked pussy. But most of all, Seokmin savoured the tight squeeze around his cock as he fucked you through an orgasm, his breath heavy and eyes lidded with the pleasure your walls lavished upon him.

Slowly fading back into the present, you peered up at the man atop you, the column of his throat stretched as he took in the violent fluttering of your walls. But you wanted more, pent up and restless with his scent, his warm touch, occupying your every sense. And he still won’t move.

You rolled your hips experimentally, a startled hand rushing to stop you, fingers digging into the flesh to stifle the motion. “Please,” you whined, “Min, please move.”

Groaning at your tone, cock throbbing between your walls, “oh baby,” he breathed out, bumping his forehead with yours and allowing his eyelids to fall shut. “I’ve been thinking about having you like this all day. I wanna last for you, my love, ‘wanna make you feel so good.”

Arousal boiled in your lower belly, eyelashes fluttering and a shaky breath escaping your parted lips at the words whispered in the air between you. “Min-”

“Let me be good for you.”

A kiss to your temple and a few inhales were all it took Seokmin to regain his composure, his forehead still pressed to yours as he tugged you closer by the hips, languidly rolling his own into your heat. The leisure glide wasn’t much, but it sent a shiver through your body. It was as though Seokmin could read the wordless pleads sparkling in your eyes, pulling his face away just enough to adjust the angle before settling back down onto your body. Fingers tangled in your hair to keep your eyes on his, blinking in unison while you breathed the same air, gentle waves of pleasure drawing breathy moans out of the both of you, his cockhead brushing against your sweet spot every time he drove it inside your cunt.

Sliding a hand over his sweat-coated nape, you dragged Seokmin down to your lips, the sweetness of a pie forgotten outside enriching your tastebuds, the single remaining piece left over the picnic blanket alongside crumbled foil—the unintentionally discarded dessert serving as breakfast for the blackbirds to nip at when the morning came.

The hand lost in your hair found its way to your jaw, cradling your face while he devoured you, the kiss growing deeper the farther Seokmin sunk down the blazing pit of lust growing within him. His cock twitched erratically within you, pace picking up until the echo of skin-on-skin danced between the four walls, hips slamming against yours with fervour as his eagerness finally won over him. Unable to focus on anything but the mind-numbing heaviness of his cock pounding into you, your lips parted to release a staccato of ah’s, his own relentless as they peppered wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your face.

“God, you’re perfect,” he grabbed your cheeks with the hand previously on your jaw, squishing them together to lay his lips onto the forced pout on yours, “all mine.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the repetitive abuse to your cunt, squelching obscenely every time Seokmin fucked his entire length inside. “All—hngh—all yours,” you repeated, exhaling a breath you’d been holding when sudden warmth spread through your abdomen.

“I—hah—‘m sorry,” he stuttered as his rhythm turned sloppy, shuddering when he finally came. Sheathing himself deep withing your heat, he fed ropes of translucent white into your womb while attempting to keep his eyes on you, long eyelashes fluttering while ecstasy flowed through his body.  “Felt so good, I couldn’t…” he paused to lower his head, interrupted by a string of airy moans as the last, weak spurts of cum emptied out of his twitching cock. “I couldn’t help it,” he muttered.

The reassurance died on your tongue when the sensitive cock drew out halfway, only to slam back into you as though the arms bracketing your head didn’t continue to tremble with the continuing effects of his orgasm. Lifting his head back up to meet your gaze, he lowered his hand back down to play with your cunt, dipping down to feel around your stretched hole and back up to circle your clit with the slick he’d collected, a silent promise of “I’ll be good” glimmering in his lidded eyes while he watched you fall apart under his touch.

And he was, so good.

You tumbled over the edge unexpectedly, cockhead pounding into your cunt while he rolled your clit underneath his fingertips until your features contorted gracefully, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids as you shut them and tilted your head back to welcome a stupefying orgasm. You tensed for a moment, then began spasming uncontrollably in his arms, hips simultaneously jerking towards and away from his touch as he guided you through your high, languidly gliding his cock along your dripping, clenching walls, both hands now gripping the soft flesh of your hips.

And when the stimulation sent pangs of pain up your body, a whispered repetition of his name paired with limp tugs at his wrist finally broke Seokmin away from you and the bewitching melody he drew out of the perfect circle shaping your mouth. He slid his softening cock out of your heat to allow thick dollops of pearly cum to stream out of your pussy, watching as your hole clenched uselessly until your abashed whine dragged him out of his thoughts.

You found yourself tucked in under layers of thick blankets while running water sounded in the bathroom, bare feet padding over the floorboards until Seokmin—with his boxers on backwards—reached under the covers to blindly drag a warm washcloth over your skin, hoping it would catch all the sweat and cum without having to expose you to the chill air. You drew your lips into a straight line to avoid laughing at the concentration furrowing his eyebrows, cheeks flushing as he washed your middle. Any other day, Seokmin would make a big deal of cleaning you up properly, but you could see the hair on his arms raising, the autumn night’s chill piercing through his skin.

He didn’t even bother with returning the rag to its place, tossing it over his shoulder to dive under the cosy blankets with you, limbs tangling as soon as he made it there—arms circling your tired frame and legs pushing between and over yours. The momentary frigidity dissipating, his body heat seeped into your very being, and you inhaled the fresh scent of laundry mixed in with remaining hints of his cologne. Nuzzling the pointy tip of his nose into your hair, he planted a kiss onto your crown, the gesture faint as his steady heartbeat lulled you to much-needed slumber, the serene trip to dreamland occupied with solacing thoughts about a forever home within Seokmin’s tender embrace.

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[pickingupmymercedes]

All these little things pt.2 - Lewis Hamilton

The other 9 snippets of fluff (as promised) - If you want here's the first batch - All these little things

Also there's 20 more fluffs just like these ones here - Ways to say I love you and Ways to say I love you pt. 2

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +3k

a/n: More fluffs, because we need it! Also, some of the prompts I used here were requests, so if you'd like a specific drabble do send them in and I'll put them in a potential new part?!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Adventures

The crisp autumn air danced through Y/N's hair as she tossed a worn leather satchel into the back of Lewis's sleek car. A mischievous glint twinkled in her eyes as she turned to face him, holding a folded roadmap in her hand.

"Okay, champ" she declared, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Ready for an adventure?"

Lewis, not yet totally used to her spontaneous ideas, raised an eyebrow. " What kind of adventure?"

"The kind where you're in charge," Y/N announced, thrusting the map towards him. "Today, you're the navigator, and we're going wherever you point on this map."

Confusion flickered across Lewis's face. "No destination? You serious?"

"Absolutely serious," Y/N confirmed, her grin widening. "I drive, you tell where to. Consider it a chance to reconnect with your inner explorer."

Lewis chuckled, the challenge sparking a competitive glint in his eyes. "Alright. But don't blame me if we end up lost in the middle of nowhere."

With a playful swat at his arm, Y/N climbed into the driver’s seat. Lewis unfurled the map across his lap, his brow furrowing as he studied the intricate network of roads.

"Let's head for the mountains. Looks scenic." he announced, pointing at a winding route that snaked through a vibrant green patch on the map.

Lewis, tried to meticulously charted their course. Y/N, on the other hand, reveled in the unexpected detours – a charming roadside diner with a menu scribbled on a chalkboard, a hidden waterfall cascading down moss-covered rocks, a winding country road lined with vibrant yellow leaves.

They got lost, of course. Inevitably, they took a wrong turn, the map momentarily betraying them with its two-dimensional representation of a world full of surprises. But instead of frustration, a shared amusement filled the car. They stopped and asked for directions at a quaint gas station, the attendant drawing a squiggly line on their map with a permanent marker.

As the day wore on, he realized they weren't just exploring new places, they were rediscovering each other.

They talked about everything and nothing, their conversation flowing as effortlessly as the winding roads they traversed. Lewis, usually focused on the finish line, reveled in the simple joy of the journey. Y/N embraced the freedom of not knowing what lay ahead.

By the time the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the landscape, they found themselves at a secluded beach, the golden sand kissed by the retreating waves. They sat in comfortable silence on the hood of the car, watching the fiery hues paint the sky, a shared sense of accomplishment settling over them.

"So" Lewis finally spoke, his voice tinged with wonder, "lost or found?"

Y/N turned towards him, a smile gracing her lips. "A little bit of both," she replied. "We might not have known where we were going, but we definitely found something."

Lewis leaned in, his lips brushing against hers. The journey, with all its twists and turns, had been a reminder that sometimes, the most beautiful destinations were the ones discovered along the way.

Naptime Cuddles

The roar of the crowds had faded into a distant memory, replaced by the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic rise and fall of Lewis' chest beside her. A street lamp illuminated the room in the late afternoon, painting dappled patterns across the plush white duvet. Y/n snuggled deeper into Lewis' embrace, the familiar scent of his bodywash a comforting balm.

The post-race adrenaline rush had finally subsided, leaving behind a pleasant exhaustion. The flight back from had been a blur of cramped airplane seats and fitful sleep. But in the quiet sanctuary of their home, true relaxation finally claimed her.

One of his arms was draped possessively across her waist, his fingers unconsciously tracing circles on the small of her back. The warmth of his body was a comforting weight against hers, a silent invitation to surrender to sleep.

Y/n shifted slightly, her head burrowing into the crook of his neck. A contented sigh escaped her lips, and she felt Lewis stir beside her.

"Still awake, love?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Y/n hummed in response, nuzzling closer. The sound seemed to be all the answer Lewis needed. He wrapped his arm tighter around her, his breathing falling back into a steady rhythm.

Silence settled over the room once more, broken only by the soft sounds of their sleep. The weight of the trophy he'd secured earlier that day seemed insignificant compared to the quiet comfort of this moment. For Lewis, victory wasn't just about the checkered flag; it was about the moments of peace that followed, moments shared with those he loved, where he could simply be Lewis, and the world could wait.

As sleep finally claimed Y/n, a single thought drifted through her mind – this, the quiet intimacy of a shared nap after a hard-fought win, was a victory all its own.

Season Calendar

The crisp scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of toast as Y/N fumbled with the calendar sprawled across the kitchen island. Lewis, a gentle smile playing on his lips, watched her wrestle with colored pens and sticky notes.

"So, Australia's a definite yes" Y/N declared, highlighting the season opener in Melbourne with a flourish. "Suzuka, is my favorite" she added, etching a bright pink heart beside the Japanese Grand Prix. "Miami for the after-race parties."

Lewis chuckled. "Since when did you become a party animal?"

Y/N winked. "Don't underestimate the allure of a good poolside DJ after a long race weekend."

Their fingers brushed as she reached for a blue sticky note, marking their planned trip to New York just before Monaco. "Monaco it’s…well, it’s Monaco," she continued, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Maybe another European race before Silverstone?" Lewis suggested, tracing a finger across the calendar. "Spa or Monza?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment. "Hm… I’d say Monza. Oh, and Silverstone's too," she declared, scribbling her name beside the British Grand Prix. "Promise to your mom"

A grin spread across Lewis's face. "Right"

"Monza," she added after a thoughtful pause "because it's your first race in Italia, as a Ferrari driver."

Lewis's eyes softened. "It is."

She nodded, a mischievous glint returning soon after. "Singapore, too. Night race fix."

As she marked Interlagos in São Paulo with a heart even bigger than Suzuka's, a blush crept onto her cheeks as Lewis smiled at her antics. "It’s your second home race and that little beach vacation before Vegas is too tempting to resist."

Vegas, the season finale, received a quick tick with her name next to it.

"Abu Dhabi for the closing ceremony?" she mused, tapping the last race tentatively.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. "You're practically attending the entire season, love" he teased with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Y/N looked up, feigning innocence. "Am I? It doesn't seem like that many."

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. "Babe, you've mapped out nearly the whole calendar”

"Well, someone has to support you, champion," she replied, a playful jab disguised by a loving smile. "Plus, there's the cultural immersion, the delicious food, the..."

"The endless supply of post-race champagne?" he finished her sentence, a knowing grin on his face.

Y/N winked. "There might be some of that too."

Tough Race

The air in the motorhome hung heavy, a stark contrast to the usual pre-race buzz. Lewis sat slumped on the plush couch, his helmet resting dejectedly on the coffee table. The screen of his phone displayed the stark reality – a disappointing qualifying position and a car that no one understood.

Y/N watched him from across the room, her heart heavy with empathy. She knew Lewis thrived on competition, on pushing himself to the limit. Seeing him so dispirited was a sight that tugged at her soul.

Placing her laptop aside, she walked over to him. Without a word, she sat beside him on the couch, her hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders. He flinched slightly at the touch, as if startled from his introspection.

"Tough day, huh?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper.

He sighed; the sound heavy with disappointment. "Yeah," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "Just feels like everything's going wrong."

Y/N remained silent, allowing him to express his frustration without words. She knew that sometimes, the most comforting thing was a quiet presence, a silent acknowledgment of his struggle. After a moment, he lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. They held a vulnerability she rarely saw, a glimpse of the man beneath the champion's mask.

"Come here" she said gently, opening her arms for him to fall into. He leaned closer, his head resting on her chest. Instinctively, her fingers reached for his scalp, their gentle pressure working their way through his braids. It was a routine they'd developed over the years, a silent language of love and support.

As her fingers began a soothing massage, kneading away tension at the base of his skull, a soft sigh escaped Lewis's lips. His muscles, which had been coiled tight with frustration, started to relax under her touch.

"You have the talent, Lewis," she began, her voice barely louder than a whisper but filled with warmth "You have the dedication. This is just a bump in the road."

They sat in comfortable silence, the only sound the rhythmic hum of the motorhome and the gentle ministrations of her hands. Slowly, a spark of his usual fire began to return to his eyes.

"Next year can’t come soon enough" he finally murmured, his voice regaining its strength. "I’ll be the one in red waiting for you” her lips close to his ears, attesting to her loyalty to him.

Workouts

Sweat beaded on Y/N's forehead, blurring her vision slightly as she pounded the treadmill. The rhythmic thump of her feet echoed in the home gym, the only sound competing with the pulsing techno beat blasting through her headphones. She was lost in the zone, pushing herself further with each passing minute. Today's run was all about endurance, a long, slow burn to build her stamina.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She glanced over, momentarily breaking her focus, to see Lewis bent over a weight bench, curls glinting in the afternoon sun streaming through the window. He was shirtless, his muscles flexing with each controlled rep.

Y/N looked away, forcing her gaze back to the treadmill display. “Great”, she thought, cheeks burning. “Now you're distracted.” She tried to refocus on her breathing, on the rhythm of her run, but the image of Lewis, sculpted and confident, kept intruding on her thoughts.

A mischievous glint entered Lewis's eyes. He knew he had her attention, even if she wouldn't admit it. With a slow, deliberate movement, he placed the dumbbells down and reached for the hem of his workout shirt. A slow peel, a suggestive glance thrown in Y/N's direction, and the shirt landed discarded on the floor.

Y/N let out a groan of frustration, more with herself than anything else. This was supposed to be a focused workout, not a session in ogling her impossibly attractive boyfriend. She cranked up the volume on her headphones, willing herself to ignore the blatant display happening across the room.

But Lewis wasn't done yet. He sauntered closer to the treadmill, a playful grin on his face. "Need anything?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Y/N gritted her teeth, refusing to make eye contact. "Nope, all good here" she mumbled, her voice strained.

Lewis chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "Alright, but if you do, I’ll be right here" he teased, leaning against the treadmill console, effectively blocking her view of the television and forcing her to acknowledge his presence.

Y/N glared at him, a flicker of amusement battling with her annoyance. "Seriously? I'm trying to work out here."

"And I'm trying to offer some motivation," he countered, his eyes twinkling. A small smile tugged at the corner of Y/N's lips. "Fine," she conceded, a playful challenge in her voice. "If you're so good at motivating, why don't you join me for a run?"

Lewis's grin widened. " Was just waiting for you to ask."

Grocery Shopping

Jet lag, like an unwelcome koala clinging to their luggage, had followed Y/N and Lewis all the way from Europe to Australia.

Yawns punctuated the silence as they stood in the brightly lit grocery store aisle, their usual meticulous list forgotten somewhere in their luggage.

"Alright," Lewis announced, rubbing his eyes "Essentials: Bread, milk, some fruit..."

Y/N's stomach rumbled loudly, betraying her fatigue. " chocolate… " she mumbled, grabbing the first bar her hand encountered, a garishly pink confection with a name that promised "explosive berry flavor".

Lewis chuckled. "Y/N, love. Maybe we prioritize some greens? " He reached for a bag of pre-washed salad mix.

"Fine." she conceded with a sigh, "But we're getting ice cream. My brain cells need a sugar rush."

He shook his head fondly, adding a carton of plant-based milk to the basket. "Alright, sugar monster."

Y/N scanned the shelves, her eyes landing on a display of colorful cocktail umbrellas. " Lewis" she said, her voice tinged with mischief "think these would look good on an Almave cocktail?"

Lewis raised an eyebrow as she shrugged, a playful smile on her lips. "Just planning ahead"

Alright" he conceded, tossing a pack of the umbrellas into the basket. " Healthy stuff now, babe. We need to get through the week"

Y/N groaned dramatically. "Ugh. Let me get some of those roasted chickpeas they have by the checkout, at least. They're practically healthy, right?"

Lewis laughed, pulling her close for a quick kiss as she reached for some sort of processed sugar. "Roasted chickpeas it is."

Weird dreams

Sunlight streamed through the blinds, painting golden stripes across the bedroom floor. Y/N stretched luxuriously, the remnants of a strange dream clinging to the edges of her consciousness.

"Lew" she mumbled, reaching for him on the other side of the bed. His side was cold, the sheets neatly pulled back. She sat up, a frown creasing her brow. "Lewis?" she called out a little louder.

He emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hip, a face cream in his hand. "Morning, love" he greeted with a sleepy smile.

