#cue: tag dump

[sunset-motel]

for the sake of personal paranoia, i’m just going to say thank you for all the nice comments and tags on recent posts etc, i read them all and appreciate them.

in general i tend to be quite introverted and am awful at initiating two-way communication so even if i haven’t said anything back directly just know there’s no bad vibes there.

[lovscb97]

tags: park sunghoon x fem!reader, established relationship, size kink, strength kink, bulge kink, d/s dynamics, dom!sunghoon x sub!reader, unprotected sex (plz don’t), breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk, degradation (slut, whore), praise kink?, nicknames (baby, princess, angel, hoonie, etc), slight fluff, lowkey pwp, reader is described to be shorter than hoon and is easy to pick up/throw around, reader is also very down bad for him (aren’t we all), etc

wc: 2.67k

add. notes: hoon won the poll i put out so i present to u my first ever enha work :3 thank u very much to everyone who voted n this will def not be the last enha fic i put out so do not worry there is much to come for hyung line!!! also icon creds to @/v4mpjay :3

. . . 

sunghoon doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. 

it all started when he began going to the gym regularly, slowly bulking his figure up and feeling himself grow out in his clothes. what used to be his lanky frame that greeted him in the mirror gradually turned into a built man with lean muscles and sharper features, adding to what was already there initially. it wasn’t like this wasn’t what he wanted though, albeit the entire reason why he even started working out in the first place being to improve his health and build better habits for himself, but the outcome wasn’t too bad in itself. he got used to feeling stronger, more lighter on his feet or less out of breath when he climbed the stairs, and it was enjoyable to know that he could lift twice his weight and still feel good as new. in some way, things felt like they were going swell.

that is, until you came into the picture.

now, sunghoon’s always known that you’re small compared to him. even when standing side by side, his height next to yours is a little laughable, though he supposes you’re used to that considering you’ve always been shorter than most of your peers. he’s well aware of how you have to go on your tippy-toes when you guys kiss, and the soft feel of your little hands in his is something that spins in his mind constantly when your fingers lace together. it doesn’t help that you always ask him to fetch your favourite mug from the top cabinet too, his larger physique towering over yours each time he leans over from behind you. he likes to tease you about it, revelling in the way you pout cutely back at him whenever he makes fun of you jokingly despite the small smile playing at your lips, but little do you know about the twisted fantasies breaching his thoughts every moment you spend together. he wonders if you would be disgusted? would you dump him and tell all your friends about what a creepy loser he was? sunghoon can’t help but imagine the worst case scenario, and it would be easy to bury these emotions down the hatchet had it not been for the fact that he’s started to think he is going mad too. 

every time sunghoon comes home from the gym, every time he enters your shared apartment, sweat dripping down his forehead and his water-bottle empty, he swears on his dead grandmother that you start checking him out. it doesn’t help that he's always been attentive either, always needlessly easy at picking up the cues of your discomfort when you're outside in a social space for too long, or being able to tell instantly when you're anything other than the happy go lucky girlfriend he usually sees you as. so, when your lingering gaze begins to trail across his arms a little too long whenever he passes your shared bedroom on his way to the shower, or when your mouth opens and closes to swallow before you're pressing your thighs together subtly each time he moves to wipe himself down each time he’s home— it all sparks something in him. it told him to finally, finally indulge in the nasty thoughts he’s kept tucked away to himself once and for all.

except he doesn’t. because at the end of the day, sunghoon is a gentleman. he pulls open the doors for you with nonchalance written all over him despite his burning ears, and he brings you back your memorised coffee order alongside a few sweet treats when he knows you’re on your period. he holds you close when you’re asleep in bed together, rubbing a gentle thumb against the skin of your cheek because he’s aware that’s what it takes for you to fall asleep, and makes sure you know he’s always going to be there for you in any time of need, even if he’s a thousand miles away. he’s never once made you doubt him, never once given you any reason to suspect he could be anything beyond the perfect, storybook written boyfriend he’s always been. 

until today, at least.

it was a day like any other, a day where you wouldn’t have expected things to take the turn they took at all. you and sunghoon were tangled up in your lavender sheets with your leg thrown over his, the morning sun streaming through the beige curtains you’d picked out on your ikea date together, and no alarms were intact to disturb you as it was the weekend. that’s probably why you both found yourselves in your current situation, your mouths meeting sloppily for short kisses and your boyfriend’s cock buried to the hilt inside you, thrusting ever so gently every other second as he whispered sweet praises to you between the meshing of your lips. the only sounds heard beyond the chirping of the birds outside your window were your soft moans and his low grunts, alongside the quiet noises of your slick dragging against his dick.

“fuck, baby. you feel so good.” sunghoon mumbles, pressing gentle smooches along the skin of your chin and jaw. you reply back something unintelligible, too lost in the euphoria he’s providing you to even form a coherent answer, which only makes him chuckle. he pulls back to admire your figure underneath him, a smile spreading across his lip at the sight of you laid out oh so pretty and pliant just for him. for him. all for his use. his use and his use only. the eventual thought makes his cock twitch inside you, and sunghoon momentarily slows down his movements in fear he’ll accidentally lose control of himself and fuck you into the sheets. his loss of momentum causes you to whine out loud though, large doe eyes blinking up at him in wonder, almost as if asking what happened, which does not make your boyfriend’s job any easier.

“hoonie, faster.” you beg softly, one hand coming up to grip his shoulder as the other bundles up the duvet underneath you. “please, wan’ it so bad.” sunghoon feels like his resolve is on the brink of snapping at your words, and he quickly resumes his previous pace (albeit still slower than what you wanted but better nonetheless) with gritted teeth, trying to think of something, anything that would distract him from the realisation of how fucking small you look under him, or how soft your hand feels resting on his skin. it doesn’t help that the sounds spewing from your lips are so cute, only spurring him on further to do what he longs to. 

“yeah, angel? want it faster? want hoonie to fuck you deeper?” he groans out instead, biting his lip at the sight of you nodding almost instantly to his words. your hole clenches even tighter around him as he speaks to you, and he shudders at the sensation. “shit, don’t do that, princess. might cum too quickly.” he exhales shakily, confused when you shake your head. “don’t care. cum f’me. wanna feel it, please.” you plead almost instantly without thinking, sunghoon’s eyes darkening as the request leaves your mouth. his pace comes to an immediate halt after that, and you make a noise of complaint at the loss of pleasure in your lower region, legs kicking up slightly in protest as you eye your boyfriend who’s currently trying to compose himself above you.

“don’t.. don’t say stuff like that.” sunghoon sighs, eyes closed shut as you cock your head to the side. you’re about to ask him why when he speaks up again. “i won’t be able to hold myself back if you do.” he professes darkly, opening his orbs back up to look deep into yours, his smouldering gaze making you shiver. you involuntary tighten around him at his confession, and he hisses at the feeling, head snapping to look down at you and the blush spreading across your cheeks. 

“i-i don’t.. don’t want you to hold back.” you mutter whilst looking away meekly before he can even comment on your actions. you meet his stare again after a beat of silence, but there’s something dark and sinister swimming in it now, and by the time you can even process what it is, he’s suddenly sheathing himself back into your warm walls, plowing into you with a heightened pace as if this is the last time he’ll ever get to fuck you. your moans tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop them, and you swear you hear sunghoon growl at the way you keen from his movements. 

“yeah? don’t want me to hold back? want me to absolutely destroy this wet cunt with my cock? ruin it for everybody else and mould it to the shape of my dick?” he grunts, a smirk spread across his face as you wildly nod at his words. “what, too fucked out to speak now, baby? where’s that confidence from before, hm?” you whimper at his condescending tone, the noise travelling straight to his core as he curses, continuing to plunge himself deep into you. the tip of his cock brushes against that spongey spot inside you, and you cry out when he angles his thrusts to hit it each time he drives inside your pussy. 

“who knew you were such a slut, huh baby? tell me, how long have you wanted me to spread you open and fuck you like i hated you?” sunghoon pants, tongue lolling out to lick at the sweat gathering on your neck. “s-so long, hoonie!” you mewl in response, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bites down on your skin. “wanted you to— hnng, wanted you to bend me over and throw me around so bad!” sunghoon laughs breathlessly at your answer. 

“yeah, pretty? want me to use my big arms and toss you onto the bed? you should’ve told me sooner that you were such a whore.” you clench at the degrading name, and sunghoon almost stumbles into you at the sudden jolt of shock. “would’ve done everything you wanted me to. wanted it just as bad as you, did ya know that?” he grits out, pace unrelenting and unforgiving as he proceeds to pound into you. “you’re so fucking small, baby. makes me so goddamn hard every time i think about it. just want to, oh fuck— want to hold you down and make you take it.” 

“do it! do it, hoonie, please do it! make me take it, i wan’ take it for you.” you sob, and sunghoon physically feels the last of his self restrain break in half. he’s far too fucked out now to go back to his old ways, far too gone in the dizziness of making you feel good. his only goal now is to make you cum violently around him, and he’ll stop at nothing to achieve that. “gonna do it, baby. just wait, gonna fuck you so dumb, you’ll be begging me to stop.” he pauses momentarily to grab at the plush of your thigh and tosses your leg over his shoulder, resuming his past actions in the blink of an eye as you cry out at the change. he hits deeper, more harsh this way, and you swear you can feel him battering your cervix with each thrust delivered to your abused cunt.

“fuck, look at that.” sunghoon laughs in disbelief, his eyes fixed on the slightly evident bulge of his cock thrusting in and out of you in your stomach. “taking my cock so well, princess. you gonna cum for me soon, yeah? gonna cum for hoonie and make a mess of me?” he coos at the way you’re drooling, swiping a thumb up to wipe at the spit leaking out of your mouth before sucking it off, the visual of it only making you whine even more. by now, the bed is stained with your leaking arousal, but neither of you care, especially not when he involuntarily moves his hand to press down on your stomach. his movements only cause you to double over in pleasure, and before either of you know it, you’re shaking through an orgasm, thrashing and wailing as tears stream down your face.

“shit, shit, shit! that’s so hot, oh fuck.” sunghoon moans. “you did so well, angel. did so fucking good for me, you deserve a reward, don’t you? don’t you, my baby?” he rambles, and you whine in overstimulation as his thrusts grow more frantic and misplaced when he begins chasing his own release. “get ready, princess, ‘m gonna fill you up. gonna breed you so, so good and make you take it, yeah? you’ll take it, won’t you? take it so good for me like you always do.” by this point, you’re both trembling and whining out loud, sunghoon pistoning his hips into you as he desperately fixes to cum. he can feel the pressure building up, his balls tightening with each harsh thrust he delivers inside of you, and you’re more than ready to feel him ooze out of you, encouraging words spilling from your lips.

“do it, hoonie! do it, please! make me full and fuck it back into me. i’ll take it so good, so good, please baby, please.” you’re babbling by now, too fucked out to think let alone speak, but your words seem to send sunghoon over the edge because by the time you’re even halfway through your sentence, he’s shooting ropes inside of you, painting your walls white with his seed. there’s so much of it that it almost leaks out despite his cock keeping you plugged up, and you watch his beautiful face contort in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and eyes clenched shut as he continues filling you up. 

“fuck..” sunghoon sighs out once he’s come down from his high, looking down to grip his cock and pull it out slightly only to push it back in when your cunt gushes with his release, causing him to bite his lip at the sinful sight. you whine when he moves back into you, his large arms caging your smaller frame in as he leans down to pepper salty kisses all over your face. “my good girl.” he whispers, slightly collapsing on top of you to catch his breath. his weight on you feels comforting, almost natural as you wrap your tired arms around his back tightly, pressing your bodies together even more than they already are to feel closer and connected to him.

“i didn’t know you were into that.” sunghoon speaks up after a moment of silence, causing you to open your eyes and look at him. he moves so he’s laying on his side, cock still keeping you plugged up despite the awkward position. “into what?” he deadpans at your reaction, and you giggle. “c’mon, babe. you can’t seriously look like that and expect me to not be feral for you.” you smile, and sunghoon huffs out a laugh, spooning an arm around you as he pulls your body closer to his warm one. “still, who knew my girl was so freaky?” you swat at him, and his chest rumbles with laughter, the sound sending an odd pool of warmth flowing through your chest. you both lay there in silence after that, basking in each other’s presence and enjoying the serenity and afterglow which comes from what was quite literally the best sex of your lives. 

