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navybrat817 · 2 days ago

Text

Chokehold

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You have a crush on Bucky and start to bond with him over coffee in the break room, but there's no way he could possibly feel the same way about you... right?

Word Count: Over 11k (yep!)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected v. sex (wrap it before you tap it!), dirty talk, fluff, longing, minor angst, insecurities, feels, sparring, swearing, confessions, getting together, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: I've been sitting on this one (thanks for listening to my back and forth on this @targaryenvampireslayer), and I hope you all enjoy. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Dividers by the talented @enchanthings-a. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You fell for Bucky Barnes the moment you met. Something dangerous lurked in his steel blue eyes when you introduced yourself to him, but beneath the surface was pain and loneliness that you wanted to take away. Of course, that could've been you projecting and wanting to justify having a crush on a guy who hadn't spoken a word to you.

“Bucky,” was all he said to you, entrancing you with the deep baritone of his voice.

You wished you could say it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but you could count on one hand the number of times he spoke to you in the months that followed. You tried not to take it personally. Maybe he wasn't interested in making new friends since he seemed to stay close to Steve, Sam, and their small group. Or maybe he just didn't see a reason to trust you. Trust likely wasn't easy for him and what reason did he have to open up to you?

“Hi!” you exclaimed when Bucky walked into the break room, your echoing voice making you wince. “Sorry. I didn't mean to greet you at that decibel.”

“It’s okay,” he said, your eyes on him as he strode to the coffee machine with ease.

Bucky wasn't your friend, but it didn't stop you from greeting him whenever you saw him throughout the building, a warm feeling spreading in your chest every time he acknowledged you with a slight head nod or grunt. That had to mean something since he didn't outright ignore you. Not being his friend also didn't keep you from learning little things about him, like how he took his coffee.

Which you decided to surprise him with today.

“Wait! I made you some coffee,” you told him, going to get the mug you had ready for him. “I hope you like it.”

You had a reputation around S.H.I.E.L.D. for being kind to others ever since you joined. You didn't mind that being your signature since you liked putting a bit of kindness out into the world. Besides the tough work you did, your coworkers and teammates fought other battles every day that you knew nothing about. So why not try to lift others up? It costs you nothing.

Being nice, however, had a downside or two. Some thought that kindness was insincere or a weakness. It also didn't get you a lot of dates. Or maybe you didn't pay attention to other guys since you had eyes for one man.

You couldn't get a read on him as you carefully handed it to him. “You made me coffee?” he asked in disbelief, a soft look in his eyes before he blinked it away.

“Yep! With cream and sugar.”

Your smile faltered when he raised an eyebrow and glanced suspiciously at the liquid, like he was trying to assess if something was off with it as you wrung your fingers together. “This is really for me?” he asked.

You couldn't detect any anger or annoyance in his tone, but you wouldn't say he sounded happy either. Which only made your smile fall more. “Yeah. I just, I thought you liked it that way and maybe it would help you kickstart the morning, but I shouldn't have assumed. I'm sorry. And you don't have to drink it. I can just dump it out,” you rambled.

He held the mug a bit closer when you tried to take it away, the steam rising from it as his eyes met yours. It was almost as if the heat melted the ice from his stare. “Not gonna let you dump this out after you went to the trouble of making it for me,” he said, gently blowing on it before he took a sip. You reminded yourself not to whimper when he licked a drop away from his lip, wondering just what else he could do with that tongue. “Especially since you know how I like it.”

You avoided his gaze, hoping he didn't question why you knew since there was a chance you’d blurt out that you like him and that was the last thing you needed. You owed him some sort of explanation though, right? “Well, we’re both here some mornings and I saw you make it that way,” you said, your brain overanalyzing how that sounded. “Not that I'm watching you or anything like that. I… I’m not a creep.”

Bucky stared with unreadable eyes as you sighed and shook your head. Leave it to you to fumble over your words with your crush. Was that why they called it a crush? Because it crushed your hopes and dreams?

In a small voice, you said, “I was just trying to be nice.”

“It’s a very nice gesture, so thanks,” he said, taking another sip. “I appreciate it.”

Doing your best not to preen like a peacock at the renewed sliver of hope, you released the breath you were holding and nodded. At least he didn't question why you cared enough to remember how he took his coffee. “You’re welcome,” you said, wishing you could hang around and chat more, but you had work to do and didn't want to smother him. “I hope you have a good day.”

“You, too,” he said, his eyes on you as you headed toward the door. “Maybe I’ll see you here at the same time tomorrow?”

You came to a stop, your heart thudding as you faced him. “You… want me to make you coffee tomorrow?”

He chuckled before he took another sip. “I meant maybe we would just bump into each other, but I won’t turn down another coffee if you’re offering.”

Of course that was what he meant. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Maybe,” you said, backing up and hitting your elbow against the doorframe.

His brows furrowed as you gave him a strained smile. “You okay?” he asked, your cheeks hot as you rubbed your elbow.

“I’m fine! Enjoy your coffee,” you said, wishing the ground would swallow you up as you bolted from the room.

You were a competent agent. A strong woman on top of your kindness. Why did you have to act like an idiot in front of him? There was no chance you’d see him in the break room after that. It was a shame, too. It was the most he had ever spoken to you.

A higher being either took pity on you or wanted to play a trick on you since you did see Bucky the next day. Not only that, no one else was in the break room. Granted, most people used the main break room since this room was much smaller and on a floor most didn't go to. But how was it possible that you were so lucky?

“Morning, Bucky.”

“Morning.” He hesitated before he took a seat at the same table as you. If you were dreaming, you didn’t want anyone to wake you up. “Sorry. I should've asked…”

“It’s fine,” you smiled. “You're welcome to sit with me.”

“Thanks.” His cheek twitched and you wondered if it was a nervous tick or something leftover from the hell he endured. “You know, that coffee yesterday was probably the best I’ve ever had from this place.”

You perked up more. “Really? Wow, thanks. It was nothing,” you smiled, your pulse quickening. Not only was Bucky talking to you again, but he complimented you. It was slightly pathetic how much you enjoyed that. “You did say you wouldn’t turn down another coffee if I offered. Would you like one?”

“Sure,” he replied with a smile. He actually smiled at you. It was a good morning. “Thanks.”

“You know, you have a really nice smile,” you complimented him, proud that you said the words without your voice cracking.

“You think so?” He leaned back in his seat and you tried to move around the room like normal as his gaze followed your movements. “I think it scares some more than my glare does.”

You busied yourself with getting his coffee ready, the urge to defend him rising. “There’s nothing scary about your smile and anyone who says otherwise can deal with me.”

“They can deal with you, huh? Awfully kind of you.” His chuckle was so unexpected that you almost dropped the mug. The small talk was unexpected, too, but you weren't about to tell him to stop. “But you’re so sweet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you glare at anyone.”

“Oh, I can have resting bitch face when I want to,” you teased before your heart skipped a beat. He looked at you enough that he hadn’t seen you glare at anyone? He thought you were sweet? No, it was probably just an offhand comment. “And I wouldn’t just glare at anyone to defend you. I can fight, too. Words or fists.”

“You’d fight for me, too? You really know how to flatter a man.” His gaze warmed before some of the usual strain reappeared, your heart lurching at the sight. “But you shouldn’t have to fight for me.”

You took a seat across from him again once you set the mug down. “Why not?”

“Because you just shouldn’t.” He shrugged. You recognized that he was closing part of himself off and you weren't about to kick open that door. “If I’m being honest, I’m kind of shocked you’re talking to me.”

“And why’s that?”

He tapped a finger against his mug as he considered his words. “I haven’t really said much to you since we met, but you’ve still been nice to me. Always saying hi and smiling. And now this,” he said, gesturing to the coffee. “Some people have ulterior motives when they do nice things for no reason, but I don't get that feeling with you.”

“There are people who have ulterior motives. You’re right about that,” you agreed. The world could be a dark place with terrible people. “And I guess that's one of the reasons I try to lead with kindness. Putting a bit more optimism and joy into the world might not make it change overnight, but it could make a difference to someone.”

“That makes sense,” he said, his brows pinching. “But why continue to be nice to me when I've been standoffish with you? I don't think I deserve it.”

You let the words sink in. You expected Bucky would be apprehensive of people in general when his autonomy was taken away from him for so long. Trust couldn’t be easy. People had to earn it. What you didn't expect was that he didn't think he deserved your kindness.

“Everyone is different. We all have various personalities and comfort zones. Some people hit it off right away and others don't. Some need a bit more time to open up,” you answered, an earnest smile on your face. “I guess I figured you fell into the latter. Even if you didn't, I wouldn't take it personally or hold it against you. I hope you know that.”

Bucky may have had you in a chokehold, but he didn't owe you a thing.

His shoulders sagged as he let out a breath and you wished you could wrap him up in a hug. “Thanks for being so understanding.” He observed you with a thoughtful gaze. “And you are right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Your kindness made a difference for me yesterday. And you’re really easy to talk to.” He smiled, genuine affection in his eyes as your heart raced. Was it possible to faint while sitting? “I don't usually talk this much anymore.”

“I’m glad it did. You can always talk to me, you know. I’m happy to listen or even give advice if you want it,” you said sincerely. It meant a lot that he took the time to speak to you today, and if it were up to you he’d only have good things in his life going forward. No one deserved that more than him. “And if I’m ever too much for you, don't be afraid to tell me.”

His brows pinched again. “Too much? How?” he asked, his tone not as light as it was a moment ago.

You tensed, gripping your mug as you mulled over past things you heard from others. “Well, I’ve been told before that I’m too perky and too optimistic some days. That my kindness is fake and it can get on people’s nerves,” you explained carefully, swallowing a little. Yeah, you had a reputation for being kind, but some didn’t care for it. “Not that I think you would find me annoying or anything like that. It’s just how it is for some people.”

“So because you choose to be nice instead of acting bitter or rude people don’t like that?” Bucky looked at you with a mix of confusion and anger. “What the fuck is wrong with them?”

You were utterly silent from his reaction. Your heart also fluttered because he seemed upset on your behalf. “So many things, I’m sure,” you teased, hoping to make him smile a little. It was nice when he smiled at you. “But it’s okay. Really. It doesn't change who I am. I'm still going to be me.”

Cheesy, but true. You couldn't control the actions and emotions of others. You knew in your core who you were and you would continue to put that energy out into the world.

His jaw ticked, but he gazed at you with what you guessed was admiration. “Kind and steadfast,” he whispered, making your heart swell all over again. “Listen. If anyone around here does give you a hard time, will you let me know?”

The determination in his eyes took you aback. He went from hardly speaking to you to opening up a bit and now wanting to look out for you. It was nice, to say the least. “That’s okay, Bucky. You said I didn't have to fight for you, so you don't have to for me.”

“I want to.” He reached forward and hovered his hand over yours. Before he touched you though, he pulled away. You longed to know what his touch felt like. “Please?”

You couldn't resist his gaze. “Okay, but only if you let me know if anyone gives you a hard time.”

“Yeah. I got a name for you. Sam Wilson,” he deadpanned.

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth so the sound wouldn’t echo in the room or bother him. “Oh, Sam. I’ll give him a talking to,” you teased, your cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling.

“I made you laugh,” he pointed out softly, almost in disbelief. It was another moment where you wanted to wrap him up in a hug.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Wow,” he whispered, smiling before his face fell. “Fuck. I have to go.” He went to stand, but paused to look at you. “Do you ever go to the main break room?”

“I prefer this one,” you said, lightly tapping the table. “It’s quieter.”

“Me, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, maybe I’ll see you here again tomorrow? Same time?

Warmth spread in your heart at the hope in his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

You’d always be there if he asked.

For the next several weeks, seeing Bucky in the small break room became part of your normal morning routine. You made coffee for both of you before you sat together and talked. Some chats were casual, while others went a little deeper. Both ends of the spectrum helped you get to know each other.

He spoke fondly about a cat he found in an alley and took into his home. He named her Alpine and even showed you a photo of her on his phone. It tugged at your heartstrings seeing the ball of white fur curled up in his metal arm. How could it not?

Bucky spoke about Steve and Sam and how they tried to meet up once a week for dinner. They took turns picking the place. It was nice that he had them to lean on. Both men were always friendly toward you, but you noticed they seemed to smile at you even more since you and Bucky started talking. You assumed they were happy that their friend had someone else in his corner.

“Steve is a punk and Sam is worse,” he said once with nothing but affection in his eyes.

He explained that he was in therapy, which he wasn't ashamed of. He had no reason to be. It was a work in progress, building trust not just with the therapist but building trust within himself. He didn't get into specifics regarding what they talked about as it wasn't your business to begin with, though he did casually throw in that he had trouble sleeping some nights. You mentioned that you sometimes wrote your thoughts and feelings down if they got too loud. He told you the next day that he got himself a new notebook to try that out and you had a spring in your step the whole morning.

You didn't talk about anything particularly exciting. You told him that you didn't have a lot of family close by, but loved your job because you got to help people in some capacity. And that you enjoyed reading and watching movies when you stayed at home, but also enjoyed going out with a couple of close friends. Bucky didn't need to know that they loved teasing you about your crush. You mentioned little things, too, like how you needed to go shopping soon for a new sofa and how you hoped to see the new science exhibit at the nearby museum.

The bulk of your conversations took place in the break room, minus occasionally bumping into him around the building which didn't leave much time for chatter. It wasn't a bad thing. It was nice just to talk to him.

And while you didn't think any of the topics you brought up were interesting, Bucky listened intently every time, his eyes on you as he hung on your every word. The attention felt nice. Though you hadn't mustered up the courage to ask him to hang out outside of work, it felt like the two of you were friends because of those mornings together.

Maybe he thought you were friends, too, since he asked one day, “Do you know anything about dating apps?”

You almost spilled his coffee, but quickly recovered and avoided his concerned gaze as you sat down. “Um, no, not much. I haven’t really used them. I haven’t dated in a few months either,” you answered honestly, hoping your tone didn’t sound as bitter as the taste in your mouth. You weren’t embarrassed by your romantic status, but your heart sank just the same. “Are you… Why are you asking? Just out of curiosity.” It wasn’t your business, but it was the first time he brought up anything concerning dating or relationships.

“Sam mentioned setting me up and I brushed that off, so he mentioned using a dating app. I don’t know.” He shrugged as you hung your head.

Something settled within your chest, a heavy feeling that made it difficult to take a steady breath. But you couldn't feel sorry for yourself. Bucky was kind, good looking, and trying to adjust to a sense of normalcy. Of course he’d want to try dating again and what kind of person would you be if you didn't support him?

“Well, I can help you research some apps if you’d like. See if any may be a good fit?”

“Really? You’d do that?” he asked softly.

Your eyes drifted up and you did your best to smile. You couldn't let him see that the mere thought of him dating someone else hurt you. It was pathetic. “Yeah, I would,” you answered. You refused to let your crush on him stop you from helping him if he wanted to meet someone.

Bucky stared at you for a few seconds and you almost squirmed in your chair. “But you said you haven't really used them. Why not?”

The unexpected question did make you squirm. You couldn't blurt out that he was one of the reasons. “Well, not to be a downer or anything, but some apps almost seem to set people up for rejection. It just isn’t possible to match every single person up. And there’s also rapid judgment with some based on appearance and it makes it easy to objectify people,” you explained. It was sad, but true. “It does work for some and I’m happy for those people, but I don't know. I’d rather just meet someone and…”

“Connect with them naturally?” he guessed.

“Yeah,” you said, a sad smile touching your lips. “Is it wishful thinking to want something like that?”

“I don’t think it is at all. In fact, that’s a good reason why I probably won’t use an app,” he said. You hoped your sigh of relief wasn’t audible, but the weight lifting from your shoulders felt palpable. “Besides, what would I say if I tried to set up a profile? ‘Hi, I’m a previously brainwashed assassin over 100 years old’?”

“It would be a conversation starter,” you teased, the playful banter bringing a warm smile to his face. “And I know I brought up rapid judgment, but I’m sure one look at your profile picture and people would line out the door just to get your attention,” you smiled and gestured to his face, but his gaze dropped, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features. “I’m sorry. I…”

He shook his head, and you caught a hint of a smile that made your heart flutter. “No, it’s… It’s kind of nice to hear that,” he admitted, his gaze drifting away like he was lost in thought. “Dating came easy to me years ago and I don’t think I really appreciated it back then. The thought of trying again is a little scary.”

His voice was soft, almost reflective, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. You felt a swell of empathy for the weight of his past. “Well, whenever your next date happens? I hope they know how lucky they are,” you said, your heart aching to convey how deserving he was of genuine connection.

You just wished that connection was with you.

The warm smile returned to his face as he gazed at you. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Your heart ached in your chest. “Anytime,” you whispered back, quickly standing up before tears pricked your eyes. “I should get to work. Have a good day, okay?”

“Oh. You, too.” He looked like he wanted to stop you, but he hung back. It was all in your head anyway. He didn't want to stop you. Why would he?

You wiped your eyes once you were out of the break room. Rushing away was cowardly and you knew it. It was silly, too.

You wondered if the coffee talks would continue once he found his dream girl. Would he tell you about her? Would bile rise to your throat when he sang their praises or smiled a soft smile not reserved for you? You had to stop thinking about it. You couldn't fall apart just because Bucky wasn't yours, and it was something you’d need to come to terms with when he found someone else.

And maybe tomorrow it wouldn't hurt so much.

Bucky looked a little tired when he joined you the next morning, not saying a word. He still offered you a smile. You didn't speak either, but you gave him a small smile in return.

The night before, you wrestled with the idea of telling him how you felt. All you had to do was get the words out. But the words froze in your throat like ice and you kept quiet, both of you sipping your coffee as the seconds passed by.

You almost wanted to fill the void with more chatter, but it didn’t feel necessary. The silence was oddly comforting. Silence was also safe. He seemed content just to sit there with you, and you were afraid you’d blurt something out that you couldn’t take back.

“Did I do something to upset you yesterday?” he asked suddenly. His gaze was so gentle, yet deep, looking for an answer you couldn't fully give him. “You rushed out without finishing your coffee, and you always finish your coffee, so I had to have done something.”

Your heart breaks from his words. Rushing off made him think it was his fault, and you never wanted to imply that. “No, you didn't upset me,” you replied. That was true. Bucky didn't do anything to upset you. It was your own mind and feelings that did that. “I just had work to do.”

He didn't look convinced, and you couldn't blame him. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” You put a smile on your face, but you felt terrible. “And I don't think you could do anything to upset me.”

“Then you wouldn't mind sparring with me tomorrow morning by any chance, would you?” he asked.

You inhaled, not expecting him to ask you that. “You want to spar with me?” You discreetly pinched yourself, testing to see if you were dreaming or not. He was asking you to hang out with him outside of the break room. Kind of. “Really?” you added, your heart racing when he nodded.

“Yeah. What do you say?” he asked. Oh, it was a bad idea to spar with Bucky Barnes. Not because you couldn't learn from him, but what the hell were you going to do to reign in your sexual frustration? “Unless you're busy.”

“Yes!” you blurted out quickly, clearing your throat as you tried to regain some of your composure. You swore his cheek twitched like he was trying not to smile. “I mean, no, I'm not busy. I’m totally free and I'd love to spar with you,” you said, praying you sounded normal and not like some lovesick woman with an overgrowing crush.

Which was exactly what you were.

But you weren't about to turn down a chance to spar with him. Who in their right mind would? How many times had you imagined him slamming your body against the mats and pinning you down? Both of you breathing heavily, his face shining from the perspiration. You were thankful the super soldier couldn't read minds because now all you could think about was him tearing your clothes away and spearing you open with his cock and-

“Okay then,” he said, finishing his coffee before he took the mug to the sink. “Second floor gym. Room 2. 6 am.”

“6 am. I’ll be there,” you promised, gazing after him as he walked toward the door. “See you then, Sergeant.”

His entire body went rigid before he looked back at you, the metal fingers of his left arm twitching. Your heart sank, worried that you said something wrong. Would he take back his offer?

You stood up from the table. “Bucky, I-”

An agent walked through the door and bumped Bucky out of the way. At least he tried to. The super soldier didn't budge.

“Excuse me,” Bucky said.

“Watch it,” the agent sneered, bumping his shoulder again. He still didn't budge. “Think you're special because you got some serum in your veins and Rogers wanted to save your ass? You’re nothing.”

You gasped. You could handle people saying things about you, but people you cared about? It made you see red. How dare this guy say anything like that to Bucky?

“Nothing but HYDRA’s little bitch.”

Bucky glared and looked about two seconds away from smacking the guy across the room, but he hung his head after a second and didn't breathe a word. Maybe he didn't want to make a big deal out of it or didn't think it was worth it. You, however, wouldn't put up with it. Not for a second.

“Hey! Agent asshole,” you snapped, marching over until you were between Bucky and the agent. “Apologize to him.”

The agent cackled at you and you heard Bucky’s metal fingers curl. “Apologize? He was in my way.” He reached out a hand to pat your head. “But it’s kind of cute to see you defending the Winter Soldier. That's-” You grabbed his wrist and twisted it. “Ow, fuck!”

“And now I’m in your way,” you said sweetly, twisting a bit more until his knees buckled. “Apologize, now.”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry!” he shouted.

Bucky had a look of awe on his face when you looked back at him. “It’s okay,” he said above a whisper.

You released the guy and pointed at the door. “Whatever you need you can get it later,” you said, satisfied when the agent scrambled out the door.

Bucky stared at you when you faced him, silence hanging in the air. “You okay?” you finally asked. Was twisting the guy’s wrist too much?

“I…” Bucky blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. “You defended me.”

“Well, yeah. I told you if anyone gave you a hard time they could deal with me,” you smiled. It didn't matter how small the matter was, you’d stick up for him. People like that guy often mistook your kindness for weakness. “And what he said was completely out of line.”

“Thank you.” His fingers reached out and touched yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Really. Thank you.”

“Don't need to thank me,” you said, giddy from his small touch. “And, listen, before he rudely interrupted, I was going to ask if it bothered you that I called you Sergeant.”

You thought you saw his fingers twitch again, but he shook his head. “No. I… kind of like hearing that from you.”

“Oh.” You dipped your head to hide your smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then? 6 am?”

“Yeah, you will,” he said softly, meeting your gaze as you lifted your head again.

“Have a good day then, Sergeant.”

He inhaled sharply. “Don’t be late tomorrow,” he gruffly spoke before he left the room without another word, hearts in your eyes as you stayed rooted to the spot.

You mentally jumped for joy from how excited you were. You couldn't keep the smile off your face the rest of the day. Bucky could've asked anyone in the building to spar with him, but he chose you. And he stuck up for you because some guy bumped into you. Now you just had to make sure you wouldn't make a fool of yourself in the morning.

Easy enough, right?

You spent more time than you cared picking out the perfect exercise outfit. It didn't matter what you wore since he only asked you to practice with him. It wasn't like he asked you out on a date. Still, you were hopeful that the matching black set would make him look at least once.

If anything, it was a confidence booster for yourself since you liked how you looked in it.

“Confidence is sexy,” you smiled before you grabbed your bag to go.

You got to the gym in record time, not wanting to be late or keep him waiting. Nodding to a few people on machines before you made it to the second floor, you had to pause and take a breath before you entered Room 2. The air was a bit cooler in the sparring area, which was good considering you’d likely work up a sweat.

Dropping your bag near the door, you nearly jumped when you spotted Bucky a few feet away staring at you. “Right on time,” he said, your throat dry as he nodded to the mat. “I stretched before you got here.”

“Hey,” you said, removing your jacket, the zipper loud in the quiet room. You gave him what you hoped was a nice smile when you went to the mat. “Shouldn't take me long.”

The Sergeant stood against the wall with his arms crossed as you began to stretch, one foot pressed against it as his eyes slid over to you. Quickly averting your gaze, you tried to concentrate on warming up instead of how good he looked in his workout gear. While his sweatpants hung low on his hips, the dark short sleeved shirt clung to him like a second skin. He had his hair pulled back, too, which only enhanced how bright his eyes looked under the ceiling lights.

You refused to get aroused just from looking at him.

Too. Fucking. Late.

“You good? You don't seem as chipper as usual,” he said.

“Yeah, I…” What were you even going to say? That his mere presence in his current attire made you wet? “I didn't have my coffee before I left, so no caffeine. This might wake me up.”

He didn't seem convinced, but he nodded after a moment. “I know the feeling,” he said with a soft smile. “Thanks for joining me so early. And sorry if it threw off your routine.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Morning exercises are good for the mind and body,” you said, standing once you finished stretching. He probably had a full schedule ahead of him. “I have to admit though, just like you were surprised I was nice to you a while back, I'm a little surprised you asked me to spar with you.”

“And why is that?” he asked as he approached the mat, all confidence as he took his spot.

Your throat went dry again before you cleared it. “Because someone like Steve is more evenly matched,” you said. Super soldier to super soldier, you could go for hours. “And chances of me beating you are also pretty slim.”

Way to downplay yourself.

“You nearly brought that agent to his knees yesterday and you didn't break a sweat.” His head tilted a fraction, his eyes carefully taking you in from head to toe. “You don't think you can take me?”

Your next breath came out in a rush. If you didn't know any better, you would've said he asked that on purpose. Oh, you had imagined Bucky telling you how well you'd take him, but not like this. You'd take what you can get.

“I can take you,” you stated.

You could only describe the look in his eyes as feral as he got into position. “I'm sure you can,” he said, your only warning before he rushed at you.

Blocking Bucky’s hit, you told yourself not to smile and focused on dodging another hit. He had advantages on his side, like his strength with the serum in his veins, but you were determined to show him that you were a worthy opponent. You also knew he wouldn't try to harm you. Anything he threw your way would be to help you improve.

Bucky grinned when he blocked your kick and you almost let it distract you. “I think you're giving me a run for my money,” he said before he performed a back full twisting layout to dodge another kick. Was that the proper term? Whatever it was, the move was more agile than you could comprehend.

“And I think you’re showing off,” you teased, extending your leg for a sweep instead. You huffed when he flipped away again. “Either that or Steve’s theatrics have rubbed off on you.”

“Don't tell him that. Wouldn't want him to get a big head,” he winked.

The back and forth went on for a few minutes, your breathing heavier and heart racing. Part of you wondered if he was pulling punches for your sake, but he didn't let up. It was exhilarating. You hoped he asked you to spar with him again.

“Tell me something.” Bucky brushed some of the loose hair back with the back of his hand, both of you panting lightly as the motions stopped for a second. “Why are you single?”

Your eyes widened at the question. “W-What?” you breathed, almost losing your footing as you stepped back. Why would he ask you that and why now?

“You told me why you don't use dating apps and you want to make a genuine connection, but you haven't mentioned anyone special,” he shrugged, tilting his head when he stepped forward. “You know you can tell me if there’s someone you like, right?”

“Maybe we can have this conversation when we’re done sparring?” you suggested. It would give you a chance to collect yourself.

He shook his head. “No, I think we should have this conversation now, if that’s okay.”

“I guess. If you insist.” You blocked his swing, barely. “There’s… someone I like, but I don’t know if he feels the same way.”

His cheek twitched, like he wasn't expecting that answer. “Who is he? Do I know him?”

That question threw you off a bit more. Why did he want to know who? “Yeah. Yeah, you do,” you said.

“Is it Steve? Sam?” he pressed, a hint of anger in his eyes. “Some other agent?”

“No, no, and no,” you replied, sighing as you dropped your arms. “Listen, do we really-”

Bucky swept your legs out from under you. The air left your lungs when your back hit the mat and he settled over you before you could get up, pinning your arms at your side. You tried to twist out of his hold and couldn't even use your thighs to roll him off you since he had those pinned, too.

“You let your guard down,” he said.

“Yep,” you said, the word clipped as you tried to look anywhere but at him. It was impossible. He was everywhere.

“Now this guy you like,” he started with a tilt of his head. He wasn't letting this go, was he? “If it’s someone I know and he isn't Steve, Sam, or another agent, who is he?”

You bit your lip, wishing you a chance to hide or bolt.

“Tell me,” he begged, his eyes staring into yours. “Please.”

Oh, God. Did he have any clue how you felt? At the very least, could he sense how he affected you by laying on top of you? How hard your nipples were against your top or the wetness that gathered between your thighs?

Now wasn't the time to focus on being horny.

He sighed when you didn’t speak. “Answer this then: Is there even the slightest chance that it’s me?” he asked, the question hanging in the air between you.