"Good morning" Y/N replied, her voice laced with a hint of confusion. "You were gone?" She gestured to the empty space beside her.

He paused, a puzzled look replacing his smile. "Gone? I haven't left the bed all night."

"Oh" Y/N said, feeling a wave of disorientation. "Must have been the dream then."

Lewis raised an eyebrow. " What kind of dream?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, the strangeness of it all making her smile. "Well," she began, "It was the weirdest thing. We were both at the factory, but you were giving a motivational speech... to a room full of chickens."

Lewis burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the room as he doubled over, wiping tears from his eyes.

Y/N couldn't help but join in his laughter, the absurdity of the dream washing away the lingering confusion. As they lay back down in bed, Lewis pulled her close, y/n laying her head on his chest.

"So," Lewis said, his voice tinged with amusement "what motivational speech did I give to the chickens?"

Y/N snuggled closer, a playful glint in her eyes. "Oh, you know, the usual," she said, her voice laced with laughter. "Conquer the coop, dream big, peck your way to the top."

Lewis chuckled, nuzzling his face into her hair. "Sounds like something I’d say"

Y/N swatted him playfully on the arm. "Hey, maybe even chickens need a little inspiration sometimes.” a smile playing on her lips and he squeezed her softly.

Sickness

A crumpled ball of tissues lay discarded beside Y/N on the couch, a relentless battle she'd been waging with a head cold all morning. Her throat felt like sandpaper, and her entire body ached with a dull misery. Across from her, Lewis, usually thinking of what to do next, sat slumped on the armchair, a mug of lukewarm tea clutched in his hand.

"Alright," Lewis declared, pushing himself up from the chair with a grimace, "I'm going to tackle those emails. You just relax on the couch some more."

Y/N croaked out a protest. "Lewis, you look like you could use the couch more than me. Those dark circle under your eyes look awful.

He swiped a hand across his forehead, a frown creasing his brow. "Nothing to worry, love. Probably just didn’t get enough sleep."

Y/N sighed, a weary smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Ever the workaholic, even a mild illness couldn't keep him from his commitments. "Alright" she conceded, her voice hoarse, "but promise me you'll rest too?”

He flashed a reassuring smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course, lovely." He retreated to his office, leaving Y/N alone with the sniffles and the blaring silence of the weekend they'd both been looking forward to.

She tried to sleep, to watch tv, to lose herself in a book, but her eyes burned in their sockets. Frustrated, she finally reached for the thermometer. The red mercury climbing far too high for comfort.

Panic clawed at her throat. Lewis couldn't be getting sick too, not with his packed schedule for the next two months. Steeling herself, she pushed off the couch and made her way to the office. Lewis sat hunched over his laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Lew" she said softly, her voice thick with concern.

He looked up, startled. The feverish flush on his cheeks was undeniable now.

"What’s up babe?" he mumbled, his voice raspy

"You're burning up," she declared, placing a hand on his forehead. "We both are."

He let out a shaky sigh, finally acknowledging the truth. "This is the worst timing." he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Y/N hugged his shoulders from behind his desk chair, her heart softening at his dejection. "All we can do is focusing on getting better" she said gently.

Lewis turned to look at her, his eyes filled with a grateful vulnerability. "Yeah" he conceded, a tired smile gracing his lips. "Let’s go back to bed then, we're watching all the cheesy rom-coms we can handle.”

Y/N laughed a bit before suddenly turning her head to the side to sneeze, a chuckle coming from Lewis as he got up and embraced her. "Deal" she finally agreed.

Morning rituals

A faint sunlight danced playfully across the open space of the kitchen; Lewis’ heavy steps caught y/n attention as the aroma of brewing coffee gently invited him to greet the day. A soft groan escaped his lips as he stretched, muscles protesting.

"Rough night, champ?" A voice, laced with amusement, drifted in from the kitchen. Lewis cracked open an eye mid-stretch to see Y/n leaning against the island, a steaming mug in hand.

"Just a bit" he admitted, a smile tugging at his lips as he flopped down on the sofa "That car is giving me a real workout."

Y/n chuckled, padding across the room and placing the mug on the coffee table "Well, here’s some fuel." She leaned down, brushing a kiss across his forehead, the scent of her minty shampoo lingering in the air.

Lewis inhaled deeply, the familiar scent a welcome comfort. He reached out, his hand landing on hers. "You shouldn't have gotten up so early" he mumbled, squeezing her fingers gently.

"Nah" Y/n replied, settling onto his lap "Early mornings are my secret weapon. Peace and quiet before the world wakes up."

Lewis raised an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me Roscoe snoring and the fog outside are your weapons?"

Y/n laughed, caressing his beard. "It might not be perfect, but it’s mine."

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the soft clinking of mugs against the table’s glass. Lewis took a sip of his coffee, savoring the warmth that spread through him.

"So," Y/n began, a thoughtful look on her face as she slid to the sofa and rested her head on his shoulders "what's on the agenda for today?"

Lewis set down his mug. "Just some online meetings with the engineers in the afternoon. We can have a lazy morning if you’re not busy" his hopeful tone hung in the air for a beat too long.

Y/n took a slow sip from her mug, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Actually," she said, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "I woke up feeling surprisingly productive. Maybe I'll finally tackle that mountain of emails I've been putting off." A flicker of disappointment crossed Lewis' face, until he realized what y/n had actually just said, quickly stamping a playful smirk and a light grab of her ass. "The hell you are."

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[jimblejamblewritings]

love letters and second sons | part 2.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

Eloise left to go right across the street while you followed the rest of the family into the dining room. It had been so long since you had a formal sit down breakfast with your family. Your siblings just couldn’t be bothered to come from wherever they were — sometimes in the same house but they still didn’t show. Your father and mother couldn’t make it most of the time. The dining room table could be very lonely sometimes. 

You thanked Colin as he pulled out a chair for you before sitting down. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you passed the decorated teapot to Daphne before reaching for the small jug of cream. The Bridgertons were very invested in palace life and wanted to know whatever you were allowed to tell them about. You looked up from your coffee when Eloise came back with Penelope Featherington. 

Smiling at Penelope, you handed her the box so you wouldn’t forget before you left. Her face dropped. 

“What is it?” 

“Oh, I don’t want to burden the princess with frivolous matters. We have an addition to our house. My cousin, Marina Thompson has come to stay for the season. But no matter, she can wear my dress. I have plenty already.” 

You shook your head. “No matter how frivolous they may be, your problems are the Crown’s problems. I will return tomorrow with another dress for Miss Thompson. Besides, each piece has been chosen specifically for each person. How could Miss Thompson possibly look good in a dress meant to make you look good?” 

Penelope smiled. “Is it alright if I open it here?” 

“Of course, Pen,” Anthony said. 

She carefully placed the lid of the box on the ground and ruffled through the pieces until she found the dress with her name pinned on it. She pulled out a dress of emerald green, just emerald green. No patterns insight. The sleeves were flatter than the balloon sleeves normally worn but that was because they were sheer with beading on them. 

“Wow. It is beautiful.” 

“The princess will be glad to hear that you like it. Now, I am very sorry but I have to go now. A midmorning promenade cannot be missed.” 

Everyone stood up when you did. 

“Well, yes, of course,” Violet said. “Will you return for breakfast tomorrow? Or whenever is a good time for you?” 

You weren’t stupid. Either the Dowager Viscountess wanted your fake persona to marry her son — probably the third son, Colin, since you were a valet. Or she wanted the princess to marry her son. In that case it must have been Anthony. You took your cloak from the footman it put it back on. 

“I shall see if I can appear tomor— this weekend. Before the Danbury ball, the family wants to go to the countryside. I shall be back here then.” 

“Lovely.” 

You stepped outside, taking the alleyways back to the palace. Pandora let out a breath when the painting finally moved. You stepped inside. 

“Have you been here the whole time?” 

“Yes, I have. Was your time outside fun?” 

“Absolutely, I will be doing it again later.” 

“What? Princess, please.” 

“Pandora, you don’t understand. It was amazing. One of the best times of my life.” 

“Y/N. What if your illness st—” 

“Then I shall deal with that when it happens. Oh, I met people. The houses in the ton are very nice.” 

“You went to someone’s house?” Pandora’s voice rose three octaves as she tried to stay quiet. 

“Just the Bridgertons. Their mother is very sweet. She invited me to a recurring breakfast whenever I have the time.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, and the rumors about them are true. The daughters are all beautiful. Their youngest son seems very nice.” 

“And the three eldest boys?” 

“Absolutely handsome. Especially the eldest.” 