“i love you.” you hear sunghoon mumble suddenly, his voice drowsy as he yawns cutely, a large grin spreading on your face at the simple three words which leave him. you reach out for his hand, lacing your small fingers in it before bringing it up to your mouth and pressing a kiss to the back. “love you more, hoonie.” you sigh out in satisfaction, eyes slipping shut slowly as sleep welcomes your tired senses.

you gradually drift off, thoughts filled with sweet dreams of your boyfriend and his precious laughter. 

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[inseobts]

hiiii!! i LOVE ur fics so mucchh and lowkey felt shy to dump my very vivid and detailed request lmao 🤣 i just thought of a random blurb bc i’m in my feels from reading angst and hurt/comfort, but can you do a fic of angst (ending happy/fluff) with ace x y/n? y/n and him are together on whitebeard’s crew and they got into an argument and stuff when they landed on an island to get supplies and chaos erupts when the marines arrive. their argument hasn’t been resolved but everyone is obviously occupied in getting back to the ship and fighting to escape. ANYWAYS y/n was actually their target and captured her bc she is actually a powerful fighter with a fruit that could be useful to them (idk u pick lol something that’s important as robin-level where it’s vital they retrieve her like idk her fruit can read any script i.e. poneglyphs yadda yadda). and then when the crew depart and do a headcount they realize one member is missing (womp womp) and ace gonna go FERAL to get her back and digging that knife of regret of saying hurtful things during their unresolved argument and cutscene to y/n getting beat tf up like how robin was beat up in water 7 from that mf spandam when imprisoned. OUHHH AND IMAGINE ACE’S REACTION WHEN HE SEES THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE ALMOST DEAD TO A PULP AND COMMITS ARSON and ends happily with y/n back and recovering and them finally resolving their arguement (cue: fluff). tl:dr basically an ace x y/n centered fic in a water 7-type scenario. IM A VERY ACTIVE MALADAPTIVE DAYDREAMER AND I NEED TO BE FED (tysm if u take on this request lmao ik it’s so detailed i hope it’s not too much i’m just itching for more one piece fics and i love ur work) 😭🫶🏼

Embers of Regret

portgas d. ace x reader

a/n: the more detailed a request is, the easier it is to write the fanfic, so don't worry—I actually appreciate it a lot! \^o^/

words count: 4.7k

tags: violence, romance, angst to fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You never think, Ace!”

“And you never let things go!”

The argument has been boiling for days, maybe even weeks, but now it’s all spilling over in the middle of the town square, where the crew is supposed to be stocking up on supplies. The streets are noisy with merchants and villagers, but to you and Ace, it may as well be just the two of you standing here, tearing each other apart.

“You act like nothing matters!” you snap, glaring at him.

Ace crosses his arms, irritation flashing in his dark eyes “And you act like everything does!”

“Because it does!” You throw your hands up “This crew, the people we care about, you—none of it is guaranteed, Ace! But you just charge ahead without thinking, like you’re invincible, like nothing can touch you!”

“I can handle myself” he says, jaw tightening.

You shake your head, frustration clawing at your throat “That’s the problem! You think it’s just about you, but it’s not! We... I care about what happens to you!”

Ace scoffs “Right. Because you love worrying so damn much. Maybe you should focus on your own fights instead of wasting time on mine.”

The words cut deep as your breath catches.

You shake your head, frustration boiling over “You act like nothing can touch you... but newsflash, Ace, you’re not invincible! One day, you’re gonna get yourself killed, and—”

He scoffs, cutting you off “And what? You’ll cry about it?”

You freeze.

The air shifts.

Ace seems to realize what he just said, but his pride keeps him from taking it back. The damage is done.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to push down the sting “Got it,” you say flatly “You don’t need me watching your back or even care about your damn life. Noted.”

Before he can respond, you turn and walk away.

Ace watches you go, his fists clenched. He should call after you. Should apologize. But he doesn’t.

Then the Marines come fast and hard, hitting the town before anyone even realizes what’s happening.

Civilians scatter as armed soldiers flood the streets, and the Whitebeard Pirates instantly snap into battle mode. Marco takes to the skies, Thatch barks orders, and Ace ignites.

He fights like he always does, fast and reckless, flames cutting through the chaos. But his mind keeps drifting, eyes flicking toward the battlefield, searching for you.

He sees you in the distance, fighting off a wave of Marines. You’re holding your own. Of course you are.

And then someone shouts “Retreat to the ship!”

The command echoes through the town, and the crew begins pulling back toward the harbor. Ace doesn’t see you right away, but he assumes you’re moving with the others. You’re strong. You can handle yourself.

He fights. He runs. He gets to the ship.

And he doesn’t notice. Not yet.

The Moby Dick sails away from the island, the battle fading into the distance. Everyone is breathing hard, wounded but alive. The crew takes a moment to regroup, catching their breath, tending to injuries.

Then Marco speaks.

“Alright,” he says, rolling his shoulders “Let’s do a count.”

Ace leans against the railing, arms crossed. His chest is still tight with lingering anger, but he tells himself he’ll talk to you once you’ve both cooled off.

“One, two, three… is anyone missing?” Marco is counting the division commanders first, then working his way through the rest.

The atmosphere is still tense, but there’s relief too. They made it out. Everyone’s here.

Until Marco stops and looks at Ace with a frown.

Ace barely registers it at first, lost in his own thoughts.

Then Marco lifts his head “Where’s Y/N?”

Silence.

The world seems to stop.

Ace’s heart slams against his ribs. His stomach drops.

“I don't know... We had a fight, she's probably just avoiding me?” he says, too sharply.

Marco scans the deck again, his expression darkening “So... she’s not here.”

Ace laughs shortly, disbelieving “What are you talking about? She was fighting, I saw her—”

“And did you see her get on the ship?” Marco’s voice is serious now.

Ace opens his mouth, then stops.

A cold, terrible realization creeps up his spine.

No.

No, he didn’t see you board.

He assumed. He thought you were strong enough to make it back. That once you were safe on the ship you were just avoiding him. That you needed space.

But now...

His hands start shaking.

“Turn the ship around” Ace demands, voice low, dangerous.

Marco’s expression is grim “Ace...”

“TURN THE SHIP AROUND!”

Flames burst from his body, flickering wildly with his panic, his fury at the Marines, at himself.

He left you behind.

He left you.

And if the Marines wanted you enough to set a trap for the whole crew... Ace’s breath catches. His vision blurs with pure, unfiltered rage.

He doesn’t care if he has to burn the entire damn ocean.

He’s getting you back.

Pain.

That’s the first thing you register when you regain consciousness. A deep, searing pain spreading through your body, sharp and unrelenting.

You try to move, but your wrists are bound, shackled in heavy seastone cuffs that sap your strength. Every inch of you aches, bruises blooming across your skin, blood drying where fists and rifle butts had struck you.

The Marines didn’t go easy on you.

“You’re awake.”

A voice.

You lift your head, forcing your swollen eyes open. A high-ranking Marine stands in front of you, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You’re quite the prize,” he muses “A rare Devil Fruit ability, strong enough to stand alongside Whitebeard’s division commanders… No wonder they keep you so close.”

You glare, lips cracked, but you manage to spit out, “Go to hell.”

The Marine smirks “I think you misunderstand your situation.” He steps closer, his shadow stretching over you “The World Government has big plans for you, Y/N. You have two choices: cooperate… or break.”

You bare your teeth, eyes burning with defiance “Screw your choices.”

The Marine sighs like he expected that answer. Then his fist collides with your ribs, hard enough to make you choke on the pain.

You don’t scream. You won’t give them the satisfaction. But deep down, there’s a gnawing fear.

Where is Ace?

Does he even know you’re gone?

Or did he leave you behind without a second thought?

Aboard the Moby Dick, Ace has never felt this kind of terror before. Not when he faced death, not when he fought impossible odds.

But now that he knows you are out there, captured, hurt, alone… It’s unbearable.

The moment Marco looks everywhere on the ship and then confirms you’re missing, Ace doesn’t hesitate. His flames surge, wild and desperate, as he grips the ship’s railing “We turn back now.”

“Ace!”

“NOW!” His voice cracks, his body trembling.

Marco exhales, sharp and frustrated “You think we don’t want to?! The Marines planned this... if we storm in recklessly, we could lose more than just Y/N.”

Ace knows that. He knows.

But all he can think about is the last thing he said to you. The way your face had twisted in pain before you walked away.

The regret is suffocating.

“Then tell me where they took her,” he growls “I’ll go alone if I have to.”

A heavy pause.

Then a voice cuts through the tension “We’re not leaving her.”

Ace turns. Whitebeard stands at the helm, his expression unreadable “She’s family,” he says simply “And we don’t abandon family.”

Ace’s breath shudders.

They’re going back.

He’s getting you back and nothing in the world will stop him.

Your head throbs. Your body is battered. The seastone cuffs burn against your skin, draining your strength, making every breath feel heavier.

Time is a blur, hours, maybe days, lost between moments of pain and exhaustion. But you refuse to break. Even when they strike you. Even when they try to force your cooperation. Because if there’s one thing they’ll never take from you it’s your will.

Footsteps echo down the corridor. A different Marine this time, younger, hesitant. He kneels in front of you, his voice low “I don’t know if you can still hear me,” he mutters “But Portgas D. Ace?”

Your heart stops.

He leans in, glancing around as if afraid of being overheard “He’s coming for you.”

A weak, broken breath escapes you.

Ace.

The Marine shifts uncomfortably and mutters “Looks like he's ready to burn the world down.”

You close your eyes.

And for the first time since you were captured, hope flickers in your chest.

Ace is coming, and he’s bringing hell with him.

Later on the Marine base is eerily quiet, the dim torchlight casting long shadows against the damp stone walls. Somewhere outside, the sound of crashing waves echoes, but inside your cell, there is only the distant clatter of boots and the dull throbbing of your wounds.

You’re too exhausted to keep your head up, but you force yourself to stay conscious. Every second you stay awake is a second they don’t win.

Then the door creaks open again.

“Still alive?”

You barely react, but the voice isn’t one you recognize.

Another Marine, older this time. Not the usual guards. His uniform is crisp, and his presence carries an air of authority. He steps closer, hands behind his back, looking down at you like you’re some rare specimen.

“You’re lucky, you know,” he says casually “Most pirates we capture don’t get this much attention.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have the strength to waste on his games.

“You’re valuable,” he continues “And I’m not just talking about your affiliation with Whitebeard.” His sharp eyes scan your injuries, as if calculating how much more you can endure “Your Devil Fruit, that’s what the higher-ups are interested in.”

You don’t flinch, but inside, your stomach knots.

Of course. Your ability to manipulate minds with a single command. A fruit so rare, so dangerous, that in the wrong hands, it could change the tides of war. Or worse.

“Imagine what we could do,” the Marine muses “With just one word, you could make entire enemy fleets surrender. You could make criminals confess. You could turn Yonko commanders against their own crews.” He kneels in front of you, voice dropping lower “Or you could make Whitebeard himself bow.”

Your jaw tightens.

They don’t just want to use you.

They want to turn you into a weapon.

For a moment, you don’t say anything. Then, through cracked lips, you force out a bitter laugh.

“You think I’d help you?”

The Marine tilts his head “You will. Eventually.”

Your glare is unwavering “Never.”

“You’ll come around.” he smiles “Or I could just kill you and find the Devil Fruit later on so that I can eat it myself. One way or another. The question is how much pain you’ll endure before you give up or die. Either way we win.”

Then he turns to leave.

“Get some rest,” he says “Tomorrow, we start breaking you properly.”

The door slams shut.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the fear creeping in your chest.

They won’t break you. They can’t.

Because Ace is coming, and when he does, this whole damn place is going to burn.

Aboard the Moby Dick, Ace is losing his patience.

It’s been a day since they turned the ship around. A day too long.

He paces the deck like a caged animal, flames flickering around his fingers, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. The crew keeps a careful distance, no one is dumb enough to try and calm him down.

No one can.

He keeps replaying it in his head. The argument. The way you walked away. How he let you.

And now you’re gone.

“Oi, Ace.”

Marco’s voice cuts through his storming thoughts.