“I…” You swallowed hard as he waited patiently for your answer with an expectant gaze. He was so close and the position was too vulnerable, but you had to bite the bullet and tell him the truth. “It isn't a slight chance. It's one hundred percent you.”

“What?” he whispered.

Super soldier hearing, he should've heard you perfectly clear, right? “I like you, Bucky. I care about you. I pretty much have since I met you,” you finished, the quiet admittance making your chest burn.

It was out in the open now and no longer suppressing your feelings was a good thing.

He stared straight into your eyes, your heart picking up a notch. “You like me?” The weight of him left your thighs, but you couldn't breathe when he settled between them. “At the risk of sounding like an arrogant prick, are you single because you’ve been waiting for me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, swallowing again. “And you aren’t arrogant. Far from it.”

“So, every morning we’ve had coffee together and even before that, you cared about me? And when I brought up the dating app a couple of days ago and you offered to help me, you had feelings for me? And when you defended me?” He tilted his head further when you nodded. “And you didn't say anything until now?” It didn't feel like an accusation, but your eyes welled up anyway.

“Yes, the whole time. I didn't want to tell you and make things weird if you didn't feel the same way and I would've rather have you as a friend than nothing at all. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you rambled as a tear slid from the corner of your eye. You weren't trying to deceive him by keeping your crush on him a secret. “We are kind of friends, right?”

The two of you hadn’t hung out outside of work, but there was something there. At the very least, there was a comradery. After this, who knew if he’d even want to speak to you again.

“I don't want to be your friend,” he said with conviction, your heart shattering. It was like he punched you right in the gut and maybe you deserved that. He smiled softly, something beautifully tragic when you struggled beneath him. Why wasn't he letting you up? “Wait, no, no. That’s not what I meant.”

You went limp when you couldn't break his hold. “Then what do you mean?!”

“I want to be so much more than that.”

“You…” the rest of the words died on your lips because what did he say?

A metal finger moved down your cheek, the touch cool against your warm skin as he wiped another tear away. The finger then tipped your chin before his mouth descended on yours. You weren't sure why you expected it to be a rough kiss, but it was anything but. His lips teased yours along with his tongue, coaxing you to open your mouth to his. It was demanding in the gentlest of ways.

It wasn't a rushed kiss either. It was thorough, slow, like he had nowhere else in the world to be. Did he have any idea of the spark he ignited within you? It was something hot, needy, out of control. Fire raced through your veins. You'd go up in flames if he kept kissing you like that. Like you meant something to him.

“I care about you, too,” he whispered. You inhaled sharply when he trailed kisses along your face. “I’ve liked you since we met.”

“You have?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he smiled, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I hoped you might feel the same, but I’m a bit rusty when it comes to this and I couldn't get a read on you when I mentioned the dating app. I figured this approach might be better.”

“Well,” you gasped when you felt something hard pressed against you. “It worked,” you said. You were glad he took the leap of faith.

“I’ll always remember the first time you smiled at me. I won't let anyone take that memory away from me,” he groaned against your skin, your eyes tearing up again. “And the way you stuck up for me… I don’t deserve you. I don't know if I ever will.”

“Don't say that,” you begged when he released your other wrist, giving you the chance to wrap your arms around him. “You deserve every bit of happiness.”

He smiled as his kisses moved down to your neck and you could only whimper when he licked and sucked over your pulse. “You're so caring. So good,” he said, rocking his hips forward. The sweet words combined with the sensual movements of his body fueled your desire. You also bit your lip to keep from bursting into tears from his praise. “And you're so beautiful, you know that? Inside and out.”

“You keep talking like that, I’ll keep crying,” you tried to joke.

He lifted his head to wipe another tear away. “Happy tears?”

“Very happy,” you promised, shifting underneath him and brushing his crotch again.

His mouth fell open as his eyes shut. It was one of the sexiest looks you had ever seen. “If you keep doing that, I’ll embarrass myself,” he said in a strained voice.

“Is that a bad thing?” you smiled innocently.

“Maybe not. I have a quick rebound rate if I do,” he teased, frowning when your smile slipped. “Shit, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?”

“I’m fine. You didn’t say anything wrong,” you promised, touching his cheek. “I just… Am I dreaming?”

His lips touched yours again, You would’ve melted into the mat if you weren’t already underneath him. “You’re not dreaming,” he whispered. The groan he let out when you moved beneath him again reminded you that he really was settled between your legs. And hard. “I wanted to take you out on a nice date before I even touched you, but I don’t know if I can wait. You’re driving me crazy.”

Well, nothing had happened quite yet. Just a confession of feelings. And some kissing. And grinding.

“You’re driving me crazy, too, but if you want to stop, I understand,” you said. It didn't have to go further if he didn't want to, especially since it was fast.

His forehead touched yours. “Do you?”

You nearly shouted that you didn’t want him to stop, would never want him to stop, but this wasn’t just about you. “I don’t, but I get it if you do,” you said. You were kind of in a public place and consent went both ways. If he was the slightest bit uncomfortable, you were fine with stopping.

It seemed to be all he needed to hear since he kissed you again, eagerly licking into your mouth. Your heart was still racing out of control, the high from the exercise running through your veins. You wondered if he felt that adrenaline, too. If the confession of your feelings was the water against the dam, admitting that you wanted him physically, too, was the thing to break it.

“It’s just… I don’t…” He lifted his head to look around before he smiled. “Wait, hold on.”

He pushed himself up, your body cold from the sudden lack of heat. The tent he sported in his pants sent a surge of pride through you as he went as gracefully as he could to the door. Locking it, he went to his bag next and dug out a towel.

“What are you doing?” you asked when he came back quickly.

“Trying to be a gentleman,” he smiled, lifting your hips to place the towel underneath. “Sorry, the mat’s just kind of dirty and I think you deserve a little better than that.”

“You certainly are a gentleman,” you smiled back.

“The things I want to do to you are far from gentlemanly,” he said, reaching for the waistband of your pants and peeling them down with your underwear. You were sweaty and gross, but if he didn’t care, you wouldn’t either. “I wish I could lay you out and kiss every inch of your body.”

“Maybe after I shower,” you teased, both of you chuckling as you helped push his pants and underwear down. Once all was said and done the two of you could talk and figure out a date and him properly taking you to bed, but having him take you then and there was perfect. “Oh…”

Words left your mind when you saw his hard and heavy cock. A bead of precum dripped from the head and you wished you could have a taste. There was a good chance he’d split you in half, but it would be worth feeling him for days on end.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, opening your legs more as an offering. You didn’t care if it made you look desperate for him, which you were. You just hoped it looked enticing.

With blown pupils and a small growl, he shook his head. It was enough to make you want to cry. “I need to stretch you first, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment made you smile even when you argued, “I don’t need you to stretch me. I can take it.”

He narrowed his eyes, but gave you a smile, too, as he brought his hand to your scorching heat. “We’re both desperate for this, but I’m going to stretch your pretty cunt to make room for my cock. Got it?”

Shivering at his tone, you nodded. “Yes, Sergeant,” you answered, biting your lip when you saw his cock twitch. “You really like me saying that, don't you?”

“Yes,” he groaned. You’d have to keep calling him that in and out of bed then.

He rubbed along your folds slowly, like he was memorizing the feel. Deep down, he was a gentleman. Badly wanting you, but making sure he wouldn’t hurt you. What more could you ask for?

“Can I confess something?” he asked gently as the first finger sank into you, gently exploring. Gasping at the welcomed intrusion, you nodded. He could say anything he wanted. “I've imagined you just like this,” he stated, pulling his finger out before pushing it in deeper.

“You have?” you asked before he pushed a second finger in, both of them curling slightly. It sent sparks of pleasure down your spine.

“It almost felt wrong because I hadn’t even asked you to go out with me, but I couldn’t help myself.” His voice was huskier as he pumped his fingers, your hand fisting in his shirt. You throbbed with need, a kind of need you couldn’t ever remember feeling. “I wondered what kind of sounds you’d make and how you’d feel around me if you ever let me have you.”

More heat pooled in your core as you spread your legs wider for him.

“Making such pretty sounds for me already. And your pussy, it feels like heaven. Might even make me see God once I have my cock in you.” He glanced down to watch his fingers slide in and out of your tight passage, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Fuck, you’re so warm. And tight. And wet,” he continued, an almost cocky smile on his face when his thumb swiped over your clit and drew a small whimper from you. "Guess I haven’t completely lost my touch.”

“That is both hot and…” you had to pause when he added a third finger, making you stretch around the digits. He was going to be the death of you. “Is it bad if I’m a little jealous because I don’t want to think about you touching anyone else?”

Something sparked in his pretty blue eyes. “Does my girl have a jealous streak?” He slid a fourth finger in, your back arching with a small cry. “I’m flattered, but you have nothing to worry about. You’re the only one I want.”

Your breaths were shallow from his touch alone, but the sweet words got under your skin. “You don’t have to worry about anyone else either,” you exhaled. He knew you weren’t seeing anyone, but you felt the need to assure him. “And I like that.”

“Like what?”

Your hand twisted in his shirt more. “The idea of being your girl,” you managed to answer, your body writhing as he moved his fingers in a beautifully torturous motion. “Enough, Bucky, please.”

“Enough what?”

“I’m stretched. I’m on the pill. Just… put your cock in me, please!” Panting by the end of your begging rant with mist in your eyes, you added, “Can I at least touch you if you won’t fuck me?”

The beautiful bastard had the nerve to laugh when he took his fingers out. “Kind and steadfast, even when you’re begging to get fucked,” he said, his eyes slipping shut for a second as he licked the first two fingers clean. “I promise you can touch me later if you let me get a proper taste of your sweet cunt.”

Your cheeks got so hot it shocked you that you didn’t catch on fire. “Yes, please,” you whispered, the promise of later making you quiver.

The room felt like it was spinning when he stared down at you and licked his fingers again. He kept his eyes on you when he wrapped them around his cock and guided it to your waiting hole. You tried to calm the beating of your heart when he slipped the blunt head in, but you were powerless to do anything but feel as he kept pushing in. You trembled and gripped his shoulders once his hips were flush against yours, throbbing around his thickness already when hadn't started thrusting.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasped, dropping his forehead to yours again as he trembled, too. “I need…” he breathed against your lips. “I just need a second, please.”

“Okay,” you whispered, wondering if he was as overwhelmed as you were. Maybe moreso. You weren’t sure exactly how long it had been for him. And being enhanced, you didn’t know if the sensations felt different or stronger. You just hoped he felt good. And happy.

His metal hand framed your cheek, so gentle in contrast to the damage he could do with it. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, tilting your head up to kiss him. “I can take it,” you promised. Your body had adjusted to his size and now you wanted him to move, to feel all of him.

He finally began to thrust, moaning against your lips. You lifted your hips, trying to take him in more. The hand on your face slid down your body before it moved to your hip, keeping you in place so you could feel him nice and deep. He pulled his cock out almost completely before he thrust back in, making you cry out as you quivered around him. You wanted to soak his cock, consume him the way he was consuming you.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praised as you bit your lip. “No, lemme hear those pretty sounds. C’mon,” he said, changing his angle slightly so you moaned loudly. He moaned, too, as he kept thrusting. “There you go. So beautiful.”

You wanted to scream for him. You also wondered what it would feel like to have his hand around your throat or over your mouth to smother those very sounds if you ever snuck off during work to fool around. There were so many things you wanted to try with him.

“Bucky,” you whined, digging your nails into his shoulders as he moved faster. Piercing pleasure built from your core and spread slowly throughout your body. You felt like you couldn’t breathe from how good it felt, how he felt.

The intensity in his turbulent eyes was similar to when he listened to you talk in the break room, but with much more heat. Had he looked at you like that all along? “Wanna mark you up one day. Let everyone see that you’re my girl,” he grunted, dragging his mouth from your face to your neck. He lightly bit down, smirking when you whined again. “Would you let me?”

“Yes,” you moaned, tilting your head to give him more access. You’d feel so proud to wear his mark. There wouldn’t be any shame if people saw or asked because you’d get to say you belonged to Bucky.

“You feel so fucking good,” he rasped, surging into you over and over, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing off the walls with your cries. “Sweetheart, I’m not gonna last.”

The term of endearment again. It had your heart clenching along with your pussy. “Neither am I,” you breathed, bringing his head back to yours. You framed his cheeks, ecstasy close to crashing over you. From the strain in his handsome face, he was on the edge, too. “Come with me? Mark me up inside?”

It was a question and not a demand because you wouldn’t demand anything from the man who somehow stole your heart.

Through the pleasure twisting his face, he smiled. “Come with me.”

The heightened pleasure crashing over you was powerful enough that you almost screamed, your walls spasming around him. Shudders wracked your body as your breath ceased, trying to hold his gaze as the heat engulfed you. Your release coated him, just like you wanted it to. And it was only a few more thrusts from him before he tipped over the edge, filling you up in return. You both marked each other in the best possible way.

You laid limp beneath him, both of you panting. Your slick, wet heat still burned around him as released your hips and pushed himself up, a bead of sweat from his skin dripping onto yours. You gazed at each other, something tender passing between you. You wished the moment didn't have to end.

He leaned back down to nuzzle your nose and you couldn’t help but giggle breathlessly at the affectionate move. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, still dazed. “You?”

“Better than okay,” he said, smiling when you tucked some of his hair back. He looked good like this.

“I don't think I can move,” you teased.

“We have to, sadly,” he sighed, sliding himself from the warmth of your body. You whined at the loss, your hole clenching around nothing as your mixed release seeped onto the towel beneath you. “I know, but in case the next group that uses this room gets here early, I don’t want them to see you with your pants down,” he told you as he sat back and looked over you. You took a moment to look over him as well, getting a glance at his glorious thighs. You longed for the chance for you both to truly explore each other’s bodies. “And we could both use a shower.”

You inhaled when he used the clean part of the towel to gently wipe you both down. “Mmm. Together?”

He chuckled, helping you pull your underwear and pants back up. His hands lingered on your hips and you were two seconds from shoving the fabric back down. “If I get you in the shower, we won’t make it to work on time.”

“I don’t mind being late.” You tried to lift your arms to help him pull up his pants, too, but he beat you to it. It was a shame he had to cover up. “Or we could call in? I still have a lot of days off to use.”

“Yeah? You want to call in?”

“Yeah,” you said eagerly. Too eagerly. “Maybe?”

You almost shrank in on yourself when he raised an eyebrow. He told you he cared about you and he sure as hell just fucked you like he craved you, but you didn’t want to come across as clingy, especially so soon. The two of you still needed to figure things out.

And what if the things said were just from the heat of the moment? You weren't sure if your heart could take it if he walked away without another thought. He wouldn't do that though, right?

His gaze softened, helping you sit up, his face inches from yours as he rubbed your arms. “Hey. What’s the matter?” he asked, your heart in your throat when he smiled again. “Was I that bad?”

“No, not at all. You were amazing, holy shit, and telling you how I feel was long overdue,” you promised, his smile softer. “It’s just…”

His brows pinched. “It’s just what?”

You took a breath. “I've wanted to hear for so long that you had feelings for me, too. And now that it’s really sinking in, I guess I still feel like I’m dreaming a bit. That none of this happened,” you admitted, placing your hand on his chest. His heart was still beating fast, like yours. “That tomorrow I’ll just go back to being the girl who has a crush on you and nothing more.”

“What?” His face slowly fell. Why did you open your mouth? “No, that's not going to happen.”

“We just went from work friends to whatever just transpired, and I don’t want it to be too much or too fast for you or for you to regret this,” you blurted out, biting your lip hard. “I don't want to be too much for you,” you added in a whisper. Your insecurity surfaced more as the post-sex haze faded and you wished it hadn't. “I’m sorry. I don't know why I’m ruining the moment.”

It was stupid. Where had your optimism gone? He told you he cared about you. He gazed at you like you meant something to him. It was everything you wanted, so why were you questioning it?

“You didn't ruin anything.”

“Are you sure?” you asked softly.

Bucky placed his hand over yours, the other going to the back of your head so you couldn't move away. “I’m sure, now listen to me: Whatever is going on between us isn’t too much and you are not too much. You are never too much,” he said with fierceness akin to a growling wolf. “I want you and I want to be with you. I wouldn’t joke about that,” he assured you, your lips tugging in a small smile. “I get feeling like it's a dream, believe me, but it isn't. It's real and what just happened was real.”

Hearing him declare his feelings again made your heart soar. “I know you wouldn’t joke about that,” you said. He wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t toy with your feelings like that. “I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?”

“I do and I am happy,” he said, his eyes full of longing. He experienced so much pain and loss and deserved happiness. “I’ve lost so much of my life, so much time, and I don't want to waste another second. So believe me when I say I want you to be my girl.”

A sob threatened to work its way up. “Oh, Bucky,” you whispered, your head dipping down before he lifted it back up.

“That connection you’ve talked about wanting, I feel that with you. I trust you. That’s why I’ve been able to open up to you. The person who made me coffee and offered me kindness and understanding and just let me be me,” he said, making you smile more. You wished you could wrap each word around your heart. “I want to hold your hand in the break room and kiss you in the halls. I want you today and I’ll want you tomorrow and the day after that. And the only thing I regret from any of this is not asking you to be my girl sooner.”

His words, his stare, his touch, they healed the senseless wound your insecurity put on your heart. “I’m yours.” You surged forward, your lips crashing against his. He sighed before he returned the kiss, likely feeling the same relief you had. You wished you could put into words how much his assurance meant, but you hoped your kiss expressed it. “Thank you for both coaxing my feelings out of me and assuring me that you want this.”

“Anytime.” He brushed another kiss across your lips. “You know how you said you hoped the next person who dated me knew how lucky they were?” he asked. You remembered. “I'm the lucky one because you’re taking a chance on me.”

“You’re a smooth talker.” You had no clue how you kept the tears at bay. It meant everything that he wanted to be with you. “I think we’re both lucky.”

He smiled at that. “Yeah, but I still don’t deserve you,” he whispered, kissing you again before you could argue that he was more than worthy. “So, you want to spend the day with me?”

“Yeah, I do. We can go on a day date or just talk some more at my place or yours,” you answered, not feeling the need to hide anymore. “That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“Sweetheart, you just let me fuck you on a sparring mat. You can ask me for anything you want,” he smirked, catching your face between his hands. “But this day date doesn’t count as the nice date I want to take you on. My girl deserves something special.”

Your heart tightened in your chest, your emotions starting to run high again before you took a calming breath. “Then how about after that shower we call in, go to a cafe, get a cup of coffee, and figure out that date together? Maybe I’ll even convince you that you do deserve me.”

He huffed, taking your hands and helping you both up. You’d never be able to look at a pair of sweatpants again without thinking of what transpired there. “Okay, but I’m warning you right now that I probably won’t like the coffee.”

“Why not?”

“Because you didn’t make it,” he smiled. “Maybe we can check out that science exhibit you mentioned.”

You giggled. He remembered. “That would be nice,” you said, leaning close when he slipped his arm around you and guided you toward your bag. “You know, I can make more than just coffee. Just say the word and I’ll cook for you,” you said. You’d love to cook him a nice meal.

“Word,” he deadpanned.

You giggled again. “Later,” you promised. You’d make him something special. “Do you think Alpine will like me?”

“She’ll love you,” he promised, giving you a sheepish smile. “I told her all about you. And I think the last few dinners with Steve and Sam all I talked about was you.”

“You told your cat about me? You're adorable,” you smiled. It was really sweet. “And… Will Steve and Sam be happy?” They were his friends and you hoped they approved.

“Steve will be thrilled.” He huffed again. “But Sam’s opinion doesn't matter. Fuck him.”

With a teasing smile, you asked, “Wait, I thought I was supposed to give Sam a talking to. Are you offering for me to fuck him?” You shrieked when he growled and picked you up, placing you over his shoulder. “Bucky!”

“You’re not fucking anyone but me. You’re my girl and I’ll mark you up to prove it if I have to,” he said, keeping a firm hand on you as he carried you away. “But for now, let’s shower before we call in.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

Bucky didn’t have to prove anything. He had you in a chokehold from the start and always would. And you were proud to finally be his girl.

Woohoo! You made it! I like to think this reader has bits of Smartie and Mrs. Barnes, and she deserves her man! I know these two will have wonderful times ahead! Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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rezitio · 2 days ago

Text

𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐉𝐎 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒

<- 𝙱𝚊𝚌𝚔

warnings: academic rival!tutor!bullied!bf!dom!sub!nerdjo x rr. porno vids, toys, bondage, jerking it, bullying, tit sucking, unsafe, hate sex, oralf! piv and many more

━━━━━━━━

01: He's finally done it. It's time you get a taste of your own medicine, you bully. God he's going to have some fun with you.

02: You've been coming over for tutoring at Gojo's house everyday. Everyday he looses his mind trying to teach you the basics. For a whole week you two haven't gotten anywhere, but he knows how to change that. His going to start punishing you

03: You love bullying gojo. Where it's teasing him in class, flashing him a titty to get him distracted or pumping his dick after school.

"Hm, you promise you weren't staring at me from the bleachers... because I could have swore I saw your boner... it's okay I won't get mad but... my boyfriend might..."

04. You're finding it hard to believe it now when he said

"I've never seen boobs before."

With the way he's munching on your nipples like a starved warrior.

05. You two always use a condom it's a must . But you just can't take it anymore you needed to feel him and he need to feel you

06. What would everyone say if this tape got leaked. Your friends? Your jocky boyfriend? Your parents? The whole damn school. No one would expect that the cheer captain is fucking the nerdy boy

07. After studying all night he goes to bed to see his bimbo!girl sprayed out begging for his tounge. Who is he to refuse

08. You hated him. Why did they have to put you two as partners.

"Stop Gojo we need to finish the project..."

"So...should I stop?"

"No, asshole! Put it in!"

09. Oh just two academically rivals when one of them underperformed.

"A 76? We both know you could do better so tell me what happened....uh uh.... wrong answer."

"Come on baby, do it. Beg me for forgiveness after you disappointed me."

10. Excusing himself to your bathroom only to shake off the hard he got from you.

REZITIO ©️ favs r in blue! Thinking of kengan ashura twitter links. Went out of my theme, ik but came out so pretty

#꒰꒰ : rezitioworks #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #twitter links #satoru gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo twitter links #nerdjo

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lightseoul · 22 hours ago

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a/n. it's been a hot minute, y'all. this is inspired by a reel i saw on instagram (@dagirlythang), although i believe this is one of those notorious accounts that reposts content from other creators without proper citation :\ still, credit is due where it's (partially) due. anywho, i haven't written in a WHILE, but i hope this still scratches the itch for some of you. enjoy! (0.6k)

“here, kats.”

from where he’s just put the car in park, bakugou looks at you—first, instinctively—then carefully, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the sight of what you’re holding.

his normally crimson eyes that are seeming darker under the dim light of his brand new porsche dart up to meet yours. “the fuck is that?”

you frown at his unexpectedly hostile reaction, although it’s quick to morph into a look of realization when it hits you belatedly.

“shit, sorry,” you half-laugh, half-sputter, hurriedly returning it to your bag before reaching into its depths for your phone. you thumb in your password in almost less than a second, gaze trained on the app as you click it, “i forgot you preferred cashless transactions.”

you’re in the middle of typing in bakugou’s phone number—you’re embarrassed to admit you already have it memorized just two weeks into dating him—when your device is unceremoniously yanked out of your grip—so fast that you could barely squeak in surprise. you whip to face the pro-hero—about to reprimand his ear off for ripping it away from your hands like that—when you catch a glimpse of his features and all the words suddenly die in your throat.

uh oh.

“tell me,” he starts, voice low, and you find yourself gulping despite yourself. “did i buy this car so i can quit hero work and be a driver?”

“…no?”

a scowl. “then why are you treating me like i’m you’re fucking uber?”

you blanch. “i’m not! i just figured i give you some gas money.”

“why the fuck would you send me gas money?”

you know better than to answer that, so you shake your head and ignore the way he’s practically glowering at you, before pulling out the wad of cash from earlier, “is this much okay—”

“you ain’t sending me shit,” bakugou essentially spits—cutting you off—just as he reaches over the console and thrusts your hand back into your wallet.

he’s still gripping onto your phone.

you toss him an exasperated expression.

that earns you an eye roll. “don’t.”

you pout. “why won’t you let me help?”

“this isn’t about help, dumbass,” bakugou drawls, mirroring your irritation. “i won’t be caught dead asking my girlfriend for money.”

you try to breeze past the way he just referred to you as his girlfriend, masking your fluster with a scoff. “so it’s a pride thing now?”

the ash-blonde sneers. “more like the bare fucking minimum.”

to that, you snort, although you can’t fight the smile that tugs at your lips. “easy for you to say, rich guy.”

“watch it,” he warns, and you break into a laugh, then laugh harder when his mouth wobbles in a sorry attempt to keep a stern face.

that grants you a playful punch to the shoulder, which you take in stride, still chuckling. soon enough, the air falls into a quiet lull with neither of you making a move to get out and into your apartment’s parking lot. this goes on for a few beats, before bakugou finally breaks the silence.

“p-promise me.”

bewildered, you glance at the pro-hero, who’s looking straight ahead onto the wall beyond the car. “promise you what?”

he swallows, as if nervous. “that you’ll get used to this.”

your eyes widen, suddenly speechless. the urge to ask him what he means by ‘this’ quickly surfaces—something tells you it’s more than just him spending on you—albeit dies down just as swiftly. the last thing you want is to ruin the moment.

instead, you settle with peering at him curiously for another minute, before: “…do i have a choice?”

at that, bakugou turns to you, grinning. “nah.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @touyas-moon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr

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invoncible · 3 days ago

Note

HII!!! YOU HAVE SUCH AN UNIQUE STYLE OF WRITING, I LOVE IT!!! :D

Could you perhaps.... write some jealous Invincible Variants scenarios???? :3

MARK GRAYSON (& VARIANTS) being jealous ✧˚. ft. og!mark, mohawk!mark, nogoggles!mark, viltrumite!mark, sinister!mark w/ gn!reader cw. canon typical violence

— oh yes anon. yes. come here lemme kiss ur brain. — yippeeeee one more variant added to the roster!

OG!MARK

out of all the marks, he's the most boyfriend out of them all. if that even makes sense.

he's just happy to be by your side.

he knows you attract attention—why wouldn't you? you're smart, funny, and gorgeous. but he's secure in your relationship.

when mark is jealous, it's like.... he just doesn't understand why people would make moves on you when they know you're taken. if they try something in front of him he'll straight up ask, "...why?"

like he genuinely cannot comprehend the notion of going for someone who is so clearly in a relationship??

and he makes your relationship pretty clear so he knows there's no excuse

sometimes he just gets so pissed off he does things impulsively. punching someone, for example.

"i have a boyfriend." you denied the guy in front of you, sharing a look with mark.

"who's standing right here." mark added, hand possessively squeezing your waist. "for the third time," he muttered under his breath.

"okay, but if things fall through, though." the guy pressed, offering his phone to you. "you might like—"

the guy couldn't even extend his arm all the way before mark snatched the device from his hand and chucked it to... who knows where.

the guy spluttered angrily, grabbing his head as he watched his phone drift away into the blue sky. mark smiled as he watched it get smaller, and smaller, and even smaller... ah, justice was sweet.

"that was my phone?!"

"this is my partner?!" mark mocked his incredulous tone, rolling his eyes before, nudging you. "come on."

he shoved past your unwanted suitor, perhaps using a bit more force than needed.

"mark." you couldn't hide your smile.

"what?" he said, suddenly the picture of innocence. but that glint in his eye told you he knew better. you just shook your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he preened under your attention.

MOHAWK!MARK

this man is sooo problematic. i don't know if you've seen that comic panel of him and his entourage of scantily-clad girls, but yeah. he can be a flirt but you can't.

anyone who tries anything with you is getting killed! dead and buried.

he likes to play with his food first, though.

"i'm gonna take that one home before the night ends," he heard someone hiccup, drunk on booze as their wobbly finger pointed you out in the crowd.

mark raised his eyebrow, his calculating eyes drifting between you and the guy who was trying to put moves on you. he smiled to himself as he walked up to him.

"cute, huh?" mark's eyes were intensely trained on you, watching you over the rim of his glass.

the guy lazily acknowledged him. "huh? oh, yeah. real cute."

"did you know they're taken?" he chirped happily, his voice and face betraying the bubbling annoyance he felt inside.

"wha—"

"did you know," mark repeated, snatching the cup of alcohol from the guy and pushing himself into his space menacingly. "they're taken?"