The two of you giggled as you kept sharing what they looked like in person while you got ready for your promenade. The gardens were dreadfully boring but you felt better just thinking about going to the Bridgertons house next time. It could have been anyone but you were glad it was a large family and a family friend. Only your first day out and you already became acquainted with two families. That was a success in your book. 

~~~

“Princess! Princess Y/N! Your Highness!” 

You could hear the yelling down the hall. Looking over at your father, you smiled. 

“Thank you for talking with me about the ball, Mr. Jupiter. I think I should let them know I am alive.” 

“Go. I shall still be here.” 

You shimmied out from under the bed, George laughing at you the entire time. The bed wasn’t your favorite place to be but it was your father’s favorite place. You preferred the wardrobe. Swinging open the door, you spotted Brimsley running down the hall. 

“I’m right here!” 

He turned with a quickness. “Oh thank God. The Queen and King are requesting you actually attend breakfast with them instead of in the kitchens or your room.” 

“Father? How could he tell you? He’s right he—” 

“Yes. He usually stays in his wing. He came down earlier this morning.” 

You looked back at your bed. No one was there. George’s feet weren’t sticking out from the end of the bed. You bit your lip and didn’t say anything, choosing just to follow Brimsley to the dining room. If anyone found out you had a fit then there was no hope of your mother letting you go anywhere. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Whenever you were anxious or stressed, a fit was bound to happen. Maybe you should have been taking your medicine. But it didn’t make you feel good at all. Tomorrow you’d ask for a change in medicine or doctor.

Your father looked better when you reached downstairs, actually cognizant, and your mother seemed happy. None of your other siblings were there. Pulling out your chair you sat down. The conversation went in one ear and out the other. You answered where necessary and that was about it. You needed to be perfect. When there was a lull in the talking, you found the perfect opportunity to speak. 

“Mother, may I go to Lady Danbury’s ball?” 

“No.” 

“I promise I will be on my be—” 

“No.” 

“If I have a fit then I will go stra—” 

“Y/N, do not make me repeat myself.” 

“But I just want to know why? All of my brothers and sisters were allowed to introduce themselves well before this age. Why am I still waiting?” 

“Dear, we’ve been over this.” 

“But Edward and Sophia both have the same illness and they were all—” 

“Because no one is as bad as yours!” Charlotte looked up from her plate when you grew silent. She sighed at the sight of your crestfallen face. “Y/N, dear, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m only talking about your illness, not you as a person… give me four months. Four months to prepare everything, then I will let you go, whether an incident happens or not. Just follow the rules and keep yourself safe.” 

“Thank you, Mother. I do have one more question.” 

“Yes?” 

“May I stay at Kew?” 

“Kew?” Both your mother and father said at the same time. 

“I have incidents whether I am here or with Father or by myself. We don’t have strong evidence that anything makes it better or worse. Kew is far enough that I’m not tempted by the city but close enough that I will not miss it. And I can still speak to the people.” 

In reality it’s because your parents never went to Kew. You wanted privacy and to not be under such a watchful eye. And if you could bring your court then absolutely no one would find out that you went into the city. 

Charlotte gave George a look. “Yes, the people do seem to love your letters. Okay, alright. I will allow you to stay at Kew but your father and I and your physician will be coming every Sunday to check on you. Brimsley and Reynolds will be going with you.”  

“Okay.” 

Buckingham wasted no time packing your things and taking them to Kew after the Danbury ball. You flopped onto your bed, happy to be left alone finally. Only half of your court came with you to Kew. The others were “dismissed” for the season — you wouldn’t need them again until you introduced yourself to society. Really you just needed them to stay at Buckingham and report to you what was happening. Naturally, Pandora came to Kew. 

The home looked just the same as when you were younger. The first thing you did was instruct every curtain to be open. The grounds were extensive and private. You weren’t in London but just outside of it. No one could see the place at all so there was no need to hide behind window decorations. 

“I should like dinner outside,” you said as you sat down in the short grassy part of the front lawn. 

“Outside?” 

“Yes. It’s very nice today. I would like to sit outside and eat and plan my new schedule. You and Reynolds can go to the cottage on the grounds. Turn left and you’ll see a bunch of cottages across the stream. Go to the third one. It’s behind a smattering of trees but the hedges there cover everything. You can see people before they see you.” 

“I’m sorry?” Brimsley’s eyes went wide. 

“I’ve known since I was five. I don’t think you two believed that a five year old could be observant but I was.” You turned back to look at him. “Well, I do not care. Brimsley, you should know I couldn’t possibly care about anything like that. With my issues I could never judge someone. Not for what you look like, your class, whoever you choose to pray to which is really none of my business. I don't like to sit in church anyway and much prefer prayer alone in the gazebo. It also doesn't matter who you... share a cottage with."

“Your Highness.” 

“I will keep your secret, Brimsley,” you reassured him. “Besides, when the time comes I will need for you to keep mine.” 

“Secrets? You have secrets? I didn't know... What would I be keeping?” 

“You’ll know it when it happens.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

“Brimsley!” you yelled before he could step inside the house to tell them what you wanted to eat. “About what I said just then.” 

“It is no trouble at all, Your Highness.” 

“No, not my secrets… I would never tell anyone. Whether you kept my secret or not. I promise you that.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I will find a way to make it better.” 

Brimsley gave you a sad smile. “The effort alone is appreciated.” 

You gave him a determined look before returning to making your schedule. You didn’t have a need for full time tutors anymore, having finished formal schooling years ago.

So you put all your special tutors to come on Tuesday and Wednesday, your parents visiting on Sunday, you’d write all your letters on Thursday, and then waste away on Monday, Friday, and Saturday. A schedule your parents greatly approved of as they stated that you needed plenty of days to rest and not overwork yourself before you make the illness worse. Of course you didn’t tell them that those days were for going into the city. 

Monday morning you picked flowers to make a bouquet for the Featheringtons since you had only met one of them in person. Not that you needed it but you opened your book of flowers to see the meanings. You did hope that flower language would catch on more in a few years.

Taking your hand pruning shears, you started cutting both from the garden and the greenhouses. Basil for good wishes. White Carnations to wish a pure love. White Jasmine for amiability. Yellow lilies for happiness. Pink roses also for happiness. Bells of Ireland for good luck. You handed the first set of flowers to Brimsley before starting on individual bouquets for the four young women of the house. 

For Prudence: daisies for innocence, dandelions for faithfulness and happiness, peonies for a happy life and a happy marriage. For Phillippa: dandelions for faithfulness and happiness, fern for sincerity, honeysuckle for bonds of love. For Penelope: lady’s mantle for comfort, lily of the valley for sweetness, wallflower for faithfulness in adversity. For Marina: camellias for affection, lavender roses for enchantment, daffodils for good fortune.

You also collected flowers for the Bridgertons, small individual bouquets. Only two types of flower in each bouquet. For Violet: acacia for friendship and violet for her name.

For Anthony: acalia for temperance and agrimonia for gratitude. For Benedict: balm gentle for pleasantry and bearded crepis for protection. For Colin: chamomile for energy in adversity and coriander for hidden worth. For Daphne: daphne for her name and dandelions for happiness.

For Eloise: elderflower for zealousness and elephant’s ear for good luck. For Francesca: fern leaves for fascination and flower-of-an-hour for delicate beauty. For Gregory: garden chervil for sincerity and geranium, scarlet color, for comfort. For Hyacinth: hawthorn for hope and hyacinth for her name. 

“This should do.” 

“Shall we send them now?” 

“Oh, no, Brimsley. I shall take them with me.” 

“With you?” he squeaked. 

“Yes. I assume now would be a good time as ever to divulge my secret to you and Reynolds. Pandora already knows. I go out to see the ton. I have already done this a few times now.” 

Reynolds and Brimsley looked like they were going to faint. You laughed as you took your cloak from Pandora. You had no concern with anyone finding out since the two men in front were still in the gardens instead of running back to Kew to pen a letter. 

“Please ready the carriage. I’ve already missed breakfast as it is, I don’t want to be any later.” 

The only two things that freaked out your valets even more were entirely your fault as well. Reynolds stuttered through confusion when you refused the mask he was about to hand you. Brimsley actually did faint when you got out of the carriage before reaching the Bridgerton house. You turned around when he came to again. 

“The carriage is too recognizable. Until I get something more plain th—” 

“Just say the princess gave it to you for business affairs!” Brimsely yelled so loudly that you were concerned someone would hear it. 

For a moment you were ready to ignore his plea but then you realized he was right. Plus, you did already set up that poor women and rich women were treated equal in your court — something that was true but you only had three lower class women in your court to begin with. You got back into the carriage, knee bouncing the entire way. 

Peering out the window, you spotted Marshall. He titled his head a bit as you turned around, seemingly scolding someone inside, tilting even more when you walked in the opposite direction of their house. An older woman greeted you at the door of the Featherington home. You repeated the same thing you told Marshall the first time you came to the Bridgerton family. 

“Please come in. They’re in the drawing room, now… Ma’am, a visitor.” 

You curtsied as you entered their drawing room, waving to Penelope. “Hello… Woah, there are a lot of men. I’m sorry I was unaware we had already begun calling.” 

Lady Featherington put on her best smile. “Yes, what is it?” 

“Right. I am the Young Princess’ lady in waiting. She has made bouquets for you all. Well, as well as bouquets for the Bridgertons but rest assured I know exactly which ones belong to you.” 

The Featheringtons looked more than pleased to be receiving flowers after dresses, especially Lady Featherington. All the suitors were looking at them like winning prizes. To be favored by the princess is to have everyone’s hand in your lap and every name on your dance card. You read out what each flower meant and gave them a card that had them written down in case they were to forget. 

“Thank you so much, Miss?” 

“Beckett.”

“Miss Beckett. Please inform the princess that we are forever grateful for such a thoughtful gift. If it is no trouble would you like some biscuits or tea?” 

You decided to stay for a few minutes. Besides, watching suitors fall over their feet to impress women seemed like a very entertaining morning. Thanking the old woman for the tea, you took a sip before setting down the cup when you noticed Colin. He waved to you before making a bored face.

Clearly, he hadn’t been the first one to arrive for calling. You supposed that was the issue with all four of your girls out at once. There was only one drawing room so all of their suitors would have to wait their turn even if they were there for a different girl, at least until Lord Featherington came home and then maybe he could chaperone outside in the garden. You now understood why the Bridgertons were okay with Eloise delaying her debut. Focusing on only one woman is plenty enough.

Daphne had written to you that she had received no callers but none of the other Bridgertons had spoken about calling or the marriage mart at all. You only looked up from the mess of suitors when Eloise arrived, pulling up a chair at the small table you and Penelope were sitting at. Pen tapped your shoulder. 

You looked down at the overgrown rat in her arms. It was your turn to mind the dog that one of the gentlemen calling thought would be appropriate as a gift. Rolling your eyes, you took it anyway and began bouncing it like a child. At least it was a very calm dog. 

Your two friends laughed as you jumped when another gentleman began reciting a poem very loudly. Everyone was starting to fall asleep. His performance was both bad and boring, a combination you were hoping couldn’t be accomplished today. The sound of Lady Featherington’s clapping was the only thing that woke everyone up. She all but pushed the men out, saying the girls had seen enough suitors today. You frowned at her telling the gentlemen to say goodbye to even Penelope. Even? They should just be saying goodbye because she was a lady and in the house. Colin came over to you guys. 

“A most wretched sonnet indeed.” 

You laughed before standing up to leave with him, trying not to eavesdrop on their conversation. The two of them had such a close bond. You were sure that they’d end up with each other. He was probably here for her, waiting for a chance when Marina’s suitors were done. Handing Colin his flowers, you abandoned him for the drawing room of his house — pausing in your tracks when you saw a man you didn’t recognize. 

Violet jumped up along with Hyacinth and Francesca. “Oh, Miss Beckett, hello. We weren’t expecting you after you missed breakfast.” 

“Yes, I was preoccupied with the princess. I’m sorry am I intruding?” 

“No.” Daphne all but ran to meet you. “What do you have with you?”  

“The princess made bouquets.” You leaned in close. “I am very sorry about what Whistledown wrote. You didn’t deserve that. Perhaps flowers can cheer you up?” 

“Thank you so much.” 

“Where are the others? I shall give these to them then promptly return.” 

“Yes, please do,” Daphne said before having to return to her caller. 

Violet took her flowers from you. “Gregory is in the garden or with his brothers. More than likely his brothers. They are either in…” 

“Yes?” 

“Well they are in their rooms but I can’t just let you go in alo— It’s much too dangerous for a woman. The ton wo—” 

“I don’t see why I cannot seeing as I am the princ—” you stopped yourself. “Uh, the princess’ valet. I’m on official business from her and where she can go, I can go.” 

She still seemed unsure. 

“Besides, I am not a lady.” 

At that, Violet let you go upstairs but her face didn’t relax on any of the tension it held. You held onto the wooden railing as you skipped up the steps. You realized that you should have asked Violet which rooms were theirs. But it was too late now. Going back down would just be a matter of inconvenience and take longer in your return to Daphne’s aid. And not to mention, you were a princess. You didn’t need permission to enter anywhere, it was just polite to ask. Opening each door, you sighed in relief when one finally led to a bedchamber with people inside. Anthony looked up, setting down one of his many ledgers. 

“Beckett, what are you doing here?” 

At the sound of your name Gregory, who had been sitting on his older brother’s bed as he engrossed himself in some reading, looked up. “Beckett!”  

You handed them both the bouquets. “Courtesy of the princess, not my doing.” 

They chuckled as they took their bouquets from your arms. You heard the door creak behind you as it opened more. Turning, you came face to face with the second eldest Bridgerton. Benedict smiled. 

“I knew I heard Gregory call for you.” 

“Here. For you.” 

“Thank you. How long will you be staying?” 

“For dinner but then I must leave afterwards. So, what shall we do up here?” 

“Up here?” Anthony raised his eyebrows. “Alone? Miss Beckett, I do not think it… it is improper for us to be alone with you.” 

You scoffed. “Impropriety.”  

“It is true.”

“Firstly, I am not exactly bound by your rules of society. Second, we aren’t alone unless you are insinuating that anything would happen because you either can’t control yourself or are oddly content to share me with your brother.” You enjoyed watching them both stutter through a reply. 

“But if someone were to see us.”

“Does this window face the front of the street?” 

“No.” 

“Can anyone see anything in the back?” 

“No.” 

“Then no one is to see anything. Especially when nothing is happening. And lastly, I am not unchaperoned.”  

“You aren’t?” 

You pointed to the youngest Bridgerton in the room. “Gregory is not a man but a child. Therefore someone who is not an available bachelor is watching and supervising us.” 

He grinned, not even caring that he was called a child. “Yeah. I’m very good at watching.” 

You could do nothing but laugh as you flopped over Anthony’s bed and asked Gregory to hand you a book he was finished with.

Benedict blinked. “I guess I cannot argue with that. I’ll go get my charcoals and come back.” 

“Ah, right, but first let me eavesdrop on Daphne and Nigel. Almost forgot.” 

“Lord Berbrooke?” 

“Don’t make me laugh by giving him a title.”

When you returned, the boys had found their way into a comfortable silence. They barely acknowledged your presence when you sat down. Per Anthony’s request, the door didn’t just stay unlocked or ajar but completely open. Benedict looked away from his paper and at you. 

“What do you mean you aren’t bound by rules of society?” 

“I said your rules.” 

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, then. Our rules."

“The rules of the upper class and the ton. I am bound by royal rules and royal rules only which you’d be surprised to find are very different from the rules of the ton… I should suggest to the princess that she must write about those rules.” 

“And what are royal rules then?” 

“The only one that pertains to you is that it isn’t a crime for a royal or a member of their court to be unchaperoned while around the opposite sex.” 

Violet decided to go upstairs after seeing Lord Berbrooke out their front door, utterly exhausted. She just needed a few moments of rest before going back to Daphne. Passing by her son’s room, she paused. Anthony was at his desk working, Gregory was sitting at the head of the bed reading, you laid flopped across it with several things around you, and Benedict was sitting on the floor leaning against the side of the bed with his art supplies spread out all around. The sight could be considered improper but Violet refused to interrupt. 

“Anthony, come look at Benedict’s work and tell him it is better than he gives himself credit for.” 

Violet watched her son take his ledgers and come sit by Benedict, who had cleared enough of his supplies away for his brother, right underneath where you were laying. Not caring, you rested your chin on top of his head so you wouldn’t lose balance as you pointed to where you liked Benedict’s sketch. You couldn’t help but laugh as Anthony stiffened up for a moment. 

“You’re worse than Brimsley. I already told you that I am not a lady. Calm yourself.” 

“Brimsley?” 

“The Queen’s temporarily former valet. He moved to Kew with us.” 

“The family now stays at Kew?” 

“No, just the princess. It was a gift of sorts as she’s the only child to live there. It is a chance to live alone and like a proper adult before her introduction to society.” 

Gregory became interested once again. “We’ll get to see the princess soon? When?” 

“Roughly four months if all goes well… You know, I must take you all to Kew one day.” 

“That sounds lovely.” 

Violet smiled as she continued heading to her destination. You and Anthony seemed to be headed towards friendship. If you really did take him to Kew then he would get to meet the princess alone.

(part 3)

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[kiddiesmores]

Mall date with Ted and it ending with matching build-a-bears 🤭

this lowkey took a turn, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!!

it’s a little suggestive at times btw, love ya!

all dividers made by @cafekitsune

It's been a few weeks since you’ve seen Ted, him and Eddy decided to take on another road trip to visit more obscure restaurants leaving you alone in your apartment with no boyfriend to bother. You missed him terribly, calling him every night and yearning for his warmth against you in bed.

“Just one more day and I’ll be home beautiful!” He says, his phone set up against his pillow as he lays on his side, head propped on his arm as he stares at your pouting face through facetime. He chuckles, awwing as you give him a dramatic sigh and smother your face in the pillows. “I miss you so bad,” you mope, “Next time can you just take me with? Like put me in your suitcase or somethin?”

He laughs, rubbing his tired eyes as you’ve kept him up until 3am talking to him about your days. Not that he’s complaining! He loves talking with you and he never gets tired of your stories, but he is really sleepy.

“I, Theodore Nivison,” he raises his hand, “Promise to take you wherever I go for the next few weeks so you don’t have to miss me.” he jokes, chuckling softly when you nod in agreement. You hum, staring at him fondly, but you can tell he’s fighting to stay awake. “You can go to bed Ted, i’ll see you in the morning?”

Ted groans sleepily, eyes shutting as he nods, “I’ll see you in the morning, I love you pretty.”

You smile, “I love you too handsome, goodnight.”

You bring the phone to your face to kiss the screen and he does the same, waving a bye before hanging up. You sigh, plugging the extremely overheated phone in before turning off the lamp and rolling over to go to bed, knowing if you sleep he’ll be reunited with you sooner.

Ted’s hand gripped the steering wheel, it was 8:30 in the morning and his fingers were raw from nipping on his nails excitedly as he sped home to you. He could picture your sleeping form now, cuddled up on his side of the bed with one of his old shirts to sleep in. He was giddy to say the least, cheesing hard and completely oblivious to the fact the light had already turned green and there was a car honking at him to hurry the hell up.

His lips form a tight line, apologetically nodding a head at the pissed off woman taking her kids to school as she gets in the other lane to scowl at him, which will definitely be a ‘funny story to tell you later’, he thinks.

However he forgets all about the woman and the amount of editing he has to do as he pulls into your apartment, sighing in relief at the fact that all the spots closest to your building were empty so he can park closer. He rushes out the truck, grabbing only his phone, wallet, and keys before dashing up the stairs to unlock your door. It was quiet, well, besides your snoring from the bedroom, but at least you were sleeping.

He walks quietly to the end of the hall, creeking your door open to see your unconscious form in the exact position he imagined. Your arms wrapped around the pillow he always slept on, his favorite black t-shirt that was worn from the amount of times it’s gone in the wash, your mouth wide open as soft snores fell from it, god he loves you.