Ace turns, his glare sharp, but Marco doesn’t flinch.

“We found the base.”

Everything inside Ace goes still.

“Where?”

Marco tosses him a map, already marked “Marine stronghold, isolated island. Not heavily fortified, but enough of a problem if we’re reckless.” He gives Ace a pointed look “We need to be smart about this.”

Ace grips the map so tightly it crumples “They have her.”

“I know,” Marco says evenly “And we will get her back. But you losing your head won’t help.”

Ace’s fists tremble. He knows Marco’s right, but all he can think about is you, locked in some cell, hurt, alone, and how he left you.

“How soon can we be there?” he demands.

“By sunrise,” Marco says “We’ve got a plan. But Ace...”

Ace looks up, and Marco’s expression is grim.

“You better be ready for what we might find.”

Ace doesn’t hesitate “I don’t care if she’s at death’s door. I’ll bring her home.”

His flames surge brighter, hotter.

He will get you back, and if the Marines think they can keep you than they’ve never seen what happens when fire goes unchecked.

The moment the Moby Dick reaches the Marine base, chaos erupts. The crew descends like a storm. Thatch, Marco, and the others carving a path through the soldiers, clearing the way for Ace.

But Ace barely registers any of it. All he knows is that you’re in there, and he needs to find you.

“Ace!” Marco calls, dodging a Marine’s sword “Stick to the plan!”

But Ace is already breaking away.

He storms through the base, his fists burning, taking out anyone who gets in his way. The halls are a maze, twisting corridors that all look the same, and with every empty cell he passes, his panic tightens like a noose.

Where are you?

His breathing is ragged, flames licking at his skin as his frustration builds. She should be here. You should be here.

He shoves a Marine against the wall, his grip searing into the man’s uniform “Where is she?” Ace growls, his voice sharp with fury.

The soldier screams, thrashing “I—I don’t know!”

Ace snarls and knocks him out cold.

Then he runs.

And runs.

And runs.

But every hallway looks the same. Every door leads to nothing. He’s not finding you.

A new kind of fear claws into his chest, but he knows he can’t think like that. He won’t.

“Ace!”

Marco’s voice.

Then hands gripping his shoulder, yanking him back.

Ace whirls around, flames flaring “What?!”

Marco doesn’t let go. His expression is firm, unwavering “You’re wasting time.”

Ace shoves his arm away “I’m finding her!”

“No, you’re panicking!”

Ace’s breath is uneven, his vision blurred with frustration “She’s not here, Marco!” His voice cracks, desperation leaking through “I don’t—I don’t know where she is!”

Marco’s gaze softens just slightly “Then we regroup.”

Ace shakes his head violently “No.” Every second he isn’t moving is a second you’re suffering, a second too long “You don’t get it—”

Marco grips his collar, dragging him close “I do get it” he says, low and fierce “But if you let yourself fall apart now, we lose her for real.”

Ace stops breathing for a second.

Lose you.

The thought is unbearable.

Marco keeps his hold steady “We will find her. But not like this.”

Ace swallows hard. His body is still shaking, fire curling around his fists but he forces himself to listen. To stop running in circles. To think.

He exhales sharply “Then tell me what to do.”

Marco nods “We need intel. And I know where to get it.”

Pain is a familiar companion now.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Hours? Days?

It doesn’t matter. You’re still here. Still breathing.

Your body is too weak to fight. Your mind too drained to resist. But you keep holding on because you know he’s coming.

Even when the Marines laugh about how the Whitebeard Pirates will never breach the base. Even when they say you’ll be locked away forever.

You know better.

Then a distant explosion. Shouting. Gunfire. And fire.

Your heart lurches.

He’s here, but the door doesn’t open, and the sounds of battle grow further away.

Your stomach twists.

Did something happen?

No. No, you won’t think like that.

You force yourself to move, just slightly, leaning against the cold stone wall. You don’t have much left in you. But if there’s even a small chance, you have to believe Ace will find you. He has to. Because you don’t know how much longer you can last.

“Alright, talk.”

Ace slams the Marine officer against the table, his fire dangerously close to igniting the man’s uniform. Marco stands behind him, arms crossed, while the rest of the Whitebeard Pirates keep the room secure.

The officer trembles, sweat dripping down his forehead “I—I don’t—”

Ace tightens his grip “Wrong answer.”

The flames grow hotter. The Marine yelps, eyes wide with terror “Okay! Okay!”

“Where is she?” Marco demands.

The officer swallows hard “She—she’s in the lower dungeons. Isolated. Special containment.”

Ace’s flames flare. Of course... Seastone.

That’s why he couldn’t find you. Why his Haki wasn’t sensing you.

Ace lets go, and the officer slumps against the chair, gasping for breath.

Then Ace turns and runs.

Your vision is swimming now.

You don’t know how much longer you can hold on.

Then an explosion. Not distant, but actually really close.

And then your cell door is ripped open.

A burst of fire floods the room, bright and blinding. And through the smoke you finally see Ace.

You think you might be dreaming.

Because his face, his expression... he looks destroyed. Like something in him has been broken ever since you disappeared.

Then he’s kneeling in front of you, hands hovering over your battered body like he doesn’t know where to start.

“Y/N.” His voice is raw, barely more than a whisper.

You try to smile “Took you long enough.”

Ace lets out a shaky breath, a laugh, but not really. More like he’s trying to keep himself together.

“Shut up,” he mutters “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

But he doesn’t sound convinced.

His fingers tremble as he undoes the seastone cuffs, his flames immediately warming your ice-cold skin. His touch is so careful, so gentle, like he’s afraid you’ll break apart in his hands.

You lean into him, too weak to do anything else.

His arms wrap around you instantly, pulling you close.

You feel him shaking.

“I thought I lost you” he chokes out.

You close your eyes.

“I knew you’d come.”

Ace swallows hard, burying his face in your hair.

Then, quietly “I’m so sorry.”

But there’s no time to say more, because the base is still burning and the fight isn’t over yet.

Ace holds you tighter, his fingers pressing against your bruised skin like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his grasp again. But you barely register it.

The exhaustion, the pain, the relief, it’s all too much.

The world tilts and then everything goes dark.

When you wake, everything seems slow and heavy, like surfacing from the depths of the ocean, your body weighed down by the bruises, the fatigue, the lingering ache of the seastone cuffs.

You shift slightly, wincing at the pain, and that’s when you realize there’s warmth. Ace.

He’s slumped over at your bedside, arms folded against the mattress, his head resting there like he’d been watching you and passed out. His face is hidden by his wild mess of black hair, but his breathing is deep and steady.

He looks exhausted.

You blink slowly, taking in the dim light of the infirmary, the distant sound of the waves outside. It’s quiet. Safe.

You made it back, and Ace never left your side.

You manage to lift a hand, your fingers brushing against his hair.

He tenses as his eyes snap open, unfocused for a second before locking onto you.

“Y/N.”

Your throat is dry, your voice barely a whisper “Hey.”

For a second, he just stares, like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

Then his jaw clenches, and he sits up, running a hand down his face. “Shit.” His voice is raw, hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken in hours “You—you scared the hell out of me.”

You offer a weak smile “Pretty sure you did more damage than I did.”

Ace exhales sharply, his fingers twitching against the sheets “Don’t joke about that.”

His voice is too tight. Too strained.

And when you really look at him he looks like hell.

There are dark circles under his eyes, his skin paler than usual. His hair is messier than normal, his hat discarded on the floor. His usual reckless energy is gone, replaced by something quieter.

Something heavy.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” you murmur.

Ace scoffs, but it’s humorless “How was I supposed to sleep?” His hands curl into fists “They had you. They hurt you. And I…”

He cuts himself off, looking away, jaw clenched so tight it might shatter.

Guilt.

That’s what it is.

The weight of everything he said before. The things he didn’t say.

You swallow, shifting slightly, ignoring the way your ribs protest “Ace.”

He doesn’t look at you.

You push yourself up on weak arms, reaching for him “Ace.”

His gaze flickers to you.

“I should’ve been there.” His voice cracks “I should’ve gone after you the second you walked away. I should’ve—” He shakes his head violently “I let you go. And because of that, they took you.”

You take a slow breath “Ace...”

“You could’ve died, Y/N” His hands tremble where they grip the sheets “Because of me.”

You watch him carefully.

This isn’t just guilt.

It’s fear.

You reach for him again, your fingers curling around his wrist “But I didn’t.”

His eyes snap to yours.

“And you found me.”

Ace swallows hard “Barely.”

“But you did.” You squeeze his wrist, grounding him “Ace, I knew you’d come for me. No matter what.”

His breath is uneven, his entire body tense “What if I had been too late?”

“You weren’t.”

He shakes his head, but this time, his shoulders tremble “I can’t—” His voice lowers, raw and broken “I can’t lose you.”

Suddenly, all the anger, all the bitterness from your fight before, it feels so small. Because none of that matters now. Not when you almost lost each other.

You tug gently at his wrist, and after a second, he moves. Slowly, hesitantly, he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

His skin is warm. His breathing is shaky.

But he’s here and so are you.

Your fingers lift, brushing against his cheek “You won’t lose me.”

Ace lets out a shuddering breath, his hand coming up to cover yours, pressing your palm against his face like he never wants to let go.

You stay like that for a long moment, the storm inside him settling just slightly.

Then he whispers “I’m sorry... For everything.”

You smile softly, thumb brushing over his cheekbone “I know.”

He exhales, pressing his face further into your touch “I love you, Y/N.”

Your heart clenches.

Because despite everything, despite the pain, the fear, the regret, you never once doubted that.

You smile, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I love you too, hothead.”

Ace lets out a breathless laugh, wet and shaky, but real.

And when he finally kisses you it tastes like fire, and ash, and home.

He holds onto you like you’ll disappear if he lets go. His forehead is still pressed against yours, his breath uneven. You can feel the heat of his skin, the way his fingers tremble slightly against yours.

Everything feels so fragile. Like the moment could slip away if either of you move too fast. But you don’t want to move. Not yet.

Not when you can feel the way his heartbeat stutters under your touch.

Not when he’s finally here, safe, with you.

And then, quietly “You really scared me, y’know.”

You let out a breath “You scared me,” you murmur “Burning down a whole Marine base like a lunatic.”

Ace scoffs, but his grip on you tightens “Would’ve burned the whole damn world if I had to.”

You believe him. You always believed in him. Even when you were angry. Even when you walked away.

That fight. The reason you stormed off in the first place. It feels so distant now. But still, it lingers.

You take a slow breath “Ace…”

He pulls back slightly, eyes searching yours “Yeah?”

You hesitate “Before all this… before we landed on that island…”

Ace tenses. He knows what you’re talking about.

Your fight.

The argument that hadn’t been resolved before everything spiraled into chaos.

Ace shifts, running a hand through his messy hair “You were mad at me.”

You raise an eyebrow “Oh, you think?”

Ace sighs “I know.”

You look away, your fingers gripping the blanket draped over you. The memory of the fight comes rushing back. You had been reckless during a raid. You thought you had it handled. But Ace had jumped in, flames blazing, telling you to stop being so damn stubborn and let someone help you for once.

And you had snapped because it wasn’t just about the raid. It was about everything.

The way Ace always threw himself in danger, like he had to do it alone. The way he always acted like his life didn’t matter as much as everyone else’s.

And when you told him that, when you yelled at him for it, he threw it back in your face.

And now, after almost dying, after being taken, after him almost losing you, the weight of it crashes down on both of you.

Ace lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Guess I really was an idiot, huh?”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow “Oh? Now you realize?”

Ace groans, dragging his hand down his face “You’re really gonna rub it in while you’re still half-dead?”

You smirk “Absolutely.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, but then his expression softens. His golden eyes flicker with something raw, something real.

“You were right” he says quietly.

That makes you pause.

Ace doesn’t say things like that often.

“You were right,” he repeats, voice hoarse “I do act like that sometimes. Like it doesn’t matter what happens to me. Like…” He swallows hard, gaze dropping “Like I don’t deserve to be saved.”

Your chest tightens.

“But then you got taken,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper “And I—” He clenches his fists “I would’ve burned the whole world down to get you back. No hesitation. No second thoughts.”

He looks up at you then, something pleading in his expression.

“And that’s how you felt, isn’t it?”