"i—"

"i—i—i—" mark taunted, twisting up his face as he ridiculed the guy. "yeah. taken. by me, dumbass. get the fuck out of my place."

the guy scrambled past him to run out the exit, suddenly aware enough to realize who he was hitting on and who they belonged to.

mark watched him scramble across the shiny floors like a deer on ice, chuckling to himself before flying towards him, grabbing him by the back of his shirt. he soared higher and higher before he just... let go.

the guy's screams were music to his hears all the way down. mark returned to his party, giddy.

"where did you go?" you pouted as you walked up to him. he took you in his arms, squeezing you tight to his chest. he rested his cheek on the top of your head, rubbing your back.

"nowhere."

"i just saw you."

"shh, pretty girl, i'm back now, aren't i?" he tilted your head upwards and pressed a kiss on your pursed lips. "come dance with me, seems we gotta remind people that you're mine."

NOGOGGLES!MARK

they're also dead. LMAO don't try anything with this one. he's the definition of loose cannon

he'd be insulted if the person trying to hit on you was weaker than him, because... why do they think they have a chance 🤨

"aw, come on. on your feet." mark swiped at his nose, a deep frown on his lips.

"who are you talking to?" you sighed, arms crossed over your chest as you stared at the body on the ground. "you punched his brains out."

"nah, he's got some fight left in him." mark bent over and hoisted the guy back up by his shirt, trying to get him to balance on his own two feet. "oh, shit."

the second he let go, the unfortunate person who tried to hit on you wobbled back onto the floor.

mark kicked the guy's head like a football, sending his body crashing into a nearby wall. "fuck, that was lame."

you rolled your eyes and pulled him away from the pool of blood on the ground. "one normal date. just one, that's all i ask for."

he grinned at you, pulling you close, uncaring of his bloodied hands. "he had no chance, huh?"

"no chance." you agreed, smiling when he peppered your face with kisses. "mark—!" you giggled.

"you know i'd do anything for you, right?" he hummed, holding you tight and pressing a big fat kiss to your cheek. "i'd kill for you."

"i know," you answered. yes, you knew very well.

VILTRUMITE!MARK

this one isn't popping a sweat in some elaborate fight with someone that dared to push themselves between you.

everyone else was wrong for you. he was the only one deserving to be by your side and he's gonna let people know

i.e. he's gonna let people know exactly how and why they're beneath him and thus, undeserving of your affection

"maybe i could... i dunno, maybe we could go out sometime." the guy across from you shrugged.

you raised your eyebrow, barely sparing him a glance over your book. "no."

"not even gonna give it a try?" he pressed, scooting closer to you. "hmm?"

you grimaced and shifted away from him. "i have a boyfriend."

"he's not here, is he? we can have a little affair going on, it'd be exciting."

you scoffed, half-laughing at the audacity. "you think i'd cheat with you? have you seen my boyfriend? in what world would i ever leave him for you?"

the guy huffed a short breath, brows furrowing in offense. "how fucking dare you. here i am, being nice and the first thing you do is insult me? your man is probably just as chopped as you are—"

"ermmm, no, i would not say that." you rolled your eyes, uncaring if you antagonized him further.

"—yeah well, i am saying that, so—"

"what's going on here?" mark floated from above, a bewildered look on his face. he grabbed the guy by his throat and squeezed, lifting him off the floor and enjoying the way he gasped and choked for air.

"was he bothering you, love?" mark asked you softly. sweetly, even.

you smiled and nodded. "bugging me for a date."

mark turned his attention back to the red-faced guy squirming in his hand. he clicked his tongue in disappointment as he scanned the man's figure. "this... this unsightly specimen thought they had a chance with you?"

"looks that way." you hummed, turning a page in your book.

mark scoffed to himself, dropping the guy to the ground. he gracefully lowered himself as well, staring down the unwanted suitor. "unbelievable. weak and whiny." mark shook his head, bringing his foot down on the guy's chest to prevent him from squirming away. “pathetic.”

mark studied the guy as he begged and begged, crying tears and apologies before he finished the job with a sickening crrrrack.

mark sighed and dropped into the seat next to you. he leaned over and rested his head in your lap without another word, eyes fluttering shut as you threaded your fingers through his hair.

SINISTER!MARK

that unlucky bitch is getting their ass ate. in the bad way. simple as that. mark might even try to serve them to you for dinner.

#invincible #invincible show #mark grayson #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible season 3 #mohawk mark #sinister mark #mohawk mark x reader #viltrumite mark #no goggles mark #invincible variants x reader #invincible variants

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si3nn4 · 2 days ago

Text

Bakugou Katsuki is completely wrapped around his girlfriend’s finger.

Sure, he tries to act all cool and indifferent in front of his friends, pulling off that tough, angry, and mean guy routine. But deep down, this man would melt in a second for his girlfriend. He’d fall to his knees just to see her smile.

Today, Bakugou Katsuki is out with his friend Kirishima, shopping for Kirishima’s girlfriend’s birthday party. Why did Katsuki agree to come? Because you were away traveling, and he was utterly bored and lonely without you by his side.

"Hey, have we met before?"

The question didn’t even register in his mind. In fact, Katsuki didn’t hear it at all. His mind assumed the question was meant for someone else nearby. He was genuinely surprised when, out of nowhere, a woman stepped in front of him with a soft, shy smile.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to say hi while I had the chance."

Katsuki quickly looked to the side, hoping to spot his friend, but to his dismay, he realized he was completely alone in this awkward moment.

"Uh, right," he muttered, cringing inwardly. What the hell? Why am I even talking to her right now?

The woman giggled, her fingers reaching out to place a hand on his chest while she leaned in a little too close, invading his personal space.

Instinctively, Katsuki stepped back, his heart immediately sinking. Oh hell nah.

"Okay, back up." He shot her a sharp glance and turned to walk away. But just as he did, he heard a voice from behind him.

"Oh, come on. She ain’t that pretty for you to turn me, this, down, is she?"

“She is that pretty, you—” Katsuki grumbled under his breath, shaking his head. He didn’t dare say it out loud—after all, his mom could be lurking nearby—but he couldn’t help but mutter the insult as he walked away, his heart set on getting back to the one person who mattered.

Three days later, you returned home. The second Katsuki saw you walking toward him at the airport, his whole demeanor softened. The tightness in his shoulders melted away, and a smile so wide spread across his face that it made his heart flutter. Without a second thought, he opened his arms wide, waiting for you to run into them.

"Hi, mama," he whispered, his voice thick with longing.

You rushed into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist, your arms clinging to his shoulders as if you never wanted to let go. You giggled when you felt Katsuki bury his face in your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

"You okay, Kats?" You pulled back slightly to look at his face, your heart fluttering at the lovesick gaze in his eyes. He nodded silently, his usual grumpy nature nowhere to be found. Instead, he gently lowered you back to the ground, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, as if to reassure you that everything was right with the world again.

Kirishima stood a few feet away, laughing quietly at the sight of his best friend. The contrast between the Katsuki who’d been grumpy and distant while you were gone and the Katsuki who now held you in his arms—radiating nothing but joy—was impossible to miss. He smiled softly, realizing that there was no one else who could make Katsuki shine like that.

Everyone knew that Bakugou Katsuki was absolutely smitten—utterly, hopelessly in love with you.

#𝜗𝜚 rambles #my hero academia #mha #bakugou #katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #awwwww

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 13 hours ago

Text

Ultimate Glow-Up

Word count: 559

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Y/n was Lando’s childhood best friend who used to have braces, bad bangs, and a deep love for Minecraft. Years later, she shows up at a Grand Prix looking stunning.

________________________________________________________

Lando Norris had seen a lot of shocking things in his life.

He’d seen Max Verstappen drive an entire race with a broken car and still win.

He’d seen Daniel Ricciardo shotgun a shoey without flinching.

He’d even seen his own pit crew change all four tires in under two seconds.

But none of that compared to the absolute whiplash he experienced when he saw her.

“Mate, are you okay?” Oscar’s voice barely registered in his ears as Lando stood frozen in the McLaren hospitality. His drink was halfway to his lips, forgotten, while his jaw quite literally dropped. His eyes were wide, nearly cartoonish, as his brain short-circuited.

Because Y/n—his Y/n—his childhood best friend, his former Minecraft-building buddy, his partner-in-crime during their gangly, brace-faced, awkward teenage years—was walking toward him looking like that.

What the hell.

Gone were the crooked bangs she had once cut herself in his bathroom mirror. Gone was the oversized creeper hoodie she practically lived in from ages twelve to sixteen. Instead, she looked… elegant? Effortlessly hot? Her hair was all glossy and perfect, she had an easy confidence in her stride, and—was that eyeliner?!

Lando gulped. His fingers twitched around his drink. This was bad.

He wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that she looked this good or the fact that she seemed completely unaware of it.

“Lando!” Y/n’s voice cut through his existential crisis, bright and familiar as ever. Her face lit up when she saw him, and before he could even react, she threw her arms around him in a hug.

Okay. Cool. No big deal. Just his childhood best friend pressing against him like it was nothing. Just normal, casual, totally platonic best friend behavior.

Lando did not freak out. He did not inhale her perfume like a total weirdo. And he definitely did not melt like butter in the sun.

“Y/n! Hey! Wow, uh—hey,” he sputtered as he pulled away, struggling to form actual words. He ran a hand through his curls, vaguely aware that Oscar was watching him like he was witnessing the most entertaining disaster of his life.

Y/n just grinned. “It’s been ages! I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Lando let out a laugh, slightly unhinged. She almost didn’t recognize him? That was rich.

“Yeah, uh, same,” he said, because he couldn’t just say what he was actually thinking, which was What happened? Who allowed this? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to transform into a goddess before showing up at my workplace?

She beamed. “You look exactly the same.”

Lando nearly choked on air.

“Wha—I—excuse me?” he sputtered, gesturing vaguely at her. “I look the same? Y/n, have you seen yourself?”

Her brows furrowed. “Yeah? Why?”

“Why?!” Lando’s voice cracked. “Because—because you—you’re all—” He waved his hands at her helplessly, looking to Oscar for support, but the Aussie was absolutely no help, hiding his laughter behind his hand.

Y/n, meanwhile, just looked confused. Like she genuinely had no idea what he was freaking out about.

“What?” she asked, blinking at him like he was the weirdo.

Lando opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Nothing,” he mumbled, defeated. “You just—you look great.”

“Oh.” Y/n’s face lit up in surprise, and a faint pink dusted her cheeks. She smiled—an old, familiar smile, braces or not. “Thanks, Lan.”

Lando was so screwed.

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pettysreverie · 18 hours ago

Text

Kinda really obsessed with the idea of him becoming super obsessed with you after fucking you…

CW: AFAB!Reader, stalking, obsessive behavior, yandere-esque behavior (if I missed something, pls kindly let me know!)

Like, I imagine that maybe he’s just come back from deployment? Would explain why he’s so starved for a good fuck, ya know?

Probably meets you in a pub (bc duh) and after a few drinks between the two of you, you both decide to go back to his place.

He figures it’s gonna be nothing too big of a deal. Certainly nothing he hasn’t done before.

Who hasn’t taken a bird back from the pub for a good fuck?

But the moment he slides into your cunt, he knows that he’d been wrong.

Whatever he’d been doing before was not fucking. Was not having sex. Because sex with you—with your slutty cunt and those heavenly sounds you make—is bewitching.

As if your cunt is putting him deeper and deeper under a spell with every twitch and clench.

A spell he gladly welcomes.

Your body is so soft and beautiful. And you…you’re so pliant and willing—batting those pretty lashes at him with that dazed, fucked out look in your eyes.

And that’s when the spell cements.

When a flip switches inside of him.

When something…changes.

He grips your ankles and hoists your legs over his shoulders to drive his cock even deeper inside of your quivering heat.

Your back bows off the bed and your hands grapple the sheets, moans tumbling from your kiss swollen lips as your eyes nearly roll all the way back.

“Yer mine. All mine.”And there’s a stutter in his breath as he moans, his hips momentarily stuttering in their otherwise relentless movements. “Say it fer me, love.”

But with the way he’s got you practically folded in half—knees all but bent to your chest with your legs draped over his back—replying to him is the furthest thing from your mind right now.

He angles his hips, driving long and deliciously thick cock directly into your sweet spot over and over again—seemingly determined to drive you insane with pleasure.

Seemingly determined to fuck you positively dumb.

“Say. It.”He grits out, his voice taking on an almost animalistic, growling tone.

There is something so primal about his command. Something about it brings out such a fundamental instinct in you that you cannot help but to comply—to submit.

“Y-Yours…”You manage to utter amongst your incoherent babbling and moaning.

One word.

You only speak one word.

But one word is all he needed to hear.

He fucks you well into the morning. The sun rises, its light shining through the cracks in the curtains by the time he turns you loose and allows you to rest.

And rest you do.

When you wake up, it’s practically evening!

You’re quite embarrassed. But like the gentleman he is, he assures you that he does not mind. In fact, he even offers to pay for your transportation home.

You decline, too embarrassed about your faux pas.

And for you? You assume that, while this was an amazing experience, it was a one time thing. You don’t expect to see him again.

But you do.

You run into him again and again and again.

At the market. At the park. At the coffee shop.

It’s fate! It’s the universe! It’s gotta be something, right?

It’s…him.

You really thought he was going to let you go after that world altering fuck? The way you blew his mind? The way your cunt hypnotized him?

Silly, beautiful, stupid woman.

Just the thought of someone else having you like that…no, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

How could he let you get away?

No, he had to hack your phone.

Not like it was hard…sure he’s more of a “field” agent. More used to having a gun in his hand and his boots on the ground, but he’s no stranger to some lines of spyware code.

Besides, you made it quite easy for him by sleeping in as long as you did…not that he minded of course!

You look so peaceful while you sleep. So beautiful, actually.

And really, he was so very glad he’d hacked your phone. How else was he supposed to know where you lived when you rejected his offer to pay for your transportation home?

But now that he’s in your phone, he’s practically in your life already.

Every contact you have saved, he knows.

Every place you go, he knows and can go there too. (How do you think your two have been running into each other so often?)

Every post you like. Every pin you save. Every song you playlist. He knows it all.

Not that you know it…not that you ever will.

He’ll let you believe it’s fate. Or the universe. Or whatever. Doesn’t matter to him, really.

Besides, you’re already his.

You even said so yourself…remember?

(Oh you don’t? Then why doesn’t he just remind you?)

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cressidagrey · 3 days ago

Text

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 23

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes:

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

We are wrapping up loose plot threads so: Hungary 2024, WHICH I FIXED (kinda). My questionable understanding of racing strategy? Crocheting.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando had seen Lizzie nervous before—before a book signing, even before their first public appearance together—but this was an entirely new level. She was sitting in the passenger seat, gripping the hem of her sweater so tightly that he was surprised the fabric hadn’t ripped yet.

“Lizzie,” he said gently.

She exhaled sharply. “Lando, I don’t think you understand. Your sisters have read my books.”

“Yeah, they love them.”

“That’s the problem!” She turned to him, eyes wide with panic. “What if your mum has read them? What if she’s read the spicy parts? Lando, I wrote those scenes!”

He tried—he really did—to keep a straight face, but a laugh escaped before he could stop it. “Liz, I hate to break it to you, but my mum is a grown woman who had four kids. She’s not going to combust if she reads a bit of smut.”

Lizzie looked at him like he’d just blasphemed. “That’s your mum! God, Lando, you’re missing the point.”

“Oh, I have a point,” he said, still trying not to laugh. “And that point is, you’re making this way too big a deal.”

She scowled at him, whacking him with the back of her hand. “You’re being extremely unhelpful right now.”

He caught her hand, grinning. “Hey, I’m just providing perspective. But if you want to keep being nervous on your own, be my guest.”

Lizzie huffed but didn’t pull away from his grip. “Why do I feel like you’re enjoying my freaking out?”

He squeezed her hand, still amused. “Because it’s entertaining to watch.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the effect was diminished by the way she was worrying her bottom lip. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Lando bit back a smirk, bringing her hand to his mouth and pressing a small kiss to her knuckles. “Maybe I am.”

“Your dad is a millionaire, Lando,” she muttered as they pulled into the driveway. “What if he thinks I’m using you for your money?”

Lando couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “What?”

Lizzie huffed, glaring at him. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s a valid concern!”

He tried—and failed—to regain his composure. “You’re worried my dad is going to think you’re a gold digger?”

Lizzie nodded, looking at him with wide, earnest eyes. Lando bit back another laugh, shaking his head. “Liz, love, you really worry too much.”

“I’m serious, Lando!” she protested. “People talk, okay? And with your family’s background, I can’t blame them. How am I supposed to convince them that I’m not just some fangirl with a talent for writing dirty scenes?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, I am,“ she whispered.

“Come on,” he coaxed, reaching over to squeeze her knee. “They already love you.”

“They don’t know me.”

“They know of you. And they’re excited to meet you properly. Trust me, they’re more likely to make me uncomfortable than you.”

Lizzie lifted her head, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

Lando smirked. “Because they’re probably going to tell you all the embarrassing things I did as a kid.”

That seemed to help—at least a little. She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “If they bring out baby photos, I’m taking pictures.”

“Traitor.”

“Survival.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before unbuckling his seatbelt.

Lizzie did the same, taking a deep breath. When Lando walked over to her side of the car and held out his hand, she took it, gripping it tightly.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, but she climbed out of the car anyway.

Mara jumped out of the backseat with a wagging tail, immediately tucking herself against Lizzie's side.

Lizzie laughed, giving the dog a quick scratch on the head. Lando watched her intently, noticing how tense she still was.

He moved forward, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Breathe,” he told her softly.

She let out a shaky exhale, leaning into his touch. "I'm trying," she muttered, sounding a little less nervous.

They began the short walk toward the door, Mara trotting happily ahead of them. Lando could feel Lizzie trembling a little under his touch.

“Remember," he murmured against her ear, "they’re going to be just as nervous as you, if not more."

Lizzie shot him a disbelieving look but didn’t have time to say anything as the door swung open.

The front door opened before they even reached it. His mum stood there, beaming, and before Lizzie could get a word out, Cisca pulled her into a warm hug.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s so good to finally meet you.”

Lizzie tensed for a split second, then melted. “You too, Mrs. Norris. Thank you for having me.”

“Cisca,” his mum corrected, stepping back. “And please, we’ve been waiting for ages to meet you. Lando keeps you all to himself.”

Lizzie shot Lando a look, and he just grinned. “Told you.”

His mother stepped back, still smiling. “Well, now that I’ve got you in person, it makes sense why Lando's been so distracted." She cast a sly glance in Lando's direction. He just rolled his eyes.

"Mum," he said, a warning tone to his voice.

His mother just laughed, patting his cheek affectionately. “Oh, don’t you mum me.” She turned back to Lizzie, linking their arms together. “Now, come on. We’ve got lunch ready.”

Lando let them walk ahead, watching how easily his mum settled Lizzie. Even when he was a kid, his mum had always had a way of making people feel comfortable. Now, it seemed Lizzie was on the receiving end of that skill.

They headed inside, the rest of the family waiting in the living room. They all stood when they entered, and though Lando wasn’t surprised to see the eager curiosity on their faces, he still shot them a warning look. His brother in particular looked like he was preparing to say or do anything to embarrass him.

“Finally!” Oliver stood , arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. “The Elizabeth Treshton, in the flesh. Lando has been hoarding you." His brother wasted no time. “Alright,, I have questions,” he announced brightly. “First of all, how did this idiot pull you? Second, how long did it take before you realized he’s an absolute menace? Third—”

Adam Norris appeared in the doorway, shaking his head fondly. “Leave her alone, Oliver.”

Oliver just grinned. “No can do, Dad. She willingly signed up for Lando. I need answers.”

Adam shot Lando a look. “You should’ve known bringing her here would be opening her up to interrogation.”

Lizzie was trying hard not to laugh, but her eyes were sparkling. Lando couldn’t tell if that was from nerves or amusement.

"I have questions!" And there was his youngest sister. He should have known that neither Flo or Cisca were going to be normal.

"Of course you do," Lando muttered.

Flo ignored him and beamed at Lizzie. “I have questions too!"

His mother rolled her eyes at her children, stepping forward. “How about we hold off on the interrogation until after lunch?” She placed a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder, offering the slightest bit of reprieve. “I think poor Lizzie here needs a moment to readjust before we barrage her with questions.”

"But I have book questions!" Flo said quickly.

"And you can ask those during lunch," His mother assured her, steering Lizzie away. "Give the girl a chance to breathe."

"Fine, fine," Oliver said, flopping back onto the couch like a disgruntled teenager.

Adam chuckled. “Maybe try not to scare the poor woman off in the first five minutes?”

"Oh, no worries there," Oliver drawled. "She put up with Lando, right? Everything else will be a breeze."

Lando just rolled his eyes.

Adam laughed, clapping Lando on the back. “Don’t act like that comment wasn’t 100% accurate.”

Lizzie slipped right in the midst of his family, like she always had belonged there. Keeping up with his sisters' rapid-fire Q and A, his very fascinated toddler niece who kept staring at Mara, who sat next to Lizzie, as well-behaved as always...

It was almost surreal to watch the scene unfold. Lizzie was already comfortable with his family, chatting and laughing, easily deflecting questions and answering others. Even his sisters had given up their attempts at embarrassing him, too interested in Lizzie to bother with him now.

He watched all this, trying to keep the smile off his face. It wasn’t until his dad walked over and stood next to him did Lando realize he hadn’t said anything in a while.

Adam clapped Lando on the back, his tone warm. “You picked a good one, son.”

Lando’s chest filled with quiet pride as he watched Lizzie laugh at something Flo had said.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I really did.”

He should have known that something was going to go wrong.

It started with Mara.

She’d been lying calmly at Lizzie’s feet one second, then suddenly sprang up, ears perked, tail stiff. She nudged Lizzie’s leg with her nose, then her arm. Insistent. Focused.

Lizzie stilled.

Lando was already frowning. “Liz?”

She exhaled slowly, looking down at Mara before turning toward him. “I’m going to have a seizure.”

Just like that. Simple. Direct. As if she were telling him it might rain later.

Lando shot to his feet. “What—what do I—”

A tense silence fell across the room as the others picked up on the situation. Lizzie reached out, fingers skimming Mara’s head as she struggled to keep her breaths even. She was already pale, a thin sheen of sweat gleaming on her forehead.

His mum was the first to recover, her expression calm but her voice sharp. "How do you want to handle this, sweetheart?"

"I need to go lay down," Lizzie said, her voice careful. "I should have a few minutes until it hits."

Everyone else was still reeling, frozen in shock, but Lando’s mind snapped into focus. “Right. Yeah. Come on.”

He crossed the room, gently tugging Lizzie to her feet. She leaned on him, her weight a little heavier than usual.

“Lando,” Adam said, “we can—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, cutting his dad off. He shifted Lizzie’s weight, supporting her as best he could. “Just...give us some space, okay?”

His dad nodded, clearly wanting to say more, but holding back for Lizzie's sake. Lando appreciated the effort.

He half-carried Lizzie out the door, Mara sticking close to them. The dog knew as well as Lando did – something was wrong.

The walk to his old room felt like it took an eternity.

As soon as they reached it, Lizzie was already moving, sinking down to the floor like she’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe she had.

"What do you need?" he asked her, sawllowing.

“Nothing,” she said. “You don’t have to do anything.” She stretched out, lying flat on her side, arms loose, legs bent just slightly. Mara settled near her head, pressed close but not touching.

Lando hated how practiced it was.

His pulse hammered in his throat. He dropped down beside her, panic clawing at his ribs. “Lizzie—”

“If you can’t watch it, I get it,” she murmured, voice calm, even as something flickered in her expression. “But don’t touch me.”

Lando’s hands clenched into fists.

“I— I can watch,” he said, even though his entire body screamed otherwise. “I’m not leaving you.”

Lizzie managed a weak smile, but her eyes were already going glassy. "Okay," she whispered. "But don't blame yourself." And then her breath hitched, and her body began to tremble.

And then she was gone.

Her body tensed, jerking suddenly, violently. Her hands curled, fingers twitching erratically. Lando could hear her breathing shift—harsh, uneven. It was awful.

He dug his nails into his palms, forcing himself to stay still, to stay calm.

It felt like forever.

In reality, it was barely a minute.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended.

Lizzie sagged against the floor, still, quiet except for her uneven breaths. Mara whined softly, nuzzling against her arm.

Lando moved carefully, shifting onto his knees.

“Liz?” he asked, voice tight. “Can you hear me?”

A long pause. Then, a weak murmur: “Mm. Hate that part.”

Relief hit him so hard he nearly choked on it. He exhaled sharply, pressing a shaking hand over his face. “Yeah,” he said, voice thick. “Me too.”

Lizzie cracked one eye open, exhausted but there. “You okay?”

Lando let out a strangled laugh. “Am I okay?”

Lizzie blinked at him like it was a genuine question.

“Jesus Christ, Lizzie.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “That was awful.”

She hummed, voice drowsy. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t—don’t apologize—”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.

Lando swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Okay. But I still hate it.”

Lizzie sighed, shifting slightly, her limbs sluggish. “Me too.”

He watched as Mara pressed in closer, her body warm against Lizzie’s side. Lando reached out slowly, brushing damp hair away from Lizzie’s forehead.

She leaned into the touch, just barely.

Lando swallowed hard. “You’re okay,” he murmured.

Lizzie didn’t answer—already half-asleep in the aftermath.

But she was breathing.

She was safe.

And he would make sure she always stayed that way.

He wasn't sure how much time went by, but eventually, soft footsteps sounded at the doorway. He glanced up to see his mum standing there, her face pale, expression carefully neutral. She took in the situation for a moment, her eyes lingering on Lizzie before looking to Lando. There was a silent question on her face, and Lando nodded to her. She exhaled softly, nodding to herself, before speaking quietly.

"Is she alright?"

Lando's voice felt like gravel in his throat. "She's fine. She'll probably sleep for awhile."

His mum stepped more into the room, taking in the sight of Lizzie on the floor. A deep frown pinched her brow, like she was trying to hold back her emotions.

Lando looked back at Lizzie, reaching out and brushing his fingers gently over her damp hair. Just the sight of her sleeping peacefully was enough to soothe some of the wild panic from earlier, but his heart still ached.

"Does...has this happened before?" His mum's voice was quiet and careful, as if she were worried about upsetting him.

"I've never seen it," he admitted weakly. "I knew she had epilepsy. I have seen her after a seizure...but I never saw her seize," Lando admitted, swallowing. "How can a mother see this and then decide to leave?"

"Lando..." his mum's voice was gentle, almost like she was bracing him for something.

Lando's heart felt heavy. "I just don't understand how someone could—" he cut himself off when his voice broke, trying again. "I don't understand how someone could just leave their child like that."

His mum crossed the room, sitting beside him and pressing a hand to his shoulder. "I don't think most people will ever be able to understand that, hon. I can't," she admitted freely. "If I imagine that it's Flo or Cisca in her place...nobody would have gotten me away from my daughter," his mother said fiercely.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat, his voice tight. "That's because you wouldn't leave her," he said, voice low. "You'd never go without her. You'd fight to stay every step of the way. And you sure as hell wouldn't give up on her."

There was a beat as he stared at the floor, and he barely registered his mum wrapping an arm around his shoulders. She pulled him into a tight hug, and he couldn't help but bury his face against her shoulder, eyes stinging.

His breath hitched. "I just... I can't imagine just walking away from her."

"Then don't," his mother said simply. "Don't be like her mother. Don't walk away. Talk with her and the next time it will happen, it will still feel horrid. You'll never get used to it. But you'll learn to live with it."

The words hit Lando like a weight to the chest. For a moment, he just sat there, absorbing them. His first instinct was to disagree. He would never, ever be like Lizzie’s mother. He could never abandon her like that.

But then...

His mum was right. He'd never get used to the idea of him just standing by and watching while she suffered. No matter how many times he would see her seize, it would still be torture for him.

But this wasn’t about him.

This was about Lizzie. Lizzie, who needed to live with an invisible illness that could be controlled to the best of modern medicine's knowledge, but never cured completely.

And Lando would rather live through the torture of seeing her have a seizure a hundred times than to let her go. To leave. To let her deal with it alone.

***

Lizzie woke up feeling like she’d been wrung out, every muscle sore and heavy, her head pounding with the dull, familiar ache of exhaustion. She blinked at the ceiling, willing herself to move, but even that felt like too much effort.