He slowly makes his way over to the bed, already in sweats and a shirt for comfort, leaving his wallet and keys on the bedside table. His hands tug away the pillow you have clutched, making you groan in your sleep and reaching out to rub your face into something else, only to be met with the hunk of his chest.

You flinch awake, looking around deliriously before your eyes land on him, a big smile on his face making his eyes crinkle. “Teddy?” you grumble sleepily, rubbing the tired out of your eyes. “Hi baby, miss me?” he asks, pulling you down to lay on top of him. You squeal, gripping onto his shoulders as he sways you side to side in bed, whispering “I missed you” in your ear over and over and you doing the same. His hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you into a long kiss, his other slowly sliding down to your waist as your body pressed into his above him.

You sigh dreamily into his mouth, softly moaning as his hand cups the swell of your ass, squeezing firmly as your hips press into each other. There’s a poke against your sleep shorts, making you break away to look down with a sly smile, “Already?” you whisper against his lips. “You know me baby, c'mere I need you so bad right now.” he mutters in your ear with a smile of his own, making you giggle as he flips you on your back and pulls the covers over your heads.

Ted’s thumb grazes your hip, your bare lower half only slightly covered by the blanket as he kisses your lips, bodies flush against each other. “M’so glad you’re home..” you whisper against him, hand lost in his hair, “Hate being away from you.” You pout, making him laugh. He runs a hand through his hair before resting his hands back on your hips, “I know baby, I’m sorry, no more long unnecessary road trips for a while.” He sighs, “God knows I don’t need to anymore.”

The two of you exchange kisses in between stories of his trip, lazily lacing your legs together as if you couldn’t possibly be closer. You sleepily toy with his tilted glasses, laughing as he playfully gnaws at your hands. “Mm..we should probably get out of bed soon.” You mumble, melting into the pillows while he kisses your fingers. He whines, “Do we really though?” He complains,

“I can stay in bed with you all day!”

kiss

“And hold you!”

kiss

“And touch you again and again until you eventually go all dumb and—“ “Theo!” You gasp, slapping his chest causing him to fall back and let out a dramatic yelp. You shake your head at the dramatics, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and making your way to the bathroom.

“I actually need to run errands today, do youuuu wanna come to the mall with me? Perhaps?” You ask, leaning up against the bathroom door. But he wasn’t listening to a thing you’re saying, eyes following your naked stature, pupils blown as he shamelessly eyes you up and down.

He blinks, “Wha- Sorry, what was the question?”

You roll your eyes, “Do you want to go to the mall with me.”

“Will you be wearing this to the mall?” He gestures to you, untangling himself from the sheets to follow you into the bathroom. “Noo, but if you come with me you can see me like this in the dressing rooms. And If you’re really good…” your lips graze his ear, “Maybe we can stop for ice cream..” you singingly reply, wrapping your arms around his neck. He whistles, “Ouu, two treats in one day, god i’m the luckiest man alive aren’t I?” he beams, making you smile. He lifts you up, making you giggle as he carries you into the shower.

It’s gonna be a long day.

If going out meant treating Ted like a universal shopping cart that follows you to every store, he probably would’ve stayed home.

It’s not like you asked him to hold every bag, he just felt like if he wasn��t holding your bags he’d be ridiculed in the face of the public, how dare you hold your own things?

Eventually though it got so ridiculous you took half, like you told him you would in the first place, and you guys held hands and strolled into the next store.

You stopped in urban outfitters, sitting down in a little chair and eventually merging all your items from separate stories into one big bag to free up clutter, and then deciding to look around. You held up different items across the store at Ted to which he’d either shake his head, nod, nod enthusiastically, or make a disgusted face.

You kept your promise of letting him sit in the dressing rooms with you, swatting his hands off your hips whenever you’d try on new bottoms,

“Well when your ass is just in my face-“

“I’m LITERALLY trying to show you the design on the back of the jeans, be calm.”

He bought them for you.

A new bag is added to the rotation as you leave the store, hand in hand and a little bit spent, shopping takes a lot of energy out of a person, so as a final hurrah you held up your other end of the promise which was—

“ICE CREAM!!!” Ted exclaims, seeing as you were guiding him to the ice cream spot in the mall. He looks back at you with pleading eyes, “If you loved me you’d get me a double scoop of mint chip in a cone and then a cup on the side in case so I don’t make a mess!”

You blink, “Ok.” “I’m so in love with you right now..”

The two of you take seats at the food court, bags sat beside you while your legs cross under the table. Ted tries to feed you a bite of his and you decline by putting your hand in front of your face to stop it, making him pout.

“What’s so wrong with mint chip?” he grumbles, licking the cone that was slowly dripping down his fingers. You sigh, grabbing a napkin to wipe his hands, “I’m not your mom yknow, you can clean yourself, and it’s nasty as fuck imma just stick to buttered pecan.”

He grimaces, “Okay old hag, you do that.” “Did you just call me a HAG?”

The two of you bicker about the flavors, rolling your eyes as he calls you old and him gasping in shock as you called him a child. You end up giving him a bite, to which he enjoys and you quickly hop on him for trying to make fun of you to which he argues and force feeds you a bite of his.

You sat there for a moment, holding the ice cream in your mouth.

“Baby, you have to swallow.”

“Mmm Mmm.”

He chuckles, holding the napkin to your mouth as you spit it out and lick your ice cream for salvation, only to end up whining as the taste won’t go away and now all you smell is mint in your nose. You glare at Ted as he laughs at your pain, only making you pout more and gripe almost childishly to leave you alone.

As you continue to wallow in your sorrows, you look behind Ted and gasp. There is the golden bear smiling at you with the cute blue letters reading-

“Build-A-Bear! Ted please can we go make one, I’ve never done it and I really want to!”

Ted groans, “Baby I'm tired! We’ve been out all daaay, how about we come back and do it next time, yeah?” Your face falls slightly before going back to normal, but your voice says everything it needs to as you respond with a deflated “Okay..”

He watches you as you solemnly finish your ice cream, wiping your fingers and muttering about you’re ready to go. He turns to look at the store, it's relatively empty, just a few people inside, “We should be in and out quickly..” he thinks to himself. You feel his fingers interlocking with yours as he gathers the bags quickly and dragging you over to the store without a word, making you beam behind him.

The workers welcome you in, showing you the variety of stuffed animals and clothing to pick from. You turn back to Ted as you browse the selection of stuffed animals, a pink frog catching your eye. You hold it up for him, to which he responds with an approving nod making you giggle excitedly. “Which one are you gonna make?” you ask him, looking at more of them as you hold the limp unstuffed frog in your hands.

His brows furrow, “What do you mean?” You slowly turn to look at him, “Are you not getting one…?”

He chuckles, “Why do I need one? I don’t care for stuffed animals.” he shrugs. Wrong answer. His heart hurts as he watches you deflate once more, and he quickly scrambles to make you feel better. “But— I'm happy to get one for you baby, will that make you happy? Should we match? I’ll get green!” He recovers, shoulders falling with relief as he watches you light up at the thought of matching frogs. You squeal and hug onto the side of him, kissing his cheek sweetly as you put both of your deflated frogs side by side, “They’re gonna be so cute together! It’s us!”

The two of you go through the “ritual” as Ted calls it, making a wish before putting a heart into the bear before they stitch them up. You turn to Ted with a smile, holding up your pink frog and the birth certificate, signifying that your frog has been brought to life and is in dire need of an outfit. Ted smiles fondly at you, helping you find the perfect outfit for your now matching frogs, the two of you deciding on overalls with converse. Yours sporting a striped sweater underneath while Ted keeps his “naked”.

As you approach the counter to pay, you find one accessory that Ted’s frog simply needed to have, but you held off on grabbing it for now. The worker boxes up the frogs into their own little houses, and the two of you carry them out until you come up with a makeshift excuse to run back inside.

“I think I left my phone, can you hold onto the bags for now and I’ll meet you by the exit?” You ask, handing him the bag full of all the items you’ve bought today. He nods, taking it from you with no complaints, making you smile and kiss his lips, “I’ll be out soon!”

You check to make sure he’s far out of sight before sprinting back inside, grabbing the item and immediately going over to the register, “Just this please!”

After the treacherous journey of trying to find the truck, you and Ted finally reunite, lazily chucking the bags in the backseat while holding your boxed frogs up at the front. Ted buckles himself in, about to turn on the truck before you interrupt him, “Wait! Before we go-“ you pull your frogs out of their little homes, “There’s something I wanted to show you!”

You hand Ted his bear, his brow raising as you dig through your purse,trying to peek inside to see what you’re looking for. You finally retrieve your item, holding up a fake pair of glasses, beaming at him, “Tada! Now he’s really you!”

Ted smiles dopily as he takes them from you, carefully placing the glasses on the bear, laughing as they don’t touch his eyes at all. He leans over, pulling you into a sweet kiss, hand around your neck as his thumb lightly strokes your jaw, “Thank you baby, you’re right it is me!”

You smile, leaning forward to kiss him again, hugging him across the console, “I’m so glad you’re home Teddy.” you mumble in his ear, earning a soft kiss on the cheek from the man.

“Me too pretty, me too.”

[seresinhangmanjake]

Only For You

Thorn x female!reader

Summary: Thorn hides a huge part of his life from you and he's constantly leaving for long periods of time. You're not sure you'll ever know all of his secrets, but you know you're tired of saying goodbye.

Notes/warnings: angsty/fluffy, but nothing else really. mistakes, I'm sure. I did my best.

Words: 1354

---

“Going where?” you ask, rubbing your hands up and down your arms to shield your bare skin from the cold. He shrugs out of his nylon, sorry-excuse-for-a-coat and wraps it around your shoulders, but it’s a useless effort. In a thin t-shirt, he’ll be frozen in no time and you’ll be left to trade the coat back and forth as he stands on your front porch in the winter’s stinging air. 

His hands slide into his jeans front pockets. “I can’t tell you.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

With a huff, you ask, “What do you know, Thorn?”

He flinches. A hand comes out of his pocket to run over his buzzed hair. You can’t count how many times you’ve asked him these questions, and you kick yourself for bothering when the answers have not once strayed from their cookie-cutter precision. He never knows. Or he does and refuses to tell you. Wherever the truth lies, it doesn’t make its way to you. But the hurt in his mossy-green eyes is not for the secrets. It’s not for the disappearing act he forces you through. It’s reserved solely for the brand new weariness in your tone. 

This is not what you do. Your pattern with him has been consistent from the beginning. A month after he first kissed you, three weeks after you first slept together, you received the same pieced-together speech: ‘I have to leave. I can’t tell you why. I don’t know for how long.’ And you provided the same response you always do; a response you weren’t aware at the time would be commonly leaving your mouth; a response he’s not once requested, but with every feature of his face, pleads for: ‘I’ll be here when you get back’. Then he smiles, as always, and kisses you, and you pull him into your bed only for him to be gone by the time you wake. 

But you just broke the pattern with that tone of yours. It’s less welcoming, offering inadequate reassurance that when he knocks on your door in one or two or three months it’ll open. 

Thorn swallows hard as he fidgets in place, and you feel tendrils of guilt spread throughout your system. Thorn doesn’t fidget. Fidgeting means nerves. Nerves mean anxiety. And anxiety is not a well-worn jacket on the man who weaseled his way into your heart. It doesn’t fit. That jacket isn’t made in his size and it feels no different than when a toddler is squeezed into an outfit their parents refuse to accept they’ve grown out of. 

“What I know is that I want to come back to you,” he says. A beat passes and the cloud of nervous energy is shoved aside, likely a required skill for whatever the hell he does when he leaves you. He steps closer. Your heart beats harder. “I will walk up here and knock on this door and wait for you to let me in. Like I always do.”

Lips parting, you sink further into the scent of cologne that long ago seeped into the interior fibers of his coat. It’s an instinctual comfort while everything inside of your body fights your mind.

Fingers twitch to reach out and jerk him inside, but if you do that there’s no chance you’ll resist him; no chance you will even make it to your bed. With one foot through the door, he’ll have you against the wall or on the floor with the hallway runner serving as the only barrier between your back and the chill of the hardwood. With his tongue on your neck, you will forget how tired you are of his rollercoastering in and out of your life. His fingers digging into your flesh will crack your icy determination to no longer miss him until it’s a melted puddle beneath you. His cock deep inside of you will demand you let go of letting him go. 

Well, it’ll demand you let go of considering letting him go. It’s not what you want. If you had your pick of clichéd happy endings, your wicked-smart, tattooed-up, former—you question—criminal would settle in with you. But, no matter how hard you try, you can’t form that image in your mind. Thorn with a ring on his finger, you with his baby growing in your belly, a house you can share—if that exists somewhere, you’re losing hope that it’s on your timeline. 

“Thorn, how long is this going to last?”

“I told you, I don’t—”

“No,” you interrupt with a shake of your head. “Not just this time. All of it. When does it stop? When do you stay?”

His shoulders slump the slightest with his heavy sigh. “Sweetness, I made promises. I’ve got people relying on me.”

“And what about me? What am I supposed to do?” you ask, praying the struggle of holding back your tears has slipped under his radar despite that not being a possibility before. The only tears Thorn doesn’t catch are the ones he isn’t around to witness. “What if I left you all the time for reasons I refused to tell you about? You couldn’t find me, you couldn’t contact me, you didn’t know if I was safe, you wouldn’t be able to sleep wondering if I might be dea—”

“Stop!” he snaps, then quieter, repeats, “Stop.” His eyes fall from yours to the stone of your porch and enough seconds pass that there’s an awkwardness to the silence. “I would lose my mind if it was you, Ok?” he says, connecting to your stare. “I’d go fucking crazy.”

“And somehow you expect me not to.”

His hands move to cup your face, thumbs stroking back and forth over your cheekbones. “I don’t expect anything of you, sweetness. I can't, because it wouldn't be fair. But it doesn't change the truth that you don’t leave my thoughts. When I'm gone, every free second I have is spent thinking about coming home to you.”

Except coming home often means adding to your worries. There’s not one instance in the time you’ve known him that he has returned to you without bruises at every stage of healing scattered across his body. But you don’t speak of them. Neither do you speak of the split lip, cut eyebrow, sliced skin, and the worst of them: the hole in his arm that was shoddily stitched up, leaving a permanent reminder of the secret life he keeps from you. 

Often, when he is asleep, you run your finger over the raised skin, simultaneously thankful that he made it back from such an ordeal and cursing that he left to begin with. Then, from the twisted mess those feelings cause in your head, you find that your pain at seeing him hurt always develops a branch of anger.

Despite all of the blows you know he takes, you're not quick enough to stop yourself from throwing one of your own. “Assuming you’ll be able to come home at all…right?” 

His eyes widen before they squeeze shut. Sharp jawline sharpens more as teeth clench. Thorn takes a deep breath, then proves that his forehead resting against yours is all it takes for your anger to fizzle. 

Wrapping your hands around his wrists, you finally allow the tears to spill. They pour with abandon, overwhelming you the way a tidal wave might overtake a small ship in its ocean.

“I know whatever you do is stupidly dangerous,” pushes through your sudden sobs and sniffles. 

“That’s why I don’t tell you what it is,” he whispers as his nose nudges yours. “But I’m careful, sweetness. I’m careful because of you.”

Your lips freeze from the tears that reach them. The salty liquid under the chilled air bleeds away all moisture until his mouth claims a kiss. Not soft, not sweet, but beautifully burning. And from that burn, you find your calm. From familiarity, you find peace. From him, you find home. 

When you separate, your breaths form a puff of heat that shoves away the cold. “I won’t let you down,” he promises. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

---

A/N: there is very likely going to be a part 2 to this, assuming people would want to read it.

tags: @wkndwlff @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @mamachasesmayhem @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl

[chvoswxtch]

like a wrecking ball

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: frank finished a job earlier than anticipated, and he's finally coming home to you.

warnings: cursing, frank being a bit of a softie (my heart needed this warning lmao), explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this fic was inspired by the song like a wrecking ball by eric church. it came on one of my spotify mixes a while back and it instantly made me think of frankie and put this idea in my head. idk what it is about frankie, like he makes me such a whore but also so soft so...here's a combo of both. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

I, I been gone, I been gone too long

Singin' my songs on the road

Another town, one more show

And I'm comin' home

Frank hated being away from you. He hated the thought of you at home by yourself, sleeping alone every night, if you did sleep at all when your anxiety wasn’t gnawing at your stomach about his safety. He hated that he was constantly running off to protect other people when the only person he really gave a shit about protecting was you. Frank knew you weren’t defenseless by any means. He saw to that personally. You knew where every gun and knife was stashed, and he had taught you how to use them until he was satisfied with your skill. He taught you self defense, how and where to hit, quickest exit points in the house. There were plenty of cameras and silent alarms around the perimeter of the house so he could check on you from wherever he was, but it did nothing to dull his paranoia, and it would have him driving seventeen hours straight just to make it back home to you.

Frank hated sleeping without you. He detested the motel beds and their scratchy sheets, worn springs of the mattress digging into his tired body, the scent of stale cigarettes and residual dust. There was a time when he hardly noticed shit like that. A room was a room, and a bed was a bed. Hell, it was better than sleeping in the van. But that was before you. Now he missed the feeling of you curled up into his side or using his chest as a pillow, your hands grabbing onto him like a lifeline every night, your silk skin and green apple scented shampoo keeping his nightmares at bay. He hated that he was missing out on all the little moments he looked forward to, and wasn’t there to hear you talk about your day, or watch you dance around the kitchen as you cooked. God, he missed your cooking. He missed you. He made a promise to call once a day, but hearing your voice only on the other end of the phone wasn’t nearly enough to soothe the ache and guilt he felt in his chest.

Frank hated the look on your face everytime he had to leave. You never complained, or said anything about how you truly felt. You always told him you understood, that this is who he was, and you accepted it. The only thing you ever asked of him was to make it home to you. But he could see the truth in your eyes as you tried to hide the glimmer of longing building up on your waterline. He could feel the desperation as you clung to him a little tighter, kissed him that much deeper, and let your fingers linger in his palm until he finally reluctantly let go. But he also hated the look on your face when he did come home sometimes after particularly bad runs. Sometimes he would come home a day or two late, just to give his wounds some borrowed time to heal before he had to face you. He would intentionally come home when it was dark, keep the lights off, and take you from behind slowly so you couldn’t see him, but could feel him and that he was home. He couldn’t hide from you forever, he knew that. But he just needed a couple of hours before he had to see that broken look on your face at the aftermath of his choices.

But this time hadn’t been so bad. Frank had finished the job quicker than anticipated, and relatively uninjured, and he was coming home to you.

Don't give a damn what these keys are for

I'm gonna knock down that front door and,

I'm gonna find out what that house is made of

It's been too many nights since it's felt us make love

It had been Frank’s personal mission to christen every square inch of the house when you moved in. Not that you two hadn’t broken in certain rooms and spots before, but that was different. That was before you had turned Frank’s house into a real home, one that you now shared together. That was before when he would come home to silence that echoed against the barren walls and climb into bed only to be greeted by cold sheets. That was before when he hadn’t even bothered to buy a dining table because he only ever cooked for one. That was before when the house was just brick and sheetrock, because there wasn’t anything inside that made it more.

Until you.

Frank still remembers how goddamn nervous he was to ask you to move in. You hadn’t even been dating a year, and he was worried you’d freak out that he was moving too fast. He loved the nights you spent with him, always coaxing you for another. Always just one more night.

Just stay one more night, darlin’. Promise I’ll wake ya up in time to change before work.

You always stayed. You even started bringing an overnight bag with more than one extra change of clothes, just in case. Frank wouldn’t have minded spending just as many nights at your place, but you always told him that you enjoyed his house more given that it was far more spacious than your little one bedroom apartment, and you were “absolutely in love with his kitchen”.