You don’t answer right away, because you don’t need to. Ace already knows.

You sigh, leaning back against the pillows “You do deserve to be saved, Ace.”

Ace exhales, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah, well. Guess I finally get it now.”

You shake your head with a small smile “Took you long enough, hothead.”

He lets out a weak laugh, then leans forward again, pressing his forehead against yours.

It’s warm. Comforting. Safe.

You close your eyes, exhaling softly “Next time we fight, can we just skip to this part?”

Ace huffs out a laugh “What, the part where I almost lose my mind looking for you?”

You nudge him weakly “No. The part where you admit I was right.”

Ace groans dramatically “Ugh, never mind. You’re insufferable.”

You smile, your fingers brushing against his. But then you feel something wet against your skin.

You pull back slightly, confused “Ace…”

He blinks, startled “What?”

You reach up, brushing a thumb under his eye.

“You’re crying.”

Ace freezes. For a second, he looks caught off guard, like he hadn’t even noticed.

Then, before you can say anything else, he lets out a choked laugh, rubbing his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

He sniffles slightly, then smirks at you through his tears.

“Look who’s the one crying at the end.”

You stare at him. Then you laugh with him. A real, genuine laugh.

Ace grins, his hand finding yours again, fingers lacing together. His grip is warm, steady, alive.

And when he squeezes your hand gently, you know neither of you will ever walk away again.

[rootedinrevisions]

All I Want for Christmas is a Cowboy

SUMMARY: When a night of playful banter and teasing turns into something far more intimate, you find yourself crossing every line you swore you wouldn't with Jake Seresin - the cocky, infuriatingly charming pilot who's always had a way of getting under your skin. Between stolen kisses, soft confessions, and moments that blur the line between lust and something deeper, it becomes clear that this isn't just a one-time thing. But as Jake's Stetson wearing, sweet talking side leaves you breathless, you'll have to decide if you're ready to risk your heart for the man who's never been one to play it safe.

A/N: This is a combination of my love for Megan Moroney and her song "All I Want for Christmas is a Cowboy" as well as a request that I received in November for the prompt "One kiss won't ruin the friendship, right?" and "Can I sleep with you tonight?" Hopefully whoever requested the prompts enjoys this! Thank you all for your patience with me as I write and get through the requests that I have.

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. Smut (PinV. Mentions of biting/marking. Fingering.)

WORD COUNT: 12.4k (I'm ovulating and rewatched TGM a few days ago and fell back in love with Jake. Please don't judge me.)

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

The Hard Deck was alive with the hum of Christmas cheer. Twinkling string lights wrapped around wooden beams, and a small but charmingly crooked Christmas tree stood in the corner, decorated with red ornaments and what looked suspiciously like aviator sunglasses. The jukebox was cycling through a mix of classic rock and Christmas hits, creating an oddly festive but fitting soundtrack for the evening.

You sat at a table near the back, surrounded by familiar faces—your chosen family. Natasha sat to your left, nursing a whiskey sour and laughing at something Bob had just said. Reuben and Mickey were on your right, engaged in a heated debate about the best holiday movies. Bradley leaned back in his chair across from you, his mustache twitching with amusement as he chimed in occasionally, and Javy was at the bar grabbing the next round.

It had been months—maybe a year—since you’d met the Dagger Squad through a mutual friend, but somehow, they had adopted you like one of their own. Now, invites to their gatherings were automatic, and evenings like this one were the norm.

Phoenix nudged your arm, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Alright, enough sitting on the sidelines. We’ve decided it’s time for a little holiday intervention.”

You raised a brow, taking a sip of your drink. “Holiday intervention?”

“You’ve been single for far too long,” she declared, gesturing dramatically with her drink. “It’s time we find you someone.”

Reuben snorted. “This again?”

“Yes, this again,” Phoenix shot back. “I mean, look at her.” She motioned to you with a flourish. “She's smart, funny, gorgeous—”

“Don’t forget stubborn,” Bob added with a grin.

“Exactly,” Phoenix said, unbothered. “We’re not letting you ring in another New Year without at least some action.”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh slipping out despite yourself. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m good, really.”

“Uh-huh,” Natasha said, unconvinced. “You know, we could always ask Jake—”

“Ask me what?” The smooth, teasing drawl interrupted her, and you didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin strolled up to the table, pool cue slung over one shoulder, that infuriatingly perfect smirk already in place.

Natasha didn’t miss a beat. “We’re trying to set her up with someone. Know any decent guys who are single?”

A flicker of something—surprise, maybe?—passed over Jake’s face before he quickly masked it with an exaggerated scoff.

“Decent guys? Here? Good luck.” He leaned on the back of an empty chair, his green eyes flicking to yours for just a moment before he addressed Natasha again. “Besides, she doesn’t need a setup. She’s clearly too good for anyone in this dump.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, taking a sip of your drink. “Seriously. I don’t need a relationship right now.”

Natasha’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t need or don’t want?”

“Both.” The lie rolled off your tongue easily, but the weight of the unspoken truth settled in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want a relationship. You just didn’t want one with anyone who wasn’t Jake Seresin. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud.

“Sure,” Natasha drawled, clearly unconvinced. 

“What about that guy over there?” Payback’s girlfriend suggested, nodding toward a tall man leaning against the bar. He was handsome, you supposed, but his eager smile didn’t stir anything in you.

“No, I don’t think so,” you said quickly.

“Okay fine, let’s figure out what you’re looking for. What is your type?” Natasha pressed, leaning in with a grin that told you she wasn’t going to drop this anytime soon.

“I don’t have a type.”

“Everyone has a type,” Mickey chimed in, his tone far too amused for your liking. “Dark hair? Light hair?”

“Light hair,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

“Tall or short?” Natasha asked, clearly enjoying herself.

“Tall.”

“How tall?”

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Six feet? Six-one, maybe?”

Natasha grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Anything else? Beard? No beard? Tattoos? Come on, give us something!”

You hesitated, suddenly very aware of Jake still leaning casually nearby, listening to every word. “I don’t know. Tall. Hot. In a Stetson?”

The table burst into laughter, but Jake rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Yeah, good luck finding a cowboy here. Closest you’ll get is someone in boots and a flannel at line-dancing night.”

His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, something you couldn’t quite place. Before you could overthink it, Natasha leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, he’s not wrong, but maybe you should branch out. Broaden your horizons a little.”

You shook your head, brushing her off with a laugh. “I’m fine, really. No setups needed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Phoenix said, clearly not convinced. “We’ll see.”

Jake’s smirk returned as he straightened up, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual before he turned to head back to the pool table.

“Good luck, ladies,” he called over his shoulder.

You watched him go, trying not to let your eyes linger too long. If only they knew the cowboy you wanted wasn’t some hypothetical stranger—it was the one person you couldn’t have. Not that it mattered, you reminded yourself. Jake Seresin didn’t do relationships. And you? You didn’t do casual. It was better this way. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The night carried on, the crowd at The Hard Deck growing as more people trickled in, filling the space with laughter and music. You were mid-conversation with Phoenix and one of the guys' girlfriends, your drink in hand, when the first guy approached.

He wasn’t bad-looking—dark hair, decent smile—but you could tell right away he wasn’t your type. And the way he glanced over at Natasha before walking up only confirmed your suspicions.

“Hey,” he started, a little too confident. “Can I buy you another drink?”

You smiled politely, shaking your head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

He lingered for a second longer than necessary, clearly waiting for you to change your mind. When you didn’t, he shrugged, muttered something under his breath, and walked away.

The moment he was out of earshot, Phoenix grinned. “What was wrong with that one?”

You gave her a look. “He wasn’t my type.”

“You’ve got to stop using that excuse,” she teased. “We’re just trying to help you out.”

“I don’t need help,” you said firmly, though your tone stayed light. “I’m not looking for anything right now.”

The other woman smirked knowingly. “Sure you’re not.”

Over the next hour, two more guys approached you. Each time, you managed to slip away gracefully, making it clear you weren’t interested without causing a scene. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Natasha—or maybe one of the other girlfriends—was behind it.

By the third attempt, you shot Phoenix a pointed look. “Seriously?”

“What?” she said innocently, but her smile gave her away.

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“It’s because I care,” she said sweetly, raising her glass in mock toast.

Jake chose that moment to stroll over, his timing impeccable as always. “Everything okay over here?”

Phoenix grinned. “Oh, everything’s great. Just trying to find her the perfect man.”

Jake raised a brow, glancing between the two of you. “Perfect man, huh? Sounds like a tall order. I thought we were just going for someone to take her home tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he nodded toward your now-empty glass. “Need a refill?”

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Just my usual, thanks.”

Jake gave a quick two-finger salute before heading toward the bar.

Phoenix watched him go, her expression unreadable for a moment before she turned back to you, her grin returning. “Wow. Hangman buying you a drink? That’s new.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s not like that. He’s just being nice.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced.

One of the guys at the table chimed in, smirking. “Yeah, he’s real nice, isn’t he? You know he’s from Texas. Could probably pull off that cowboy look you’ve been fantasizing about.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, rolling your eyes again. “It’s Jake. He’s not trying to get in my pants.”

“That’s what they all say,” Bob joked, earning a round of laughter from the group.

Jake returned a moment later, handing you your drink with a small, knowing smile. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” you said, brushing off the teasing from the others as you took a sip.

You couldn’t help but notice the way Jake’s gaze lingered on you for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he turned back toward the pool table. And despite everything, you couldn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat.

The hours slipped by, the bar gradually thinning out as the night wore on. You’d lost count of how many rounds of pool Jake had won or how many times Phoenix had tried to steer a random guy in your direction. 

Despite it all, you’d actually had fun, laughing and teasing the squad like always. But now, your head felt a little too light, and your body a little too warm from the alcohol.

You glanced at your phone, noting the time. “Alright, I think I’m calling it,” you announced, sliding off your barstool.

Most of the group groaned in protest, but you waved them off. “Some of us have to be functioning humans tomorrow.”

“You sure you’re good?” Natasha asked, her sharp gaze flicking over you like she was scanning for cracks.

“Yeah, yeah,” you assured her, pulling on your jacket. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

But as you turned toward the door, your balance wavered slightly, the ground tilting just enough to make you grab the back of your stool for support. No one else seemed to notice, but Jake did.

You didn’t even realize he’d followed you outside until you felt the cool night air and heard his voice behind you. “You sure you’re good to get home?”

Startled, you turned to face him, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m getting an Uber.”

Jake’s expression darkened slightly, his hands settling on his hips. “An Uber? You’re telling me you’re gonna get into a car with some random guy you don’t know and let him take you home?”

You raised a brow, amused by his sudden concern. “Yes, Jake. That’s how Uber works.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he studied you for a moment, his jaw working like he was turning over a decision in his head. 

“I don’t like it,” he said finally. “Come on, let me drive you home.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “Please tell me they didn’t convince you to try and ask me out too.”

Jake let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “No. This isn’t a setup. I’m just being your friend.”

You squinted at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. “You sure about that?”

“Promise,” he said, holding up his hands like he was swearing an oath. “Scout’s honor.”

You hesitated, the stubborn part of you tempted to insist you didn’t need help. But the truth was, the idea of being in a car with Jake felt a hell of a lot safer—and less awkward—than riding home with a stranger.

“Alright,” you relented, sighing. “But if this is some elaborate scheme to get me to admit I like you or something, I’m going to be really annoyed.”

Jake grinned, gesturing toward the parking lot. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home before you overthink this to death.”

The drive home was quiet at first, Jake’s truck rumbling softly as it cut through the stillness of the night. You leaned back in the passenger seat, the cool air from the open window doing wonders to clear your head. Jake glanced at you occasionally, his hands loose on the wheel but his focus unwavering.

“You gonna tell me what that was all about back there?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.

You turned to him, your brows furrowing. “What what was all about?”

“Natasha and the girls,” he clarified. “Trying to set you up like it’s a speed dating event.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the seat. “Oh, that. Yeah, I don’t know what got into them. They’re convinced I’ve been single for too long.”

Jake smirked. “And what? You just let them keep at it?”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” you said with a laugh. “Trust me, I tried shutting it down, but Nat can be very persuasive. Plus, I think she roped in some of the girlfriends for backup.”

He nodded, his gaze flicking between you and the road. “So... are you looking?”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. “Looking?”