Then she remembered.

Lando.

The seizure.

How he’d seen it—how he’d stayed.

Her stomach twisted.

Carefully, she turned her head.

Lando was lying on his side, facing her. He was awake. Had he even slept? His hair was an absolute mess, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were sharp, studying her closely.

Lizzie had always known this moment would come.

She’d warned Lando about it early on—matter-of-factly, no dramatics. She had epilepsy. She had seizures.

But knowing about something and seeing it were two very different things.

And she’d lost people to the latter before.

Her mother couldn’t handle it. The fear, the helplessness, the exhaustion of watching and not being able to do anything. It was too much. So she left.

Lizzie didn’t blame her.

But she also knew what it felt like to be too much for someone to love.

Lando held her gaze, the silence stretching painfully between them.

She swallowed hard, bracing for it - the looks of concern, the pity, the thinly veiled excuses.

Then Lando spoke, his voice rough and quiet.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I lost a fight with a freight train.”

Lando’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I figured.”

The silence between them was heavy.

Lizzie forced herself to push up onto her elbows, ignoring the way her body protested. “Lando—”

He cut her off with a shake of his head, his eyes never leaving her. “Stop talking.”

She went silent, staring at him. His gaze was like a steady weight, pinning her in place.

He inhaled slowly, as if steeling himself.

“I’m not going anywhere, Liz.”

Her breath caught. She'd been bracing herself for rejection, for distance. For fear and confusion and pity.

But Lando was just...looking at her. Just like that. Not like she was broken. Not like she was different now. He was just looking at her.

“You’re not?” Her voice was a whisper, vulnerable and terrified in spite of herself.

He shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Something stirred in her chest. Hope, maybe.

Or maybe it was something else.

She swallowed, trying to get control of her emotions. “Most people don’t stick around after they see it.”

Something flickered across his face—something sharp, something angry. “Well, they’re idiots.”

Lizzie huffed a small, tired laugh. “Maybe.”

Lando shifted closer, hesitating before reaching out. His fingers brushed lightly over her wrist, careful, almost hesitant.

“Did it scare you?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers curled around her hand, grounding both of them. “I hated seeing you like that,” he admitted, voice low. “Knowing and seeing aren’t the same thing.”

She sighed, exhaustion pressing against her bones. “No. They’re not.”

Lando shifted again, his thumb sweeping over the back of her hand. “Your mum couldn’t handle it.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lizzie swallowed. “No.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then—“I’m not her.”

Lizzie’s chest ached, and not from the seizure.

“I know.”

Lando’s fingers squeezed hers. “Do you?”

She let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good.” His voice softened, but the weight of his words remained. “Because I need you to believe that I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes stung with held-back tears. She clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Lando’s expression remained steady, but she could see the determination in his eyes. "I do know that,” he said softly. “I know me, Liz. How I feel. What I can handle. And I can tell you with complete certainty that I’m not leaving. You can’t get rid of me now even if you tried.”

She tried to keep her voice steady, but her breath hitched on a stifled sob. “What if it changes though? What if one day you can’t—”

“Liz.” He cut her off, his tone firm but not unkind. “Stop it. Stop worrying about what-ifs. This is my choice. I’m staying. End of story.”

“But—”

He cut her off again, his grip on her hand tightening, as if he could force her to believe him through touch alone. “No buts. This is a non-negotiable for me.” He took another deep breath, his voice growing even quieter. “I’m not your mother, Liz. You are not too much. And I’m not scared. Got it?”

Something crumbled inside her, some long-held piece of fear disintegrating in the face of his steady, certain gaze.

Her throat felt tight, and she could feel the tears threatening to spill over.

“Got it?” He repeated, his thumb rubbing softly over her knuckles.

There was something pleading in his voice—a silent plea for her to understand, to believe him.

And she realized in that moment, as he held her hand and looked at her with so much certainty...she did.

She believed him.

222 notes · View notes

rcvcgers · 1 day ago

Text

Rotten Apples, part 9

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

part one , part two , part three , part four , part five , part six , part seven , part eight

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: a half-day in the life of a normal couple! you attend jane's wedding. the reception gets messy

word count: 15.1k words

warnings: slightly proofread! i wrote this in one sitting ... don't judge too hard

author's note: okay y'all i know this is a heavy chapter but like ... we love to see it, right?

content warning: mentions of death, angst at the end, suggestive content, kissing, vulgar language, let me know if i missed anything

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @young-adult-summer

want to be added to the taglist? click here!

“Did you fuck the Colonel?”

“Excuse me?” you blink at your computer screen, swiveling in your chair to look at your co-worker, Alivia. You point at the large, digital clock in the room. “It’s nine in the morning.”

“Okay? And?” Alivia pushes away from her desk, her chair scraping across the floor. Your brows furrow.

You look around, unsure of what the fuck is happening. It is your first day back from the Summit, having spent the travel day off thanks to the General, and you could barely focus on the task at hand since your body is still so deliciously sore from Caleb. You even wore a turtleneck to work today since your neck is just covered in love bites and hickeys from Caleb. When he said he wasn’t going to leave a spot untouched, he meant it! Even the skin of your thighs and breasts are covered in the dark purple and red marks, none of them having lightened up just yet.

“You fucked him, didn’t you? Diana will not shut up about it in the break room—”

“Why the fuck is she talking about it?” you lean forward and grab Alivia’s wrist, irritation flashing across your face. “She doesn’t know shit!” you whisper yell. Alivia smirks at you, laying her free hand on top of yours, her fingernails mischievously scratching your skin.

“So it’s true!” she lowers her voice. You roll your eyes and begin to pull away when she drags you back to her. “You did fuck him!”

“So what if I did?” you nervously laugh, trying to cover your ass as best as you can. “It’s not like he’s going to walk in here and point to me and declare his love for me—” you turn in your chair, making a big movement with your arm, and face the door where Caleb stands, his Colonel hat tucked under his arm, “—motherfucker! You scared me!”

“Language,” his voice is half-amused, his stoic face almost breaking. Almost.

Alivia looks between you two, a smirk forming on her face. You glance at her smug reaction and roll your eyes, listening to the awkward scrapes of her chair legs as she moves back to her desk. Remaining in your seat, you watch as Caleb crosses the office space. Every step makes your heart either skip a beat or speed up, no in between. If he gets any closer, you may just have a heart attack and die in his arms.

There are worse fates out there, though, so it doesn’t seem too bad.

His Evol helps guide an empty chair to your side, sitting down in it. He places his cap on your desk, right next to the picture of you and your parents at your college graduation. He tilts his head to the side, corner of his lips quirking up for a split second before falling.

“And what can I do to help you out today, Colonel Caleb?” your voice is sweet yet there is a underlying desire for him veiled behind every word. His purple eyes fix on yours, the air becoming thin between the two of you.

“I was wondering if a certain translator could help me out with a small project,” he leans back in the chair, manspreading. It takes everything in you to not look down at his lap. You force a smile onto your lips, eyes memorizing every detail of Caleb’s face all over again, you know, just in case anything changed from this morning.

“What language is it?” you ask, feeling your chair slowly move closer to his.

“Does it matter?” he counters with a perked up eyebrow.

Ah, so that’s why he’s here. He just wants to see you. How sweet! Maybe a visit to his office won’t be too bad, no?

Alivia’s, who watches from the side, jaw drops. Her eyes won’t leave you two, watching how you don’t push back against the Colonel pulling you closer. To her, this is like a teenage drama where the. Two main characters are finally getting together. It’s thrilling! It’s so painfully obvious, too, that you two are flirting. She should file a complaint to HR, right? No! That would mean that her and the other translators will lose their only source of entertainment. She can’t risk it!

The woman turns to her computer and opens up the Fleet’s messaging board. She furiously types as you and Caleb gaze into each others eyes, his hands now boldly resting on your thighs. She presses the ‘send’ button and your computer dings.

Do you dare to break away from the Colonel’s gaze? You have always been so defiant, haven’t you?

You angle your face away, feeling Caleb’s gaze burn into the side of your face. Alivia’s notification hangs in the corner of your screen. Her words make you smile, a small laugh escaping your lips. Caleb squeezes your thighs, drawing your attention back to him. His brows knit together, slight annoyance written all over his face.

“What’s so funny?” he asks. You don’t immediately reply. Instead you slightly push your chair back and cross one leg over the other. His hands leave your thighs. Caleb matches your posture, crossing his arms over his decorated chest. “Your Colonel asked you something.”

Oh my goodness…you will definitely be asking him to say that to you later when you’re alone.

“Us translators are thinking of going on a strike, Colonel Caleb,” your tone is light, playful yet serious, “our working conditions are horrendous. Just absolutely atrocious.”

“Oh?”

“Yes sir,” you smirk, watching as Caleb’s eyes slightly widen. Oh, how you love teasing him at work…something that just started thirty seconds ago but still! You are enjoying it so much so far! Who knew that you can hold so much power with a few simple words?

“Is there anything that I can do to make your working conditions…better?”

Is there a hidden tone of lust in his voice? Oh, Caleb, you dirty dog!

“We would like more paid vacation days, more time off, better chairs because these ones just fucking suck — you know what? Scratch that, we want better offices. Ones with windows, please,” you lean forward, suddenly dropping your playful flirting and becoming quite serious. Caleb picks up on this and straightens his posture, listening intently. “Are you writing this down? I feel like you should be writing this down—”

“I’ll remember it,” Caleb sneaks in a wink, liking how you have slowly inched closer to him. The tips of his gloved hands rest against your bare knees, skirt slowly riding up from your posture.

“Don’t forget the coffee machine!” Alivia calls out from behind you. You turn around and nod, giving her a thumbs up, before turning back to Caleb.

“And we want a badass coffee machine. Non-negotiable. Preferably one that does espresso. We’re all kind of addicted down here,” you lean in and whisper the last part, nudging Caleb’s arm. A quiet chuckle emits from his throat but never leaves his mouth, his eyes looking down at you.

Caleb always knew you were charming. Even as kids, you were able to talk your parents out of a long grounding with simple reasoning and light manipulation. You knew exactly when to pull out your puppy dog eyes and when to make your voice just raspy enough to make it seem like you were about to cry. He would watch your artistry at work go down from outside your house and through the large window that showcases the living room inside your house. The curtains were drawn open as you put on your show, the young boy in awe of how well you handled the situation. Hell! They even gave you money to go have fun at the arcade with him and her when you were done! Needless to say, you’re a genius mastermind!

“Is that all?” he asks, hiding the smile that threatens to break across his face.

“I…I think so,” you slowly nod, racking your brain’s rolodex of notes to figure out if there is indeed anything that you are missing. Nope! You’re good. You give Caleb one final nod, one that he copies, and adjust yourself in your seat, fixing your pencil skirt so your legs have some breathing room.

“I’ll talk with my supervisors,” Caleb feeds into the dramatics of your threat to go on strike. He pushes back into the chair, puffing his chest out a bit just for you sake (and it works), before standing up. “I do need to borrow you for a project, though.”

You open your mouth to protest but are quickly shut up by Caleb grabbing your belongings, plucking them from the desk as if they are his. All you can do is blink and watch as he slips them into your bag. The Colonel places his hat on his head and finally turns to you, flicking his head towards the door.

“Come on,” he places your bag in your lap, because a Colonel simply cannot hold a lower ranking person’s belongings, and heads for the door.

“Nice touch, Colonel, very nice,” you roll your eyes at him. You purse your lips and wrap your fingers around the straps of your bag. You glare at the back of his head, his broad shoulders slipping out of view.

After a couple of moments, because of course you’re going to make him wait a minute or two, you stand from your chair. Alivia is quick when she approaches your side, looking up at you with big eyes. She slaps your arms and back, pushing you towards the doors. You want to protest before you’re pushed out into the hallway.

“Go get us that coffee machine!” Alivia smiles. She slams the door in your face. You blink at the metal material and feel something tap the back of your hand. You turn and look up at Caleb, who looks down at you with big and glowing purple eyes, the orange and bronze color more vibrant than usual today.

Or maybe it’s because whenever you look at him, the world becomes more vibrant and full of life. The song that birds sing become more romantic in tone than playful. You suddenly don’t mind the fact that he has control over your work life and home life.

After all, you aren’t the same woman you were two months ago.

Caleb leans down, his breath hot on the side of your face. Your heart flutters. The heat from his body mixes in with yours. You ignore the world that has you surrounded, the other Fleet officers and employees can keep their comments to themselves and shove it! You’re with Caleb…that’s all that matters.

“We’re taking another day off for…work reasons…I hope that’s okay with you,” his voice is low in your ear. It itches your brain in just the right way, the rasp and gravel from his volume drawing you closer to him. You look up when he pulls away from you and bat your eyelashes at him. Caleb’s eyes slightly darken for a brief moment before they revert to their usual bright and light appearance. You nod. “Good. Let’s go.”

The Colonel slips past you, his Evol gently pushing you with him to keep up because the man can be very impatient at times and this just happens to be one of those moments. Your feet scuff the dark floor, stumbling over each other as you’re taken to the same elevator you were brought in when you met Caleb for the second time. You step inside, Caleb standing to the side of you with his hands behind his back. You tilt your head to look up at him, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

He’s so tall. And so, so broad. His hair is a bit shaggy towards the back, the length definitely growing past its usual short length. His hands are obscenely large in his black leather gloves. You watch as he reaches out and pokes a button, one that will lead you to the officers’ special parking garage. As he moves back in place, you catch a glimpse of his neck. Just barely over the collar of his dress shirt is a glimpse of a hickey, one that you gave him the night before when he pretended to be asleep, taking up the entirety of your bed like it was his own.

“Do I have something on my face?” Caleb asks, just barely glancing over at you as the elevator slowly moves downward. You shake your head no, looking forward and at the silver elevator doors.

“No, not on your face,” you play it off as cool as you can, unable to contain the playful smirk that passes on your face. “There is a little something on your neck, though.”

Caleb’s chuckle is a puff if air. The elevator doors slide open. He turns to you, tilting his head to the side. There is a playfulness behind his eyes. It’s matched with a hint of desire, maybe even a challenge if you’re up for it. Without another word, you step out of the elevator and into the unknown, yet very well lit, parking garage.

It’s your second time inside since Caleb drove you to work this morning. The walls are white with blue and black lines running across the perimeter. The ground is smooth yet touch enough for the car tires to have some friction to hold onto. There is no trash, as one would expect to see in any other parking garage in the world, and there are no tire marks on the ground. You look around, narrowing your eyes as you think back to this morning, trying to remember what direction Caleb parked in.

Caleb watches you, making sure to tilt his face away from the parking garage’s security cameras so he can fully smile at you without the pressure of the Fleet breathing down his neck. He matches the pace of your steps, remaining close behind and ready to guide you if you move in the wrong direction. His amethyst eyes follow as you slow down. Your head swivels back and forth, looking at both sides of the garage. He continues at his pace, though, and walks closer to you, a faint whiff of your spiced perfume hitting his nose.

You hesitate in your step, feeling his chest collide with your back. A gasp flies from your lips. Caleb presses his hands on top of your shoulders, his warmth seeping into your skin through the layer of leather and the fabric of your turtle neck sweater. Goosebumps form under his touch, chills running down your spine. He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, slowly angling your body to the right side of the garage.

“This way, pretty bird,” he whispers into your ear. He lingers, not wanting to pull away, to forever remain attached to you. Your body perfectly fits his. Whenever he touches you, sparks ignite between your bodies.

To him, you are like the sun. Bright and beautiful with a strong gravitational pull that he’ll never be able to escape. Maybe you’re like a black hole and he has passed the point of no return, ready to be pulled apart at the atomic level, to be spaghettified. Caleb will go through the grueling process if it means that he’ll forever remain at your side (and inside you) for the rest of your lives.

You flake away from his touch, having to put some distance between you two before the camera capture a video that is not safe for work. Your heart pounds inside your chest, the tips of your ears a bright pink color. Your feet carry you away from him and in the direction he turned you in, your eyes soon capturing sight of his car. Making a beeline for it, you reach the passenger side door, hand resting on the handle, desperately needing to get inside.

Your gaze darts to him. He saunters towards the car, keys floating above the palm of his hand. Your face falls. He’s teasing you. How dare he! Removing your hand from the door’s handle, you cross your arms over your chest and pop a hip out. A quiet chuckle escapes his lips. He rounds the car and slips into your proximity once again, his cologne filling your nostrils.

Your lips part, back pressed against the door of the car. Caleb reaches beside you, his fingers looping into the car door’s handle. He leans down, the brim of his cat now shadowing your faces from the cameras. You gulp. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. The corner of his lips tugs up into a sly smirk. He pulls against the door, propping it ajar as your body is moved into his.

Fuck, he’s intoxicating.

“Your place or mine?” Caleb asks you in a low voice. His left hand twitches, fighting the urge to reach out and cup your face, to bring your lips to his in a kiss that he will fully surrender himself into.

“Yours,” you breathe the words out, your eyes fixated on his lips. He nods and guides you away from the door, fully opening and helping you inside, placing your bag into the backseat of the car. You immediately move to fix your skirt, finding a spot that’s comfortable in his expensive car.

A gentle blue light remains around the edges of the war, woven into the material, looking seamless in its design. You smile at it, always liking how it looks, and listen as the driver’s side door opens, the car dipping when he gets inside. You glance at him with a warm smile, knees locked together and angled towards him just the way he likes it (as he informed you this morning, of course). You reach behind you, Caleb getting settled in at your side and ignites the engine to life, and grab a tube of chapstick from your bag, slowly applying it to your lips.

Caleb finally returns your smile, placing his Colonel’s hat in your lap. He reaches over, his hand gripping the seatbelt. The side of his face hovers next to yours as he weaves it across your body, locking the metal piece in place. Before he can pull away, you close the minuscule distance and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Caleb freezes. His smile grows wider and his face goes warm. You cup the side of his face, the one that isn’t facing you, and bring his head back to yours. His face grows more and more pink with every kiss that you give him. He melts into you, fully giving in as the scent of your chapstick fills the car. He tilts his face to the side, quietly chuckling.

“You missed a spot,” he murmurs, eyes flickering to you.

“Oh? Did I?” you scrunch your face at him, giggling. “Allow me to remedy that!” You press a few more kisses to the side of his face, purposefully missing his lips no matter how hard he tries to get you to press your lips to his. Once you’re done and satisfied with your work, your hand drops from his face, resting in your lap.

“Is that it?” Caleb whines, slowly retreating back into his seat. You nod and turn your face to his so you can rub it in his face that he didn’t get what he wanted.

Well…maybe you wanted him to take it.

You match Caleb’s head tilt. His purple eyes gloss over, bottom lip pouted out, slightly trembling. You narrow your eyes at him. He leans in but you draw back, wanting to play this game just a little bit longer.

“This isn’t fair,” he dramatically sighs, “you’re a bully.”

“You know what isn’t fair? Is you pulling out a puppy dog face, Caleb,” you shoot back, “you’re a grown ass man and yet I feel like I just kicked you.”

“You did kick me,” Caleb draws back and into his seat. He slaps his hands over his heart, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Now how the fuck did he manage to do that. “You kicked me in my emotions! I’m ruined! How will I ever survive, pretty bird?”

You roll your eyes despite the strings inside your heart aching and being pulled at. A sigh slowly leaves your lips followed by an eye roll. You scoff, looking between him and the dashboard in front of you. He bats his eyes when you make eye contact.

“Fine! Fuck! Whatever!” you throw your hands up into the air. Caleb’s frown is immediately replaced with a smile and he leans forward, making you meet him halfway. You press your lips against his, staying there for two seconds before beginning to pull away.

Caleb, on the other hand, has a different idea. His hand captures the back of your head and pulls you can to him. The kiss and lengthened, the man deepening it as his tongue slips inside your mouth. A sigh falls from your lips, pushing into him, but he’s the one that pulls away this time. He cups your cheek, thumb swiping off the leftover saliva that remains. He licks his lips and stares at yours. You’re already breathless.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” Caleb asks. You nod as an answer, in a lovestruck trance he’s pushed you into. He nods back and smirks, one hand on the steering wheel as the car moves out of its spot.

You melt into the passenger seat, a drunken smile on your face. A giggle threatens to leave your mouth but you swallow it. Caleb glances at you, placing his hand on your thigh, fingers pushing your skirt up by a few centimeters. You blush and look outside the tinted window, covering your face with your hands.

Your heart is just so full with love and happiness. You barely notice Skyhaven pass you by, the man weaving through the traffic like a professional, and keep your eyes away from his. He squeezes your thigh, his hand slowly creeping up and under your skirt. You push it back down, shaking your head.

Not yet.

Caleb takes the hint and keeps his eyes on the road, massaging the plushness of your thigh, loving the way your skin is so soft against his rough hands. He sighs from content, relaxing into his seat as he accelerates the car, needing to get you into his apartment as soon as possible.

This is the first time you are at his place. Caleb has been at your shabby apartment many times, having already grown accustomed to the messy environment that you live in. He helped clean up a bit, organizing it so it’ll be spotless no matter what you throw at it.

You have asked him about his apartment plenty of times. You asked about the color of his walls, the type of furniture he has, how many rooms his Colonel salary managed to get him. He joked with you, asking if you wanted to claim the leftover ones for yourself. Shamelessly, you said yes, joking that you need a room for relaxing, a room for arts and crafts, a room for your clothes, one for your shoes, and one that will serve as your personal make up room for the times you need to be alone while doing make up. Caleb laughed with you. It didn’t take much convincing for him to give you every single room, claiming that all he needs is the spot in bed next to yours to be happy.

Needless to say, your heart skipped a beat and you swooned over his sweet words.

You follow close behind him, holding your bag at your side, his Colonel hat resting on the top of your head. He holds one of your hands, arm outstretched as he takes the lead. His dress jacket is draped over his arm, the black dress shirt doing his back muscles no justice, hiding the way they flex with every move and step.

“Your hallway is much more elegant than mine,” you comment. He steals a look of you from over his shoulder. He chuckles and tugs you forward, wrapping his arm around your waist. You lean into him with a smile, pausing when you reach his door.

The door to his apartment is large. There’s only one other door, which is on the other side of the hallway all the way down on the west end while Caleb’s sits in the east. You look up at him, containing another laugh as he fumbles with his jacket to press his thumb to the pad on the door.

“Even your door is more elegant than mine.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” Caleb quips, the door finally clicking open. He pushes the heavy door open with one push. You dip under his arm and he’s quick to follow, closing the door.

Your jaw drops at the sight. After a quick scan of the immediate area. The space is large — outrageously so! The wall of the living room is a collection of floor to ceiling windows, gray curtains drawn open so the morning sun can leak inside the place. A large black couch sits in the middle of the room. A pair of chairs sit opposite of it. Slender lights hang from the ceiling at different heights. The space is dark with warm yellow lighting.

It’s so fucking nice, too!

You turn to Caleb, a look of shock and annoyance plastered across your face. He raises an eyebrow, gently taking your belongings from your arms and into his.

“What?”

“You’re…rich.”

“Well—”

“You made me pay for dinner last night!” you smack his arm with the flat side of your phone. Caleb’s eyes shoot open. He’s quick to get away from you, scurrying down a hallway just to your right. You follow him, slapping his back before jumping on his back. He holds you with ease, propping open one of the doors, which leads inside an unused bedroom, and places your belongings onto the bed. You hook an arm around his neck, tightening it. “I can’t believe you!”

Caleb laughs and exits the room, kicking the door closed behind him. You slowly tighten your arm around his neck, his chin resting on the crook of your elbow. His throat closes in on itself, the tall man quickly dipping inside the bedroom that he uses. He lets out a comedic wheeze as if you’re actually hurting him. You gasp and release your grip on him. Caleb takes your moment of weakness and plops you onto his bed.

“Hey! No fair!” you call out at him. He laughs and drops his body on top of yours.

His weight traps you between him and the mattress, not that you’re complaining anyways, and he drops his head next to yours. Your phone drops next to your head, the machine laughing at you for getting caught in Caleb’s trap so easily. His lips brush against your ear, the man making sure to move your hair to the other side of your head so he doesn’t accidentally tug on it, and he blows out a steady stream of air. You gasp and smack his back. You call him a motherfucker and pinch his side. He laughs and nuzzles his face into your neck, making himself at home.

“You’re so warm,” he whispers from delight, “and you smell good.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing. Your gaze falls to the window in his bedroom. It’s a nice view of Skyhaven, his place overlooking the tops of many buildings. His floor would directly be in the clouds on a gloomy day. You make a note to invade his space on one of those days.

Caleb glances up at you. His smile grows on his face when he notices you lost in thought. He grabs the fabric of your turtle neck sweater and tugs it down, looking at his work from the previous night. He hums to himself. His hand slips under the gentle fabric of your sweater, resting on your side. He listens to your heartbeat as it quickens before relaxing into a steady thump. In one fluid movement, Caleb shifts so he lays beside you, his hand still attached to your hip.

He pushes up the material, exposing your warm skin to the cold air of the apartment. Goosebumps form across your skin but his thumb is quick to wipe them away. You glance down at him, lips barely parted, before tearing your gaze away, choosing to focus on something else and not him. His face snaps up to yours. He shimmies back up and you laugh at how cute he is.

Caleb places his chin on your collarbone. Your fingers slip into his dark brown hair and slowly begin to scratch and massage his scalp. His eyes close and he fully places his head’s weight onto your chest. His ear sits right above your heart. He listens to the calm beats, his fingers still massaging gentle circles into the skin of your hip.

The moment is domestic. There are no underlying or hidden messages in either of your words and actions. Truth reigns here. There is no enemy other than the time that passes you by, the clock slowly counting down until you are eventually ripped away from each other, whether it is a mission or death.

“Hey, pretty bird?” Caleb whispers, his eyes now focused on your exposed skin. You hum in response, heartbeat slowly picking up its pace. “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t need to ask,” your response is quick.

Caleb nods with a small smile. He closes the distance between your faces, now at eye level with you, and gently presses his lips to yours. You hold his head in place, fingers slightly tightening around his dark locks of hair.

The kiss is slow, tender. There is no need to hurry it or hasten your actions. There is no urgency due to lack of time or if you are about to be caught. Your breaths turn into one, eyes closed as you take your time with the kiss. The two of you smile against each other’s lips, slowly deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing inside your mouth. You sigh and lean into the kiss.

Caleb’s hand pushes up your sweater, your side and stomach now exposed to the bedroom’s atmosphere. You hiss against his mouth, the cold air shocking you back to life. His large palm rubs up and down your skin, warming you up. He murmurs a quiet sorry into your mouth.

His hand leaves your side, knees digging into the mattress beside you. Caleb’s touch is electric. Your body shudders under his touch, your hands still attached to the back of his head and hardened bicep. You squeeze his arm, silently giving him permission to go farther. Your lips move in sync with each other. He tilts his head one way and you follow, pursuing him to continue the kiss. Caleb’s fingers break the barrier between your skin and skin, slipping below the surface.

Your phone above your head vibrates. You groan and ignore it, pulling Caleb’s face back to yours when he pulls away. The vibrations stop and his hand moves further down, reaching your panties. He’s about to go further when your phone vibrates again.

Caleb’s hand leaves your skirt. He pulls away from your kiss, glaring at your phone. Your head rolls back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. He snatched the phone from the mattress and looks at the name, turning the screen to face you. It’s Jane, your friend and bride-to-be. You roll your eyes and click the decline button. Caleb smiles and moves to place your phone to the side when Jane’s face lights up your screen again. This time, it’s a video call. You swipe the phone from Caleb’s hand. He immediately plops back into your embrace, burying his face into your neck.

“Jane!” you groan, irritation laced within your voice. “What do you need?”

“Oh! She’s snappy today!” Jane laughs. She sits at her kitchen counter, using a knife to peel an apple. She barely looks at the screen. Her posture is casual and slouched. A man passes from behind her and kisses her head.

“Hey,” the man greets you with a wave. You smile and nod back. Caleb turns his head to the side, glaring at the masculine voice that came from the phone, purple eyes hot with jealously and protection.

“Hi,” you greet back, looking at Jane, “spit it out. What do you need?”

“Oh my god! You’re so mean!” Jane finally looks at the screen. She leans in closer, brows knitting together. You match her expression, feeling Caleb’s nose nuzzle back into your skin. He draws your leg up to wrap around his waist, fingers grazing up and down the side of your leg. “Oh my god…who are you with?”