That right? Feel free to use it anytime then, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna stop ya.

You had been complaining about running out of space in your apartment, specifically space for your bookshelves. You had two large ones already that were overflowing, and you were ranting to Frank about how your tiny apartment was causing you to be financially responsible in limiting how many more books you could buy. Frank listened with an amused grin on his lips. He thought you looked adorable with the little pout on your lips, brows furrowed and nose crinkled up, clearly distraught by your predicament. He loved how much you loved to read. He loved it even more when he was able to persuade you to read to him.

There was an empty room he wasn’t using that he decided right then would be yours. He went out and got some ash gray wood to match the color of your current bookshelves, dropped by your place with coffee and a guise of “I was in the neighborhood”, but really was trying to get a gauge on just how much work he had cut out for him. You had always told him you wanted your own library room when you finally moved into a house of your own, and Frank was determined to give you one. He spent an entire weekend building out a few large bookshelves, testing the shelves strength with different weights, making sure every edge was sanded and smoothed to perfection, and secured them all into the walls so they couldn’t topple over. He even got you a little step stool that he tucked beside one of the bookcases so that you could reach the top shelves if he wasn’t around.

Frank had invited you over for dinner the following Monday night, casually announcing he had something he wanted to show you afterwards. His heart pounded in his chest the entire walk down the hallway and his palms had begun to sweat as he twisted the knob and opened the door. The nerves he felt in that moment were immensely stronger than any he had ever felt before, almost as debilitating as the ones he felt from the ambush in Kandahar. He was perplexed by the puzzled look on your face when he flicked on the light, stepping aside to allow you to move past him. He watched you carefully as you traced your fingertips along one of the shelves before turning to face him with a playful smile.

I don’t think you have enough books for these, Frank.

No, but you do.

You…got these for me?

I built ‘em for you, sweetheart. Said you were runnin’ out of space and all that. Thought you could use some more. 

Your lips had been on his before he could get another word out, not that he minded. Frank had guided you back against one of the bookshelves, his hands tightly gripped onto your waist as you poured all of your gratitude into his mouth. His hands had slipped down slowly to grab the backs of your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly to pin you between his hips and the bookshelf. You broke the kiss momentarily to giggle incredulously against his full lips.

I can’t believe you built me a library at your house. How am I ever supposed to wanna go home now?

Well, that’s just the thing darlin’. I was thinkin’ this could be your home now.

That was the first room in the house that Frank made love to you in after you agreed to move in with him, but that certainly wasn’t the only one that night.

I wanna rock some sheetrock

Knock some pictures off the wall

Love you baby like a wrecking ball

Frank was antsy the entire drive home, continuously glancing down at his phone as if that would make the distance shorter and the time pass faster. He missed you. He needed you. It had barely been a week since he’d had you, but something about this time felt different. His desire was a lot stronger than he could remember it being any other time he had been gone. Frank needed to touch you like he needed to breathe. He needed to feel your supple skin in his rough palms, your needy hands tugging at his grown out hair, his hips nestled between your own. He needed to feel that you were his and you were safe.

The only time Frank ever truly felt at ease was when he was with you. He wasn’t quite as hypervigilant, unless you were out in public and then he couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t an omnipresent weight bearing down on his shoulders. That daunting thing inside him wasn’t clawing him apart begging to be let out. He felt lighter, definitely happier. He felt things he never thought he would feel again. Things he didn’t think he deserved to feel again. At first it terrified him. He didn’t want to get used to that tenderness, only to have it ripped away again. He didn’t know if he would be able to survive that a second time. But the harder he tried to fight it, the stronger his craving grew, and eventually he gave in and chased it like a nomad following the North Star. 

Frank loved being around you. But when he was inside of you? God, that felt like heaven. Probably the closest he thought a man like him would ever get, but fuck if he didn’t care as long as he got to visit every single day. Sometimes several times a day when he just couldn’t get enough. He was insatiable when it came to you. Burying himself to the hilt in the warmth of your walls was where he always found pure peace. Everything else melted away when his hips collided with yours, and he heard your breathy repetition of his name sweetly echoing in his ears. Frank could stay inside you for hours. Sometimes he would keep going, even when you were both far past your point of exhaustion and overstimulation, even when it almost hurt. 

Just one more, sweetheart. Just need one more, that’s it.

Frank needed you, and the stronger his desire grew, the harder his foot pressed against the gas.

You, look at you

Send me one more shot

Sittin’ on the bathroom sink

Damn you really turn me on

Paintin’ your toenails pink

Frank had gone from having not a single photo on his phone to his entire camera roll being full of pictures of you, and plenty of the two of you together. He had gotten in a habit of sneaking photos of you when you weren’t looking, or when you were doing simple things around the house or while the two of you were out. He loved to look at those when he was gone. It made him feel like you were there with him sometimes, especially the ones he had caught of you sleeping when he had woken up before you. That was the last thing he looked at every night when he was away before he fell asleep.

His favorite was one of you in Central Park in autumn. He had let you drag him along for a little romantic picnic at one of your favorite spots. Of course you didn't actually have to drag him. Frank would’ve followed you fucking anywhere you wanted to go without hesitation or complaint. The leaves had shifted from varying shades of emerald into deep hues of vermillion and gold. A breeze had blown through that had a few of them cascading down like timid raindrops around your head, and you had glanced up to watch them fall with the biggest smile on your face. Frank couldn’t pull his phone out fast enough to capture that moment. Every time he looked down at his phone, he saw that picture, and it made him smile just as big.

Frank loved that you sent him pictures while he was away. You always included him in whatever you were doing, even if he wasn’t physically present. Sometimes you sent him quick little videos when you wanted to ramble about something that was too much to type. He didn’t mind. It meant he got to see you, and hear your voice at the same time. Sometimes you’d send him a picture wearing two different earrings to ask him what looked better, or would paint two different shades of pink on your toes and ask which he preferred, as if he could tell the fucking difference. He’d always give you the same response.

Don’t matter, you make everythin’ look beautiful.

He could practically hear you rolling your eyes through the phone at that, and it always made him laugh. But he loved it. He loved that you asked for his opinion on things, even if you didn’t need it. He loved that you thought about him just as much while he was away as he thought about you. 

He really loved when you sent him pictures of you in bed, wearing nothing but one of his shirts. Frank absolutely loved when you wore his clothes, and how they smelled like you after. There wouldn’t even hardly be any skin showing in the picture, except your bare thighs, and it was always accompanied by an endearing sleepy smile on your lips, but God did it get him hard as a fucking rock. It always sent his mind into a frenzy with memories of the two of you in bed together. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the soft flesh of your hip in his hand. He could almost smell the dainty floral and citrus of your perfume running underneath his nose. He could almost hear the melodic whimpers and honeyed pleas that seemed to reverberate in his ears. Pictures like that had him eagerly pursuing your memory with his hand down his sweats, sending up silent prayers of your name to anyone that was listening that he could come home soon.

Easy baby before you say,

But if I can make it just one more day

That old house is gonna be shakin’

I hope those bricks and boards can take it

But I won’t be surprised if the whole damn place just falls

I’m gonna rock you baby like a wrecking ball

Two hours. Just two more hours, and Frank would be home. He could make it. He already had eight hours that had felt like an eternity behind him. Two hours was nothing. The closer he got home to you, the more all of his exhaustion from the past few days was quickly evolving into veritable energy. Frank was absolutely wide awake by the one hour mark. He hadn’t told you he was coming home early. He wanted to surprise you. He thought briefly about stopping to get you flowers or something, but that meant stopping and putting even more time between the two of you. He’d get flowers later.

All Frank could think about was you. Fuck, had he missed you. He was struggling to decide on whether he would have the patience to take his time with you, spend all night making up for every second that he was away. He liked to go slow with you. Frank liked to learn your body and memorize it constantly, like reading his favorite book all over again. He loved the way your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head when he set a languid pace, ensuring you felt everything. He loved to strum you delicately with his fingers, producing beautiful melodies from your lips as he played his favorite tune between your thighs over and over again. Frank especially loved when you embraced his head against your core as his tongue delved and sought out his favorite treasure. Frank wasn’t a religious man, but he felt reborn every single time your gratification coated his face, reveling in the way your taste washed away and absolved his past sins.

As much as he enjoyed leisurely extending your pleasure, sometimes he couldn’t wait. There were times Frank couldn’t even be bothered to fully rid either of you of your clothing, he just needed enough out of the way to get to where he needed to be. There was at least one occasion where you two hadn’t even made it past the front door. Frank had shamelessly fucked you right there, for any of your neighbors to see or hear, keys long forgotten in the lock, because he couldn’t wait. He hadn’t even bothered to keep quiet. Had anyone been on the other side of that door, they probably would’ve thought S.W.A.T. was in the process of fucking breaking it down. But who was gonna come out and say something to him? Who the fuck would dare get between Frank Castle and his girl?

Never had he been so fucking happy that he had installed a camera on your front door. The amount of times he had replayed that video while he was away was egregious, but Frank didn’t fucking care. Due to that incident, and a few others where you two barely made it past the entryway, all the photos you had hung on those walls were purposefully moved a foot inward. Curtis had inquired once about the weird gap of space between the front door and the half of the hallway that was decorated, but Frank’s mouth had curled upwards in a salacious grin before you had a chance to come up with an excuse.

Better you don’t ask, Curt.

Frank let out a breath of relief he didn’t realize he was holding when he pulled into the driveway and saw your car there. He could see a faint glow through the curtains in the living room, letting him know you were awake. He didn’t bother grabbing his bag out of the back or even locking his truck. All that mattered right now was you.

And that old house is gonna be shakin’

Rafter and rockin’ foundation quaking

Crash out through the front door

Back you up against a wall

You were waiting at the other end of the entryway as soon as Frank stepped through the front door. He nearly groaned at the sight of you in one of his flannels that just reached the middle of your thighs. There was surprise written evidently all over your face. He had told you he wouldn’t be home for another three days. But that initial shock seemed to wear off the second you took in the hungry look in his eyes, your lips curving upwards into a playful smirk.

“Hey, big guy.”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

In an instant, Frank had crossed the distance to you in two short strides, grabbing your face in his large hands to steal your lips in a kiss that had you collapsing into his chest. He wasted no time backing you up against the wall, his tongue swiping the bittersweet remnants of white wine off your lips as your frantic fingers pushed his jacket off his broad shoulders. Frank redirected your hands away from toying with the collar of his henley and guided them down to his belt, silently signaling how much he needed you right now. You moaned softly into the kiss at just how much he was straining against the rough denim.

As you pulled the worn leather from the buckle and worked on undoing his jeans, Frank’s fingers found the waistband of your panties underneath the flannel and shoved them carelessly down your legs. He gave you just a split second to step out of them before lifting you up into his arms and pressing you back roughly into the drywall, his other hand quickly working on freeing his coveted cock. He could feel your heat seeping through the fabric of his shirt on his lower abdomen. He should’ve felt guilty about not prepping you more first, but he was too far gone in clouded lust to hold back, especially with the way you were nibbling on his earlobe and begging diligently.

 “Please, Frankie.”

That was all he needed. A guttural groan tore through him when he finally sank the blunt head of his cock into your welcoming heat, continuing to drive further into you until he had nothing left to give. His fingertips dug bruisingly into your hips as he held you there, his eyes falling shut at the way your greedy pussy squeezed around him longingly. Your legs wrapped even tighter around his lower back as he pushed you further against the wall with his hips. Frank couldn’t form a single coherent thought at the moment other than how fucking good you felt. How much he had missed this. How much he had missed you.

The high pitched cry that sounded from your throat snapped him back into focus. He would get lost in you later, but right now he wanted to watch you fall apart. Frank dipped his head to press his forehead against yours, holding you as close to his body as he possibly could and securing his arm around your waist so that you were being knocked back into his embrace with every powerful thrust of his hips. He placed his other hand at the base of your throat, wrapping his fingers around it delicately like ivy and squeezing ever so gently to get you to look at him.

“There’s my pretty girl. Missed you so much, sweetheart. So fuckin’ much. Drove all goddamn day for this. Couldn’t wait to come home and be right here.”

Frank loved looking into your eyes when he fucked you. He could see it all. Every little thing you were feeling, all of the words his hips were knocking out of you, all of the pleas his lips stole from yours. He loved watching the way your pupils dilated when he called you his girl, praised you, or when you were about to come. He tried so hard to get you to keep them open when you finally did, swearing he could see the entire fucking universe in them.

Love you baby,

Take it right there baby

Rock you baby,

Like a wrecking ball

“Missed you so much, Frank…God…please…”

“That’s it baby, atta girl. Take it like I know you can. Promise we’ll take our time later, yeah? Just need to feel you right now. Been too long, sweetheart. Too goddamn long.”

Frank could barely hear the sound of the picture frames rattling against the wall as your conjoined bodies collided into it over and over and over again. All he could hear was your breathless pants and pleas of his name ringing in his ears. You grabbed onto the back of his neck, chasing his lips as he quickened his pace. Exchanges of i love you’s were murmured against each other's mouth, trying to fit all of your shared longing and greed into the growing bubble of pleasure that was about to erupt between the two of you.

This right here, this was home. You were it. Happiness. Heaven. Freedom. Peace. Home. Those were all the things Frank found within you. All of the things he would fight anyone, even the Devil or God himself, to hold onto. No one could help the sorry son of a bitch that ever tried to take away what was his again. Nothing would ever take you away from him. Nothing.

That thought echoing in his mind had Frank pounding you so hard into the wall with such a ferocity it shocked even him. But he couldn’t stop himself, not with you digging your nails into his shoulder blade and pleading for more.

“I love you. You hear me? I fuckin’ love you. Ain’t nothin’ ever gonna keep me from comin’ home to you, sweetheart. Not a goddamn thing.”

Frank didn’t need you to speak. He just needed you to listen. He needed you to know that you were home. He needed you to know that you were his. He needed you to know that he would protect you until he took his last breath, and even then he’d find a way to keep going. 

Frank immediately lost it when you finally let go, his hips convulsing against yours as your walls wrung every single drop of elation out of his spent cock. He let his head fall against your shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment to catch his breath as he hugged you as tightly as he could to his chest. He had no idea how the fuck he was still standing, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind as he focused on the sound and feeling of your heart thudding just below his ear.

Your nails gingerly scratched at his scalp and he hummed, wrapped up in content like a blanket with your heart as a pillow. He could’ve passed out right there. Definitely fucking better than a motel bed. 

“Frankie?”

He grunted in response, which earned a canorous fit of giggles to vibrate against the side of his face. It only made him snuggle further into your chest, gently smacking his palm against your ass when you wiggled in his relentless grasp.

“Stop movin’.”

“Baby, we can’t stay like this.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because if you pass out, you’re gonna crush me.”

“You callin’ me heavy?”

“Frank, you’re a giant compared to me. Yes, you’re heavy. I’d rather you crush me in a sexy way, not in a permanent way. Now, I believe you promised me a few more rounds, Castle.”

Frank’s ears perked up at that, retracting his head from the crook of your neck just enough that he could see your face. He cocked his head to the side slightly, a sly smirk twisting at the edge of his mouth as he brought his palm back to your ass to give it a rough squeeze.

“Mm, I did, didn’t I? Better get on that then, yeah?”

“I don’t know, you think you can handle it? Looking awfully tired there, big guy.”

Frank’s eyes darkened when you quirked your brow in a challenge, a knowing smirk of your own spreading over your lips. The teasing tone laced in your words didn’t escape him. He knew exactly what you were doing, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t working. You always knew what buttons to press to get what you wanted, and Frank was always more than willing to comply. Hell, most of the time you didn’t even have to try to convince him. All you had to do was give him that smile, and he was a goner.

But if you were gonna play that game, so was he.

“Oh sweetheart, I know you don’t think I drove all day just to fuck you once and call it a night.”

[ereardon]

One Night in Tokyo [Jake Seresin x Reader]

Summary: Calling off your wedding three days before wasn’t part of the plan. Neither was going to Tokyo alone on what was supposed to be your honeymoon. That’s how you ended up at the bar of The Shangri-La, drinking martinis. That’s how Jake Seresin found you. 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, SMUT, called off wedding, alcohol. This is filth, y’all

WC: 6.2K

You knocked on the door, fingers shaking. Maybe it was the nerves. Or the gin. Or both. You waited, shifting subtly from side to side, letting your weight sink into the balls of your feet as your stilettos dug into the carpet of the hotel hallway. 

Finally, just as you were wondering if you should knock again or leave, the door swung open. 

You stuttered. His green eyes roamed over your body, starting at your feet, working their way over your short dress, up to your cleavage, rolling over your collarbones, finally meeting your own. 

He smiled. You smiled back, timidly. He stepped to the side, leaving a gap in the doorway. You looked beyond where he stood. The glittering lights of Tokyo flickered beyond the floor to ceiling windows of the hotel suite. 

“Coming in, baby?” he asked. 

You looked up at Jake Seresin before nodding, stepping over the threshold, letting Jake’s hand fall to the small of your back as he closed the door, locking the two of you inside, sealing your decision. 

**One Hour Before**

You were tired. But you were also stubborn. They say to fight the jet lag by staying up until an appropriate time in wherever location you have landed. But it had been two days and you were still struggling to stay awake past seven o’clock. Sitting in your hotel room wasn’t doing any good, so you wandered down to the bar, ordering a gin martini, nursing it slowly, people watching. 

Shangri-La Hotel Tokyo. The nicest hotel in the city. That’s what you’re supposed to stay in for your honeymoon, right? The fanciest hotel. Have the best time. The best sex. A place you’ll want to revisit in the future when your marriage has taken a few turns, tumbled down a few hills. When your husband’s snoring means you have to sleep in two different beds and your kid’s soccer practice schedule leaves you so worn out at the end of the day that you can barely brush your teeth let alone shave your legs and when the ten year anniversary comes around you’re clinging to the memories of sweaty hotel sex with no set alarms and no responsibilities, the way it was on your honeymoon to cancel out the feelings of inadequacy that have piled up in your marriage. 

Or at least, that’s how it should have gone. Before the wedding got called off. Less than three days before the ceremony. 

By then, most of your family had already flown into San Francisco. Your sister was the one who showed up at your door, her face tight and pale, her phone glued to her palm as she started to make the calls. 

“Aunt June? It’s Gwen. Listen, about the wedding…” 

You went into the bedroom and laid down, let the searing sun glare across your closed eyelids. San Francisco was cloudy every fucking day except the day your life turned upside down. Then it had the audacity to sparkle, sun shining from every corner of its asshole.  