“For someone,” he said casually, though there was a hint of something else in his tone—curiosity, maybe.

You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “Not really,” you admitted. “I mean, it’s not that I’m against the idea, but I’m not actively looking for anyone either. And definitely not the way they’re going about it.”

Jake chuckled, his smile pulling up on one side. “Fair enough.”

He was quiet for a moment, the hum of the truck filling the space between you. Then, almost hesitantly, he said, “You know, I think Coyote might know a guy on one of the boats—he’s from Kansas or something. Probably got that farmer-cowboy look you’re into.”

You couldn’t help but smile, his attempt at helpfulness both endearing and a little amusing. “That’s sweet, Jake, but I really don’t think I’m looking for a farmer or a cowboy—or anyone, for that matter.”

Jake glanced at you briefly, his lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

“Why’d you bring it up, then?” you asked, tilting your head to study him.

He shrugged, his eyes on the road. “Just thought you might like to know your options.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, your smile lingering. “But I think I’m okay with where I am right now. I'll find someone eventually.”

Jake nodded, the conversation settling into a comfortable lull as he turned onto your street.

The glow of the streetlights flickered against the windows of Jake’s truck as he slowed to a stop in front of your apartment building. You unbuckled your seatbelt, your phone buzzing against your thigh just as you reached for the door handle.

Pulling it out, you glanced at the screen. A message from your roommate lit up the display: Just a heads-up—I’ve got company tonight. Might want to keep the earbuds handy 😉

You groaned audibly, letting your head fall back against the seat with a dramatic thud.

Jake shot you a curious glance, his brow lifting. “What’s wrong?”

You waved your phone in his direction with a weary sigh. “Roommate’s got a guy over. And from the sound of it, I’m going to need noise-canceling headphones or a place to sleep that isn’t directly next to her room.”

Jake chuckled, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “Sounds like it’s going to be a rough night for you, huh?”

“You have no idea,” you muttered, reaching for the door again.

Before you could hop out, Jake’s voice stopped you. “You don’t have to go in, you know.”

You turned to him, your hand frozen on the handle. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his gaze soft but steady as it met yours. “I mean, if you don’t feel like dealing with... that,” he gestured vaguely toward your phone, “you can come crash at my place. It’s quiet, and I’ve got a couch you can take over if you’re not ready to head home yet.”

You hesitated, your fingers idly tracing the edge of your phone. Spending more time with Jake wasn’t exactly going to help your unspoken crush, but the alternative—trying to sleep through your roommate’s extracurricular activities—was far less appealing.

“Are you sure?” you asked, your voice laced with doubt. “I don’t want to impose or anything.”

Jake rolled his eyes, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. “You wouldn’t be. Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I let you suffer through that?”

The word friend grounded you, loosening the knot of uncertainty in your chest. You smiled softly, nodding your agreement. “Alright, Seresin. But if you don’t have coffee in the morning, I’m going to rethink our so-called friendship.”

Jake laughed, the sound warm and low as he shifted the truck back into drive. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll even make you breakfast if you’re lucky.”

Jake unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped aside to let you in first. The place was clean but lived-in—soft lighting, a comfortable couch, a TV mounted on the wall, and just a few hints of his personality scattered throughout: a Navy ball cap tossed on the entryway table, framed photos of his family, and what looked like a pair of cowboy boots sitting by the door.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, flicking on the lights and heading toward the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

You nodded, shrugging off your jacket and folding it over the back of a chair before settling onto the couch. “Thanks, Jake.”

He returned a moment later, two beers in hand. Passing one to you, he dropped onto the couch beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him. You took a sip, the cold drink soothing against the warmth still lingering on your cheeks from the night’s events.

Jake leaned back, his arm casually draping over the back of the couch. “So,” he started, his tone playful, “what was that whole ‘tall, hot, in a Stetson’ thing earlier really about? Got a cowboy crush I don’t know about?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s just a preference.”

He tilted his head, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Uh-huh. You sure about that? Because it kind of sounded like you were describing someone I know.”

Your brow furrowed as you turned to look at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Jake’s grin widened. “Tall? Blonde? Hot? I mean, you might as well have just said my name.”

You rolled your eyes, but you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. “Oh, please. You’re so full of yourself, Seresin.”

Jake’s gaze flicked to your face, his sharp eyes catching the faint blush blooming across your cheeks. His grin softened into something more thoughtful. “Wait a second,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not,” you said quickly, shaking your head and avoiding his gaze.

“Oh, you definitely are,” he teased, his voice low and amused. “Tell me—do you have a little crush on me?”

You scoffed, your heart racing as you tried to deflect. “What are we, in middle school?”

Jake chuckled, but his expression didn’t shift. He studied you for a moment, the playful glint in his eyes fading into something quieter, more serious. “You didn’t answer the question.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could come up with a denial, Jake leaned in closer, the space between you narrowing. His lips hovered close to yours, close enough that you could feel his breath ghosting against your skin.

“Jake,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest, “what are you doing?”

His eyes locked with yours, intense and unwavering. “I’m kissing you,” he said, his voice low and steady, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Unless you tell me to stop.”

“Jake…we…we can’t.”

“You know,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, “one kiss probably won’t ruin the friendship, right?”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you sat there, frozen as the space between you vanished. When his lips finally touched yours, it was soft at first—almost tentative, like he was giving you the chance to change your mind.

But you didn’t.

Jake’s hand came up, his fingers brushing along your jaw before cupping your face. His touch was firm yet gentle, anchoring you in place as the kiss deepened. His lips moved against yours, confident and unhurried, like he’d been waiting for this moment and was determined to savor every second of it.

Your hand found its way to his chest, the firm muscle beneath his shirt making your pulse race even faster. You felt him exhale, a soft, pleased sound escaping him as your fingers curled into the fabric. Without even thinking, you shifted closer, your body leaning into his as the kiss grew more heated.

Jake pulled back for the briefest moment, just enough to catch his breath, his thumb brushing across your cheek as he looked at you. His eyes were darker now, filled with something that made your stomach flip. 

“You’re killing me, darlin’,” he murmured, his Texas drawl thicker than usual.

You didn’t give yourself time to overthink it. Fueled by a mixture of nerves and adrenaline, you swung a leg over his, settling yourself onto his lap. Jake froze for half a heartbeat before his hands found your waist, his grip firm and grounding.

You reached up, your fingers threading your fingers into the hair at the back of his head, your nails grazing lightly against his scalp as you leaned in and kissed him again. Jake groaned softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss turned fervent, all soft restraint melting away as your bodies pressed together. Jake’s lips were hot and insistent, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he tilted his head, deepening the kiss further. Your fingers fisted in his hair, his skin warm beneath your touch as his hands began to roam, sliding from your waist to your hips, holding you securely in his lap.

Your heart was racing, your senses overwhelmed by the feel of him, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough. Every brush of his lips, every press of his hands against you, made you feel like you were burning from the inside out.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, Jake’s forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven. His hands stayed on your hips, his thumbs brushing idly against the fabric of your shirt. 

You then reached down and started to tug at the hem of your shirt, but he reach out and caught your wrists, halting you.

“Whoa, hold up,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You pulled back slightly, confused, your gaze searching his. His hands stayed on your wrists, gentle but unyielding. 

“What?” you asked, blinking at him as your pulse raced.

Jake’s lips twitched into a small smile, but his expression was serious. “I’m not doing this. Not yet.”

You frowned, sitting back on his lap, your legs still straddling him. “You’re not doing what?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “I want to buy you dinner first.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “Dinner? Like a date?”

Jake nodded, his hands resting lightly on your hips now.

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, you couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that escaped you. “Jake, you don’t do dates. Or dinners. Or follow any kind of rules when it comes to sleeping with women. What’s changed.”

Jake chuckled, but there was a sincerity in his gaze that made your stomach flutter. “You’re not just some hookup for me,” he admitted, his voice soft. “I want to do this right with you.”

Your mouth opened to respond, but no words came out. You weren’t used to seeing Jake like this—so earnest, so serious. The guy who flirted shamelessly, who rarely stuck around for more than a night, was now telling you he wanted to take you on a proper date before anything happened between you.

“You know,” you said after a beat, your tone teasing but your heart pounding, “you did technically buy me a round earlier at the bar.”

Jake shook his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Nice try, darlin’. A beer doesn’t count as dinner.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning back slightly and crossing your arms over your chest. “Jake, it’s late. It’s literally Christmas Eve. Nowhere that you would deem worthy of our first date is going to be open.”

Jake laughed, his hands still resting on your hips. “Guess we’ll have to wait then.”

“Or,” you said, sitting up straighter, an idea forming in your mind, “you can give me your phone.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Why?”

“Just trust me,” you said, holding out your hand.

He hesitated for a moment before sighing and reaching into his pocket to hand it over. You unlocked the screen, your fingers moving quickly as you opened the Uber Eats app.

Jake leaned forward slightly, peering over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Ordering dinner,” you said simply, scrolling through the options for one of the few places still open this late on Christmas Eve.

Jake watched as you added something to the cart, then handed the phone back to him. “Go ahead, pick something for yourself.”

Still looking slightly bewildered, Jake glanced down at the screen, his brow furrowing as he scanned the menu. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” you said, smirking at him. 

Jake sighed, clearly still confused, but he added an item to the order and placed it. As soon as the confirmation screen popped up, he turned to you, shaking his head. “All right, now you’ve got to tell me—what was the point of all that?”

You grinned, leaning forward slightly so your face was inches from his. “Because now you’ve technically bought me dinner,” you said, your tone teasing but your eyes locked on his.

Jake stared at you for a moment, then threw his head back with a laugh. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, your voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. “But now that you’ve fulfilled your ‘dinner first’ rule, are you going to fuck me or not?”

Jake’s laughter died down, replaced by a look that made your stomach flip. His hands tightened slightly on your hips as his gaze darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“You’re something else,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “But if we’re doing this, darlin’, we’re doing it my way.”

You tilted your head, eyeing him curiously. “Your way, huh?” you teased, the corner of your lips quirking up. “And what exactly does your way mean?”

Jake didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hands tightened on your hips, and before you could even process what was happening, he stood up with you still straddling his lap.

“Jake!” you yelped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for balance as he stood effortlessly, holding you against him like you weighed nothing.

He grinned down at you, completely unfazed by your reaction, and started walking down the hallway. “First rule,” he drawled, his voice low and steady, “your first time with me is not going to be on my couch.”

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks as his words sank in. “Oh,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he carried you with ease, the hallway narrowing around you. “You deserve better than that, darlin’,” he continued, his tone softening slightly. “So, my way means I’m going to take my time with you. Do it right, starting with getting you on a bed.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. The way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was enough to leave you breathless.

When he reached the door at the end of the hall, Jake shifted you slightly in his arms so he could turn the handle, nudging the door open with his foot. The room beyond was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the space.

Jake stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him with a soft thud. He finally set you down, your feet touching the plush carpet, but his hands didn’t leave your waist.

You glanced around, your nerves and excitement battling for dominance. “So…what’s the second rule?” you asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably as your voice wavered.

Jake’s lips quirked into a smirk as he leaned down, his face so close to yours that his breath fanned across your skin. 

“The second rule,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, “is that I’m going to make sure you enjoy every second of this.”

Your breath hitched, your hands sliding up his chest almost instinctively. “That’s…a pretty good rule,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s smirk widened as his hands slid from your waist to your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Good,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes dark with intent. “Because I don’t break my own rules.”

With that, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the heated kisses you’d shared earlier. His hands roamed your back, his touch firm but careful, like he was savoring every moment.

You melted into him, your arms looping around his neck as the kiss deepened. His tongue slid against yours, drawing a soft whimper from you that only seemed to spur him on.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. But instead of rushing to remove it quickly, he took his time, his touch reverent as he pushed the fabric up inch by inch.

You broke the kiss for just a moment, your breath coming in soft pants as you let him pull your shirt over your head. His gaze raked over you, his eyes darkening as he took you in.

“Goddamn,” Jake murmured, his voice husky. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, but before you could respond, he was kissing you again, his hands sliding up your back and pulling you closer.

Jake’s lips broke away from yours, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. Slowly, he trailed his kisses along your jaw, the gentle scrape of his stubble sending shivers down your spine. His lips moved lower, finding the sensitive curve of your neck.