“Jane—”

“Is that The Colonel?!” she screeches. She hops from her chair and snatches the phone, her face now taking up the entire screen. You roll your eyes. Caleb chuckles, his breath hot against your neck, causing your to squirm. In the corner of the screen, you look at yourself, noticing Caleb’s head of hair poorly cropped out. “It is! Oh my god! Hi, Colonel!”

“Please don’t talk to him,” you roll your eyes, “you’ll only boost his ego some more.”

“Hi Jane,” Caleb finally turns his head to look at the screen, a bright and charming smile on his face. You groan and tilt the phone so he takes up the entirety of the screen. Jane waves to him, clapping her hands together. “What happened to the Machine nickname?”

“Hi! And ask your girlfriend! She was the one who told our group chat to refer to you as that!” Jane informs him, rushing to her fiancé to show him Caleb’s face. “Say hi to my fiancé!”

“Hi, Jane’s fiancé,” Caleb hums, chuckling. You fake throw up and he catches you, his Evol holding the phone in the air now. It pushes away from you, showcasing both you and Caleb.

“You should bring him to the wedding, girl! You do have a plus one!” Jane smiles.

Your eyes go wide. You can feel Caleb’s gaze fix on the side of your face, burning into your skin. Your cheeks go pink. Caleb smugly smirks before turning his attention to the phone screen.

“Wedding, huh?” his tone is oh so cocky. It drives you crazy. “I didn’t know about the wedding.”

“She didn’t tell you? What a loser! Take this as your invite then, Colonel Caleb! You are more than welcome to join us! Do you like steak? You seem like a steak guy. I’ll mark you down for steak!” Jane snaps her fingers at her fiancé, who quickly writes down the note for her. “And you’re so lucky that we had a last minute drop out! I’ll be able to place you next to your girlfriend!”

“I am lucky!” Caleb smirks, turning his attention back over to you. You glare at him, totally unamused as to how well he gets along with Jane. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow!” Jane beams.

“No it’s not,” you scoff, “it’s next weekend—”

“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful idiot. It’s tomorrow,” Jane informs you.

Your blood runs cold for the umpteenth time today. Caleb notices this and is quick to cover for you, using his charming smile to help cover for your mistake.

“You know how she is,” Caleb begins, “she’s always been so forgetful! We just came back from a work trip and she’s been exhausted. We’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Great! Bye!” Caleb ends the call before Jane can continue. The phone falls on the bed above your heads.

You cover your face with your hands. Caleb props himself up over you. He chuckles and uses one hand to gently remove yours from your face. You let him, too, and frown when your eyes meet. He matches it and brushes some of your hair out of your face.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Caleb asks, leaning down to peck your lips. You sigh and push him away, slowly sitting up. He brings you onto his lap and pulls you back down with you on top this time.

“I forgot her wedding,” you drop your head next to his. Your hair covers his face, obscuring his vision. He doesn’t fight it, though, and instead accepts his fate.

“That’s okay! It’s happens to—”

“Her wedding is tomorrow and my neck looks like a fucking crime scene happened!”

“Oh. Right,” Caleb sheepishly laughs. He sits you two back up, purple eyes meeting a hot and angry glare. He goes quiet, hands remaining on your waist. “How can we—”

“I’m a bridesmaid, Caleb!” you take your anger out on his chest. He lets you. “You have lost all privileges that access you to my neck! And other exposed areas!”

“What?” his jaw drops, “No! That’s not—”

You flee his arms in a frenzy. Dipping out of his bedroom, you rush to the room where he tossed your belongings. Frantically grabbing your bag, you feel Caleb’s hands grab your shoulders. He leans down and kisses your cheek. You pull away from him. He moves his hands to your waist, wrapping both arms around you. His body engulfs yours, pulling you into his body heat.

“Caleb…I have to go pack,” you breathe out.

“You can help me pack first! Then we can go to yours!”

“You suck. You’re buying the tickets for the Coelum Express. Both there AND back, motherfucker,” you try to wiggle away from him but fail. His laugh is loud in your ear. You stop fighting against him and sigh, placing your full weight into his hands, even making your legs go limp so he has to hold you. “Fine, fine. We can do that, but you need to get two more things to help remedy my neck situation.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“A shit ton of peanut butter and a whisk.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sun is shining in Linkon, even brighter than it would have in Skyhaven. There are no clouds in the sky, the vast blue having a few dark specks from birds that fly by. It’s windy as well, the skirt of your pastel colored dress kicking up in the wind. The material is like silk, just a thin layer between you and the outside world.

Jane told the bridesmaids to be at the venue at a certain time, opting to be a carefree bride for the day of her wedding. Every bridesmaid knows how to do their makeup and hair, helping save Jane money for her own makeup and hair. They were to arrive two hours before the wedding to take pictures.

You stand inside your childhood bedroom, leaning in close to a mirror as Caleb watches you from your bed. You finish the last bit of mascara, your eyelashes evenly coated, and place the tube back down onto the vanity. A few polaroid pictures are tucked between the wood and mirror; pictures of you and your friends in high school litter the perimeter. None feature Caleb, though.

“You look amazing,” Caleb coos from the bed. You smile and turn around, leaning against the vanity.

You stare at him, eyes running up and down his body as he stands from the bed. His outfit is nice, finally freeing himself from his Colonel uniform. Besides, you want Caleb to be here, not the Colonel. His dark navy blue suit jacket lays on the bed, his white dress shirt’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His pants match the suit jacket.

“You look very pretty as well,” you respond, slipping into his arms as soon as he opens them. He closes his eyes and rests his chin on the top of your head. He mutters a quiet thank you, to which you hum in response.

The two of you stand in silence. The sound of the outside wind and the quiet sound of your music fills the room. For once, you don’t feel anxiety clinging to your bones, rattling you. There is no voice inside of your head telling you that you suck and need to stay away from Caleb for everyone’s sake. You don’t have her voice in your head either, screaming at you about how bad of a person you are.

Caleb’s arms are your safe space. While in them, your mind goes blank. Quiet. Peaceful. It’s serene.

“We need to leave soon,” you smush your cheek into his chest, eyes closed. He holds the back of your head, making sure that he doesn’t mess up your hair that took an hour and a half to complete.

“Five more minutes,” Caleb whispers back. You nod.

When five minutes go by, neither of you let go, holding on for just a couple more seconds before slipping away. You step to the bed and grab his jacket, helping him slip it on once he gets his sleeves pushed back down. You flatten out the wrinkles on his shoulders and pick off the leftover lint and other small flecks that make his image imperfect.

He takes your hand and guides you out of the house, grabbing an extra pair of sneakers for you when your feet begin to hurt from being in heels for too long. He tosses them into the backseat after helping you into the passenger side. He settles in beside you and pulls out of the driveway, heading towards the venue.

“So, is there anybody I need to know who is going to be there?” Caleb asks. Your fingers are laced together and rest on the center console.

“Great question,” you respond while looking out the window.

The citizens of Linkon city have always been so happy, much happier compared to the people in Skyhaven. They wear bright smiles on their faces and wave at people who pass them on the sidewalk. You can’t remember the last time you smiled and waved to a random stranger was.

“Well, there’s the girls you met at the club that one night,” you breathe out, “and there��s just the guys who were in our friend group…but they’re all assholes now so you don’t really need to be nice to them.”

Caleb’s jaw tightens at the mention of your male college friends. He relaxes, though, when you tell him he doesn’t need to be nice. He certainly won’t be.

“Why don’t you introduce me to the ones that matter then, hm?” he glances at you from the corner of his eye. You nod and smile, turning to look at him.

He drives out of Linkon and to a nearby forest, one famed for its beauty and views. He follows your instructions, holding the wedding invitation in hand, and point to the sign that proclaims Jane’s wedding. He parks in a spot and immediately helps you out, helping keep the hem of your skirt off of the dirty ground. Caleb slings your purse over your shoulder and swoops you into his arms. The dust and dirt from the forest ground attach to the bottom of his pants and shoes while yours remains perfect and pristine. He sets you down once you reach the venue, setting you down on the hardened floor instead of grass.

“I never pegged Jane to be the foresty type,” Caleb comments in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“She’s definitely not. She saw this place on Moments and decided that this is where she was going to have her wedding,” you hold back a snort and take Caleb’s hand, walking through the large building and to the room where the bridesmaids are. Once you reach the door, your drop his hand and give him a kiss, taking your purse back from him. “Are you going to be okay without me?”

“I think I might die,” Caleb sighs. You roll your eyes, known that it’s a sad attempt to convince you to try and convince Jane to let him in.

“Stop being dramatic. I heard the groomsmen are outside, why don’t you go make some friends for me, hm?” you fix his tie, tightening it around his neck. He nods and leans down, pressing one last kiss to your lips before watching you disappear inside the room.

Caleb walks down the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets. He looks around and takes in his surroundings. The building is nice. It’s like an expensive lodge for rich people, people who are in the top 1%. It’s cozy yet elegant, the warm lighting a nice touch to the wooden walls. He pops his head down a hallway before walking down it.

Voices catch his attention. The man turns down another hallway, finding himself at the back of the venue where a large glass building sits. A group of men in black suits stand just outside the door. Caleb clears his throat, putting on the best smile he can, before exiting the building. He closes the door behind him and is immediately met by the groom, the same man he saw over the phone.

“Caleb! It’s finally nice to meet you, man! Come meet my friends,” the groom, Arthur, shakes his hand, guiding Caleb to the group. All of the men greet him with one of them turned away at the drink table. Caleb smiles at them all, making a mental note of all of their names. “Last but not least, Caleb, meet Zayne! We work at Asko Hospital together!”

Caleb’s smile falters for a split second. He keeps his charm up despite the bubbling anger and annoyance that flares up in his chest. Zayne raises an eyebrow at Caleb, water bottle in hand. Their silence is palpable and the group looks back and forth.

“We’ve met,” Zayne finally manages to fill in the silence. The tension, though, remains, with only Caleb and Zayne feeling it.

“Oh really? That’s great!” Arthur celebrates, not knowing just how far back Zayne and Caleb’s rivalry goes. “I wonder how things are going with the women!”

And oh how things could not have turned out worse for you.

The bride and bridesmaids exit the building in one big group. Jane’s dress is gorgeous; it’s slender fitting and shows off all of her curves in the best way possible. You follow close behind, holding two bouquets of flowers in one hand while the other holds a long veil. Tonya is close behind with the second half of the veil, the two of you laughing. Caleb relaxes once he sees you, taking his hands out of his pockets, but immediately tenses when another familiar figure leaves the building.

It’s her. She doesn’t wear the same shade or dress as you and the other bridesmaids do. Instead, she wears a short black dress. It has a halter top and simple belt that runs around the waist. Caleb’s mouth goes dry, his heartbeat quickens. His reaction isn’t that of love or adoration, despite now having a brotherly affection towards her, but comes from a place of nervousness and anticipation.

She locks eyes with him, a small smile spreading across her face. Caleb tears his gaze away and looks at Zayne, who stares daggers at him. Caleb peels away from the group, already knowing that he’s about to be cornered no matter what.

Your eyes flicker to him while you and Tonya secure Jane’s veil to her head. You contain a sigh. Once the veil is in, you take a few steps away, bouquet in hand, and begin to walk towards Caleb. You take his hand once he’s close enough and avoid looking at the two groups that have now formed together.

“I didn’t know she was coming,” you breathe out, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah? Did you know that Zayne was coming too?” Caleb’s question catches you off guard. You blink at him, trying to process his words.

“Zayne? He’s here?” you ask. Caleb’s jaw tightens, so does his grip on your hand. “I-I didn’t know that,” you add on, finally turning around to see Zayne and her staring at you and Caleb. “Jane mentioned that a groomsman had to leave but she never mentioned that it was Zayne—”

“So you knew he was coming?” Caleb interrupts you. You can sense anger radiating off from his body. You hesitate to respond and avoid his gaze. “Pretty bird. Look at me.” You do.

“I didn’t know he was going to be a groomsman, Caleb, nor did I know if he accepted the invitation to the wedding or not. He usually says no to these things,” you reason with Caleb. He nods and takes a deep breath, turning his face away. “Let’s…let’s not have them ruin our night, yeah? We can avoid them after the ceremony. Hell, we can probably leave early if we want to!”

“That’s okay,” he turns back to you. He brushes your hair out of your face, mentally making a note to find the time to fight the fucking wind, and sighs. “Jane needs your support! And we’re here to give it to her! I’ll play nice with Zayne, I promise.”

“Oh good. He’s now decided to play nice,” Zayne’s voice breaks through your conversation with you and Caleb. Goosebumps form on your skin. Caleb instinctually pulls you to his side, eyes narrowing at the hazel eyed man. You turn to her, who wears a fake smile on her face.

“You look nice tonight,” she says to you. You smile back, wrapping your arm around Caleb’s, hand resting on his bicep.

“Thank you,” you begin, “your dress looks beautiful on you!”

“Might I suggest we address the elephant in the room?” Zayne, always the voice of reason, asks. The remaining three people nod and he places his hands on his hips. “I brought her here as my date tonight, let me get that out of the way. I did not know that you,” he looks at Caleb, “were going to be here. Now, I think we all possess the ability to act like adults tonight, correct? Let’s set aside our…differences and agree to be cordial for the sake of Jane and Arthur.”

“I agree,” you chime in, looking up at Caleb, “they deserve to have a good night together. We shouldn’t ruin that with petty drama.” Caleb nods. The two of you look at her and Zayne. They nod as well. “Great!”

“Wonderful!” she mimes your cheery tone. You suck in your cheeks, holding back a snarky comment, and smile with a fake laugh. Zayne turns around and walks away, bringing her with him. You turn to Caleb and lean into his side, feeling his muscles tense and flex under your touch.

“Are you going to be okay?” you whisper. He weakly nods. “Are you sure? I can see if you can replace Zayne as the groomsman if you want me to.” Your joke flies right over Caleb’s head. He stares at you, completely serious, and nods.

“Okay. Go do that.”

“What?” a laugh leaves your lips, “I’m not going to do that! I was joking! Babe, you’re going to survive this. I’m going to survive this. We’re going to do great, yeah?”

Oh, how wrong you will be.

You are yelled at by Jane and immediately leave Caleb’s side, slipping your purse over his shoulder once again. You and the other bridesmaids take photos together. Jane is always at the center, alongside Arthur, and you have to move every minute or so in a new order because Jane doesn’t know what she wants yet. You collide with other women, sometimes with Zayne or another groomsmen, and laugh while they try to fix your hair. For one photo, Zayne stands at your side, leaning into your side. You smile at the camera hoping to whatever god is out there that Caleb doesn’t take Zayne’s actions as an act of war.

“Hey! Bring your boyfriend over! Jane wants a pic of us together!” Arthur shouts from afar. You nod and look at Caleb, who sits in a chair with his arms crossed over his arms, a glare focused on Zayne. You yell his name and his head immediately snaps in your direction, face softening. You wave him over with a wink and he jumps up, rushing over to your side. He wraps his arm around you and you guide him over to Jane and Arthur.

Caleb smirks as he passes by Zayne, wagging a finger at him without you noticing. Zayne rolls his eyes. She, on the other hand, crosses her arms over her chest at the revelation, a scowl permanently carved into her face.

You stand at Jane’s side, Caleb smiling and shaking Arthur’s hand once again as a more formal meeting since the quartet stands far away from the group. You hug Jane and the photographer snaps a few candid shots before the two couples get situated and stand exactly how Jane tells them to. The photographer grabs the pictures and Jane immediately turns to you and Caleb.

“I want a picture of my darling best friend and her Colonel! Thank you! You can’t say no because I’m the bride!” Jane hurries away, standing next to the photographer now. You laugh and Caleb smiles.

“Whatever the bride wants, the bride gets, right?” Caleb’s arm slinks around your waist, hugging you close to him. Your hand rests on his chest, your bouquet of flowers hanging at his lower back. He tilts his head head to yours, smiling brightly as your eyes are exposed to bright flashes of light. He kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “I love you so much, you’re so beautiful.”

Before you have a chance to respond, you are grabbed by other bridesmaids. Guests begin to arrive and Jane dips inside the building, dragging you with her. You gasp and reach for Caleb. He holds on for a few seconds before letting go, waving as you’re pushed inside. He watches as they draw the curtains closed, chuckling. His smile fades, though, when he notices Zayne entering the building last, a smug smirk on his face.

“Caleb,” her voice beckons from behind. He turns around and looks down at her, hands in his pockets. “Will you sit with me? I’m afraid I don’t know anybody else here!” She laughs. Caleb immediately nods since he is in the same situation as her.

“Sure!” he cheerily says. She wraps her arm in his and he guides them towards the venue’s seating. “It’ll give us some time to catch up with each other, pip-squeak!”

Once all of the guests are in their seats and Jane is ready to begun, the ceremony begins.

The groom walks down the aisle on his own. He smiles at people in the crowd, his eyes already teary from the overwhelming moment in his life. He turns on his heel and the Best Man and Maid of Honor, Tonya, walk down the aisle. You’re next and surprise surprise, you’re partnered with Zayne.

He holds out his arm to you. You take it, hand resting on his forearm. His body tenses. You look up at him and give his arm a reassuring squeeze, you step through the doors and whisper, “lean onto me if you need it!” to him as you approach the crowd.

Caleb turns his head around, sitting in an aisle seat towards the front so he can get a good look at you. He notices you first as you approach the aisle. His heart stops. It swells, butterflies fluttering inside his chest and torso when you take the first step down the white aisle.

White flower petals are scattered across the floor. You walk down with such confidence, a bold and bright smile on your face. Tears well in his eyes at the sight. Oh, he loves you much and you don’t even know it.

When you draw closer is when Caleb finally notices Zayne at your side. His body heats up in an instant, heart pounding inside his chest. Each beat can be heard in his ears. Every thump rattles his ribs. His ears turn red. He calms down once your eyes meet. He breathing slows, no longer hollow. He follows your body as you pass by him, the bottom of your skirt grazing against his ankle, leaving him already wanting more.

You part with Zayne at the altar and stand in your spot, watching as the other duos walk down the aisle. The music changes, signaling Jane’s arrival. Everyone stands and turns around to watch her walk. Caleb, though, remains standing forward, locking eyes with you.

Caleb places his hand over his heart. He can feel each and every individual beat under his fingers. Your cheeks heat from a blush but you’re unable to look away from him.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ll get to this point with Caleb. When it is time for your future wedding, will you be picking out a dress with him in the back of your mind? Will it be him that you tie your future to?

It’s one you’ve dreamed of as a child and throughout your first year of high school. You had the music picked out with a dress cut out of a bridal magazine you stole from your cousin. You sighed whenever you looked at the small notebook. It hid all of your secrets, including the crush you had on Caleb. You wrote your names a million times over in a pink glitter pen. Hearts and flowers decorated the page, filling in any left over space. A few pages over is a list of first dance songs that were popular at the time and if you turned the page, you’d see your doodles of what your dream venue looked like.

It must be on a spring day! The sky must be blue and beautiful, just how Caleb likes it!

Caleb wonders what kind of dress you’ll wear on your wedding day. He knows that regardless, he’s going to be tearing up and crying the moment he sees you down the aisle. He’d tell you to buy two with his credit card so he can rip one off of your body when your honeymoon begins. He won’t even have a say in the planning and will always give into whatever it is that you want. He’ll smile and nod, running his fingers through your hair as you talk his ear off about flowers and bouquets and how it will go along with the perfect venue you chose and will compliment the colors of your bridesmaids dresses.

A tear rolls down your cheek and you wipe it away, tearing your gaze away from Caleb once he sits down and the ceremony begins.

It’s beautiful. Everyone smiles and laughs at their vows, a few guests and bridesmaids (including yourself) crying when it becomes sappy and pulls at your heartstrings. You hide your face behind your bouquet of flowers at one point, not being able to hold your emotions in as Jane declares her undying love for Arthur. She’s crying, too, and can barely make it through her vows without shaking and trembling. They kiss and the crowd erupts into cheers, standing and clapping for the newly wed couple.

Once the ceremony is over, Jane and Arthur walk down the aisle hand in hand. The cheers continue as they walk back inside the building. You and the other bridesmaids and groomsmen follow suit, exiting in the order people walked down the aisle. Your grip on Zayne’s arm is loose. Once you reach Caleb’s side, you reach out and squeeze his hand, having to let go after a brief second.

The reception room is impeccably decorated. The lights are warm and small, slowly flickering as if they’re stars in the night sky. Caleb sits in his assigned seat, waiting for you to come back to his side. He sighs and looks around, scanning the room. People are already drinking; their laughs are loud and boom across the room. The servers are dressed in all black, contrasting the whites, golds, and light purple color scheme. He sighs and turns to his phone, scrolling through unread messages from the Fleet and Ever.

You enter the room with the other bridesmaids and groomsmen, people barely even paying attention since the group isn’t going to be announced like how Jane and Arthur will be. The seating chart has been seared into your brain and you easily find your way to Caleb. He doesn’t look up from the table, eyes cemented onto his phone.

“Caleb,” you call out once you stand behind him. He turns around and stands from his seat, bringing you into his arms. You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck, chuckling. “Hi, babe, did you enjoy the ceremony?” you ask once you pull away.

“I did, yes,” he cups your cheek. “I was mainly focused on you, though. You are…utterly captivating.”

Your cheeks heat up. You look away and bite your lip, rolling your eyes as an attempt to get the brush to go away. Caleb catches it, though, and kisses your forehead, turning around to pull your seat out for you. You sit down and take his hand, smiling at him.

Zayne sits with her at another table across the room. They’re on the grooms side with the other groomsmen while you and Caleb sit with the other bridesmaids and their partners. A blessing in disguise.

The dinner goes by quick. It is filled with laughter and speeches from Jane and Arthur’s parents alongside the Best Man and Maid of Honor’s speeches. You’re so happy that the responsibility didn’t fall onto you for a speech. Public speaking isn’t your strong suit and it would have been even more embarrassing because of the three people from your childhood: one that you hate, one that you’re on okay terms with, and one that you’re fucking and contemplating marriage with only two days into your relationship.

Dinner plates are taken away and the majority of the room jumps up and rushes to the dance floor. The party begins but you and Caleb remain in your seats, holding hands and smiling at each other. His thumb rubs your knuckles, your chair pulled as close to his as possible, legs tangled together. He leans in and whispers sweet nothings into your ear, causing you to blush and laugh. Every touch is loving, every touch tender and caring.

The two of you purposefully stayed in your seats as long as you did. You didn’t want to be interrupted nor did you want to risk being intercepted by someone from your childhoods. Whenever one of you wanted a drink, you went together, hand in hand, and even followed one another to the bathroom and waited outside. It’s a calculated move, yes, and one that worked, that is, until you two grew restless while the rest of the party had fun.

The music slows and Caleb pushes away from the table. He holds out his hand to you, which you immediately take, and he guides you to the dance floor. You smile as he pulls you into him, hand resting on your lower back while holding your other hand.

“I feel like we just did this, no?” you chuckle under the dimmed lighting. Caleb smiles and nods, leaning down to peck your lips.

“We got interrupted last time. I just know we won’t be this time,” he helps move your arms around his neck, planting his hands onto your waist. You melt into him and close your eyes, swaying back and forth to the music. You hum along, which is music to Caleb’s ears, and he presses his head against yours. Caleb gently pulls away and spins you out before pulling you back in. The two of you share a quiet laugh. You turn in his arms and drape your arms back around his neck.

The midpoint of the song doesn’t even pass before someone taps your shoulder. You sink back down onto the floor, slowly turning to see her standing behind you. Your grip loosens on Caleb, smile falling.

“Mind if I cut in for a dance?” she sweetly asks. You glance at Caleb and clear your throat. He doesn’t say anything. Annoyance flares inside your chest. You nod and step away, faking a smile, before swiftly exiting the dance floor.

You walk back to your seat and sit down. Your hands tremble. Your heart pounds inside your chest. Was it always beating this fast? Or is this something new entirely? Heat burns from within your lungs, causing your heart to ache. Your ears ring. It feels as if someone has their hand around your throat, slowly tightening it, pins and needles poking into your skin.

You swipe your tongue over your teeth, your eyes trained on Caleb and her. They stand close to each other but Caleb keeps a respectable distance. It makes you happy to see him respecting your relationship but cannot help but feel jealous over the fact that he’s dancing with another woman, someone who isn’t you.

“I don’t think you have taken a single breath for the past minute.”

You turn and look up at Zayne, who stands behind Caleb’s chair. He gestures to the seat. Hesitation fills your mind but against your better judgment, you nod. Zayne sits down beside you, your knees barely touching. The two of you sit in silence, watching as the couples dance and glide across the floor.

The song comes to an end. Hope forms inside your chest, watching as Caleb pulls away from her. She pulls him back in, though, and he doesn’t fight it, his hands returning to her hips.

You purse your lips before biting down on the inside of your cheek with enough force and pressure to draw blood. You force yourself to look away, meeting Zayne’s calm eyes. You sigh and scratch the back of your neck, embarrassment flooding your body.

“Can we…talk?” Zayne asks. You blink at him, unsure if it’s a good idea. You don’t immediately answer. He nods and glances at the dance floor. Caleb’s back is to you two now. “I understand if you don’t want to speak. I, on the other hand, have something to say. I hope you’ll be willing to listen to me.”

“I’ll listen,” you shakily breathe out. You begin to pick at the skin around your fingernails, pulling on the skin as fresh and stinging red lines appear on your fingers. It’s a nasty habit you’ve picked up, one that you always seem to do when your heart is slowly being ripped into pieces. At least the physical pain can help deter some the emotional anguish you feel.

“Thank you,” Zayne keeps his eyes on you. He reaches out and places one hand on top of yours, stopping you from continuing. His hand is cold but it feels nice against your hot skin. “Do you think you can take a deep breath for me? I would like to ensure that you’re breathing.”

“I’m not your patient,” you snap back.

“Breathe with me as someone who is on your side, then.”

Your eyes glue themselves onto Zayne’s. Up close, his hazel eyes lean more onto the green side, the center of his iris having the most yellow compared to the outer rim. He slowly inhales, chest puffing out. You match his inhale, his eyes never leaving yours. When he exhales, so do you. Your heart begins to slow, your hot skin cooling down.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Zayne begins, catching you off guard. Tears immediately sting your eyes but ou blink them away, quickly recovering.

“Yeah?” your voice is raspy, ready to break at any moment.

Caleb and her stand in the middle of the dance floor, no longer moving. Your heart goes still, no more air in your lungs.

“Yes,” Zayne continues, “he doesn’t love you.” His words slice into your skin. How can you believe them, though? Isn’t Zayne biased against Caleb? Besides, Caleb isn’t here to defend himself. You can’t fully believe him! “He’s infatuated. There is no permanent love when it comes to infatuation, just lust and desire. A temporary love that will only leave you more broken than you started.”

“So you think I’m broken?” the words come out just above a whisper.

“I think he broke you.”

A breath leaves your mouth. Your lungs burn on the inside of your chest, cheeks pink from embarrassment and anger. You remain silent, drowning out the music and cheering voices. You blink away your tears but one escapes, rolling down your cheek. Your eyes turn back to the dance floor, finding Caleb’s back once again. You stare at him, unable to tear your gaze away while Zayne speaks.

“I saw the way he treated you when we were kids. You always came in last place while everyone else came before you. You weren’t a friend, you were a backup plan he had. Since she isn’t in Skyhaven but you are, he is bound to go to you instead of her. Do you know that he calls her whenever you aren’t around? He always texts her throughout the day and tells her how much he misses her, that he can’t wait to see her. Even while you were on your business trip, he was sending her photos and messages like any good boyfriend would.”

Boyfriend.

The word echoes inside your now screaming mind. You bottom lip trembles. Silent tears freely flow from your eyes. Every word is like a bullet that buries itself deep into your skin. Your muscles ache. You don’t even realize that your fists are balled on your lap, nails digging into your palms. The stinging pain helps divert some of the emotional weight that has been placed onto your shoulders but it’s not enough to carry the full package. You look down at your lap, palms now a bright red from the blood rushing to the crescent marks on your hands.

“You have always been second compared to her. But to me…you have always been first,” Zayne whispers.

You turn your head to look at him. Your eyes are red and irritated. Your shoulders slump as you fight off sobs and dry heaves. Nausea sweeps over your body. He reaches for you but you scoot back, your chair bumping into the others. You swallow nothing down your dry throat, the feeling leaving you sore and uncomfortable.