Michael had come home and bared his soul. He didn’t love you. He maybe never had. But he had done what he thought was right. Met a girl, asked her to marry him. Planned a wedding. 

What he hadn’t anticipated was that you would throw an antique clock at his head, nicking the bottom of his ear, creating a gouge in the wall of the one bedroom apartment the two of you shared in Presidio Heights. He didn’t even have time to get his things. You simply opened the window and tossed them out onto Laurel Street. Including his fucking Xbox, which smashed into a million pieces as he shrieked from three stories below. It was the first time you smiled all day. 

That was how you ended up alone in Tokyo on what should have been your honeymoon, sipping a gin drink, something called Lavender Moon, that was fuzzy on your tongue, followed by two gin martinis with a twist. 

That was how Jake Seresin found you.  

You didn’t even notice him at first. He was smooth and slick, like a jungle cat, perched in a chair on the other side of the square bar, face partially hidden by the dim light. But when you left for the bathroom and returned, he had made his way to a seat directly next to yours. You climbed onto the chair you had recently vacated and noticed a new drink in front of you. 

“Hendrick’s martini with a twist. Dry.” His voice was silky but you frowned anyway. 

“Did I ask?”

He grinned, revealing a set of brilliant white teeth. “Looked like you needed a refill.” 

You shook your head. “You expect me to drink something that just magically appeared at my spot at the bar when I was in the bathroom. No thanks.” 

He leaned back, one arm against the sleek bar. He smelled like expensive cologne, the kind that doesn’t overpower but instead glides under the radar until it’s consuming you. He wore a perfectly fitted button down that showed off his sculpted arms, and a pair of tailored pants, belt cinched tight with a fancy Italian leather belt. 

You raised an eyebrow. “So you can go.” 

He made no move to vacate his chair. “You here alone?” 

You narrowed your eyes. “And you think I would tell you if I were? So you could come murder me later tonight? I’m good, but thanks for checking.” 

He flagged down the bartender. “Another martini for me, extra dry. And my girlfriend will have the same.” 

“Was this martini no good, sir?” the bartender asked. 

He smiled at you. “It was poisoned is all.” 

The bartender frowned, but cleared it. The bar stranger turned to you, his entire body shifting and opening up toward yours. 

“Jake Seresin,” he said, holding out one hand. “Think we should be on a first name basis as you’re my girlfriend and all.” 

You laughed. “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that.” 

“There’s more where that came from…?” He waited. 

You gave in. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Jake repeated. The way he said your name sounded better than it ever had when Michael said it. “What are you doing here, alone, Y/N?”

You could make up any variety of lie. You could say you were an insurance salesman. That you were a stripper waiting until the clubs opened. That you owned the hotel. 

So why did you tell him the truth?

“I’m drinking alone,” you said, “because my fiancé decided he didn’t love me anymore and I threw a clock at his head. And before he could explain why I was on a flight to what was supposed to be our honeymoon. But now apparently it's just an excuse to get sloppy drunk and flirt with ridiculous men.” 

Jake was silent. You expected a joke or maybe even an apology or some kind of reaction. But he simply took a sip of his martini, taking his time before setting it down without spilling a drop. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim billfold, sliding a black card across the bar toward the bartender. “All of the drinks on here, please,” he said. The bartender nodded, picking up the card and walking away. Jake looked back at you, pulling out a second card, placing it directly in front of your drink. “Sun suite. Thirty-seventh floor.”

You put your fingertips on the card. “What makes you think I’ll sleep with you after knowing you for approximately forty seconds?” 

Jake signed the bill, sliding his credit card back into his wallet before standing up. He was hovering so close to where you sat you could practically feel him hugging to every curve. Jake bent down, his breath warm against your neck and ear. “For once in your life,” he murmured, “do something exciting. I’ll see you soon, baby.” 

And then he was disappearing out of the silk screened doors and you turned back to the bar with shock written across your face. 

Who the fuck was Jake Seresin? And why did he have you dripping wet beneath your cocktail dress in a matter of minutes? 

***

There was a stillness to the room. As soon as the door shut, a flood of panic zipped through your veins. Was this a mistake? He was a stranger. A good looking, smooth stranger. 

Serial killer material. 

“I don’t plan on murdering you if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jake said from across the room, a smirk spread along his beautiful face. He had a glass of scotch in one hand, long legs leaning up against the back of a silk couch. You frowned and he chuckled. “You’re easier to read than you think, sweetheart.” 

“So you do this often, huh?” you asked, stepping closer, running one hand over the marble counter of the bar set up in one end of the living room. 

Jake approached gently from behind, grabbing a bottle of champagne from a bucket of ice, peeling off the foil wrapping at the top before popping it gently in one hand. “Yes,” he admitted. “Since my divorce.” 

“How long?” 

“Two years.” 

“Shame,” you replied as he poured you a glass of champagne, taking the delicate crystal stem in one hand. 

Jake shrugged. “It’s my fault. I was gone all the time and she got tired of waiting around. I don’t blame her.” 

You looked up at him. He was even more chiseled than you had originally thought. Short stubble over the bottom half of his face, piercing green eyes, slightly too long hair swept back with a practiced hand gesture. Who wouldn’t wait for him? 

Jake shook his head. “Anyway, you don’t want to hear about that. That’s not why you’re here.” 

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly, turning back around to look at him before facing forward, eyes scanning the cityscape outside the large windows. “Maybe I want to know you before we do this.” 

You shivered as Jake’s hand skimmed your waist, and you could feel the heat from his body as he stepped in closer, hovering only inches from you, his hips level with yours, his breath on your neck. “Y/N,” he murmured. “It can just be a drink if that’s what you want. Nothing more.” 

You swiveled around until you and Jake were face-to-face, your ass pressed up against the glass. “I want more,” you whispered. “I’m just…” You trailed off. 

He nodded. “I know.” Jake took the glass out of your hand and put it down on the coffee table near the silk couch. When he stepped back toward you, his hand smoothed over your waist again. Large. Warm. Thrilling. When was the last time you had been touched by someone since Michael? “We’ll take things slow.” 

“Is that what you tell all the girls after you spike their drinks?” 

He laughed. It was a nice laugh. Better than nice. It hugged you like a good pair of leggings. A warm scarf on a cold autumn day. It radiated a warmth you hadn’t seen in your almost-husband in a long time. Jake smiled down at you. “Why did you come here tonight?” he asked. 

“You told me to.” 

“But you don’t seem like the kind of woman who does things because someone told her to,” he replied. Jake let his fingers slide up slightly, thumb brushing beneath the curve of your breast in your tight black dress. You swallowed a gasp. “You seem like the kind of woman who likes to be in charge.” 

“Maybe being the boss is exhausting,” you whispered as Jake slid his thumb up over your breast, toward your nipple. You could feel your pulse between your thighs. “Maybe for once I want someone else in the driver’s seat.” 

He leaned in, second hand grabbing your waist, tugging you up against him tightly, the hand on your breast now palming you entirely, squeezing you until you groaned lightly. “Say the word, baby, and I’m all yours. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” 

You looked up at Jake. “And then what?” you asked. “I leave and we never see each other again? Just disappear into a city of fourteen million people?” 

His lips curled up. “Why not? It’s one night, Y/N. You look like you could use a good fuck. And trust me when I say, I’m good.” 

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled. “Oh fuck it,” you muttered, reaching your hands up and winding them around Jake’s neck, dragging his head down to yours, pressing your lips to his. You whimpered as Jake’s hands gripped your waist tightly, walking you backward until you were pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window, his tongue padding yours gently, his knee nudging your legs wider until your core was pressed down against his trousers, lighting up your clit. 

Jake pulled his lips from yours, sliding down and kissing along your neck, sucking behind your ear, one hand cupping your ass, pulling you forward against his thigh, forcing a moan out of your mouth. “Do you want to tell me what you want?” Jake whispered gruffly. “Or do you just want me to guess?” 

“Fuck me until I can’t walk,” you replied and he groaned, burying his face in your chest, fingertips dragging down the top of your dress until your breasts were spilling out and Jake’s mouth was on your nipple, hot and wet, and when he sucked harshly you let out a gasp. “Oh, shit!” 

Jake pulled off of your nipple with a groan, spinning you around until you were facing the city, your hands pressed high on the glass. He adjusted the front of your dress so your breasts were covered once again before sliding his body over yours from behind. You could feel how hard he was in his trousers as he rubbed himself over your ass, his lips trailing over your left shoulder. Gently, he moved the hair from your neck, kissing you until a crop of goosebumps arose on your arms. 

He slid his hands down over your sides, letting one hand dip down below your ass in between your legs, brushing lightly over your soaked core. 

He grunted. “Fuck, you’re wet.” His hand moved down, trailing along your inner thigh before he nudged your legs apart, widening your stance, stepping in closer, pressing himself flush with your back. One hand came up and held you across your abdomen, and the other wrapped around and slithered up your thigh, crossing over to the apex between your legs, his fingers slipping beneath the lacy fabric of your panties, thick fingertips brushing over your wet folds. “Holy shit,” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

Jake’s fingers slid down past your clit and folds as you wobbled in his arms, until his middle finger was circling your entrance. You were practically bucking against his hand, his large palm flattened against your clit, and he pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder as his finger slipped inside of you, spreading you open while you whined in his arms. “Oh my God!” 

“You like that, hmm?” He thrust his finger into you until he was met with the spongy part of your walls, fingertip curling and brushing against your inner wall as you shook in his arms. The next time Jake pulled his finger out he added a second one and you hitched forward, leaning your forehead against the glass, breath fogging and blurring the cityscape below. 

“Shit, yes, yes.” 

Jake buried his fingers into your cunt as you dripped on his knuckles, his free hand holding you up as your legs started to shake. Then, in an instant, he pulled his fingers out and you frowned. Before you could protest, Jake had turned you back around and he was on his knees. “Come here,” he demanded and you stepped forward, letting Jake’s hand slide up your bare leg, one finger hooking into the lacy fabric of your thong, pulling it down your legs slowly until you stepped out of it. He made sure it didn’t catch on your stilettos as he pressed your feet open wider, hands sliding back up the outsides of your thighs, bunching the black tight dress up around your waist so your dripping core was laid bare for him. Jake pulled himself to eye level with your wet pussy and groaned audibly. “Fuck,” he muttered, bending forward, licking a stripe up your folds as your hands shot out, reaching for his shoulders to steady you. 

“Oh!” 

His fingers dug into your thighs as his sharp tongue spread you open, licking around your entrance, nose buried deep against your puffy clit as you rocked back and forth across his face, barely able to contain yourself. Jake’s hands kept you just close enough that you were practically shaking as you grinded against him, letting his tongue work you into a frenzy. 

And just as you were starting to build the heat in your lower abdomen, he pulled back, pink lips glistening. You pouted, hands still digging into his shoulders. 

“Not yet,” he whispered huskily, standing up and wiping at his wet face with a towel from the bar. 

“So is that how this works?” you asked, yanking down the hem of your dress as Jake leaned against the bar, sipping on his drink. “You go down on me for five seconds and then ask me to suck your cock?” 

“Is that what you want?” he asked, putting down his drink, inching closer, one hand on your throat, thumb over your pulse point, your neck turned up toward him, his green eyes shimmering. “My cock filling your mouth? Not sure how it’ll fit with all that sass you’ve got going on.” 

“Well you probably have a micropenis, so I’m sure it’ll fit with room to spare.” 

He laughed, taking your hand and sliding it down his chest and abdomen, your fingers tracing along his rock hard body, over his belt buckle, down to the impressive tent in his pants. He was massive, you could tell even over his pants. “Micro?” he asked. 

You shrugged, fingers still hot over the bulge beneath his belt. “I’m guessing two, three inches tops.” 

Jake grinned, undoing his belt, opening the first button of his fly and grabbing your much smaller hand, thrusting it down the front of his pants until you were met with the hot, pulsing length of his cock against your fingertips. You wrapped your fingers around it the best you could but he was thick and veiny and there was barely any room in his underwear to get a good grip. “More than three?” he asked. 

You looked up into his eyes. “Three and a half.” 

Jake’s smile turned into an open mouth moan as his eyes rolled back into his head when you used your other hand to push down his boxer briefs and the waistband of his pants, freeing his hard cock. It was hot in your hand as you rubbed your thumb over the tip, drawing the precum over the fat head of his cock and down his length, wrapping your fist around him the best you could, slowly pumping him a few times, letting his balls drag across the sides of your fingers when you pressed against his base. 

He opened his eyes and you smirked. “Not so bossy now, are you?” you asked. 

Jake raised his eyebrows. “You want to forget about your piece of shit fiancé?” 

“Ex-fiancé,” you corrected him. 

He nodded. “You want to forget about him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then get on your knees, sugar. Show daddy what you’re made of so I can treat you after.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He did not. You let out a sigh, slowly sinking to your knees in front of Jake. He leaned over, grabbing a pillow from the silk couch. “Wait. Kneel on this.” He dropped the cushion on the ground and you knelt down, hands at your sides. “Come on, sweetheart. Take my cock in your mouth like a good girl. And then I’ll make you come.” 

He slid his pants and underwear down to the ground, stepping out of them and you leaned in, running one hand over his outer thigh, his thick cock staring you in the face. 

Jake threaded one hand into your hair as you lowered your mouth onto his tip, tongue brushing the underside of his cock as he groaned. “Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s good.” You slid his cock across your tongue until the tip hit the back of your throat as you gagged around his length. Pitching forward, placing both hands on his thighs, you bobbed up and down on his cock, letting spit pool in your mouth as you suctioned onto him, tasting his salty skin as Jake pulled you in, your nose brushing along his perfectly kept pubic hair. 

“Shit,” you muttered as you popped off of him for a second, eyes tearing up, before diving back in, sucking hard, pulling a moan from Jake’s mouth as he closed his eyes above you. 

“Fuck, God, shit come here.” Jake tugged at your hair, pulling you off of him, and you looked up, spit dripping from your mouth. “Come here,” he repeated, bending down, helping you to stand, pressing his mouth to yours, tasting himself on you. He walked you backward against the far wall of the room, his wet cock pressing against you and Jake’s large hands reached down, yanking up your dress, pulling it over your head. 

You were standing in front of him bare except for a pair of stilettos and he grabbed your thighs, lifting you up seamlessly, his lips landing on yours again as his cock nudged against your folds, your legs winding around his waist. He brushed against your core, the hot, pulsing tip of his cock threatening to split you apart, and you moaned into his mouth. 

Jake slid his lips down to your neck, sucking below your ear as you grinded your hips the best you could, trapped between him and the wall, desperate for more. “Greedy girl,” he whispered in your ear, biting your earlobe gently. “You want this cock, huh? Want me to fuck you against the wall until you’re creaming on me. Is that what you want?” 

“Yes,” you begged. “Please?” 

He was still wearing his shirt and you fumbled for the buttons, undoing them hastily, pushing it apart to reveal his perfectly chiseled chest. Jake carefully let you slip one arm out and then the other, never putting you down, until your chests were pressed together, your breasts molded onto him. 

“Jake,” you whined. 

“Such a fucking needy girl,” he muttered, rutting himself against you, pressing you further against the wall, his cock slipping over your folds, nudging at your clit. You yelped. “Knew the second I saw you that you’d like it fucking dirty. You would have let me fuck you right there at the bar, wouldn’t you?” 

“No,” you gasped as he reached down, spreading you apart with his fingers, placing the head of his cock at your entrance. 

“No?” He stopped moving, leaning back to look at you. 

You shook your head, breathless. “You were a serial killer, remember?” 

Jake laughed, sliding himself inside of you. 

You gasped, mouth falling open as Jake’s thick cock split you in two, filling every single inch of you, pressing you further up the wall as his hands held your waist tightly. 

He pushed in further, eliciting pants of pleasure from you as he held back from slamming against your cervix. “Fuck,” he muttered, his green eyes locked on you. “You’re so fucking tight.” 

“Oh, fuck.” 

“Hey, look at me,” he said gruffly and you lowered your chin, looking him square in the eye. He was all of the way inside of you and you had never felt so stuffed in your life. You hadn’t even known there was that much room inside of you until Jake had taken up residence inside your cunt. “You come when I say,” he commanded and you found yourself nodding. “This pussy belongs to me now.” 

And then he pulled back, slamming inside of you as you cried out in his arms, his fingertips digging into your waist and ass, holding you up as he fucked you against the wall, your back slamming against the ornate silk wallpaper as his cock brushed against the furthest recesses of your walls. “Fuck! Jake!” 

“Tell me when you’re going to come,” he grunted. 

You whimpered as Jake pulled you into his arms, yanking you from against the wall, crossing the room while still using his hands to pull your hips up and down against his cock, laying you down on the fluffy bed as he stood against the side, your feet now resting on his shoulders as he bent you over further, driving his cock deeper inside of you while you sobbed in pleasure. “Jake! I—” 

He pulled out of you in an instant and your eyes flew open, outraged. 

“What the?” 

His hand came out and slapped your puffy pussy lips. You looked up, stunned. “Get on the bed,” Jake demanded and you let your heels fall off, crawling back onto the middle of the bed, looking up in surprise. “Now come here.” 

Jake crawled until he was positioned over you, beautiful face looming only a few inches above you. 

“You’re going to make me come,” he whispered, “and then you get to come. Understand, princess?” 

You had two failed orgasms under your belt and you felt heat creeping up across your collarbones and onto your neck. Desperation clung to you as hard as you tried to shake it off. “Yes, daddy.” 

Jake’s eyes flashed. Was it power? Was it passion? Either way, he smoothed his hand over your breasts, down your stomach, thumb pressing down on your clit as you groaned. “Spread your legs.” 

You did as you were told and Jake lined himself up with your soaking entrance, pushing into you with one long thrust as your breath broke, your fingers reaching out and wrapping around his biceps. He pushed further into you, grunting lightly, picking up his pace, his cock brushing against your walls as you climbed toward an orgasm, writhing beneath him, whimpering. 

A scream started to build in your throat until it couldn’t be kept down any longer and you found yourself wailing, body vibrating as you teetered on the edge when Jake sat up, pulling your hips up over his thighs, fucking into you hard, his thumb pressing against your clit in tight circles. 

“Oh, oh God!” you shouted as you started to flex around him. “I’m going to come! Jake!” 

“Don’t come,” he demanded, pulling his thumb away, fingers tightening on your waist as he drove his cock further into you, feeling the warmth of your walls hugging him in tightly. “Fuck.” 

He dropped you down, pulling out and shooting hot, sticky cum across your bare tits as you whimpered below him, a series of loud grunts leaving his mouth as he fisted his cock, milking himself over you. 

Jake rolled over onto his back before getting up, grabbing a towel from the bar, handing it to you. You sat up, wiping at your bare chest. 

“Alright,” you said softly. “My turn?” 

He smirked. “Desperate, are we?” 

“No.” It was a lie and you both knew it. Jake leaned against the headboard, both hands behind his head, cock spent but already hard again, taunting you. 

You straddled his hips, your aching core hovering over him. “Say please.” 

“Please.” It was a thin, wretched whisper. You couldn’t believe you were begging a near-stranger to let you orgasm. In five years Michael had never put you in a position like this. 

“That’s my girl,” Jake whispered and a shudder of excitement ran down your spine. “Come here.” 

He watched as you sank onto his hard cock, letting out a sharp cry as he filled you again. You pitched forward, hands on his pecs, grinding yourself against him, bouncing up and down on him, using him. Jake gripped your waist, eyes trained on you as you tossed your head back in a moan. “Shit.” 

“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he whispered and your eyes snapped open, catching his. Jake smiled. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Hmm?” 

You nodded frantically, jaw dropping open when Jake’s hand skimmed down, thumb pressing against your clit as you leaned back. He circled your swollen bud, watching his cock disappear into you. “Jake, please, please, let me come, oh fuck it feels so good.” 

“Come on my cock,” he demanded, pressing down harder against your clit and you burst, letting out a loud cry, falling forward into Jake’s waiting arms as he thrust his hips up into you while you rode out your orgasm, your mouth biting against his shoulder as his hands stroked your bare back, pulling you down hard against him. 