At first, the kisses were light, teasing. But then he began sucking and biting softly, testing different spots until he hit the one that made your head fall back with a soft gasp, your fingers tightening in the hair at the nape of his neck.

The sound you made—the small, unrestrained moan that escaped your lips—had Jake pausing for the briefest moment before he let out a low groan of his own, his mouth returning to the same spot with renewed focus. This time, he nipped a little harder, drawing another reaction out of you.

“Jake,” you warned softly, your breath hitching as you tugged at his hair. “Don’t leave a mark.”

You felt his lips curve into a smirk against your neck. 

“Why not?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as his teeth grazed your skin. Before you could answer, he added in a quiet whisper, “I kinda like the idea of everyone knowing you’re my girl.”

That pulled your head up, and you gave him a look, arching a brow. “Your girl, huh?”

Jake didn’t miss a beat, his green eyes locking onto yours as he leaned in close, his lips brushing just below your ear. “My girl,” he repeated, his voice filled with a confidence that made your heart race.

You barely had time to process his words before his mouth was back on your skin, moving lower this time. He kissed along your collarbone, his lips pressing against every inch of exposed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

When he reached the strap of your bra, his fingers deftly reached around your back. With a practiced ease that had you smirking slightly, he unclasped it. He pulled back just enough to slide the straps down your arms, his hands warm and firm against your skin as he discarded the lacey fabric to the floor.

Jake’s gaze dropped, and his lips parted slightly as his eyes roamed over you. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression somewhere between awe and hunger. Then, a slow grin spread across his face.

“This is what you wore to the bar?” he asked, his voice playful but edged with disbelief.

You blushed, rolling your eyes even as you smiled. “It’s laundry day,” you mumbled. “All the comfy stuff was in the wash.”

Jake chuckled, his hands sliding up your sides to rest just below your chest. “Laundry day, huh?” 

“Yes, why? Do you have a problem with my choice of undergarments?”

“Not exactly,” he teased, his grin widening. “But that…is way too sexy for just a casual night out with friends.”

His thumb brushed just below the curve of your breast, sending a spark of warmth straight through you.

You rolled your eyes again, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “It’s just a bra, Jake,” you muttered, though your voice wavered slightly.

He didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, he leaned forward, his mouth finding the soft skin of your chest. His lips were warm and gentle, kissing along the swell of your breast before his tongue flicked against your skin.

Your breath hitched, and Jake’s hands shifted to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he continued. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to your skin, his lips and tongue working in tandem to explore every inch. When he finally reached your nipple, his mouth closed around it, drawing a soft moan from you that only seemed to spur him on.

His hands tightened on your hips as his other hand slid up, cupping your other breast and giving it the same attention. Jake groaned softly against your skin, clearly enjoying himself, and the sound sent a shiver through you.

Jake pulled back for a moment, just enough to glance up at you with a wicked grin. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he teased, his voice low and rough. “Didn’t know you were hiding these under all those sweaters and jackets.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers sliding into his hair. “Shut up, Jake,” you muttered, pulling him back to you.

He laughed softly but didn’t argue, his mouth returning to your chest with renewed enthusiasm. Jake Seresin might have had a reputation for being cocky and playful, but in this moment, he was focused, almost reverent, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Jake's lips were still warm against your skin, his tongue flicking over the same sensitive spot on your chest that had you squirming against him, when a sudden thought crossed your mind. You realized how uneven the situation was—your bra was already on the floor, and yet here he was, still fully dressed.

Not one to let such an imbalance slide, you tugged at the hem of his shirt. Jake pulled back, his green eyes flicking to yours in question, his mouth curving into a smug smile when he caught on.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond, simply giving the fabric another tug. Jake let out a quiet laugh, sitting up slightly so he could pull the shirt over his head. The movement was so fluid, so effortless, that it was almost infuriating. And when he tossed the shirt aside, your mouth went dry.

Your eyes trailed over him slowly, taking in the broad expanse of his chest, the defined lines of his abs, and the way his skin seemed to glow under the dim light of his apartment. You’d known Jake Seresin was fit—anyone could tell just by looking at him—but this? This was something else entirely.

Your hands moved instinctively, sliding over the hard planes of his chest, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips making your pulse race. You traced the subtle curve of his muscles, your thumb brushing over a faint scar just below his collarbone, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

Jake caught the sound, his brow lifting as he smirked. “What’s so funny, darlin’?”

You shook your head, trying to find the words but failing. Instead, you blurted, “You’re not real.”

That caught him off guard, and he chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest. “Not real, huh?”

You gestured vaguely at him, your hands hovering just above his abs. “Nobody looks like this in real life. I mean… how? Do you, like, live in the gym or something?”

Jake laughed again, clearly amused by your reaction. He leaned back slightly, his hands resting on your thighs as he regarded you with a playful gleam in his eyes. “It’s all just good genetics, sweetheart,” he drawled, his smirk widening. “But if you wanna keep admiring, don’t let me stop you.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the blush creeping into your cheeks. “Cocky,” you muttered, though your hands betrayed you by continuing their exploration, tracing the ridges of his muscles like you were committing them to memory.

“Confident,” Jake corrected, leaning forward again so that his face was just inches from yours. “And besides…” His lips brushed lightly against your jaw, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “You’re not exactly keeping your hands to yourself, darlin’.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your blush deepening as his teasing smirk only grew wider. His confidence was maddening, but it also sent a rush of heat through you that you couldn’t ignore. Finally, you huffed and muttered, “You talk too much.”

Jake tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more mischievous. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

Without missing a beat, you leaned in close, your breath brushing against his lips as you whispered, “Shut up and kiss me, Seresin.”

His eyes darkened at your words, the playful light in them replaced with something deeper, hungrier. He didn’t hesitate. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck as he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours.

His hand at your neck tilted your head just enough to deepen the kiss, while his other hand tightened its grip on your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between your bodies.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest and over his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short hair at the back of his head. When he nipped at your bottom lip, your soft gasp gave him the perfect opening, and his tongue swept into your mouth, stealing whatever clever retort you might have had.

Jake broke the kiss just long enough to guide you backward. His strong hands shifted to your hips as he maneuvered you gently, lowering you onto the bed as if you weighed nothing. His lips found yours again before your head even hit the pillow, his body following as he braced himself over you, one forearm resting beside your head while his other hand remained at your waist.

The bed dipped slightly under your combined weight, and you felt the cool sheets against your back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you and Jake. His kisses grew slower, deeper, his mouth moving over yours in a way that made your toes curl. His free hand slid up your side, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as it found your cheek, tilting your face toward his for better access.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—all you could do was feel. The warmth of his body, the intoxicating way he kissed you, the steady weight of him pressing you into the mattress—it was overwhelming in the best way.

Jake finally pulled back, just enough to look down at you, his lips red and swollen, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His gaze was molten as it roamed over your face, lingering on your kiss-bruised lips before meeting your eyes.

“You’re something else,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. His thumb brushed gently over your cheek, and his lips quirked into a softer, almost reverent smile. “You know that?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared up at him, the sincerity in his expression taking your breath away all over again. You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, but all that came out was a whisper. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Jake’s lips hovered above yours, his breath warm against your skin, but his hands began to move, dragging your focus away from the way his mouth made you feel and to the steady path his fingers were tracing. They slid down your sides with a deliberate slowness, his thumbs brushing teasingly over your hips before they stopped at the waistband of your jeans.

He shifted back just slightly, his hands working to pop the button open and tug the zipper down. His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the spark of mischief in them sent a jolt of anticipation straight through you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.”

You did as he asked, and he made quick work of guiding your jeans down your legs, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that left goosebumps in their wake. The denim hit the floor, and Jake’s gaze swept over you, lingering when he noticed the lacy underwear that matched the bra he’d already discarded.

A slow smirk spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach flip and your cheeks flush. “Now this,” he said, his voice dripping with that signature cockiness, “is a sight I could get used to.”

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, and with one smooth motion, he slid them down your legs and discarded them on the floor beside your jeans. His hands returned to your thighs, his touch featherlight as he traced patterns over your skin. 

“From now on,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to the inside of your knee, “you only wear these for me. Got it?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at the sheer audacity of the man in front of you. “And what makes you think this will be more than a one-time thing,” you challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Jake didn’t even blink at your question. Instead, he leaned back slightly, resting his weight on his knees as his hands slid higher up your thighs. “Because you don’t do casual,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. His hands stilled just shy of where you wanted them, his thumbs brushing agonizingly close to the heat pooling between your legs. “You don’t do one-night hookups.”

His words were confident, but then that cocky grin returned, and he leaned down just enough that his lips hovered above your skin. His thumb trailed teasingly over your inner thigh, not quite touching you where you needed him most, and it was maddening.

“And because,” he continued, his voice low and teasing, “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already trying to get more.” His thumb brushed a little closer this time, still not quite enough, and the sharp intake of breath you let out didn’t escape his notice.

Your hips tilted up instinctively, desperate for more contact, but Jake pulled his hand back just slightly, his grin widening as he caught your movement.

“See what I mean?” he teased, his voice dripping with that infuriating self-assurance. “One night’s not gonna be enough for you, sweetheart. You won’t be able to get enough of me.”

Jake’s smirk deepened as he continued his slow, agonizing teasing, his fingers dancing closer and closer to where you needed him.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he drawled, his green eyes glinting with amusement as he leaned down to press a kiss to the curve of your hip. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Your head fell back against the pillows, a frustrated groan slipping from your lips. You felt like you were about to combust, every nerve ending on fire as Jake toyed with you like it was some kind of game. The worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Jake,” you started, your voice laced with exasperation as you lifted your head to glare at him. “I swear to God—”

Before you could finish your sentence, his fingers finally moved, pressing against you in just the right spot. The sudden surge of pleasure ripped the words right from your throat, replacing them with a sharp, breathy moan that had Jake’s grin widening in satisfaction.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, his voice low and smug as his fingers began working in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing another soft sound from your lips. “Knew you’d sound pretty, but damn, sweetheart, I didn’t think you’d sound this good.”

Your hands fisted the sheets beside you, your back arching slightly off the bed as the pressure built, wave after wave crashing over you with every precise movement of his hand. “Jake…” His name came out like a plea, your voice trembling as you tried to catch your breath.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I’ve got you, darlin’. Just let me take care of you.”

His free hand slid up your side, his thumb brushing along your ribs in a soothing gesture that contrasted sharply with the fire he was setting off with every calculated touch. Your hips tilted toward him, desperate for more, and Jake was quick to oblige, his fingers pressing harder, moving faster, drawing out the kind of pleasure that had your head spinning and your thoughts unraveling.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter inside you, and just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jake shifted slightly, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was every bit as intoxicating as the way his hands worked your body. It was messy and consuming, his tongue brushing against yours in a rhythm that matched the movements of his fingers, as if he was determined to pull every last sound from your lips.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, your forehead pressed against his, your fingers gripping his biceps for support. He didn’t stop, though, his lips trailing down your jaw, over your neck, and back to the spot on your collarbone that had you shivering.

“You doing okay there, sweetheart?” he teased, his breath warm against your skin as he chuckled softly. “Seem a little… speechless.”

Jake’s fingers slowed just enough to pull you back from the edge, leaving you breathless and trembling beneath him. A frustrated whimper escaped your lips, and you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, his lips were at your ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, the heat of his breath against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. “Have you ever thought about this before? About me? About my hands on you like this?”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you could feel your face heat, your body betraying you as a rush of arousal coursed through you. Of course, you’d thought about it. You’d thought about it far more times than you cared to admit, in moments you’d never expected and in ways that had left you wondering what it would feel like to have Jake Seresin in this exact position.

But you weren’t about to tell him that.

“No,” you managed to say, though the breathiness of your voice betrayed your attempt at indifference.

Jake chuckled low, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed a kiss just below your ear. His fingers started moving again, slow and deliberate, building that fire inside you all over again. “Liar,” he whispered, his tone dripping with confidence.

Your breath hitched as his hand worked you over with maddening precision, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I think you’ve thought about this a lot,” he continued, his voice soft but insistent, like a secret he was unraveling. “About me touching you like this. About me kissing you. About me making you fall apart.”