“I guess that makes you just like me, then,” your words shake and hang in the air. Zayne raises an eyebrow at you. His hands reach for yours but you pull away immediately, unable to even handle someone’s touch right now. He remains silent, his eyes burning into yours. You stand from the table and gather your belongings. You are about to step away when Zayne’s voice causes you to stop.

“How so?” Zayne asks after seconds tick by.

“We both love someone who will never be able to fully love us back.”

From afar, Caleb steps away from her. He hesitates once he sees you and Zayne talking. His heart races inside his chest. His eyes flit between you and the doctor, watching your teary eyes reflect the lights of the venue. His heart splits in two.

You turn, wiping a tear from your eye, and head for the exit. You sling your purse over your shoulder, the body hitting your hip as you walk. Through teary eyes, you slip your phone from your bag and step out into the fresh night air. The wind chills your skin, cooling you down.

“Hey,” Caleb’s voice calls out from behind. You don’t turn around and instead pull up a taxi app on your phone. He places his hand on your shoulder but you’re quick to slip away. “What’s…what’s wrong? What did he say to you?” Caleb asks. When you don’t respond, he snatches the phone from your hands.

“Stop it, Caleb,” you warn. He stares at your screen, looking at your progress. You wrote about half of the address before he took the phone from you. You reach out, trying to get the tiny machine back, but Caleb immediately pockets it and grabs your face.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me—”

“Caleb! Get away from her!” Her shrill voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. You flinch and push Caleb off of you, your mind now running at a mile a minute, unable to keep up with the unfolding situation. “We’re not done talking!”

“Go back inside!” Caleb calls out to her, but she doesn’t listen. She looks up at him with crazed eyes, lip snarled.

“We aren’t done talking. I don’t approve of your relationship with her!” She points to you. An arrow goes through your heart and breaks, the wood splintering and poking into your organs and veins. It would hurt but the pain you hold in your chest is already incomprehensible.

“Stop that!” Caleb says back. “Let’s talk about this later—”

“Later?” you chuckle, hysteria beginning to claim you as its own. Tears keep rolling down your cheeks. He turns to look at you. Your gaze sharpens. It makes his stomach drop.

“Does she not know what we’ve been through, Caleb?” she steps in between you and him. You don’t even do anything to stop it. You turn around and wipe your tears away, digging through your bag for the car keys. “Does she know that you and I are inseparable?”

“I said not now!” Caleb raises his voice. It only makes her angrier, though. “We’ll talk about this later. I need to—”

“Oh no, don’t stop on my account,” you interject. They stare at you with wide eyes. “I’ve always come between you, so i’ll just remove myself.” You nod and begin to walk away. Caleb grabs your hand, bringing you back to him but you remain at an arm’s length. His skin burns against yours. You try to wiggle away but his grip only tightens, cracking your bones.

“No. I need to comfort my girlfriend and make for sure that she is okay,” Caleb speaks directly at you. You shiver. He turns to her, “you have crossed a line. I’ll speak to you later.”

“NO!” she shrieks. “You are going to stay here and talk to me! I don’t care about her or her feelings! I never have! I have only ever cared about you, Caleb! Can’t you see that she is ruining us? Our relationship? She’s always been a poison! She’s going to push us apart! She’s seduced you! How can you live with that?”

Caleb doesn’t respond. You stare at his face, seeing the wheels turn inside his brain.

Anger boils over inside your chest but for once, you feel calm. The anger is no longer hot. It is cold, cool to the touch. It feels like you are breathing in the snowy winter air in Skyhaven. Your feet no longer drag against the ground. You no longer carry the weight of your sadness and pain on your shoulders. You are now light and airy, weightless.

You step around Caleb and yank your hand away from his. He watches you, purple eyes wide in the moonlight. You approach her, taking a deep breath as you look down at her. She takes a step back, a look of nervousness flashing across her face before she covers it up. You wait a few seconds, pulling together the right words to say.

“I am going to say this once and one time only. I am going to say this because Caleb doesn’t have a fucking backbone when it comes to you, so listen up,” you tower over her yet your face remains emotionless. It sends shivers down her spine. “I am not a poison. I am not worthless. I did not seduce Caleb. I am a human being with god damn feelings. You cannot treat me like I am the shit on the bottom of your shoe. You may have done that when we were kids and ruined my self esteem back then, but I’m not going to be your punching bag anymore.”

“I-I didn’t treat you like—”

“You cried on my birthdays and took half of my presents because you made my parents feel bad for you. You were smart back then, using your sob backstory to your advantage. You made fun of the way I dressed, the way I talked. Whenever I had friends over, you would cry and kick and scream to be included even though it was my friend group, not yours. You purposefully used my crush against Caleb against me. You dangled him in front of me knowing that I liked him, knowing that he was one of two people who ever treated me like a human being but even then it was close to nothing. The bare fucking minimum. You interrupted us doing homework and even ruined our first high school dance because you didn’t feel included. Well guess what, princess! It didn’t include you because you weren’t old enough! Sorry if that hurt your feelings, but some things just do not involve you!”

Her jaw drops. Caleb places his hand on your shoulder but you shrug it off.

“Now that I have finally found some peace in my life and have gotten to a place where I can feel human again, you just have to walk right in and ruin that too, right? Because seeing me thrive and be happy is the bane of your existence. How dare I be happy? How dare I reconnect with a boy I knew in my childhood!” You pause and take a deep breath, taking a single step forward and lower your voice, “I was just a kid just like you…but we’re adults now. You treated me like fucking shit just like you are now. You’ve haven’t changed. You’ve remained the same desperate little girl clinging to whatever she can to justify her shitty actions. Now, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think about Caleb and I’s relationship. We don’t need your permission. If he wanted you, he would be with you, not me. But I’ll give you once more chance. Just one. I’m going to go walk back to my car now,” you turn to Caleb, your face serious with an underlying anger in your eyes, “if he follows me, then I’ll take it that he actually wants to remain in my life. I’ll learn to co-exist with you for his sake because I’ll never ask him to choose between us, unlike you. If he stays behind with you, well, you’ve won. You two deserve each other. I’ll be the villain in your story. Just keep me the fuck out of it.”

Without wasting another second, you push past Caleb, shoulder bumping into his arm. You cross the grassy field at a fast pace, stopping to slip your heels off of your feet. You let out a frustrated yell and throw your shoe at the car. The alarm starts to go off and you grab your purse, furiously digging through to find the keys.

A pair of hands rest on top of yours. You pause and look up through your blurry vision. You can’t make out his face, but his cologne is familiar to you. Caleb sighs and pulls you into his arms. You tuck your head under his chin, finally letting go as sobs overtake your body. You ball your fists up and slam them against his arms. He takes every hit.

The two of you stand there until you fall silent, too tired to continue. Caleb looks inside your purse for you and grabs the keys. He clicks a button and the alarm stops blaring. Neither of you speak. No words fill the silence. He opens up the car door for you and you slip inside. The door remains open. He goes inside the back seat and grabs your sneakers. He comes around and takes your heels from you, brushing the dirt and blades off grass off of your feet, slipping your feet inside the shoes. He closes the door and gets inside the drivers side, quickly pulling away.

Both of Caleb’s hands remain on the wheel. You face away from him, staring outside the car window.

A part of you is grateful that he followed you. That he chose you. However, another part of your soul, your heart, aches at the fact that there is going to be a nuclear meltdown within the next couple of days that you will be forced to go through. She will certainly have words to share with you and for Caleb’s sake, you hope that he grows a backbone until then.

The drive is silent. Neither of you turn on the radio. The purr of the car’s old engine mixes in with the sound of the car’s A.C., the faint whirr in the background. You sniffle and hug your arms to your body.

Caleb looks at you when the roads are empty. His heart rips into two, straight down the middle. The once lively heart, the boy who grow tired. His once constant positive attitude begins to wither. The inner boy inside of his soul begins to decay.

Is this how you have felt all of these years? he thinks to himself. Has the feeling of disappointment and despair chipped at your soul the whole time?

The car comes to a stop. You blink at your house, the gate closing behind the car. You get out before he can open the door. You make a beeline for the door, swiping the keys from your hands. You stare anthem under the orange porch light, the buzzing from a nearby bug catcher in the same tone as your simmering irritation. The door swings open and you turn around, pressing a hand to Caleb’s chest, stopping him from following.

“Find another way in. If you really want this,” you gesture between you two, “you’ll figure it out.”

Petty? Yes. Deserved? Fucking maybe. Who cares. He can hold this against you for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t complain. You, quite frankly, need to see him work for it instead of following like a puppy dog.

The door closes in his face. You press your back against it, the tears forming in your eyes once again. Quickly making your way up the stairs, you dart inside your bedroom, and strip away the dress on your body, throwing it to the side. You go to the bathroom and immediately hop in the shower, your jewelry remaining on your body as the cold water pours over you. It makes you alert, awake, and all too aware of what you said.

Do you regret it? No, not really. If anything, it was therapeutic for you to get out. Could you have been a bit nicer to her? Sure. Of course. But you weren’t. That’s a burden you’ll carry with you wherever you go.

You step out, face bare and body clean. After drying yourself off, you slip into one of Caleb’s old shirts and into a pair of spandex. You lay down in your bed, covering your face with the sheets, closing your eyes, wishing the pain would leave you alone.

Time ticks by. You don’t check your phone. You don’t have the energy to. How much time has passed? An hour? Fifteen minutes? Five? Two hours? It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t returned.

You sit up in bed, the sheets pooling around your waist. You look around, eyes grazing over the window where the moon hangs low in the sky. You sigh.

He’s left you, hasn’t he? Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he did. You wouldn’t blame him for it, either. You’re a mess. A complete and utter disaster that is holding on with three pieces of duct tape and a dream.

A clink on the window.

You turn your head, eyebrow raised. Another clink. You get up and push against the windows, pushing them open. You dodge a small pebble at the last moment, looking down at Caleb who stands on the ground below.

“Hi, pretty bird,” he calls out, “my lovely Juliet.” You roll your eyes.

He holds a few white flowers in his hand and a box in the other. His Evol plucks them from his hands, the objects hovering behind him. He approaches the vine wall on the side of your house. It leads directly up to your bedroom where your two windows are. He grabs hold of the wooden structure underneath the vines, his hands scraping against the thorns and stray sticks. They poke into his skin but he pushes through it, slowly climbing the vine wall to get to you.

Once Caleb is close enough, you lean out the window, noticing the dirt on his hands, the sweat that forms in beads across his forehead. He grunts every time he pulls himself up, the objects still floating behind him. His dirty hand grabs the windowsill, pulling himself up with one last burst of energy.

His face leans up to yours, mere inches away from each other. You don’t pull away and neither does he. You purse your lips and pull away, watching as he brings himself inside your bedroom with surprising elegance and grace. He shrugs his jacket off and tosses it to the side. The flowers and black box float into his hands, his purple eyes never leaving yours.

You stand in the middle of your bedroom. His shirt is baggy on you, the material stretched and worn out from him over the years. The words are faded but you’re wearing his DAA exercise shirt. You like how comforting the cotton material is against your skin. He sighs, dirt covering his pants and white dress shirt. He takes a step towards you. Your eyes never leave his. You gulp.

“These…are for you,” he holds out the flowers. It’s a variety.

An apple red tulip. A white carnation. A light blue hyacinth. A single pink rose. A daisy.

“I got them from the gardens in the neighborhood. And this,” he taps the box, “is from the shop I worked at in high school.”

You take them from him, noticing the small specks of blood that sprouts from his thumb and index finger. He plucked off every single thorn so you wouldn’t get hurt. You rest them along your forearm and he steps forward, holding out the box. The stems of the flowers are uneven, most likely plucked from nearby gardens. He slowly opens it. On the inside is a small glass butterfly. Its wings is a deep red that fades into a light pink at the tips. Its body remains clear. Your heart aches. Your eyes fill with tears. You look up at him, bottom lip pouting out to try and stop you from crying.

“I…I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what Zayne said to you to make you cry and I really don’t know why she had to make things worse. I don’t know what to do or say to make you forgive me or what I need to do to make you fully trust me again,” he begins in a quiet voice. “All I know is that I love you. I love you…so much, pretty bird,” his voice cracks. You step forward and place a hand on his chest. It slows his beating heart almost instantly. “I can’t lose you. When you closed the door on my face, my world went black and white.”

“Caleb,” you cup his cheek with your free hand. He leans into your touch.

“I need you in your life…but I also need her in my life,” he whispers. You nod. “I can’t lose either of you and it pains me that there’s nothing I can do to help or mend the tension between you two.”

“It’s okay, Caleb,” you breathe out. He shakes his head.

“No. No it’s not. You’re my girlfriend, the woman that I want to spend the rest of my life with. The way she treated you both in childhood and now is despicable. She’s not the same girl I used to know…so I called her. I set boundaries for us and made her realize that it’s you who I want to be with, not her.”

Tears roll down Caleb’s cheeks. You gently wipe them away. He leans down and presses his forehead into yours. He takes a deep breath, you with him, and his hands finally touch you. He places them on your waist, remaining over the fabric of his shirt, and sighs.

“I know that our relationship isn’t going to be perfect. I know it isn’t going to be fixed overnight and to be bandaged up with a single sorry. That’s not possible. I know you’re hurting. Please…please let me take some of your pain away. Let me carry the tension and angst you feel in your body. Let me carry that load for you. Rely on me, pretty bird. Use me.”

“Caleb,” his name from your mouth is like the nectar of the gods. He pulls away and looks down at you. You sigh and bite your lip, peering into his deep purple and glossy eyes. “It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep it in.”

He nods. A single tear rolls down his cheek. You wipe it away. More follow. His tears are hot against your chilled skin. You wipe away every single one that comes out, his body shuddering. You peel away for a split second, placing the flowers and butterfly on your desk. You move back to him and pull him into your embrace. Caleb buries his face into your neck, arms tightly locking around your waist. He pulls you closer. You inhale the smell of dirt and sweat from his hair, holding the back of his head.

The two of you succumb to the ground. He leans forward, holding you in his lap, holding onto you for dear life. Your fingers tangle into his hair, massaging his head. He whimpers.

“Please don’t leave me,” he cries into your neck, his words muffled yet legible.

“I’m not,” you whisper into his ear.

You move his face in front of yours, your hands on his cheeks. You lean in and kiss away every single tear that falls down his face. Your lips become salty and hot. His tears mix with yours. He sniffles and squeezes your waist. His tears slow down and his breathing steadies. You remain in his arms, whispering reassurances to him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Caleb, we’re in this together, okay?” your voice is gentle despite the anger that remains inside your chest. He nods and takes a deep breath.

“Together?” Caleb repeats the word back to you. You nod.

“Together.”

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

#caleb x reader #caleb x non!mc reader #caleb x fem reader #caleb x you #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #caleb angst #caleb fluff #caleb xia #xia yizhou #lnds #love and deepspace caleb angst #lads angst #rcvcgers writings

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 1 day ago

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the after party teaser

fratboy!Jaehyun x f!reader

summary: Jaehyun realizes he's going to need to put some real work in to try to win you back. What, he didn't really think it would be easy to win you back, did he?

teaser word count: 569

expected fic word count: ~6.7k

release date: Saturday, March 29

warnings: profanity, angst, hurt, violence (a fight), drinking alcohol

a/n: THIS IS A PART 2! If you'd like to catch up on the drama you can read, when the party's over and catch up on my fratboy!Jae au! Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist, you can comment, message me, or send me an ask :)

dividers from strangergraphics <3

After the last try he starts to go a little crazy. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he had created an extra Instagram account to watch your friend’s Instagram stories. He sees how you practically glow on the screen. You look so ethereal. Like a goddess straight from Mount Olympus. He spends countless nights tapping away through countless friends’ Instagram stories. He sees how they all rally around you with dinner parties, movie nights, partying, and clubbing. In every picture, he can only focus on your face. Your beautiful face smiling so brightly at the camera like nothing horrible has happened to you. Like some dumbass with a 2.1 GPA hasn’t broken your heart and likely made you wary of any romantic interactions to come in the future. Every picture of you, every version of your smiling face, obscured with a plastic cup, covered with a sheet mask, eyes looking elsewhere, is burned into the deep recesses of his mind. How could he have ever hurt someone so beautiful, inside and out?

It’s one of the reasons why he knows you’re at a fucking Alpha Sig party tonight, looking hot as hell in a cute little crop top and your tightest jeans. He sends a mental thank you to Ari for posting a short clip of you guys taking a shot together before you dance off the burning sensation in your throat. It’s the same reason he manages to convince a handful of his own Nu Chi brothers into going to the same party with some weak excuse of fraternity relations.

That’s how he finds himself here, pressed against the wall of the Alpa Sig frat house, hoodie over his head, dead sober as he watches you dance happily with your friends. You look so happy, so carefree, like a love interest right from one of the romance movies you’d made him watch what feels like 100 years ago. Nights where he grumbled about not wanting to watch a stupid romance movie but ended up more invested than you were.

He watched you like he was stuck in some kind of trance. The colored lights flashed and strobed across the crowd of gyrating bodies in what he assumed was the living room when they weren’t partying. He watched as your hips swayed, arms raised as you move to the bone-shaking beat of the house music. He watches as Kira joins you and Ari, watches as she pushes another plastic cup into your hand, he sees how your eyes clench shut at the taste, but you don’t stop drinking whatever you have in your cup. He can’t help the way his eyes track every enticing sway of your hips, how your crop top lifts just a few inches which makes his mouth water. You don’t look inhibited by any kind of break up or broken heart like he does. He looks like some kind of sick and tired ghost summoned to ruin the vibe of the party. Where he used to attract girls like flies to a pot of sweet honey, his frankly off-putting vibe radiates off him so that the only people that can stand to be around him are his brothers that he dragged here. None of them would have ever been found dead at an Alpha Sig party if it weren’t for Jaehyun, and he would have never been found here it it weren’t for you.

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct drabbles #fratboy!jaehyun #frat!jaehyun #frat!nct #jaehyun angst #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fic #jaehyun scenarios

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capuccinodoll · 2 days ago

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The boyfriend act, part 9.1: "The one with the wedding" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Something’s changed, you can feel it, and you can’t fight it. Frankie keeps his promise—he accompanies you to Harry's wedding. Surprisingly, your ex isn’t the focus of the night. Instead, it's the strange, new dynamic between you and your companion that ends up tangled up in your house. Part 1 of chapter 9. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Well, the wedding’s here. Hope you enjoy this part, and don’t forget, it’s Part 1 of Chapter 9. Part 2 will be up this weekend. Hope you like it—it really helped me a lot to write this chapter this week! Love you love youuuuuuu!! Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments, love reading them!!!If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! love you <3

A breath slipped from your chest as you shut the front door behind you, the weight of it settling against your back like an anchor. You tipped your head back, staring at the ceiling, your pulse still uneven, still catching up with the last few minutes. Outside, the low growl of Frankie's engine cut through the stillness. You listened as the sound shifted, rolling away from the curb, fading, fading—until finally, it was gone. Only then did you let yourself move, peeling away from the door like you’d been bracing against something invisible, something heavy. Only then did it feel like you could breathe, like you had been granted permission.

There was one thing you knew with absolute certainty about Francisco Morales—he was a man. And men, in your experience, were predictable if you paid close enough attention. If you knew which buttons to press and precisely when to press them. Frankie, of course, wasn’t the kind of man who let himself be an easy read. He wasn’t careless. His walls were high, thick, carefully constructed. But that didn’t matter. Because you knew you could shake them. Even just a little.

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since last saturday. Since the way he’d looked at you—like he was holding something back, like there was something just on the tip of his tongue that he had no intention of saying. You kept turning it over in your mind, the way he’d withdrawn, the way he’d been so carefully unreadable. What was he hiding so well that he couldn’t tell you? What was the thing he refused to say? The conversation with Will, the tension in his shoulders, the way the whole night seemed to spark with something unsaid—what was behind all of it?

Now, at least, you had an answer. Or something close to one. Santi's birthday. It had been a misunderstanding. That was what he said to you. Something about that night had put him on edge, made him wary, and that was why he had acted the way he did. But then, why only with you? Why not with anyone else?

But he wouldn’t tell you. Tonight, he barely even flinched after you’d spent the entire night looking at him like he was something sweet you wanted to sink your teeth into, teasing him with glances laced with suggestion, with promises of things best left unsaid. And honestly, that didn’t surprise you. Not really. Because if there was anyone who could hold their ground against you, who could meet your stubbornness and raise you twice over, it was him. Years of arguments and thinly veiled tensions had taught you that much.

If only you’d made your offer more enticing. If only you’d leaned in just a little closer, let the words slip out slower, given him something real to picture. You want to know what I dreamed? You should have asked him. You were there. We were both there.

And the worst part—the part that had your stomach in knots, your thoughts spiraling in circles—was that it wasn’t even a lie. You hadn’t just made it up to get a rise out of him. It was true. You had a fucking wet dream.

You didn’t have a good excuse for it. It had just happened.

Last night, you’d had dinner with a glass of wine, half-watched You’ve Got Mail for maybe thirty minutes before dozing off on the couch. When you woke up, groggy and disoriented, you dragged yourself to the bathroom, brushed your teeth, and climbed into bed. And that should have been it. You should have fallen asleep instantly, melted into the sheets, let exhaustion pull you under.

But instead, you lay there, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thoughts circling the same frustrating orbit. Francisco. Frankie and his secrets. Frankie and those stupid, unreadable brown eyes that never seemed to tell you enough. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, lost in the loops of your own mind, but eventually, sleep claimed you.

And then—somewhere between consciousness and whatever came after—you slipped into a dream. Not one of those abstract, distant ones that dissolve on waking. No, this one felt closer, eerily tangible.

You were still in bed, but the sunlight was filtering through the window, warm and golden, painting the morning across your skin. You let your eyes slip shut for a moment, pressing your fingers to your brow as if that might steady you. The light in the room shifted, dimming slightly, as though something had come between you and the sun. When you opened them again, Frankie was there. Above you. Close enough that his breath fanned over your skin. His arms caged you in, palms pressed into the mattress on either side of your head, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a pulse of heat through your body. Then, slowly, he dipped his head, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck, stealing a gasp from your throat.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers threading through the dark, tousled strands, tugging just enough to make him sigh against your skin. Then lower—your hands traveled to his nape, his shoulders, your palms sliding over the warmth of bare skin, the solid lines of muscle. Nothing between you but heat.

Your nails pressed into his back, and he pulled away from your neck, his face hovering above yours once more. His eyes burned into you, dark and intent, something hungry simmering behind them. You barely had time to process it before you felt him settle between your legs, his body pressing into yours—solid, warm, achingly familiar despite the fact that this had never happened before.

Something wild and consuming unfurled inside you, tightening in your chest, curling around your ribs. Your hand slid back up, gripping the back of his neck, pulling him down to you, and then your lips met his—fierce, desperate, stealing breath from one another. The second you felt him sink into you, slow, your whole body shuddered, every nerve lit up, overtaken. He moved against you, finding a rhythm that felt inevitable, like he had always known exactly how to do this. How to fit against you. How to draw you apart and put you back together all at once.

His lips left yours, and he pulled back just enough to see your face, his gaze never wavering. A half-smile curled at the edge of his mouth, his breath uneven, his voice rough when he whispered, “It’s okay if you want it.”

And then—before you could say anything, before you could even take another breath—a sudden, deafening crash yanked you out of sleep.

Your body jolted upright, heart hammering, breath coming fast and uneven. Heat clung to your skin, coiling low in your stomach, thighs pressed tightly together, the ghost of your dream still imprinted in every inch of you. You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but the memory of it lingered, thick and inescapable.

Another sound—this time sharper, more familiar. A meow, loud and insistent, from the kitchen.

Barefoot, you stumbled out of bed, moving quickly through the darkened hallway, still half-dazed, still somewhere between the dream and the waking world. You barely stopped in time, catching yourself at the last second before stepping straight into the mess on the floor—shards of glass scattered across the tile, glinting in the dim light. And there, perched smugly on the counter, tail flicking, eyes wide with the kind of innocence only a guilty cat could muster—Mr. Darcy.

Cleaning up the mess took longer than it should have, but by the time the floor was spotless and the adrenaline had worn off, sleep was a lost cause. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for morning.

By the time evening rolled around and Frankie pulled up outside, something restless had settled inside you, curling around your ribs, winding tighter and tighter. A need. Not just for answers, but for something else entirely. To provoke him. To remind him that whatever space he had occupied in your mind last night, you could just as easily take up in his.

So you did. In his room, at the table, in the car—you tested him, pushed at the edges of his composure, watched closely for the cracks. You didn’t get what you wanted, not exactly. He still wouldn’t tell you what you so desperately wanted to know. But at least you could take pleasure in the way his hands tensed on the steering wheel, the way his gaze flickered when he thought you weren’t looking, the way your presence seemed to unsettle him just enough.

And maybe—if you focused only on that, on keeping him off balance, on staying in control—you could ignore the way his eyes were starting to affect you just as much.

Thursday, September 8th.

You were on the small step stool in the juvenile literature section, adjusting a row of hardcovers, when the chime over the door sounded. At the familiar sound of it, you turned, books still in your hands, to see a figure stepping inside, his outline briefly swallowed by the daylight spilling in from the street.

“Hey, hi,” you said, hopping down lightly.

Bill was already making his way toward the counter, resting his elbow there like he belonged.

“Careful,” he said, his voice easy, his grin lopsided. “Need some help over there?”

You were already slipping behind the counter, your hands resting on the keyboard of the computer by the time you answered.

“No, that's it.” You smiled, sinking into the swivel chair. “But thanks. Though, if you’re in the mood for heavy lifting, I do have a box of photography books in the back.”

His eyes narrowed playfully. “Those are huge, aren’t they?”

“Massive,” you confirmed, pressing your lips together in mock solemnity.

He laughed, but before he could come up with something else, you tipped your chin at him. “What can I help you with?”

“Anne of Avonlea,” he said, brows tugging together like this was a serious request.

You let out a small, knowing hum. “Ah, I see we’ve advanced.”

You pushed back from the counter and motioned for him to follow you toward the shelves. He fell into step beside you without hesitation.

“Yeah, she's really excited. She found out there’s a tv series yesterday, and now we have to watch it, but only after we finish the books. Strict rule.”

You nodded approvingly, running your fingers along the spines as you scanned for the title.

“That’s smart. The one from the seventies?”

“Yup,” he confirmed, his voice a low murmur just behind you.

You let out a small sigh as your fingers found the right book.

“I hope you like it.” You tapped the spine lightly before stretching forward to pull it from the shelf. You turned, holding it out with a bright smile. “Anne of Avonlea.”

“Perfect.” He took it from you, his smile lingering as he glanced at the cover. “Thanks. Julie’s gonna love it.”

You leaned back against the shelves, arms crossing loosely.

“Julie. That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thanks. Her mom and I met at a movie night at a friend’s place. We watched Natural Born Killers.”

Your lips parted slightly, then curled upward. “Oh, don’t tell me. Julie as in Juliette?”

He nodded, cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah. I know, it’s a little—”

“It’s not,” you cut in, shaking your head. “Not at all. My cat’s name is Mr. Darcy,” you added, suddenly very serious. “Not that I’m comparing your daughter to my cat.”

Bill’s laugh was sudden, warm. His eyes shone, bright green.

“I bet he’s cute, though.”

“He is,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “But don’t let him hear you. He’s got an ego.”

You turned back toward the counter, Bill following easily, like he had nowhere else to be. Once settled in your chair again, you glanced up to find him already watching you, forearms resting on the counter.

“Bring Julie anytime. I have all of Anne’s books. Your wife too—what does she like to read?”

Bill barely reacted at first, his smile small, almost absentminded. Then, after a pause, his brows lifted just slightly.

“She... Carla…” His voice shifted, quieter now, careful. “Actually, she passed away last year.” A breath. “But she loved Anaïs Nin.”

Your mouth parted, the casual warmth in your expression dissolving in an instant.

“Oh, Bill,” you said, voice soft, almost apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” You stopped, suddenly aware of how intrusive the question might have felt, how careless.

But Bill shook his head, his smile still there, though fainter now.

“No, no. It’s okay. You couldn’t have known.”

Even so, a wave of heat crept up your chest, an unshakable embarrassment settling in your ribs. You hated the idea of stepping too far, of pressing on something raw without realizing it.

“Still,” you murmured, shifting slightly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I like talking about her.”

“That’s nice,” you said, meeting his gaze. “A way to remember.” You hesitated, then added, a little softer, “And maybe when Julie’s older, she can read some Anaïs, right?”