Finally, he stilled and you pressed yourself back, arms shaky. Jake tucked a section of hair behind your ear. 

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he said and you blushed, suddenly incredibly aware that he was still inside of your throbbing cunt, his other hand holding your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your left hand was conspicuously bare, fingers digging into the flesh of his pec. 

“You’re just saying that so I blow you again,” you murmured, trying to roll off of him but Jake caught you, grounding you above him. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, green eyes hard and demanding. “It’s the truth. I don’t make a habit of lying to one night stands for no reason.” His eyes grazed over your body. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat and semen and tears. You felt more alive than you had in years. Finally, he lifted you slowly off of his cock and you grunted as he slid out of you, your pussy aching and sore. Jake set you down gently on the bed next to him, standing up and crossing the room toward the bathroom, turning on the shower. “Join me?” 

You followed him into the marble bathroom. The shower was enormous, with no obvious door, just two half walls on either side of glass, with built-in seats on either side, a large silver shower head directly above you with a steady stream of water trickling down. Jake stepped in and held out a hand. You took it, letting him pull you in, the hot water falling over your face, letting Jake rub soap over your chest, down your stomach, between your legs. He turned you around, one hand on the wall, as he scrubbed over your back, pressing a kiss to the top of your ass, pushing himself against you until you could feel how hard he was. 

He grunted. “Fuck. I need you.” “Again?” you asked. Michael has been able to go once, maybe twice in a night. Jake was insatiable.

He nodded, chin dragging against your shoulder. “Go dry off.” 

You did as he said, sitting on the edge of the bed wearing only a towel wrapped around your waist, wet hair dripping down your back. Jake emerged a few minutes later, dropping the towel he had been using to dry his hair, perfect body glistening with water from the shower and on full display. He had chiseled abs that looked like they were carved out of stone and he grinned when you opened your legs wide, the edge of the towel not nearly long enough to cover your pussy. “How do you want me?” 

Jake stepped up to where you sat on the bed, reaching out and flicking at the knot in the towel, sending it flying on either side of you, leaving you bare in front of him. He fisted his cock, already hard, a few times before lining himself up with your entrance, pushing himself into your tired, swollen pussy as you laid back with a groan. 

“Oh, fuck!” 

Jake pulled out before slamming back into you, watching as his cock disappeared into your tight pussy. He put one hand on your lower stomach, groaning loudly as he felt his cock stretching you, creating a bulge where his hand was pressed against your skin. “Fucking Christ,” he muttered as you grabbed your own tits, whining below him, luxuriating in the delicious stretch of his cock inside of you. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked, sliding his other hand below your thigh, angling you back until he was thrusting deeper into you as you cried out. “Want me to break your fucking pussy in half, do you?” 

“Yes!” 

“Go on then,” he said. “Come on my cock. Show me how much you love it.” 

You let your head roll back, whiny sighs tumbling out of your mouth as Jake grabbed your waist, fucking you slow and deep, his pelvic bone brushing over your sensitive clit with every drag of his cock against your walls until you were shivering against him. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna come. Oh shit, Jake, now!” 

He leaned over, cock descending deeper into you, his voice rough as his lips brushed near your ear. “That’s it, baby girl. Show me how much you want me.” You let yourself fall over the edge, crying out his name on repeat, tears falling from the corners of your eyes as you felt Jake’s cock slide against your contracting walls, overstimulating you until you were whimpering and writhing beneath him. 

He leaned back, pulling out of you. “Come here.” 

You squinted, trying to let the spots fade from your vision, and watched as Jake stepped over toward the floor-to-ceiling window, his cock dripping wet. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “Make daddy happy.” 

You found yourself kneeling on the ground at his feet, both of Jake’s hands on the window, your bare ass pressed against the cold glass as your fingers found his waist, his cock thrust into your mouth. You could taste your own juices on him and he groaned immediately when you took him into your mouth, the mushroom tip of his cock bruising the back of your throat as he started to face fuck you. 

“Fuck, oh God, Y/N, just like that!” 

You gagged around his length, using your hands on his waist to pull him closer, letting saliva drip out of the corners of your mouth as tears streamed down your face, your mouth full as you attempted to suck along his veiny cock. He pulled back enough for you to take a deep breath, thrusting your tongue on the underside of his cock, making Jake’s hips jump, forcing his cock even deeper into your throat. 

“Fuck, baby, want to come in your mouth,” he whispered huskily. “Make you forget what it’s like not to have my cock in your mouth.” 

Your fingers tugged him closer and Jake leaned forward, crying out as his hips thrust forward, propelling his cock against your tongue and throat, hot, salty cum spilling into you. He fucked your mouth a few last times, his cries filling the room as his cock filled your mouth, and you let it drip down the sides of your mouth and into your neck and tits until he pulled out, resting his head against the cold glass window as you swallowed below him, your pussy wet where it was pressed against the wooden floor. 

“Fuck,” Jake muttered, finally opening his eyes. The sight of you below him, covered in his cum, chest heaving from exertion, a wet patch on the ground from where you had dripped your excitement onto the floor, practically sent him into a fit. He leaned down, pulling you up, dragging his thumb over your lip, collecting his cum from your face before feeding it between your lips. You sucked on him eagerly, swallowing as your eyes stayed glued on his. His cock, despite being spent, twitched in excitement. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You let Jake use your towel to wipe the cum off of your tits and neck and face. 

Somehow, despite the fact that he was a stranger, it felt normal to slip under the sheets next to him, the lights of the city glittering below you from outside the window. Jake leaned over, pressing one large hand to your abdomen, skimming the bottom curve of your breast. “Still think I’m a serial killer?” he asked softly.

“Maybe,” you replied. “But at least you’re a good lay.” 

Jake chuckled, lying back and settling in. You rolled onto your side away from him and closed your eyes. 

When you opened them, it was light out. You reached out and Jake’s half of the bed was empty. Your dress from the night before was lying perfectly across the couch, panties folded on top, shoes set up neatly on the floor. You sat up, rubbing at your eyes, before spotting a piece of white cardstock on the writing desk against the wall. 

Hotel bar, 8pm. And this time, you get to come first. 

Tag list [using my list from The Off-Season since it's my most up-to-date Jake list but if you're not interested in these types of fics just let me know!):

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@teacupsandtopgun @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @eminyourjeans @shawnsblue @babyminghao @sadpetalsstuff @angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @wkndwlff @mygyn @oneelleandaneye @averyhotchner @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @rxmtoon @valkyrja-siren-blog @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @clancycucumber230 @theharddeck @redbarn1995 @shanimallina87

@memeorydotcom @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @gretagerwigsmuse

[wintfleur]

Rutger telling Stella he got captain.

ꔫ my captain!

°. — pairings ( Estella Hughes oc! X Rutger McGroarty )

°. — details ( g; fluff! w; kissing, light swearing. wc; 1.1k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( thank you for requesting! I tried to get this out as fast as I could so it’s definitely not some of my best work but I still hope you guys enjoy it! So proud of rutger that he’s captain he deserves it!!! )

°. — ( feel free to send any requests of things you would like to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts! I would absolutely love that! Please comment if you would like to be added to the tag list! )

au masterlist — you can find asks under #💌stellahughes!

°. — asks about stella and rut are under #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🩷୧˚ stella & rut!

Rutger quickly uttered an apology to the two girls he almost ran into, as he rushed down the hallway leading to Stella's dorm room. The two girls looked behind them and watched as he jogged down the long hallway, one rolled her eyes while the other shrugged before continuing their way out of the elevator to leave the dorm building. His heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, and he was sure that the people on the floor under them weren't too happy about that, but he honestly didn't care at that moment. 

Rutger pulled out his keys from his basketball shorts and looked for the key that had a worn-out sticker of a cherry on it, aka his copy of Stella's dorm key that she had gotten him months ago. He is moving quickly as he unlocks and opens the door, being welcomed by the sight of Stella's back to him and the smell of her favorite candle burning. Not only did she have her back to him she also had her pair of green headphones on, both reasons on why she didn't hear him come in. 

“Oh, my fuck” Stella exclaims in surprise and fear when she feels two hands on her hips, her first reaction is to push whoever it was away and quickly turning around to face them. Stella had her first up as she turned, ready to punch wherever it was but her abrupt movement is stopped when her fist is grabbed by a very familiar face. 

“Rutger what the hell!” Stella shouted as she gently pushed her smiling and now laughing boyfriend away from her, taking a seat on the edge of her bed being careful not to sit on her laundry that she was folding, taking her headphones off, placing her hand over her heart as she tried to catch her breath from the fright. Stella frowned and spoke quietly “You scared me.” 

“I’m sorry baby, I didn't mean to,” Rutger cooed as he grabbed her hand that was resting in her lap and pulled her up to stand, opening his arms for her. Stella wraps her arms around rut’s waist and shoves her face into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. Rutger smiles and wraps one of his arms around her shoulders and the other around her waist, holding her close to him. Now even more eager to tell her the good — no the great news. 

“What's got you so smiley?” Stella asked as she pulled away from the hug, her hands resting on his waist and her fingers softly gripping onto the bottom of his hoodie. Rutger had a big smile on his face and Stella had a matching smile on hers, how could she not smile when he looked so happy. Rutger smiles and moves his hands up to cup Stella's face, Stella leaning into his warm touch. 

“I got the captain position on the juniors” Rutger whispered, repeating the words over and over in his head. It was the first time he has said it aloud since he found out before practice earlier, Stella being the first person he wanted to tell. A wide grin spreads across Stella's face, her dimples on full display at her boyfriend's words, a squeal leaving her lips “Oh my god Rut!” 

“I’m so proud of you I could scream!” Stella exclaims excitedly jumping up and wrapping her arms around Rutgers shoulders and hiding her face in his neck. Rutger laughs and wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her off the ground and spins around a few times, before setting Stella back down on her feet, his hold on her not wavering. He closes his eyes for a moment and just takes in the moment. He had his favorite person in his arms, he was now the captain of the U.S.A junior's team, everything was perfect. 

“It's probably best if you don't, we don't want another noise complaint” Rutger whispers in her ear teasingly, placing a few quick kisses on her temple. Stella laughs and gently pushes rutger on her bed, not caring about her laundry anymore. Rutger lets himself fall back on her bed, a small smirk forming on his lips when Stella quickly moves to straddle his lap. Their chests touch as Stella leans down, rutger expects to feel her lips on his but instead he feels her lips on his cheek. 

“I’m so proud of you” Stella said between all the kisses she littered all over his face, smiling as he started to laugh from the feeling of her lips all over his face. Rutger moved his hands that were at his sides to her jean covered thighs, his hands traveling up to the mid-section of her back. Stella leaves a trail of kisses down his jaw and neck, rutgers eyes closing at the sensation, his grin still on his face. 

Stella pulled her face from the crook of his neck and placed her finger on Rutgers cheek, tilting his head to face her. His eyes flutter open at the feeling of her hands on his face and their eyes meet for a few moments before stella leans down and brushes her lips against his, rutger moves one of his hands from her back and tangles it in his lover's hair as he seals their lips in a passionate kiss. Stella hums in surprise at how fast the kiss progressed but was quick to follow his lead. 

Rutger moves his hand that was resting on her lower back under her shirt, his warm hand on her back sending shivers down her spine. Their lips move in sync as stella moves her hand that was on his jaw to his nape, stella pulling away from the kiss and opening her eyes to whisper against his lips “My captain.” 

Rutger lets out one of those belly laughs that makes Stella fall even more in love with him every time she hears it. She smiles at the sound and moves her hand from his face, rutger moves his hand that was tangled in her hair to join his other hand on her back, holding her down against him so she wouldn't move. Stella giggles when she realizes what he was doing, she places a few kisses on his cheeks before one soft peck on the tip of his nose. 

Rutgers thoughts were still focused on the fact that Stella called him her captain, and the way it made him feel. Rutgers hand that was under Stella's shirt travels down and slides into one of the back pockets of her jeans. A smile on his lips the more he thinks of his new title and the way it sounded coming out of Stella's pretty lips. 

“I could get used to that.” 

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( IM SO SAD THAT I CANT WATCH ALL THE GAMES 😭 but I still wish team U.S.A good luck! )

°. — taglist ( @privatemythss @bradenschneider @cixrosie )

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

It's Who We Have | Part One

Summary: Who knew the little girl in the green coat would change everything? | Word Count: 5.7k~ | Warnings below the cut!

General Taglist | Billy Washington Taglist | Series Masterlist

A/N: The coat story is based on a real story that happened to me when I was in primary school. Also the age of consent in the UK is 16, and this chapter does mention being intimate at that age. If this bothers you, you're welcome to click away. Primary School = Ages 7 to 11, Secondary School = Ages 11 to 16, Sixth Form = Ages 16 to 18

Warnings: bullying, underage drinking, angst, mentions of sexual intercourse (reader is of legal age), Billy being a general twat

It started with a rain cloud.

It was at a time when he was still excited to be in the passenger seat of his Mum's old Ford Focus. When his enthusiastic little feet still didn't touch the bottom of the footwell. His curious, wide blue eyes watched the world go by, following the shadow of the car as it zipped by the older kids, who were trusted enough to walk to school by themselves.

Year 4 was no particularly exciting year. At the tender age of 8, Billy was highly introverted, but a perpetual watcher of other people as well as his immediate surroundings.

He noticed the little things that other people didn't, like how electricity hummed in the walls of his bedroom, how the space between the grass was worn down into a man-made path and how, on the dot, every night at 8pm a man walked past his house grunting down the phone in a low baritone, swinging his suitcase at his side with every wide step.

His parents noticed how perceptive he was when he'd slip away upstairs as he heard the metal click of the gate with Lana's late return home. Knowing that an argument was about to ensue between his sister and his dad.

His mum, intent on breaking up and being the buffer between two extremely large personalities, often neglected her quiet little boy upstairs. But it wasn't entirely her fault.

Lana, a teenager through and through, intent on creating hardship wherever she happened to be with her actions and words, was incessantly butting heads with both of them.

He could hear the low rumble of thunder even over the revs of the car. His mum always drove in too low a gear.

His mum laughed lightly when Billy looked up at the dark, looming cloud hanging over his school as rain smacked against the windscreen.

"Ooh dear. Good job you've got your raincoat, eh?", she smiled, turning her steering wheel to slide into the school car park.

"What did Miss Warren say it was called?", she prodded.

Billy could barely see his mother over the high collar of his coat.

"Cum…ulo…nimbus", he recalled from memory sweetly and quietly, making his mum's crow's feet tick against her eyes as she smiled.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, darling. It's just a new school year".

His mum's soft pat on his head didn't comfort him.

Though the same people would be there, it would not be the same teacher.

Miss Warren had seen how quiet Billy was and nurtured the few words she could get out of him. He remembers her fondly. How she had curly chestnut hair that one might describe as unruly, and always had a floral scent about her when she'd kneel next to him and ask if he could recite the last sentence of his book to her.

It was the only good thing about school, he thought.

Year 3 had been difficult. He didn't do well when he was forced to socialise.

Other children had thrived in regularly seeing others. Forming friend groups, squealing with delight on the playground and the girls giggling and whispering to each other about who they were going to talk to that day.

He held his mum's hand loosely at the gate, where the headmaster was filing the children of all years and ages into the main part of the school.

She knelt beside him, zipping up his coat as the rain pelted against the concrete.

"I'll pick you up after your club, okay?" 

Billy nodded once, disappearing past the threshold of the school with a downwards gaze and a comically large bag hunched high on his shoulders.

It started with a rain cloud.

He knows now that it was silly, the reason his now best friend entered his life.

When he first saw her, she was on the verge of tears, standing to her feet and looking down at herself completely covered in mud. Her lips quivered, looking at the group of established friends with horror as they rushed away, their shoes smacking on the wet ground.

He hadn't realised he'd stopped until she took a sharp breath in, clearly trying not to cry, looking down at herself. 

Her small hands tried to push the mud off her green coat, but only served to smear it around. He could hear her shudder her breath, frustrated, and began to whine with increasing volume. Her book bag, once blue, was completely sodden.

And on top of all that, rain continued to hammer down on them, which only made her more upset.

Billy fiddled with his hands nervously, looking around immediately for an adult, to no avail. Thinking with terror, that he might have to approach her. 

It wasn't even because she was a girl. For they were at that tender age where it didn't matter. That they were just children, trying to figure out how to exist in a world that seemed brand new everyday.

He hiccuped on her own breath with tears as he stood before her.

"Are you okay?", he asked nervously.

She could only shake her head, her eyes full of fear, her face and hair completely wet through.

"My mummy's going to be cross with me", she replied feebly, looking down at her coat, though waterproof, completely smeared with earth.

At the time, Billy thought, he couldn't argue with that logic that she was so upset at the thought of what her mum would think when she came home, covered in half-dried mud, having been pushed by the rowdy Year 6's.

He also thought, that he hadn't seen her last year, and that this was the first experience she'd had in her new school. And that he, if in her position, would be no different. Snivelling and crying before they'd even taken the register.

He grimaced as he picked up her book bag, slick with earth and without thinking twice, took her cold, wet hand and led her with him to the toilets before registration started.

Billy's big eyes flitted between the signs for 'boys' and 'girls' when presented with the toilets.

He decided to spare her the embarrassment, and took it upon himself to lead her into the girls toilets, despite the heavy blush on his face.

Seeing the inside of the girls toilet, while not much different, felt utterly forbidden.

But all he could think about right now, was the little girl he'd led in, and how to make her look presentable, and to get her to stop crying.

He used what felt like a tonne of blue hand towels, wetting some to get the majority of mud off her and the rest to dry her coat, seeing the rich green colour beneath again finally.

She still sniffed quietly, rubbing her tired face and choking on her breath every now and then. He gave her one blue paper towel to dry the remnants of her tears, the tissue rubbing painfully on her skin.

But ultimately she let him help her.

And Billy couldn't remember feeling as useful to someone as he did right now.

Once her book bag was clean, he gently handed it back to her. And she finally lifted her reddened eyes to him, her lips still quivering slightly, or perhaps she was cold from the onslaught of rain.

"That's better" 

She nodded at him, looking down at herself to see her coat was now only slightly dirty.

It was almost unnoticeable, her tiny, meek 'thank you'.

He held her hand in solidarity as they entered the classroom together. Coming alight when he told her where she could hang her coat up and sitting beside her, in line with the girl, boy, girl boy rule their new teacher had put in place.

It took her a few hours to warm up to him. To everyone really.

But he saw her again the next day, his feet swinging excitedly in the passenger seat of his mum's car at the prospect of seeing her again. The clouds Billy was scarcely able to pronounce were now gone, a light grey overcast instead on the early September morning.

Her coat was clean, a bright green as it was the day before.

She still seemed nervous as he bounded up to her, his curious eyes searching hers.

"Was your mummy angry?" he asked.

She looked down at her shoes, shifting her weight, not wanting to reply.

And Billy had his answer.

He watched her lift her head to meet his eyes again, her hands wringing together nervously and her voice all quiet.