Your hips bucked against his hand involuntarily, a quiet gasp slipping from your lips. Jake’s smirk was audible in his next words. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

“Jake…” you warned, though the word lacked any real heat, your voice shaking as he pushed you closer to the edge again.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice still low and intimate, as if the moment was just for the two of you. “Tell me the truth. You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but your body told a different story, arching into his touch, chasing the release he kept pulling just out of reach.

“Still not talking, huh?” he teased, his lips ghosting over your neck. “That’s okay. I think I already know the answer.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your head falling back against the pillow as Jake’s fingers slowed again, denying you the release you so desperately craved.

“Jake, I swear to God—”

“Say the word,” he whispered, his voice dark and tempting. “Say you want this. Say you want me.”

Your resolve crumbled under the weight of his touch, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the teasing rhythm of his fingers sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. You couldn’t take it anymore, the denial of release driving you mad.

“Fine,” you blurted out, your voice a mix of desperation and surrender. “I’ve thought about it. About you. Happy now?”

Jake froze for a moment, his smirk widening as he absorbed your confession, his ego clearly basking in your words. “Damn right I am,” he drawled, his tone as smug as ever. His fingers picked up their pace again, but this time with a newfound determination, his touch deliberate and calculated as he pushed you closer to the edge once more.

“Have you thought about my hands doing this?” he murmured, shifting his hand ever so slightly, his movements slow and precise as he watched your reaction.

Your body arched involuntarily, a strangled moan escaping your lips. You couldn’t lie even if you wanted to.

He chuckled, his lips brushing against your neck as he continued. “Or maybe this?” He changed the angle of his touch again, his fingers finding just the right spot that had you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Jake,” you panted, your voice trembling with need, but he wasn’t done yet.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he pressed, his tone both teasing and possessive. 

“How many nights have you thought about this? About me making you feel this good?”

You let out a whimper, the pressure inside you building to an unbearable intensity. “Please, Jake,” you finally begged, your voice cracking as you tilted your hips toward his hand, desperate for the release he was holding just out of reach.

“Please, what?” he whispered, his voice dark and enticing.

“Please, just—”

Before you could finish, he gave you exactly what you needed, his fingers working you over with perfect precision, sending you hurtling over the edge. A cry tore from your lips as the tension snapped, your body trembling under the overwhelming wave of pleasure.

Jake didn’t stop, his hand staying steady as he guided you through your release, murmuring soft praises in your ear.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing replaced with something more intimate, more sincere. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Your hands clutched at him as you rode out the high, your breathing ragged and uneven as he slowed his movements, easing you back down. His free hand caressed your side, grounding you as you came back to yourself.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

As the intensity slowly ebbed away, you opened your eyes to find Jake watching you. The cocky smirk you'd expected wasn’t there—instead, he was looking at you with something softer, something that made your chest tighten. His hand brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his touch lingering for just a moment before pulling back. He gave you a small, almost shy smile, one that you’d never seen before.

“What?” you asked nervously, returning the smile as your heart pounded for an entirely different reason now.

Jake shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting into something more tender than teasing. “You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

You blinked at him, caught completely off guard. He wasn’t grinning or smirking or full of his usual bravado—he was just Jake, looking at you like you were the only thing in the room.

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you didn’t know what to say. “Oh,” you whispered, your voice soft as his words settled over you.

The moment stretched between you, and for the first time, Jake looked away, almost as if realizing how vulnerable he’d made himself. But instead of pulling back, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, a gesture so tender it made your chest ache.

“Let’s get you some water,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. But as he moved to stand, his fingers brushed yours, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter all over again.

And at that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just some casual hookup with him. You weren’t sure what it was yet, but it was more.

Jake disappeared into the walk in closet, leaving you alone in his bedroom for a moment. When he returned, he had one of his shirts in hand—soft, worn, and smelling distinctly like him. He tossed it to you with a crooked smile.

“Figured you’d be more comfortable in this,” he said before turning toward the door, giving you a bit of privacy to change.

Once you slipped into the oversized shirt, you padded out to find him in the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. He twisted the cap off and handed it to you as you approached.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a long sip.

Jake nodded toward the couch. “Come on. Sit with me.”

You followed him over, sinking into the cushion next to him, leaving a respectable amount of space between you. Jake glanced at the gap and raised an eyebrow, smirking just slightly.

“You scared of me now or something?” he teased, his voice soft but warm.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could come up with a response, Jake reached over and tugged gently at your hand, coaxing you closer. “C’mere,” he said, his tone so inviting you didn’t think to resist.

You shifted over until your thigh brushed against his, and Jake draped an arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing your shoulder. He didn’t push for more, didn’t try to crowd you—he just held you there, close enough to feel his warmth.

“You good?” he asked after a moment, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, leaning slightly into him. “Yeah. I’m good.”

For a while, neither of you said anything. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the occasional creak of the couch as you both shifted to get more comfortable. Eventually, you rested your head against Jake’s shoulder, and you could feel him relax beneath you, the tension in his body melting away.

This—whatever this was—felt easy. And for now, you were content to let it be.

The silence between you settled into something soft, the kind of quiet where you could hear your own thoughts but didn’t mind sharing the space with someone else. Jake absentmindedly brushed his fingers along your arm, his touch light, comforting.

But then the thought hit you, and you started to feel a twinge of guilt. Jake had gone out of his way to make sure you felt incredible, but you hadn’t done the same for him. The realization sat heavily in your chest, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you shifted slightly, sitting up to look at him.

"Hey," you said, your voice quieter than you expected.

Jake tilted his head toward you, the corners of his lips quirking up. "What’s on your mind, darlin’?"

You hesitated, chewing your bottom lip for a second. "I just... I feel bad. You—you got me to, you know, but I didn’t—"

Jake’s low laugh cut you off, his head tipping back for a moment before he looked at you again, his eyes warm and amused. "You feel bad about that?"

"Well... yeah," you admitted, your cheeks heating. You glanced away, feeling the awkwardness creep in. "I mean, do you... want me to...?" You trailed off, unable to meet his gaze.

Jake reached over and gently tipped your chin up so you had to look at him. His expression wasn’t teasing this time, but soft, almost tender.

"I don’t need you to do anything," he said, his voice steady. "Tonight was about you. I wanted to make sure you felt good. That’s enough for me."

You blinked, a little thrown by how sincere he sounded. "Really?"

He nodded, leaning back and letting his arm settle across your shoulders again. "Really," he said, the hint of a smile still tugging at his lips. "But I appreciate the offer. Makes me feel pretty special."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that broke through. "You’re impossible."

"Yeah, but you like me anyway," he quipped, his grin widening as you shook your head and settled back against his shoulder.

The room fell into a quiet lull, the kind that was filled with comfort rather than awkwardness. Jake’s arm rested across your shoulders, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your arm. You let your head rest against him, but the words you’d been mulling over stuck in your throat.

Finally, you worked up the courage to look up at him, your voice soft, almost hesitant. "Jake?"

"Hmm?" He turned his head slightly, his green eyes meeting yours.

"Can I..." You paused, nervousness creeping in, but you pushed forward. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Jake’s grin spread across his face almost immediately, cocky but somehow still sweet. "Where else would you sleep?"

You shrugged, suddenly feeling shy under the weight of his gaze. "I don’t know. The couch maybe..."

Before you could finish the thought, Jake leaned in and kissed you, his lips soft and warm, pulling you right back into the ease of being with him. When he pulled away, his grin had softened into something tender, something that made your heart skip a beat.

"You can sleep with me every night," he murmured, his fingers brushing another stray piece of hair from your face.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you just smiled, leaning into him as his arm tightened around you, pulling you closer. In that moment, the thought of waking up next to Jake every morning didn’t feel so crazy after all.

* * * *

The morning light streamed through the blinds, coaxing you awake. Your head throbbed faintly—a mild reminder of the last beer you probably shouldn’t have had. Blinking against the sunlight, you looked around, disoriented for a moment. This wasn’t your apartment.

And then it all came back. Last night. Jake bringing you home. The teasing, the kissing, the way he had pulled you close and told you that you could sleep with him every night. The memories brought a mix of warmth and guilt as you realized just how many lines of friendship you had crossed in a single evening.

Sitting up, you glanced over at the other side of the bed, half expecting Jake to still be there. But his side was empty, the covers slightly rumpled. You pushed them off and padded out of the bedroom, your bare feet cold against the hardwood.

As you stepped into the living room, you froze in place, utterly speechless at the sight before you.

Jake was lying on the floor, one arm propped up to support his head, his body stretched out lazily. He was barefoot, in jeans that fit a little too well, no shirt, and a Stetson cowboy hat perched on his head.

Your mouth opened, then closed, your brain short-circuiting. You weren’t sure whether to laugh, blush, or scold him for how ridiculous he looked—and how ridiculously good he looked at the same time.

“What,” you finally managed, “are you doing?”

Jake’s lips curved into that signature smirk of his, the one that always got him into trouble and, apparently, you as well. “What does it look like? Tall, hot, in a Stetson. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Your jaw dropped as you remembered your flippant comment from the night before, and a laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “Are you serious right now?”

He stood up in one smooth motion, the hat still perfectly in place as he strolled toward you. “I’m Texan, darlin’. Born and raised. Owning a Stetson is a right of passage.”

You shook your head, laughing harder now as he stopped in front of you. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned down, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Ridiculous enough to make you laugh this hard first thing in the morning?”

“Yeah, well…” You tried to form a witty comeback, but the way he was looking at you—half playful, half something much softer—made your words catch in your throat.

Jake’s smirk softened into a smile as he tilted his head closer. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, before leaning in to kiss you.

And just like that, the absurdity of the morning melted away, leaving only the feel of his lips on yours and the flutter in your chest that you weren’t quite ready to name.

Jake’s hands slid to your waist, his grip firm yet gentle as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against yours with a confidence that made your knees weak, and you swore you felt his smirk against your mouth when your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders for balance.

Without breaking the kiss, Jake’s fingers tightened slightly on your hips, and he murmured, “Jump.”

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before doing as he asked. His hands were steady as they guided you, and your legs wrapped around his waist naturally. He held you effortlessly, the warmth of his skin against your thighs making your breath hitch.

“You’re way too good at this,” you whispered against his lips, your voice teasing but a little breathless.

Jake pulled back just enough to flash you that cocky grin you knew all too well. “Darlin’, I was born good at this.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto your face. Then, just like that, he was moving, carrying you down the hallway as though you weighed nothing.

The hat was still perched on his head, slightly tilted from your movements, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. “You’re seriously keeping the hat on?”

He glanced at you with a raised brow, that grin still firmly in place. “You said tall, hot, in a Stetson. I’m just giving the lady what she wants.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, but your words were swallowed by another kiss as he carried you into the bedroom.

Jake lowered you onto the bed with care, the playful edge giving way to something more deliberate, more intense, as he hovered over you. His green eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, the room felt still, the air between you charged with something electric.

“Guess that makes me your cowboy now,” he said softly, his voice low and teasing, but there was a hint of sincerity there that made your chest tighten.

And before you could respond, his lips were back on yours, and nothing else mattered.

Jake kissed you with a hunger that sent a spark straight through you. His hands slid up your thighs, the warmth of his palms setting fire to your skin as he pressed you into the mattress. The Stetson, still sitting askew on his head, was the perfect blend of ridiculous and sexy, and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing softly against his lips.

“What’s so funny, darlin’?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that made your stomach flip.

You reached up, plucking the hat off his head, and twirled it in your fingers with a smirk. “Just trying to decide if this thing makes you hotter… or if it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jake chuckled, pulling back slightly, his weight still braced above you. “Go on then, put it on. Let’s see if you can pull it off.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully, accepting the challenge. Sliding the Stetson onto your head, you tilted it just slightly, giving him a mock-serious look. “How do I look?”

Jake’s gaze darkened instantly, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Like trouble,” he drawled.

The heat in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Emboldened by the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted—you took a deep breath and gave his chest a small push. Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but he rolled to his back without protest, his hands guiding you along with him until you were straddling his hips.

His smirk grew as he settled beneath you, his hands resting on your waist. “This what you had in mind?” he asked, his tone a teasing challenge.