Bill let out a quiet laugh, something fond and distant in his expression.

“Oh, definitely when she’s older,” he said, shaking his head. “For now, we’ll stick with Anne.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“How much do I owe you, darlin’?”

For the smallest fraction of a second, your breath caught, the word slipping under your skin like a needle.

“Oh, nothing,” you murmured, recovering. “Tell her it’s a gift from me. I love Anne of Green Gables too.”

Bill’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”

“Of course. From one bookworm to another.”

His chuckle was soft, appreciative. He watched as you took the book back, reached under the counter for a gift bag, and slid it carefully inside. You peeled off the adhesive strip, smoothing the flap down, leaving it neatly wrapped in the store’s off-white packaging, its name written in deep blue script. When you placed it on the counter, he took a moment before reaching for it.

“Thank you.” His voice had shifted slightly, something in it almost tentative. Then, a flicker of something amused. “I don’t know if you knew this, but I have a coffee shop just a few feet away.”

You widened your eyes, deadpan. “No kidding.”

“Yeah. You should stop by sometime. Coffee’s on the house.”

Your head tilted slightly, an amused smile playing on your lips. “That’s awfully generous of you.”

“We like to think so,” he said, dipping his head in a mock bow before stepping away from the counter. "Have a nice day."

You watched as he walked to the door, his fingers brushing the handle. He turned slightly, offering a small wave, and you lifted your hand in return just as the chime rang again, the bright summer light swallowing him whole as he stepped outside.

Shifting your gaze away from the window, you turned back to the computer screen, where a paused video had been waiting, frozen in time for the past fifteen minutes. The still image captured Mark, 45, from Omaha, mid-fall, his arms flung out, mouth open in a mix of exhilaration and terror. Behind him, the instructor remained steady, hands firm on the harness, face unreadable behind mirrored goggles. The sky around them was a perfect, endless blue, the earth beneath barely more than a hazy patchwork of green and brown.

You pressed play, and the scene jolted back to life. Wind roared through the speakers as Mark tumbled forward, gravity pulling him fast, his limbs flailing before he found some kind of rhythm. The instructor tapped his shoulder, a signal, and Mark managed to stabilize, his expression flickering between fear and something like joy. The camera strapped to his wrist caught everything—the dizzying spin of the world below, the wild blur of movement, the sheer reckless beauty of falling.

You leaned in slightly, watching as the parachute finally deployed, snapping open with a force that yanked them upward. Mark’s face split into a disbelieving grin, breathless laughter spilling from his lips. You could hear it, even over the rush of air.

Your phone buzzed against the desk, rattling slightly against the keyboard. You blinked, pulled from the video on the screen, and reached for it without much thought. The message preview lit up in the dim glow of the display.

[Francisco]: Next saturday, 12 pm, is that okay with u?

Your brows knit together, fingers hesitating over the screen.

[You]: What?

There was barely a pause before the next message came through.

[Francisco]: Would u like to jump out of a plane this saturday at 12 pm?

A small, tight knot twisted in your stomach. You exhaled, thumb hovering before you typed.

[You]: Yesssss

[You]: Why do u have to say it like that tho?

The response came almost instantly.

[Francisco]: 🪂

[Francisco]: Are u excited?

A slow grin tugged at the corner of your lips as you typed back, the soft clack of the keys blending with the quiet music humming from the bookstore speakers.

[You]: Yes. Especially because tomorrow is the wedding and that means that on saturday I will be able to shout into the sky how much I give zero fucks

A short beat. Then:

[Francisco]: That’s my (fake) girl (friend)

A quiet laugh left your lips.

[You]: Fake friend?

The typing dots appeared. Disappeared. Came back again.

[Francisco]: U know what I meant.

[Francisco]: (That’s my) fake (girl) friend

Another laugh, this one slipping out before you could stop it.

[You]: Can’t wait for Saturday (I'm scared)

Dots. Then nothing. Then dots again.

[Francisco]: Don’t worry

[Francisco]: You’re in good hands (mine)

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you. And then the chime above the door rang again, pulling you back to the present, forcing you to slip the phone face down onto the desk and get back to work.

Friday, September 9

“I’ll be right there!” you called out the kitchen window, barely sparing a glance downward before turning away.

Frankie stood at your front door, dressed in a black suit that cut a sharp silhouette against the fading evening light.

You shoved your feet into slippers and hurried downstairs, your steps quick and uneven, the sound of them filling the quiet space before you reached the door. The moment you opened it, a small, unbidden smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

He was leaning against the doorframe, one elbow resting casually on the threshold above his head. There was something almost careless about the way he stood, but you knew better.

Your gaze moved over him in a practiced sweep, taking in everything in the span of a breath.

His hair was tousled, but deliberately so, as if he’d run his fingers through it just once before leaving the house, and somehow, it had settled into place exactly right. His beard was trimmed, sharp along the edges, the mustache sitting just above his upper lip like an invitation. The black suit was sleek, perfectly tailored to him, the pristine white dress shirt beneath it unbuttoned just enough at the collar to suggest ease, effortlessness. On his feet, polished black shoes—classic, no-nonsense, the kind you’d expect him to own. Who was this man?

You stepped forward, and that’s when it hit you—the scent of his cologne. Woodsy, deep, something warm and clean that made the pit of your stomach tighten.

“You’re twenty minutes early,” you said, one eyebrow lifting, your smile still intact.

He tilted his head slightly, a teasing glint in his dark eyes.

“And? No comment? Do I look okay?” His voice was laced with amusement as he raised an eyebrow, lifting his chin just enough to emphasize the question. His arm stretched higher against the doorframe, making the space between you feel even smaller.

“You look good,” you admitted, then exhaled a little softer. “Really good.”

“Just as well, Shortcake.” His voice was smooth, familiar, the nickname rolling off his tongue. Then he stepped forward, forcing you to shift aside, and his eyes flicked over you, taking in your oversized t-shirt and soft cotton shorts with something bordering on amusement. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

You scoffed, shutting the door behind him.

“Because you're twenty minutes early.” You gestured vaguely at your face. “But my hair and makeup are done. What do you think?”

Tilting your head just so, you struck a pose—chin high, expression deliberately blank, imitating the models from the glossy magazines your mother used to leave scattered across the living room when you were a kid.

Frankie’s gaze lingered, his expression unreadable for a second before something softened in his features.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice was quieter than usual. He sounded lighter tonight.

You turned away, satisfied with his response, and started up the stairs without hesitation.

“You’re in a good mood today,” you remarked, climbing the steps quickly, your feet moving with practiced ease. Frankie followed, matching your pace without effort.

“I’m a little hungry, to be honest,” he said. “And my back hurts a little. I'm gettin' older by the second.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you reached the top step and crossed the short distance to your door.

“I see you’ve decided to take this whole honesty thing very seriously,” you said, pushing it open. A rush of cool air greeted you, the inside of the house noticeably cooler than the narrow foyer.

Frankie stepped in behind you, his movements quiet, but you could feel him there. His gaze tracked you as you made your way toward the kitchen. Behind you, the soft click of the door closing.

“You told me to be honest,” he said, moving closer, resting his hip against the counter. “And I’m getting a taste for it.”

You pressed your lips together, biting back the impulse to make a sharp remark, to bring up Will’s business again. If he was so committed to honesty, maybe he could start by telling you something real—something about that night.

But no. You’d already decided not to let it take up too much space in your head. At least, not right now.

Instead, you turned, raising your eyebrows at him.

“I’ll go change... Instead of asking you anything.”

Frankie smiled at that—small, a little sheepish, as if he knew exactly what you weren’t saying.

“Where’s Darcy?” he asked.

You glanced around, half-heartedly scanning the room, but the cat was nowhere in sight.

“Probably in my bed.”

You started toward your room, intending to find him, scoop him up, and bring him into the living room so Frankie wouldn’t be left alone. But then—footsteps. Close behind you.

You turned your head slightly, catching him in your periphery. He was... following you?

A strange smile curled at the corner of your mouth, unbidden, as you looked down at your own feet moving across the floor.

You pushed open the door to your room, already anticipating what you would find. And there he was.

Mr. Darcy lay sprawled across your bed, all four paws tucked neatly beneath his round body, his eyes narrowed in quiet suspicion. He looked like a perfectly baked loaf of bread, soft and self-assured, wholly unconcerned with your presence.

Frankie stepped toward him, and immediately, Darcy let out a sharp, clipped meow—something between a greeting and a warning. You lingered for a second, watching as Frankie murmured something low to the cat, his voice smooth. Then, without comment, you turned and crossed the room to your dresser.

Your hands moved on instinct, slipping into the closet to pull out the dress you’d set aside earlier. The fabric felt cool and soft between your fingers, unwrinkled and waiting. You carried it to the bathroom, shut the door behind you, and peeled off your clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the tiled floor.

Something made you pause. A quiet sort of curiosity crept in, and you turned toward the mirror, catching your reflection in the soft overhead light.

You didn’t normally look at yourself like this—like you were something to be observed rather than dressed, adjusted, prepared. But now, you took your time.

Your eyes traced over the length of your body—your neck, the lines of your collarbones, the slope of your shoulders. The curve of your breasts, the subtle rise and fall of your stomach as you breathed. Your hips, your thighs, the softness of your skin, marked here and there with tiny, familiar imperfections. Every part of of your body that had once seemed foreign but now just felt like you. It struck you then, the quiet realization of it. At some point, without noticing, you had stopped feeling like a girl and become someone else entirely.

You were a woman now. You had been for a while, of course. But somehow, standing here, looking at yourself, you saw it. Not just in your body, but in the weight of your gaze, in the quiet calm of your expression. If you spoke, you thought you might even hear it in your voice.

When had it happened? You weren’t sure. There had been no defining moment, no clear shift. Just a slow, quiet change, the kind that creeps up on you so gradually, you don’t notice it until one day you look at yourself—really look—and realize you are someone new. Someone older. Someone different.

A smile curved at your lips. Not a wide, beaming kind of smile, but something softer.

You reached for the dress, slipping it off the hanger with a quiet rustle of fabric. Holding it up, you studied it in the mirror for a second before stepping into it, watching the way the fabric slid over your skin, how it caught the light. You adjusted it at your waist first, smoothing out the material, then over your hips. You ran your fingers along the delicate straps, pulling them into place over your shoulders, letting them settle against your skin.

It was beautiful. You had bought it months ago, let it hang untouched in your closet, waiting for the right moment—the right excuse—to finally wear it. The color was a soft, muted pink, something delicate but not overly sweet. It fit like it had been made for you, skimming over your body in a way that felt effortless. The fabric clung in all the right places, smoothing over the curve of your waist, the line of your hips.

Thin, barely-there straps rested on your shoulders, so delicate they felt like they might slip with the wrong movement. The neckline dipped just enough to reveal the right amount of cleavage, the gentle swell of your breasts visible beneath the silky material. They looked soft, full.

Yeah. You looked hot as shit.

Turning slightly, you opened the drawer in the bathroom cabinet and sifted through the tangle of small things inside—lip balm, bobby pins, a perfume bottle with a chipped cap. You moved things aside, searching for the tiny hook you used to pull up the zipper.

For a fleeting moment, the memory of Helena’s birthday surfaced. The way your stomach had clenched, panic twisting through you, though in retrospect, it hadn’t been entirely unwarranted. Your favorite dress, ruined—or at least, that’s how it had felt in the moment. A bold streak of red bleeding into the fabric, stubborn. And Frankie, kneeling in front of you, rifling through this very same drawer, his fingers brushing against the things you were touching now. His face set in concentration, his movements oddly careful.

The stain was still there. A faint trace remained, like a ghost of that night. You wondered, briefly, if his shirt had suffered the same fate. If somewhere in his closet, there was a reminder of it too. The thought was ridiculous, and you shook it off, smiling a little at yourself as you closed the drawer.

After a few moments of searching, you came up empty. The damn zipper hook was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, you left the bathroom and walked into the bedroom, heading straight for the bedside table.

Frankie was stretched out on his side, head propped up by his hand, elbow sinking into the mattress. His other hand moved absentmindedly over Mr. Darcy’s belly, fingers tracing slow, lazy strokes through the cat’s fur. He glanced up at you as you passed.

“So I take it that’s a choice,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward your dress. “The open zipper, I mean.”

You barely spared him a glance, shaking your head as you continued rifling through drawers.

After a beat, his voice came again, teasing. “No moon and sun tonight?”

Straightening up, you folded your arms and turned to face him. Frankie’s mouth was curled into an infuriating half-smile, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. He was enjoying himself far too much.

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head. “Do you think about that a lot?”

His laugh was quiet, barely contained.

“What, about the moon and the sun?” He paused, pretending to consider it. “Now that you mention it—yeah. Every time I see them. That is, in the morning. At night.”

“Pervert,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. Without missing a beat, you reached for one of the cushions resting against your pillows and hurled it at him.

Frankie caught himself with one hand, fingers pressing into the mattress as the pillow bounced off his shoulder and landed squarely on Mr. Darcy. The cat let out a sharp, indignant noise before darting off the bed in a flurry of fur and irritation. Frankie exhaled dramatically, shaking his head as he watched the cat disappear.

“Hey,” he said, turning back to you, amusement curling at the edges of his voice. “That was uncalled for. For the record, I’m not a pervert. I was merely making an observation.”

“Right,” you said, folding your arms over your chest. “An observation about my lower back.”

He clicked his tongue, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling for a brief second before he pushed himself upright. Then, slowly—purposefully—he made his way toward you, arms loosely crossing over his chest as he moved. He stopped just short of you, standing close enough that you could feel the faint heat radiating from him. His chin lifted slightly as he looked down at you, assessing.

“Can I see it?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your tattoo,” he clarified, tilting his head to the side. “Can I see it?”

A quiet, incredulous laugh bubbled up in your throat. “What? Why?”

Frankie’s lips twitched. “I told you—I didn’t get a good look at it the other night. Just a glimpse. I’m curious.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

He huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Then you’ve clearly heard very few excuses.”

You glanced off to the side, pretending to consider it, then let out a small sigh.

“Fine. But you have to zip me up after.”

His eyes flickered with something—triumph, maybe—but he kept his expression neutral.

“Where’s your little zipper thingy?”

“I dunno,” you muttered, already turning so your back was to him. “Can’t find it anywhere.”

“You’re lucky to have me here, aren’t you?” His voice came from just behind your right ear, low, the sound of it settling over your skin. He had moved closer. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back, the space between you narrowing by the second.

You exhaled. “Big ego. How badly do you want me to say yes to you?”

“As much as anyone,” he said without missing a beat, his fingers finding the clasp of your dress. They grazed the delicate metal before sliding downward, tracing the line of the zipper, stopping just where the slit in the fabric began. He applied the faintest pressure, fingertips dragging against the material. “Maybe more.”

You turned your head slightly, catching just the edge of his face in your periphery.

“Do you have a praise kink or something? Now that I think about it, that makes sense.”

Frankie let out a short, amused breath, the sound warm and rough in his chest behind you.

“Define praise kink.”

His fingers skimmed the bare skin of your back, the touch fleeting but intentional, before slipping lower to grasp the fabric. With a single motion, he pulled it down, holding it there, his fingertips framing the ink on your lower spine. He said nothing, just looking at it, as if trying to commit it to memory. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the quiet consideration in it.

“You really like being told what a good boy you are, don’t you?”

His fingers traced lightly along your back, the motion absentminded, like he was waiting to see where this would go.

“Like a well-trained dog,” you added, tilting your head slightly, just enough to catch his expression out of the corner of your eye. “Always eager to follow orders.”

Frankie hummed, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “I am a well-trained dog.”

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

He pressed his index finger to your spine, a slow drag downward, featherlight but certain.

Then, lowering his head so his mouth nearly grazed your ear, he added, “Yeah, right. But don’t forget, baby—good dogs bite too.”

“Oh yeah? I’d have to see it to believe it.” A pause. “Isn’t there a saying? Barking dogs don’t bite? And you do bark a lot.”

You felt, rather than heard, the low chuckle that rumbled through his chest, the sound more of a reaction than a response. He didn’t bother arguing.

You waited a beat. Then another.

“Are you even listening to me, Francisco?”

“I am.”

A satisfied hum escaped your lips.

“Good job,” you murmured, mocking him, tipping your head back until it rested lightly against his shoulder. His mouth quirked, something amused flickering in his eyes, but he said nothing. His fingers pressed a fraction harder into your skin like he had every intention of staying there a little longer. With the barest hint of a smirk, you tilted your chin up at him. “Now be a good boy and zip up my dress.”

Frankie’s hand settled on your waist, firm but not forceful, a steady point of contact as he held you in place. His other hand worked the clasp at your back, fingers brushing against your skin. You stood still, your breath measured, though your heartbeat was anything but. It pounded in your chest, restless, erratic.

He began to pull the zipper upward, and instinctively, you shifted forward, just enough to give him space.

“All set.”

You stepped away before you could think too much about it, crossing the room toward the mirror in the corner. Your fingers found your hair, adjusting it with idle precision, but your focus wasn’t really on yourself—it was on the reflection behind you. On Frankie, standing where you left him, watching you.

“See? What did I tell you?” His voice was softer now, and in the mirror, you saw him move, closing the space between you until he stood just behind you. His gaze caught yours in the glass. “You look amazing in that dress.”

You exhaled, your eyes drifting down your own reflection. The fabric hugged your body, elegant, but that wasn’t what made your stomach tighten. It was the weight of Frankie’s presence, the solidness of him so near, the quiet intensity in his face as he looked at you.

And the strangest part was—you didn’t mind it.

If anything, you wanted to lean into it. To let your body relax against his, your back pressing into his chest, your head finding his shoulder. It would be so easy to let go, just for a moment, to let him be the thing keeping you upright.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you met his eyes in the reflection, a quiet sort of smile forming at the edges of your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “You look amazing too.”

Frankie’s mouth quirked, like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. He only stood there, his dark eyes locked on yours, unwilling to break the contact.

A slow warmth crept up your neck, spreading through your stomach in a way you weren’t prepared for. As if he could sense it, Frankie leaned in, his breath ghosting against your skin as his mouth brushed near your ear.

“I’ll get an uber,” he murmured, voice lower now, quieter.

And then he stepped back, turning without hesitation, crossing the room and disappearing through the doorway, leaving you standing alone in front of the mirror.

“I don’t want to have a hangover tomorrow,” you murmured to Frankie as you stepped into the Marriott’s party. Your arm was looped through his, your body angled slightly toward him like he was the only person here you trusted not to drive you insane. “Can you imagine? Puking from heaven?”

Frankie huffed out a quiet laugh. The ceremony had been painfully sentimental, the kind of over-the-top romanticism that left little room for subtlety. You and Frankie had sat near the back, exchanging glances every time Harry or Lisa said something particularly saccharine. You could feel his amusement vibrating beneath his skin, a quiet, internal laugh that matched yours.

They were a cliché. But they were in love.

And the two of you? Yeah, also a cliché. But a different kind, a diffierent version. The bitter, disillusioned wedding guests who made quiet fun of people who still believed in grand gestures and happily-ever-afters. The inevitable result of being heartbroken, right?

“We’ll leave early,” Frankie assured you, his voice low, just for you. “Get you home at a decent hour. The drive’s over an hour, and I wouldn’t wish that hungover on my worst enemy.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, a hand clamped around your free arm.

“Holy shit,” a voice said, full of delighted surprise. “I thought I was seeing things when I spotted you at the ceremony, but nope. It’s actually you.”

Henry. Harry’s brother.

He was grinning as he leaned in, too close, forcing you to subtly pull back. His breath smelled like alcohol, like he’d started celebrating hours ago.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he continued. “Told Harry he was crazy to even invite you.”

Beside you, Frankie exhaled sharply—a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh but carried the same edge of amusement. You felt him shift closer, the space between your bodies narrowing.

“Why, Henry?” you asked, tilting your head just slightly, curious to see how he’d wriggle out of this one.

Henry’s gaze flickered from your face to Frankie’s, then back to yours. “Well, you know.”

“I really don’t.” You let the silence stretch, watching him squirm. Then, before he could answer, you said, “Anyway, this is Frankie, my boyfriend. Frankie, this is Henry—Harry’s brother.”

Frankie nodded, extending his hand, and Henry took it with a grin that bordered on friendly but didn’t quite make it there.

“Henry,” Frankie said, shaking his hand. “Henry and Harry. Your parents were feeling creative, huh?”

Henry chuckled. “That’s what they tell me.”

They released hands, and Henry’s gaze slid back to you, his grin widening, unbearably smug. “Have you said hi to Harry yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, you should. He’d love to see you.” Henry’s expression was all performative innocence. Then, as if he’d just remembered something incredibly important, he clapped his hands together. “I took it upon myself to make the evening spectacular, by the way. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to throw a party. And personally, I like expensive parties.”

“I can imagine,” you murmured.

“If you’re not gonna do it big, don’t do it at all, right?”

“Exactly.” Frankie turned to you, his dark eyes gleaming with barely hidden amusement. “Isn’t that what you always say?”

“It is,” you said solemnly, nodding.

“Two hundred bottles of Dom Pérignon,” Henry continued, gesturing grandly. “No more, no less. One of my gifts to the happy couple. Because really, is there anything better than a proper glass of champagne?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” you said, raising your eyebrows.

“See? That’s the attitude I like.” Henry rested a hand on your shoulder, his expression shifting into something more pointed. “And I have to say, I’m glad to see you here. You’re a beautiful woman, and it’s about time you both put all this behind you, don’t you think?”

Your spine stiffened, but before you could decide exactly how to respond, Frankie was already moving. He clapped a firm hand on Henry’s shoulder, forcing him to shift his attention.

“We should go find our table,” Frankie said, his tone pleasant, easy, but somehow final. “Nice meeting you, Henry. You really are a lot like your brother. Uncanny.”

Henry’s grin twitched.

“So they say.” His eyes flickered between you both, as if sizing something up, but then he just shrugged. “Well, enjoy yourselves.”

Frankie nodded once, then slipped his arm back around yours, steering you away as Henry melted back into the crowd.

“Harry and Henry,” he murmured close to your ear as you wove through the room, scanning for your seats. His breath was warm against your skin, but his tone was flat. “Is this a joke?”

“It’s a family tradition. Their dad’s name is Hugo. Their mom’s name is Hillary.”

“I guess being obnoxiously consistent is a family tradition too.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound barely carrying over the hum of conversation and the clinking of glassware. He gestured vaguely as you walked, like he was painting his exasperation into the air.

“I dunno, never met their parents. Just Henry.”

“He’s an idiot. I hope you’re aware of that.”

“Sure, but he’s an idiot who ordered two hundred bottles of Dom Pérignon, so we’re not leaving until we’ve had at least one.”

You spotted your table near a set of tall windows overlooking the courtyard, candlelight flickering against the panes. Without thinking, you reached for Frankie’s hand, your fingers slipping easily around his wrist as you guided him forward.

“If you want to leave, just say the word,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You nodded. The truth was, if it were entirely up to you, you’d be gone already. But you were starving, and after sitting through an entire ceremony—one that would have been unbearable if not for Frankie at your side—you figured you’d earned a decent meal.

At the table sat Lydia, Eric, and Noah—friends of Harry’s—and Lucy, Eric’s girlfriend. You knew Lydia, but the rest were strangers, and judging by Lydia’s slightly startled expression when she saw you, she hadn’t expected you to be here either. You gave her a small, reassuring nod, the same one you had given Henry earlier. It’s fine.

You assumed Henry had handled dinner as well, given the absurdly decadent spread in front of you. The first course arrived, each plate looking like something out of a high-production culinary docuseries: fresh oysters crowned with lemon foam and caviar, served alongside champagne mignonette and delicate sprigs of herbs. Burrata and prosciutto salad followed, the cheese nestled among caramelized figs, arugula, toasted almonds, and a drizzle of aged balsamic.

Frankie didn’t talk much, too absorbed in his food, eating with the kind of quiet satisfaction that suggested he had no intention of wasting a single bite. You chimed in here and there, but the conversation quickly veered toward topics that held no interest for you. Harry’s friends all worked in the same field—cyber engineering, or something equally impenetrable, whatever—and there was nothing in the world you cared about less.

Just as the waitstaff began to move through the room, balancing trays and murmuring amongst themselves, Lydia turned to Frankie with a curious tilt of her head. She was seated close to him—closer than necessary—and the soft glow of the overhead lights caught the mischievous glint in her brown eyes as she spoke.

“How did you two meet?”

Frankie reached for his wine glass, taking a measured sip before glancing at you.

“I’m friends with her brother. Best friend, actually.”

Lydia’s lips parted slightly in surprise, then curved into a knowing smile.

“No shit,” she said, her fingers drifting to rest on his bicep in a way that felt both casual and deliberate. “I assume it was a secret thing for a while, right?”

“A little,” you admitted, letting your hand slide over Frankie’s where it rested on the table. His skin was warm beneath your palm, his fingers slightly tense. “But my brother took it well, thankfully.”

“When did you two start dating?”

“Almost four months ago,” Frankie said, so easily, so naturally, that for a second, even you almost believed it.

Lydia grinned, her eyes flicking between the two of you like she was cataloging details.

“I like it, I like you,” she said finally. “You make a good couple. You look great together.”

You tilted your head, resting your chin in the palm of your hand, elbow propped on the table.

“Really?” you teased, then turned to Frankie, lifting your brows up and down in an exaggerated motion.

Lydia gave an affirming nod, lifting her glass to her lips just as the waiters arrived with the main course.

Frankie’s grip on your hand tightened—just slightly, barely perceptible. But you felt it. His thumb traced absentminded circles against the back of your hand as his gaze flickered to the waitstaff moving seamlessly through the room. Men and women in crisp white shirts and dark blue aprons carried silver trays. There were three options: meat, fish, or vegetarian. You had confirmed your choice in advance, so when the waiter set your plate down, it was exactly as expected—a perfectly seared beef fillet, dark and rich beneath a glossy truffle and red wine reduction. Beside it, a portion of rustic mashed potatoes, thick with butter, and a handful of grilled asparagus, charred just enough at the edges. It looked like a painting, like you were about to devour a Millais piece of art.

The conversation at the table carried on effortlessly, drifting from one topic to the next, until—unexpectedly—it landed on Frankie and his time in the Air Force, specifically CAG. You hadn’t anticipated it, but he took it in stride, fielding questions with ease. And the stories he shared were, for lack of a better word, unreal. Incredible, even. And yet, no one at the table doubted him. You didn't. There was something about the way he spoke—measured, composed, always keeping just enough back. He offered glimpses but never the full picture.

Like everyone else, you found yourself hanging onto his words. But it wasn’t just the stories that held your attention—it was him. The way he carried himself, his voice even and certain, the weight of experience settled into every syllable. He didn’t embellish. He didn’t need to.

You felt it in your stomach, that low, twisting awareness of him. Your gaze kept catching on the line of his jaw, the set of his soft mouth as he spoke, the way his hands moved when he gestured. You had never given much thought to the appeal of pilots, but suddenly, it made perfect sense.

You imagined him in a cockpit, eyes locked straight ahead, jaw tight in focus, hands steady on the controls. Big hands, thick fingers knowing exactly what to do. Flying a plane, or maybe a helicopter, his brows drawn together in concentration, gripping the throttle. You could see it so clearly, like a memory that wasn’t yours.

“Join me outside?”

His voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back. You blinked, realizing you’d been staring at him for too long. Heat crept up your neck.

“Sure,” you said, covering your embarrassment with a quick smile. “You okay?”

“Just need a smoke.” He tipped his head toward the door, his own mouth curving slightly.

“Okay, let’s go.”

You both stood, murmuring quick apologies to the table before slipping away, weaving through the room toward the patio doors.

Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the faint hum of conversation from inside. Frankie walked past the windows to the far end of the patio, where the light was softer. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes with one hand, his lighter with the other.

You stood in front of him, watching as he brought the cigarette to his lips, tilting his head just slightly as he flicked the lighter. The small flame sparked, illuminating his face in a brief flash of gold, shadows shifting across his features. His eyes caught the light, reflecting it back like polished amber.

For a moment, he looked impossibly warm.

“Oh, they all loved you,” you said, stepping closer, your heels pressing softly against the stone patio.

Frankie took a drag from his cigarette, then exhaled to the side, careful to direct the smoke away from you.