"Can I sit next to you again today?"

Billy had grown out of hand-holding by Year 6, realising that he, as a boy, and her, as a girl, were supposedly from different worlds.

But it never felt like it.

Secondary school was daunting for all Year 7's. But Billy, tall for his age and towering over everyone else, felt more self conscious than usual that he stuck out so much.

His sandy blonde hair flopped against his forehead. Another measly early September, confined to a classroom to be patronised and talked at for several hours, passing the time only by making colourful cover pages in their exercise books.

"Billy!"

He couldn't help but laugh as she ran through the school gates to him, looking quite different in the secondary school uniform than he saw her last, which now felt like a lifetime ago.

Realistically, he only saw her the other week as they walked home together from the corner shop. Then, she'd been in jeans and a jumper.

Now, in her school mandated skirt and blazer, he thought she looked more like a young lady now than ever. And briefly, it terrified him.

The prospect of getting older.

The idea that they might drift apart.

He brushed her waved tendrils from her face, exhausted from the effort of running with her cheeks all flushed, with that squishy appearance that many associated with Year 7's.

If anyone didn't know then both, they'd think they were in different years.

"Got 'em?", he asked with a lazy smile.

She rolled her eyes, rifling around in her bag, "Um, yes? When do I ever disappoint?" 

He laughed as she ripped three Starbursts from her packet and piled them in his hand, "Only three? Thought we were mates".

She gave him a look, popping one into her mouth, "You are my mate, hence why I gave you three".

They walked together, collecting their timetables for the term ahead, rolling the sweets around in their mouths.

"I don't get these room numbers", she mused, "have you got science in S27?"

"Yeah, Mr White".

"That's alright then, I'll just follow you".

"Don't follow me, I've got no clue where I'm going either".

She smiled widely, "guess we'll get lost together then, eh?"

He let out a puff of air in laughter, tugging lightly on her ponytail in soft teasing, "bad luck to be late to your classes on the first day, ya know".

"Well then they should have a map", she pouts, smacking his arm lightly.

Looking back, he wasn't surprised how close to her he felt. For as pre-teens edging that fine line into puberty, when everything is confusing, new, scary and exciting all at the same time, he saw her more often at school everyday than he did his own parents.

She was a constant.

Most days they'd walk to school, spend break times, lunch times, and even the twilight hours after together. Always chatting mindlessly about whatever teenagers did talk about.

It was difficult to address though, that the older they became, the more the powers that be were intent on separating them.

Girls and boys weren't meant to be friends.

They were meant to like each other, hold hands, blush and kiss each other.

They were meant to have different classes, teaching different things. Boys were taught how to keep themselves safe from STIs, and the girls were taught about their monthly cycles, though many of them had started already, as well as how to prevent pregnancy when they were on the cusp of exploring their intimate, sexual selves. With hormones raging so hard that they couldn't think straight.

They were separated for PE. Even in the subjects they were offered to take.

It felt like everything was against them.

And in this forced separation, Billy was then forced to make friendships in other boys, as shallow and surface value as they were.

He felt as if he'd been missing out on this part of growing up, as he sat against the wall at lunch listening to his mates harp on about mindless teenage things. Like who was going to lose their virginity next, and if their parents would find out if they found out they'd swiped a packet of fags from their mum's handbags.

It wasn't like they didn't talk anymore.

There were the summer holidays, where more often than not, he found himself on her doorstep, asking her Mum if she could come out.

And she always delighted in seeing him. Even if it had barely been 24 hours since the last time.

But with the highest of highs, came the lowest of lows. And September would inevitably roll around again.

He sometimes saw her on school grounds between classes, having done the same thing and forced herself to make a group of friends. Though it was as clear to him that she didn't have anything in common with them, and just smiled and nodded at anything they said in an attempt to not show on her face how lonely she was.

She was solitary in nature.

And when he glanced at her across the assembly room, where the foldout chairs were lined up so everyone could eat, her eyes were distantly looking at her hands clasped in front of her, idly picking at her cuticles. Her friends were turned away from her, chatting with wide smiles and booming laughter to themselves. Making plans and giggling at inside jokes, all while her sandwich laid untouched rolled in cling film in front of her.

He thought, she must have been able to sense someone was watching her, as she moved her head. But never looked at him.

While Billy's friend group stayed with the usual characters, hers evolved. And every few months it was a new cast of people.

He saw she made the effort, and really tried, but that with every passing day, her energy wavered and eventually they'd grow bored of her and pretended as if she didn't exist other than to fill the empty seat beside them.

But he still walked her home, even if she said she didn't want him to. In silence if need be.

Eventually he began to notice, more so now than ever, that she was really a woman in disguise. That she was wiser than he thought she was, more grown up. That she thought about the future ahead of her and was careful to take calculated steps in order to get there.

At the fair age of 16, Billy, his features set into crisp lines, hardened by puberty, his muscles sitting wiry on his skin and taught without really having to try, realised that he had done her a huge disservice by merely accepting this forced separation with a stiff upper lip.

That she needed someone true and gentle, honest and no-frills. Something her girlfriends were unable to give her. 

That she wanted someone to try for her friendship.

As he had all those years ago.

They began to take the long way home, through the gap in the hedges, into Cranstead Fields, the tall grass tickling their legs through their uniform.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" she asked suddenly, pulling her hair tie out. Billy's eyes ran over her loose hair for a moment before replying.

"No, why?" 

"Because we barely talk to each other in school anymore", she replied, unable to hide the bitterness from her tone.

He had to accept that her words were true. They rarely crossed paths inside the school gates, and their conversations in between were shallow and empty, void of all authenticity and emotion.

It wasn't enough to have acceptance from one teenage girl, apparently.

But he didn't appreciate being called out so callously about it.

"Yeah, well I've got my mates".

She laughed through her nose, "Yeah, saw you smoking behind the bike sheds. Gonna get you killed one day, you know".

He furrowed his brows at her, "Smoking?"

"No, your mates"

She laughed at his confused expression, "course I meant smoking, you wolly".

There was a silence between them as they brushed past the white painted lines on the field, where a football pitch had been drawn.

"I don't mind you having mates Billy. I just miss you".

"Really, cos it seems like you do mind", he bit back. And he watched her raise her gaze to him quickly, "just cos you don't have mates doesn't mean I can't".

Her lips hung in shock that he could say something so cruel.

And that he carried on.

"Do yourself a favour and do what other girls do and get a boyfriend or somethin'. Save you hanging about with me moaning all the time".

He didn't feel bad about it until the moment she disappeared past her mum at the front door of her house, intent on being away from Billy's harsh words as quickly as possible.

"Tell your mum I said hello, love", her mum smiled.

But as soon as the door was shut, even the thick double glazing couldn't muffle the loud, destructible tirade of her mum's anger.

And he felt the hot whips of panic at his neck, that he'd done and said something wrong.

And yet, despite that, never said sorry for it.

Billy thinks now that he remembers the most from this part of their friendship because the most happened.

But he realises now that it's because of guilt.

It follows you, like a kind of trauma through your life, without the repercussions of the person you've hurt.

And god, he watched her get hurt a lot.

After that, she didn't even really try. She flourished in solitude, keeping herself company wherever she could while Billy and his mates reaped the benefits of being young and dumb. 

It was also when he appeared. Like a fucking virus. Always finding people when they have their guard down and their hearts low.

Even though they were in the same year, he had this air of arrogance about him that he thought he was much older, more sensible, and could be taken more seriously.

And with the absence of Billy in her life, she accepted any chance of feeling wanted with open arms.

She wanted to feel important to someone.

Billy would never forgive himself for that.

He simply watched from afar, not realising how invested he was, more often than not from the bike sheds as the boy who was trying too hard wound his web so tightly around her it must have felt comforting for her to some degree.

To be choked by affection, to some, is a kind of affection.

After Easter break, having not spoken to her directly for some months now, Billy had realised something had changed.

The boy who had wound his web tight, seemed to do so with plenty of others too. As boys of his age were known to do.

She'd rush out of school so quickly, staring at her feet, that often she was the first one out the gates and Billy, even if he'd wanted to, couldn't keep up.

He knew where she was going anyway.

He was assured when he saw her leaning her head on her arms crossed over her knees, under the large chestnut tree at Cranstead Fields.

She heard him approach, and turned her head away, sniffling quietly.

He swallowed over the lump in his throat as he sat beside her, not speaking.

And a long, long moment passed. As if all that time apart had lessened that trust, and it would take more than a mere moment to patch it back up.

"Is it him?" he asked.

Her clothes rustled as she nodded. Her breath hiccuping in her chest the same way it did when he saw her all those years ago, covered in mud.

"What happened?"

She wiped her face with her sleeve, a bit of makeup coming loose.

"What do you think happened", she bit back, annoyed and heartbroken all at the same time.

He briefly forgot, that for girls it sometimes felt like more, like so much more, to give yourself to someone for the first time.

Only to have the trust squashed as quickly as it was to slam a book shut.

She sucked in a breath as he stroked her back comfortingly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

After a moment, she raised her eyes to him, all red and puffy, her face all hot from crying.

And he felt his heart break for her.

Behind this girl, who was suffering in heartbreak, believing that her first love and first time had now been entrenched in misery, he caught a glimpse of the girl she had been, when they were inseparable.

He tutted, "Come here".

He bought her head to his chest softly, his hand drifting to her shoulder to encourage her to hug him, to let it all out.

And she did.

She hugged him tighter than she ever had before. 

A teenage boy part of him felt embarrassed. But another, fought to stay here like this with her.

Until eventually she said pitifully, "I don't want to go home".

And he realised that it wasn't just the boy she was upset about.

Luckily Billy's mum delighted in having her around at his, even offering that she could stay if she wanted to, as Lana was away at uni and wouldn't be using her bedroom til the summer holidays.

And though he could see his friend was tempted, she mostly refused, knowing that at some point she'd have to return home. To what version of her mum, she didn't know.

But it didn't mean she never took them up on the offer sometimes, when things were really bad.

Yes, he got teased endlessly by his mates.

But it didn't matter. Because he felt like he had her back.

Sixth Form proved to be a happier time for both of them.

It felt more free, laid back than the shackles of secondary school. Hindered by school uniform and calling the teachers 'sir' and 'miss', here it was all backwards they thought.

The prospect of free time to a bunch of excited teenagers, on the cusp of adulthood, was exciting.

He felt like it was just like old times.

They sat together in the common room in their free period, sharing the cheapest thing they could get from the canteen, which was four flimsy slices of toast. That and an orange Fanta from the vending machine.

They'd both somehow formed into new people over the summer holidays between Year 11 and Sixth Form, wearing different things every day and giving each other a glimpse into their truer personalities.

At first, it was just two of them.

And eventually four, then six.

A solid friend group. 

She had two girls at her side most of the time, Libby and Ami. The first blossoming Billy would ever witness of his friend into womanhood would be the way she formed these friendships so naturally, in contrast to the shallow ones she'd had in secondary school. Which now seemed so long ago.

He had his own mates of his own sex. Ami's twin brother Abi, Harry (who's real name was Barry but never told anyone) and the most recent addition to the group, Paddy.

It was a friend group of the truest intentions. They laughed, joked, and were never far from one another. Many nights they spent at Cranstead Fields, huddled under a tree, passing bottles of WKD around and some horrendous smoky whiskey Paddy had managed to steal from his dad's liquor cabinet.

But there were special moments where Billy and her would just sit and observe, nursing a bottle between them.

"Bet you Libby and Abi are necking each other off by 1", she smirked, gesturing with her head to them as they sat together across the grass, Libby inching herself onto his lap with every swig of alcohol.

Billy laughed, "I don't think I need to bet on that", he replied, pushing the hair off his forehead as it touched his eyelashes.

"You need your hair cut", she smiled.

He gave her a look, "Who do you think I'm trying to impress?"

"I dunno", she shrugged, "you never tell me who you've got your eye on".

He pushed the WKD into her arm and she took it, smirking as she sipped it.

"I suppose…there's a girl a year up…", he murmured.

"See! I knew it!" She exclaimed, "Wait, Year 13? Who? Tell me".

He rolled his eyes at his friend's curiosity, "Rebecca".

He laughed when she scrunched her nose in disgust.

"Her? She's been out with a few Year 12's, hasn't she? Proper little cradle snatcher".

Billy laughed, louder than he anticipated, and when he opened his eyes again, his friend was already looking at him. Her eyes all glazed over with the amount of alcohol she'd had already.

"Leave off. You asked", he grins, blinking quickly once he feels his head clouded with dizziness.

"Well", she passes the drink to him, "I wish you luck, you'll need it".

They briefly look back to Libby and Abi, who are now embroiled quite blatantly in kissing one another, Libby nestled in his lap and her hand at his jaw.

In the distance Paddy kicked a ball around with Harry, as Ami watched between them, not an ounce of sexual tension between them.

Their knees touched and both quickly looked at each other, as if horrified that they hadn't realised how close they were.

It was dark in Cranstead Fields, but she felt she could see the way his eyes reflected the distant street lamps, how they seemed to fit over her face, and how he pressed his lips together and swallowed nervously as he moved a piece of her hair from her face to tuck safely behind her ear.

Was is the alcohol? This weird feeling in both of their stomachs? The airiness in their heads?

Was it only now that he saw that she had nice eyes? That he could see the contours of her collarbone, and the curves against her skinny jeans?

That his friend, was a young woman.

He only remembered sighing against her lips, turning his head to the side as he pressed against hers. How small she seemed compared to him.

She tasted of cheap vodka, but then again, so did he. And he wasn't entirely paying attention to the taste of her, but to the feeling of her.

It wasn't either of their first kisses. But it certainly felt like it.

He felt his chest go tight as her hand moved to the front of his hoodie, holding the fabric in her palm, as his tongue parted her lips.

When they pulled away, he still felt her presence on him.

Her hand slowly slipped from his chest, her eyes looking at him with trepidation, her lips kiss-bruised and swollen. Both of them looked at one another, unsure what to say, and trying form words over the whirring and melting feeling of drunkenness in their brains.

"I, uh…I should be getting home", she said quietly. And Billy nodded, now drunk on another feeling that had taken root deep in his chest.

He saw her off at her doorstep, hands deep in his pockets, not knowing whether what they'd done should be addressed or not. Or whether their brief kiss was the result of simply having too much to drink too quickly.

She had her answer though, when Billy turned up to Sixth Form the Monday after, hair trimmed, with his arm loosely around Rebecca's shoulders. He spoke to her closely, making her laugh and stroking her hair behind her ear, as he had done to her the Saturday before.

Though they remained close. Remained friends. There was an air of something unsaid. 

Something that appeared whenever she saw him with her. Pressing his lips against hers, threading his fingers into her long, perfect hair and keeping one hand perpetually around her thigh.

When Rebecca, or Becky as Billy lovingly called her, finished her A-Levels to move onto Middlesex University to do Psychology, she felt horrible that she was relieved she was gone.

Felt that she had him back, even if it was only sometimes.

She knows now, that nothing good lasts forever.

She thought he'd be happy for her, when she got her UCAS email that she'd gotten into her first choice of university in Manchester.

But he always managed to surprise her.

"The fuck are you going to uni for? And so far away as well, you don't even know anyone there", he almost barked the words at her, not wanting to admit that his heart was hurting at the way she looked so wounded at him.

"So what? It's the course I wanted to do and-"

"And what? You just gonna leave me here doing fuck all, are you?"

"You can do what you like, Billy!", she shouted back, matching him now in frustration, "I'm sorry that I am pursuing what I want to do!"

Don't leave me behind.

Please.

"What about your mum? Hm? You just gonna leave her on her own?"

She scoffed, "my mum doesn't give a fuck where I am half the time, you know that".

"Yeah, I'm feeling like I don't really know you at all lately", Billy muttered under his breath.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean? I wasn't going to just forget about you. I'd come visit and-"

"You know what, forget it. Do what you like, I don't give a shit".

She stood there, taking his words like hits. Each one hurting more than the last, opening the hole inside her wider.

She thought, he must not know what he's saying. She never knew Billy to be this cruel, apart from in secondary school.

But he was young then, he was smarter than that.

Wasn't he?

Her eyes filled with tears, blinking quickly, taking a step back from him like he'd burned her.

She tried her best to remain strong on her face.

"Just because I don't want the same things as you, Billy, doesn't mean it's pointless".

When Billy just stood there, mouth half agape, like everything had just caught up with him, she shook her head.

"Keep in touch, if you can be bothered".

She said it as coldly as she could, not looking back as she walked away from him, quickly wiping her cheeks. With each step, the pit widened in her chest. Feeling as if the string that had inextricably connected them since that fated day in Year 4, was prone to snapping irreparably.

His words rattled around in her head the entire journey to Manchester. How horrible they were. And how a person she'd considered a friend, could speak to her like that.

After everything that had happened between them.

Moving to a new city didn't feel like starting over. It merely felt like burying something at the bottom of the garden, the grass disturbed, and having to look at the patch of earth as a reminder of what once was.

It was hot again in London.

Billy stared at his phone for most of the evening, waiting for a text from Becky, to tell him that she was moving back in, or that she'd thought things through and decided not to move out.

No such text arrived.

"Put your fucking phone away or I swear to god I am funnelling this pint down you, like it or not", Paddy laughed as he slid into the booth, sliding one pint over to Harry and the other to Billy.

"He's still moping", Harry smirked, which earned a glare.

"Becky again?" Paddy prodded.

Billy sighed, clicking off his phone and turning it face down, "None of your fucking business".

"Woahh! No need for that, is there? C'mon, get it down ya" 

Each of them took a healthy sip of their pint.

"You too, don't be on your phone!" Paddy nudged Harry, trying to get a peek at his phone.

"Fuck off"

Paddy grinned, "Aw, is it a girl?"

"No, it's fucking Abi, you twat".

"S'alright, we don't judge, do we Billy?"

Billy grinned over the rim of his glass in response.

"He coming?" Billy asked.

"Yeah, apparently with Libby", Harry replied, thumbs moving quickly over his screen, "we'll facetime Ami later, when she's awake".

Both Billy and Paddy's eyebrows raised as they looked at each other.

"Together?" Paddy prodded, but Harry only shrugged.

The local pub was mostly empty, with most people outside trying to catch the last bits of sunlight, and getting mauled by mosquitos in the process.

For the most part, Billy watched Paddy and Harry with a smile on his face at how they teased each other talking about trivial things like football and what the hell was going on between their two old friends who kissed in Cranstead Fields all those years ago.

It was a good distraction.

But being with them, made him think of her.

Paddy leaned over, eyes on the door of the pub, "there they ar-oh shit".

Billy furrowed his brows, "What?"

His friend was about to open his mouth again, but it was interrupted by Libby poking her head around to the booth, "Hello! Oo, it's like the gang back together, isn't it?" she smiled.

At her side, Abi, who slid his hand around Libby's waist.

Billy opened his mouth to say hello.

But then he saw her.

And his mouth went completely dry.

He saw her eyes scan the opposite side of the booth, smiling at Paddy and Harry first, and he swears his heart drops into his stomach as she shifts her gaze to him.

The smile on her face falters. 

But not completely.

She catches herself halfway, and it resurfaces.

He can't help the way he studies her as well, like she's a whole new person. Wearing a summer dress with a denim jacket hung on her shoulders, hair down. Her features have matured, but she continues to keep that glimmer of mischievous youth in her eyes.

It was like seeing her for the first time.

"Mind if I sit?"

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