“I’m convincing,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I needed to get out of there for a minute. I think you did too.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He studied you for a second. “You were quiet in there. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, nodding. You crossed your arms over your chest, more out of instinct than anything else. The movement pushed your breasts up slightly, the soft night air drawing a slow breath from you.

Frankie’s eyes flickered downward—so quick you might have missed it. And then just as quickly, he looked away, clearing his throat, focusing somewhere off to the side.

“Good,” he said, his voice steady again. “It’s a nice party.”

“It is. They seem happy.”

“Harry was watching you earlier. Looked like he wanted to come over.”

“I’ll find him later. He’s busy with all the guests.”

Frankie nodded, then lifted the cigarette back to his lips.

“So, you think we should head out after the cake?”

You let out a short laugh, tilting your head. “Unbelievable. That’s your plan? Wait around for the cake. It's always the cake.”

He exhaled another stream of smoke, this time straight up, and from where you stood, your eyes dropped to the movement of his throat, the way the muscles shifted as he swallowed.

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable,” he said, his voice low. "And yeah, I want cake."

“Oh don’t even think about it,” you said, stepping even closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne beneath the smoke. “You think I’m leaving a wedding without dancing at least once? I didn’t put on this dress just to sit around all night.”

For a second, Frankie looked almost serious. Then, without warning, his hand reached out, resting lightly on your arm. His palm was warm, his thumb brushing absently against your skin.

“That’s true. And lucky for you, I know a couple of moves you might like.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Oh, yeah?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I have sisters. Do you know how many times they made me practice for their school dances?”

“Oh I’ll believe it when I see it, Travolta.”

He smiled, and his gaze dropped, trailing the length of your body in a way that should have felt obvious. But it didn’t. It didn’t feel leering or calculated—it felt like something else entirely. Something measured. Like he was taking in a view he hadn’t expected to find himself looking at for too long. Under his gaze, this time, you felt warm.

And yet, it settled inside you in a way you weren’t ready for.

No.

You pushed the thought away, rejecting it outright, like swatting at a mosquito buzzing too close to your ear. This—whatever this was—wasn’t supposed to burrow under your skin. It wasn’t supposed to live in you.

Nothing had even happened. Not really. There was no reason for your chest to feel tight, for your stomach to flip when he so much as looked at you for too long. You’d had a dream, that was all. A dream he knew almost nothing about. And yet, something was shifting. Your perception of him was warping, reshaping itself in ways you didn’t entirely trust.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

It wasn’t supposed to.

“I’m going to get a little drunk tonight,” you announced suddenly, as if saying it out loud would root you back in the moment. A sweet, practiced smile curled at your lips. “Just a little. Just enough to be happy and giggly.”

Frankie’s mouth twitched. “Champagne happiness, heard it’s dangerous.”

“Are you going to celebrate with me?”

He quirked a brow. “What, baby?”

The way he said it—casual, unthinking, like it was something he’d called you a hundred times before—sent a sharp, unexpected pulse through you. A deep, insistent thrum that settled low in your body, uninvited and impossible to ignore. But you ignored it anyway. Or at least, you tried to.

You let your head tip back slightly, arms falling to your sides in an exaggerated motion, playing up the lightness in your voice, the teasing in your expression. Then, closing the space between you, you pressed your hands lightly to his chest. Beneath your palms, you felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his suit, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

You looked up at him, eyes catching on his. Deep coffee eyes, they could keep you awake.

"We'll jump out of a plane tomorrow."

Frankie’s fingers wrapped around your wrists and he stepped back, drawing you with him until his back met the wall.

"Yes, we will."

He lowered his hand, pressing the cigarette against the wall to put it out, then flicked it toward the bin a few feet away. It arced lazily through the air before landing neatly inside.

You slid your hands down, settling them at his waist.

"Impressive." The teasing edge in your voice made him laugh.

He covered your hands with his own, resting them over his chest, his palms warm and solid. Then he shifted, bending slightly at the knees, his body slotting in closer to yours, his face suddenly right there.

"Ready to go back inside?"

"Ready."

And then—so brief it might not have happened at all—he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Barely there. A brush of warmth, gone before your breath could catch up with it. But it stayed, somehow, like a ghost of heat on your skin.

Straightening, he stepped to your side, offering his hand. No hesitation. No smugness. Just an easy, open gesture and you took it without thinking. His fingers curled around yours, warm as he led you back inside.

Lydia greeted you with an easy smile, her chair scraping lightly against the floor as she scooted closer—not necessarily to you, but to Frankie, sitting beside her. She leaned in slightly, one hand curled around the stem of her wine glass, the other resting on the table as she tossed out a question about flying. Her bright brown eyes were glossy with the weight of the night as she touched her dark hair, curls falling over her shoulder.

Frankie answered without hesitation, his voice relaxed, slipping into laughter as she made some joke you didn’t quite catch. You weren’t really listening. Your mind was occupied elsewhere, preoccupied with the weight in your chest—a strange, persistent thing, both soft and heavy, pulsing faintly, not overwhelming but impossible to ignore.

Every few moments, he glanced your way, his gaze landing on you as if to check that you were still there. And you were, technically. You nodded at the right times, reacted just enough to seem present, though the words around you barely registered. It was like hearing a conversation through a thick wall, muffled, distant.

You let your head rest in the palm of your hand, tilting slightly as you watched him. The curve of his mouth, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the light caught the faint crease between his brows when he focused on something. Then he turned toward you fully, his expression careful, warm, like he saw you—really saw you—even though you weren’t saying anything at all.

Without thinking, your free hand moved to rest over his knee. A light squeeze. Quiet, grounding.

Half an hour passed, the conversation drifting into topics that no longer had anything to do with neither of you. The wine glasses sat empty, waiting to be refilled, and though you weren’t drunk, you’d had enough to feel lighter, your limbs looser, your thoughts a little hazier around the edges.

At some point, the bride and groom stood for a toast. People clinked glasses, raised them in the air, laughter rippling through the room. You listened, but only barely. It was strange, how little interest you had in any of it. And Frankie seemed to notice. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “Do you want to go for another smoke?”

The corner of your mouth lifted, a quiet chuckle slipping out. “That would be rude,” you murmured back. “Later.”

At last, the champagne arrived. Waiters moved seamlessly through the room, carrying silver buckets brimming with ice, the necks of dark green bottles peeking out as condensation dripped onto polished trays. The music swelled, a subtle shift in energy, signaling the arrival of dessert. Over by the dance floor, an entire spread of sweets had been arranged under the glow of warm lights, a feast of sugar and cream and fresh fruit.

In front of you, delicate plates were set down—thin layers of almond sponge cake stacked with glossy chocolate ganache and silky coffee cream. Next to them, red fruit tarts sat like tiny works of art, mascarpone swirled into soft peaks, crushed pistachios scattered over the top, a drizzle of raspberry coulis glistening beneath a sheer, glassy icing.

The waitstaff moved through the tables again, offering bottles of crisp white and deep red wines, the bubbles of a brut sparkling ready for the toast. Frankie reached for his glass, ordering a sauvignon with practiced ease. You stayed with champagne, the cool stem of the flute pressed lightly between your fingers as you took a sip, the sharp fizz of it settling on your tongue.

Apparently, there were still more speeches to get through. Henry—the best man—took the microphone, followed by a handful of other guests, each offering heartfelt words for the bride and groom. The messages were exactly what you’d expect: warm wishes, fond memories, jokes about the honeymoon a handful of mildly embarrassing anecdotes that made the room laugh. Behind the head table, a slideshow played on a screen, flickering through childhood photos, vacation snapshots, and candid moments. Then, finally, the moment everyone had been waiting for—the official announcement that the party was about to begin.

Finally.

The staff moved quickly, clearing the dance floor as the music shifted. The lights dimmed, leaving only the soft glow of delicate strands of twinkling bulbs hanging from the ceiling, casting everything in a warm, golden haze. It looked almost unreal, like a scene lifted straight out of a fairy tale. In the center of the room, a mirrored disco ball began to turn, scattering shards of light across the space, tiny reflections dancing over tables, faces, the polished floor.

Frankie extended a hand toward you, palm up, fingers slightly curled. “Come on, I’ll lead the way.”

You laughed, mostly at the self-assured look on his face. “ I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back.”

He waved a hand, a casual I’ll wait for you, and leaned back in his chair. You stood, weaving your way past the crowd as they moved toward the dance floor, slipping along the edge of the music and laughter until you reached the hallway by the windows, where the restrooms overlooked the courtyard.

The bathroom caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected the luxury to extend this far, but of course, it had. The walls, clad in black marble with striking white veins, gleamed under the soft light of recessed gold sconces, casting everything in a soft, opulent glow. The floor, a stretch of polished black porcelain, reflected the warm light overhead, your silhouette mirrored faintly at your feet.

At the sinks, two women stood talking animatedly, their voices bouncing off the marble. Something about a Jenny. You barely registered it, and they paid you the same indifference as you slipped into one of the stalls.

When you emerged, the place was quiet again, just the faint hum of the music filtering in from the outside. You stepped toward the mirror, running your hands under the stream of cold water, watching yourself as you lathered the soap between your fingers. You looked good. Better than good, actually. The dress had been the right choice. Not to be vain, but your boobs looked phenomenal.

Your palm smoothed over the fabric, fingertips grazing the delicate material, adjusting where it clung just right. A quiet sigh left your lips. You reached into your purse, pulling out your lipstick and uncapping it. A quick swipe of color, then a gentle dab with your fingertip to blend, leaving just the right stain behind. The I've just been kissed kinda look.

Then, you straightened, squared your shoulders, and made your way to the door. The moment it swung open, the sound of the party crashed back into you.

A pop song from the nineties played, something ridiculously catchy. Your gaze flickered across the room, searching, landing almost immediately on Frankie. He was leaning against one of the columns near the dance floor, watching the crowd with that quiet attentiveness he always carried.

You picked up your pace, weaving through the shifting bodies, ready to reach him—

Until a voice cut through the noise, calling your name.

Harry.

He approached with a wide grin, his cheeks flushed, a drink clutched loosely in one hand. He looked happy—tipsy, maybe more than that.

“Hey, hey, there you are,” he said, his voice slightly louder than necessary as he rested a hand on your shoulder and bent toward you. “How are you liking the party?”

“It’s amazing,” you said truthfully, then tilted your head toward the dance floor. “How’s Lisa?”

Harry followed your gaze, nodding toward where Lisa was dancing in the middle of a group of women, all of them belting out the lyrics to the song playing over the speakers. She looked radiant, beautiful.

“Her dream wedding,” he said, sounding both proud and a little dazed by it all. Then he turned back to you. “You having a good time? Did you come alone?”

“No, I came with Frankie.” You gestured behind you instinctively, eyes scanning for him.

And there he was. Still leaning against the column. But now he wasn’t alone. Lydia stood in front of him, her body angled toward his, her fingers resting lightly on his bicep as she laughed at something he’d said.

Harry didn’t seem to notice—his attention elsewhere, the shifting crowd blocking his line of sight.

“I’ll stop by and say hi in a bit, okay? I’m really glad you came. And with him.”

“It’s nothing,” you said, smiling softly, already turning, already stepping away before he could say anything else.

When you looked back at Frankie, he was watching you now. He raised both eyebrows, his mouth curving into something smug and amused, as if to say, Are you seeing this?

Lydia tilted her head, still talking, still smiling.

And you smiled too—sharp, incredulous.

This bitch.

She was flirting with your boyfriend?

Well. Not really your boyfriend. But as far as she knew, he was.

How fucking dare she?

You stopped in your tracks just a few feet away, arms crossing tightly over your chest. Your gaze flicked between them—Frankie, who looked momentarily confused, and Lydia, who had somehow managed to inch even closer.

For a second, he glanced at you, then back at her, and you could see it—the slight crease in his brow, the way his mouth pulled at the corners, amused but uncertain. You had no idea what they were talking about, couldn’t hear a damn thing over the music and the hum of conversation around you. But still, irritation prickled at the back of your neck, heat pooling in your chest.

Why wasn’t he stopping her?

She was looking up at him, all effortless charm, fingers lightly grazing his arm. And Frankie—smiling, a little uncomfortable, sure, but not moving away.

Then she lifted her hand, fingers brushing the side of his neck.

And something in you snapped. You closed the distance between you in seconds, stepping up beside her with so much force she barely had time to react. She was still mid-sentence, still focused on him, and you didn’t wait for her to turn. Instead, your hand found her shoulder, firm but not forceful, and pulled her back.

“Take your hands off him.”

Your voice came out even, controlled. Not angry—just final.

Her eyes widened in surprise, feigned innocence flickering across her expression like she had no idea what you could possibly be talking about.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was just asking—”

“I don’t care.” You smiled at her, wide and sharp, tilting your head slightly. “Step back.”

She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head like this was all some kind of joke.

“Darlin', I—”

“Aren’t you listening to me?” you cut in again, your voice dropping slightly. “I said step back. Now.”

You didn’t move, didn’t blink, just flicked your chin toward the other end of the room, arms still folded over your chest. Go on.

Lydia exhaled, something between a scoff and a sigh, her eyes narrowing slightly like you had just accused her of something truly outrageous. Then, with an exaggerated shake of her head, she turned on her heel and walked away, each step sharp and offended.

The second she was out of earshot, Frankie let out a strangled laugh, low and rough, pressing his knuckles against his mouth to muffle it.

You turned on him next, raising an eyebrow.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He grinned, utterly unbothered.

“I was waiting for you. She came up to me, that’s all.” The fucker was enjoying this.

“Ah. And why’s that?”

“She just asked me something about my job.”

“Oh, really? What is it? She interested in joining the Air Force?”

Frankie let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Don’t think so.” He cocked an eyebrow, watching you. “But she’s interested in flying. Asked if I could give her, you know… lessons.”

Your gaze swept over him, from his boots to his eyes, dragging your gaze up and locking onto his. A dry, humorless chuckle escaped your lips.

“Lessons,” you repeated, stretching out the word, lips curling. “Well, that explains why she was hanging onto your every word at dinner.”

“She’s got the passion for it.”

You pressed your lips together, nodding.

“Mhm.” That was all you gave him before turning on your heel and heading toward the dance floor.

Three seconds later, a hand curled around your waist, pulling you back with such certainty you barely had time to react before you found yourself against his chest, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of your dress.

He didn’t let go. Instead, his hand shifted, moving higher, resting over your ribs. His thumb barely grazing the soft skin of your chest above the fabric, oblivious, the touch light, absentminded.

“Don’t go,” he murmured against your ear, voice edged with smile.

You turned your face toward him, just enough that your breath almost mingled with his, your mouth a whisper away from his own. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you, settling in your chest like a slow, creeping warmth. It wasn’t overpowering, just enough to make you aware of how close he was.

“This whole pilot thing, I imagine it must be useful with women.”

You flicked your gaze forward before he could answer, landing on Lydia across the room, mid-laugh, one hand wrapped around the stem of a wine glass, the other gesturing in animated conversation with someone whose name you didn’t know.

He didn’t hesitate. “It is.”

“Does it work for you?”

His chuckle was low, more felt than heard. “Most of the time.”

You turned toward him again, not quite meeting his eyes, his lips so close they could almost be mistaken for yours in a darkened room.

Your voice carried a hint of a lie. “I don’t see the appeal.”

“I know you don’t.”

“But I like uniforms. Do you wear one?”

“I used to. Full-body flight suit. A helmet, if I was flying. Full protective gear.”

A hum left your throat, thoughtful, considering. You nodded, but said nothing.

“I could give you lessons too, if you want.”

Your eyebrows knitted together, your expression shifting into something thoughtful, as if you were genuinely considering it. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you turned, unhurried, until you were facing him fully. The space between you barely existed—your chest pressed against his, so close that the contact made you ticklish. Your hands moved, trailing up his chest in a way that could have been absentminded if not for how deliberate it felt. They came to rest against his shoulders, then slid higher, fingers curling lightly around either side of his neck.

“I see, did you tell Lydia that too?”

“Careful,” he said, voice dipping lower, teasing. “Or I’m going to start thinking you’re jealous.”

A surprised laugh pressed against your ribs, got caught in your throat before you let it out, short and sharp. Your gaze flickered away for a moment, as if checking the room, as if needing to look anywhere else. Jealous. The suggestion was ridiculous. Completely absurd.

“Jealous? Of what? A fake relationship?”

“Who knows.”

Your fingers twitched slightly where they rested against his skin, your right hand skimming higher, grazing the place Lydia’s had been just minutes ago.

“No, but I do want to make something clear. Right now, you’re with me,” you went on, your voice quieter but no less firm. “That’s the story, isn’t it? We’re together. We’re a couple.”

“We are.”

“So don’t flirt with anyone else,” you continued, fingers pressing just a little deeper into the warm skin at his neck. “Don’t let them touch you, don’t let them get too close.”

His eyes traced your face, taking their time, unreadable. The corner of his mouth twitched again, his upper lip lifting slightly, like he was fighting against something—maybe a smirk, maybe a retort.

“If any woman approaches you while we’re at it, you tell her—respectfully—that you have a girlfriend,” you said, unwavering. “We can’t risk it. And I certainly don’t need people thinking you’re cheating on me. Right?”

“Right.”

“Other than that,” you added, tilting your chin slightly, “you’re free to do whatever you want.”

Frankie exhaled, tilting his head back slightly as his gaze swept the room. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth—thoughtful, maybe frustrated. Before you could ask, before you could even register the shift in his posture, he stepped away from you. The absence of his body heat was brief, because a second later, his hand found your waist. Again.

He didn’t say anything. He just started walking, guiding you with him, his grip firm but not forceful at all. You could have stopped him if you wanted to. You didn’t. Instead, you let yourself be led through the clusters of people, past the conversation, the clinking of glasses, the bursts of laughter that grew fainter as he maneuvered you toward the door leading to the courtyard.

The air outside felt delicious, still carrying the remnants of summer heat but cooled by the open space. It was quieter here, though the muffled echoes of the party still drifted from inside. You glanced up at him, waiting for some kind of explanation, but he gave you nothing. Just kept moving, steering you toward the spot where you’d stood earlier in the night.

Then, with a firm nudge against the side of your ribcage, he pressed you toward the wall. Your spine met the cool surface, a muted shock against the warmth of your skin. He positioned himself in front of you, close enough that you felt the residual energy buzzing off him, though his expression remained composed.

“If we’re going to set rules,” he said finally, stepping nearer, “they should go both ways.”

His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, his right hand lifting, two fingers extended in your direction like he was making a point.

You blinked at him, unimpressed. “I haven’t flirted with anyone, Francisco.”

He didn’t break eye contact. “Keep it that way.”

You let out a quiet breath. “Okay.”

"I mean—I mean as long as we're together doing this in public, keep it that way."

“Okay.”

He exhaled through his nose, gaze still steady. “And this thing with your little games—you need to stop.”

Your arms crossed over your chest, a slow, deliberate movement. He noticed, his eyes flickering downward before snapping back up to your face, like he hadn’t meant to look. Like it annoyed him that he had.

A beat passed. Then you lifted your eyebrows, voice soft, feigning innocence.

“What are you talking about?”

His jaw tightened for just a fraction of a second.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said, voice measured, even. “I know what you tried to do at my mom’s house.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable but enjoying all of this.

“The weird dreams,” he continued. "The way you act. All sweet and nice and pretending not to know exactly what you’re doing.”

He was so close now that you could see the faint crease between his brows, the way his lips curled just slightly at the edges, the soft texture of his lips, a hint of amusement masking whatever was simmering underneath. He lifted a hand, pressing his palm against the wall beside your head, leaning in, caging you in place without actually touching you.

“All of that,” he murmured, gaze unwavering. “Out of nowhere?”

“I never said anything about a weird dream.”

Frankie exhaled sharply through his nose, an incredulous half-laugh. “Of course you did.”

“No. I said wet dream, not weird dream.”

For a second, just a fraction of one, his expression faltered. Then he coughed out a rough laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you.

“Same thing. And it’s still a lie.”

Something warm flickered low in your stomach, then curled upward, spreading through your chest. Maybe it was the champagne. Or the wine from dinner. Or maybe it was just him, standing so close, looking at you like that. Not that it mattered.

You smiled, slowy shaking your head. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I wasn’t,” you insisted, leaning slightly into the space between you.

He scoffed. “You didn’t even know what to say when I asked you about it.”

“Well, I was a little embarrassed, wouldn’t you be?”

Frankie gave a short, disbelieving shake of his head. “Not a chance.”

“Okay,” you said, inhaling. “Then let’s see. I’ll tell you. Since you’re so sure I made it up.”

A few hours ago, maybe a few hours from now, you might have had the good sense to keep your mouth shut. But right now, with him standing there looking so smug, so convinced he was right, something in you hardened, filled with certainty. A slow grin tugged at the corner of your lips as you took in the self-satisfied look on his face.

“Well,” you started, your tone casual, like this was just any conversation. “I was in bed, and it was daylight. Probably morning, since the sun hits right outside my window at that hour.”

“Uh-huh. Noted.”

“I closed my eyes, and the light dimmed. When I opened them, you were there.”

His smirk wavered slightly.

“On top of me,” you clarified, watching him carefully, gauging his reaction. A pleasant sort of nervousness buzzed beneath your skin, excitement curling around your spine. Your face felt warm, but you didn’t stop. “You were kissing my neck. My hands were in your hair—”

“Okay. Stop it,” he said, his voice a little rougher now, the effect of your words obvious in the way his jaw tensed, the way his posture shifted.

But you ignored him, eyes glinting with something close to triumph.

“And you kissed me. Sweet, hard, soft,” you went on, undeterred.

He didn’t tell you to stop again. Just watched you, his gaze dark and unreadable, eyes shining like black pearls.

“And... well,” you shrugged, feigning innocence, lips curling. “You know the rest.”

"I certainly don't."

A pause stretched between you, thick and charged with the air pressing in around you like something tangible, like you were swimming in mousse. He was a contradiction in real time—so eager to hear you say it, but so visibly bracing against it. Like he wanted to know and didn’t, all at once.

"Francisco—"

"Tell me what happened."

The confidence you’d walked in with was beginning to leak out of you, leaving a warm flush in its absence, like heat rising from your skin.

He opened his mouth again. "Are you embarrassed—"

"You fucked me," you said, the words coming out in a breath. "Like you knew exactly how, like it was second nature. And, to be honest, right now, looking at you from this angle, it’s like watching it happen all over again."

Something in him shifted. It was barely visible, the kind of change you’d miss if you weren’t already attuned to him in a way that felt dangerous. His body tilted forward, unintentionally, his hand still planted on the wall just beside your head. His gaze tracked yours with precision, like he was waiting for you to flinch first. Your head tilted back, chin lifting to meet him. Your mouth felt dry, your chest heavy.

A breath left him, uneven. His pupils dark and wide, mouth slightly parted like he might say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he held himself there, frozen in some strange balance between defiance and surrender.

"Out of nowhere," he said after a few seconds, voice lower now, more controlled than it had been a moment ago. "You bring these things up out of nowhere. You really think I’m just going to take your word for it?"

"You already do. You believe me because it’s true. Do you really think I’d make something like this up?"

A slow, almost lazy smile unfurled on his lips. "Of course you would. You love playing games with me."

"Do you actually believe that?"

"Yeah, I do. You used to do it before, you're still at it now. The only difference is, back then, you loved torturing me with other kind of stuff. Now, you’ve just switched it up a bit. I guess all that energy’s gotta go somewhere."

"Sure, well, just remember this—if there's gonna be tension, it’s gotta pull from both sides, right? If we’re talking energy... there need to be two hands on each side of the thread."

"So, you’re accepting it? That you're playing with me?"

"I never said that."

"I told you before—I know what you’re doing. These little looks you think I don’t catch. The way you push just enough to see if I’ll bite. Now that we’re not fighting all the time, this is your new strategy?"

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "Like you don’t love every second of it."

"I don’t—"

"You do," you cut in smoothly. "And you don’t just take it, you give it right back. Let’s not pretend. You had me pressed against you in there, whispering in my ear like you didn’t have another option." Your chin lifted again, your lips inches from his. "Just admit it."

"Admit what?" He wanted to make you mad. But you weren’t mad.

"Admit that you’re playing the same game." A soft smile curved your mouth. "Don’t act like I’m the one setting the rules when you follow them so damn well. And even if I were the one setting them, you’d still follow them, wouldn’t you? You said it yourself—a well-trained dog."

Your hand moved to his chest, slow and knowing, fingers trailing upward to the base of his throat. His pulse beat against your palm.

"And don’t get too cocky," you murmured, pressing just slightly, feeling the way he swallowed under your touch. "I know exactly how to win."

His smile faltered, the edges softening until it was gone entirely. His expression was intoxicating—his heavy-lidded gaze sweeping over your face, lingering, tracing every detail like he was trying to memorize it. He wet his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, exhaling through his nose as he leaned in, tilting his head just enough for his mouth to ghost over your cheek.

"And what exactly is the prize?"

Your pulse slammed against your ribs, heat unfurling low in your stomach, molten and insistent. You had a response ready, but you held it back, breathing through the moment, trying to steady yourself enough that he wouldn’t hear how uneven you sounded.

Frankie pulled back just slightly, just enough to catch your eyes again. The air between you felt weighted, a thread stretched so tight it might snap.

Your fingers drifted up the column of his neck, brushing along his jawline, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. He didn't move away, didn’t even blink, just watched you with the kind of focus that made your skin burn. You leaned in, your lips grazing his in a touch so light it barely existed. The ghost of a kiss, suspended between you, aching to be realized.

"Do you think you can win?" you murmured, the words pressing into his mouth more than being spoken.

Frankie closed his eyes, the barest smile curving his lips. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"I bet you are. Wrong," you mused, your fingers trailing downward, stopping at his throat, pressing lightly against the steady beat of his pulse. "Can you tell me something?"

His breath hitched, almost imperceptible. "Mhm."

"That night," you whispered, "you were talking about me with Will, weren’t you?"

His lashes fluttered, but he didn’t hesitate. "Yeah."

"But what you told him wasn’t true."

"No, it wasn’t."

"Why did you lie to him?"

A beat of silence. His throat bobbed under your fingers.

"You know Will."

"What did he tell you?"

Frankie closed the space between you, his movements unhurried but decisive, like he’d already made up his mind about what was going to happen next. His lips pressed the corner of your mouth—just enough to make your breath catch—but instead of deepening the kiss, he shifted, tracing a slow path up your cheek, leaving the faintest, teasing kisses in his wake.

By the time he reached your ear, your eyes had already fluttered shut, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. You felt the warmth of his breath before he spoke.

"He insisted," he murmured, his voice impossibly low.

You swallowed, pulse skipping. "On what?"

His hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. His thumb moved in slow, measured circles, a silent rhythm against your skin, like he wasn’t in any hurry to let go. The touch sent a shiver up your spine, made your body react before your mind caught up—your back arching slightly, your frame pressing into his without thought.

"I insist, baby. Drop it," he said, his voice shifting—no longer just a whisper but something sharper, something awake. "It’s not going to work on me."

And then—suddenly, without warning—he pulled away.

The absence of his body against yours was jarring, a sharp contrast to the way he still held your waist in place, his grip firm as his chest separated from yours. The cold air rushed into the space where he had just been, and for a brief, humiliating moment, you realized you were leaning into nothing.

Frankie lingered for a beat longer, fingers flexing slightly at your hip, before he finally let go. He turned on his heel, putting distance between you with calculated ease.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he glanced back, his expression shifting into something smug, something infuriatingly self-assured. His gaze flickered over you—your lips, your throat, the rise and fall of your chest—as if he were assessing the damage he’d done.

"Aren’t you coming?" he asked, extending a hand toward you, the challenge unmistakable in his voice. "I did promise you a couple of dances. Let’s go."

Without a word, you pushed away from the wall, peeling yourself off like something unstuck, and started toward the door. Your steps were smooth, collected, an almost conscious effort at elegance despite everything—the heat clinging to your skin, the slight tightness in your chest, the residual tremor of words left unsaid. As you passed Frankie, you caught the amused curl of his mouth from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t spare him a glance. His hand hovered for a second like he might reach for you, but he didn’t. You walked on.

Then, the sound of his footsteps. A half-step faster than yours, and then, suddenly, he was in front of you, fingers wrapping around the door handle before you could reach it. You stopped short. He pulled it open with a casual flick of his wrist, and the pulse of the party crashed into you again.

You looked at him then, properly. His eyes flickered down to yours, alert.

He lifted his hand in a gesture so simple it almost felt absurd. “After you.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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