You didn’t give him time to comment further before you rolled your hips slowly, teasing him. You reached down and grabbed the bottom of his shirt that you had slept in and quickly slid it off, leaving you completely bare. You reach for the hat that had been knocked off and carefully placed it back on your head.

Jake groaned, his head falling back for a moment as his grip on your waist tightened. “You’re playin’ a dangerous game, darlin’.”

“Am I?” you teased, leaning forward just enough that the brim of the hat shadowed your face, leaving him staring up at you like you’d stolen all the air from his lungs.

Jake’s hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing over your ribs as he guided your movements. “You’re wearin’ nothin’ but my hat and lookin’ like that,” he muttered, his voice low and ragged.

You laughed softly, but your amusement quickly faded as the heat between you grew. The way his hands moved over you—possessive yet gentle—was making it impossible to keep the pace slow.

As you shifted and leaned forward again, Jake reached up, tipping the brim of the hat slightly. “You’re somethin’ else,” he said softly, his green eyes locked on yours.

For once, the cockiness was gone from his voice, replaced with a raw honesty that left you breathless. You didn’t respond, couldn’t, as you captured his lips again and let the heat between you consume every other thought.

The heat between your bodies was electric, every touch and movement sending sparks skittering across your skin. You shifted slightly, lifting your hips just enough to position yourself over him. Jake’s breath hitched, and his hands instinctively gripped your thighs, steadying you as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

For a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Your eyes locked with his, and the teasing glint in his green gaze had softened into something deeper, something that made your heart skip a beat. Without a word, he let his hands glide up your sides, the warmth of his palms grounding you as you slowly sank down onto him.

A shuddered groan escaped Jake’s lips, and you couldn’t hold back the small gasp that left yours. The sensation was overwhelming, but it wasn’t just physical—it was the way he looked at you, like you were something precious, something he wanted to memorize with every touch.

Jake sat up slightly, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, pressing his forehead to yours as your breaths mingled. For a moment, neither of you moved. The intimacy of it, the closeness, was almost too much to bear. His thumbs traced small circles against your skin, grounding you in the moment.

When you finally began to move, it was slow, deliberate, like the two of you were trying to savor every second. Jake’s lips found yours, and the kiss was anything but hurried. It was deep, consuming, a perfect match to the rhythm you’d set. His hands explored your back, your sides, your hips, mapping every inch of you like he never wanted to forget.

As the pace quickened, so did the intensity. Jake’s lips left yours to trail along your jaw, down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver racing through you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you tipped your head back, surrendering completely to the moment.

His grip on your waist tightened, and his lips found the hollow of your throat. Every movement between you spoke louder than words ever could—the way his hands caressed you, the way your body arched into his, the way his lips lingered on your skin like he couldn’t get enough.

This wasn’t just a fleeting moment, and you could feel it in the way he held you. He wasn’t just here for now—he was here for you, wholly and completely. And though neither of you spoke, the weight of that realization settled between you, amplifying the passion that had consumed you both.

As the rhythm between you grew more urgent, Jake leaned back, letting his head hit the pillow as his hands guided your hips. His eyes were locked on you, full of heat and awe, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Your gaze softened as you leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. The way he looked at you, touched you, kissed you—it was like he was unraveling every fear you’d ever had about being vulnerable, about letting someone in.

When the moment finally crested, your head fell forward, your lips finding the crook of his neck as he held you close, his hands splayed against your back to steady you. You stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, neither of you willing to pull away.

Jake’s fingers brushed over your spine, his touch gentle as your breathing began to slow. He tilted his head to press a soft kiss to your temple, and you felt the tension in his body ease as he cradled you against him.

No words were spoken, but they weren’t needed. Everything you felt, everything he felt—it was all there, in the way he held you, in the way you lingered against him, unwilling to let the moment end.

The silence in the room was peaceful, broken only by the sound of your slowing breaths and the faint rustle of the sheets. Jake’s hand skimmed lazily along your back, his touch soothing and warm as you rested against his chest. For a moment, you both just lay there, content in the afterglow of everything that had passed between you.

But of course, Jake couldn’t let the moment stay quiet for too long. His fingers danced lightly along your spine, and you felt his chest rumble with a low chuckle.

“So,” he drawled, his tone laced with that familiar cocky edge, “was it everything you imagined it would be? Or do you need another round for comparison purposes?”

You let out a soft laugh, lifting your head to look at him. His grin was downright smug, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, even as your lips tugged into a smile. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered for what felt like the tenth time since you arrived at Jake's place last night, propping yourself up on one elbow.

Jake smirked, clearly unbothered by your comment. “Ridiculous, maybe, but you like it.”

“Debatable,” you teased, your tone light and playful as you reached up to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

His grin only widened, and he gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Hey, I don’t blame you for falling for the whole ‘hot guy in a Stetson’ thing. Happens to the best of ‘em.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Mm, maybe,” Jake said, leaning in just enough to brush his lips against yours. “But I think you like me anyway.”

You wanted to argue, to fire back some witty retort, but the softness in his gaze stopped you short. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin as he smiled at you—not his usual cocky grin, but something quieter, more genuine.

“I mean it,” he said softly, his voice carrying none of the teasing from before. “You’re…amazing.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, and you dropped your eyes, suddenly shy. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Jake chuckled, his hand sliding down to rest on your waist as he pulled you closer. “Not so bad, huh? I’ll take it.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy as you settled back against him, your head resting on his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as the playful banter faded into a comfortable silence.

As your eyes began to drift closed, you felt Jake press a kiss to the top of your head, his voice soft and warm as he murmured, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything might just be exactly as it should be.

[katyawriteswhump]

scent of a (soul)mate 💖🍌💖

Rating: M; WC: 2722; CW: none; Tags: O!Steve, A!Eddie, fluff, scentmates, scenting, rejection sickness, mild hurt/comfort, snuggling and cuddling, matchmaking. For @stmarchmm day 10 prompt, ‘rejection sickness’ and day 11 prompt, ‘scenting,’ and @steddiebingo fill, ‘fruit.’ Summary: O!Steve has been dumped by Tommy and Carol, and is suffering from major rejection sickness. A!Eddie reluctantly rocks up to provide ‘platonic’ healing snuggles… Read on Ao3

🍌💖🍌💖🍌💖🍌💖🍌💖🍌

“Let me get this straight.” Eddie discarded his notes and glared across the trailer at Gareth. “You want me to pause creating the most metal campaign in the history of D and D… and go snuggle the third most obnoxious student who ever doomed the halls of Hawkins High? Because he’s been dumped by the only two dickwads who were more obnoxious?”

“He’s not so bad,” mumbled Gareth, hilariously squirmy. “We’re friends now. Henderson adores him. It’s not like Steve was ever around when Tommy and Carol were slamming me up against the lockers.”

Eddie grinded his teeth at the memory. “No shit. Protecting you was my job.”

“That’s my point! You’re the best at looking out for Omegas. Without being threatening or trying to get in their panties.”

“You calling me unthreatening?” Eddie poked his tongue and clawed the air, grizzly-style.

“You’re terrifying, Eddie. Just… hear me out, okay?”

Eddie indulged his friend, as ever, and most of Steve’s history, he knew. Steve had been joined at the hips with Tommy and Carole since Middle School. When Steve presented Omega, and the other two presented Alpha, nothing changed.

Apart from that Eddie avoided Steve like a plague of frat-boy zombies, and not only because the Omega was a total brat.

Eddie got within ten yards of Harrington he was pretty much drooling. The Omega’s scent—not to mention that dumb preppy hair and those pretty eyes—drove him loopy, and there was no way he was making a fool of himself with Tommy and Carol’s bitch.

What Eddie didn’t know was that, since they’d graduated, Steve’s Alphas had been treating him like a toy they’d grown bored of.

A month ago, they’d cut him completely.

When his parents refused to cut short a business trip to care for him, isolation sickness had aggravated rejection sickness. In the end, Steve had been too poorly to come to the door. Robin Buckley got Chief Hopper around to break into the Harrington’s house and take Steve to the hospital.

Yeah, it was all deeply tragic.

As were Gareth’s huge, woeful eyes and his melodramatic telling of the tale, which rivalled Eddie’s best Dungeon Master act. Boo-hoo, poor little rich kid, cue the wailing violins.

Half an hour later, Eddie was at the store trying to figure out what gift to take to visit a sick and admittedly cute Omega who he didn’t actually like.

Oh, and getting weird looks from other shoppers for wandering around muttering to himself.

“No chocolates, no candy-ass flowers. Wroooong message, Munson. I mean, what are you doing getting a gift?” Truth was, some crazy Alpha instinct forced him to it, and fortunately inspiration struck. “Okay. Fruit. That’s what you take for sick Omegas when you have zero intention of jumping their bones… courting… whatever.”

He opted for a bunch of bananas and headed straight to Hopper’s place. The Chief took in waifs and strays of all designations, of which Steve was the latest. Eddie puffed out his cheeks, rolled on extra blockers, and got out of the van.

Instantly, he got a whiff of that insanely glorious… ahem, no, cloying caramelised-peaches-with-watermelon-and-vodka scent that used to drive him nuts at High School.  That’d had him trying to recreate it in a punch bowl for the past year and totally failing.

He should’ve run for the hills while he still had hope. Instead, finding the front door unlocked, he followed his nose and peeped in.

Steve was lying on the sofa bouncing a softball off the ceiling.

Okay, should Eddie knock? Cough? Say hi?

Too late.

Steve startled and tumbled off the couch, landing with a thud and a squeak.

“Shit!” Eddie rushed inside to help.

…

Steve slowly sat up then flopped his back against the side of the couch, head spinning.

What was Eddie Munson doing here? Why was he carrying a bunch of bananas—Steve’s favorite food—which smelled super-crazy levels of deliciousness?

“You okay?” Eddie dumped the fruit and crouched at Steve’s side, looking almost as spooked as Steve.

“Yeah,” panted Steve, hand over his still-racing heart. “Thought you were Hop. Figured he’d be mad I was playing ball inside.” To be fair, Steve’s jumpiness came from years of anticipating his father’s reactions. Hop would’ve forgiven him. Probably. “There’s nothing on TV and I’m bored out of my skull.”

“You always did love your ball-in-laundry-basket games,” said Eddie, with an only-slightly-derisive smirk.

Steve gave him a look, revving up to tell him he’d waaaaay rather have been playing his guitar. If he could’ve staggered far enough to fetch it from his room. Eddie got in first:

“I’m sorry. You’re cool. You happy on the floor, Sweetie, or you want a hand?”

Sweetie? Steve giggled and instantly forgave Eddie. That giant crush he’d had on the Alpha in senior year rushed back like it’d never left. “What d’ya reckon, shit-for-brains?”

A large Alpha hand hooked under his arm. Another found his hip, and he was carefully guided back onto the couch.

“What the heck are you doing here?” asked Steve, once nested back among his cushions and blankets. And still getting over the loss of that warm touch, which had sent shockingly pleasant shivers across his skin. “You looking for the Chief?”

“Nope.”

Eddie hovered a foot off and stared at him. Scarily intense. Steve faintly wondered why he wasn’t more scared about being alone, pretty much helpless, with a bad-boy Alpha, then dabbed his lips. Shit, maybe Eddie was staring because he had something gross on his face.

“Look, I’m gonna level with you, Harrington—”

“Steve,” squeaked Steve.

A smile twitched on the corner of Eddie’s lush lips, and… Wow, Steve hadn’t had much appetite for weeks and suddenly he was soooo hungry. Must be those bananas Eddie had brought with him, which Steve slid his attention to.

The aroma was incredible. There was a ton of muted scents drifting around this house, but right now… Nope, Steve only smelled banana, and it was the deepest, richest, creamiest banana he’d ever experienced, with dark salty undertones.

Wow.

“Gareth said you’d been struggling,” Eddie said, “and that the doctors pretty much prescribed platonic bodily contact with Alphas. So, yeah, not gonna push this or anything, but—

“I’m gonna kill him,” muttered Steve, facepalming. “Look, I appreciate it, um… Can I call you Eddie?”

“Sure.”

“Eddie, I’m on the mend. I’m past the so-sick-I-wanna-die stage—” and the humiliating can’t-stop-crying stage—“and to be ‘platonic’ I think you have to be friends. I know you hated my guts in High School. You don’t have to do this.”

“I never hated you,” said Eddie. “I hated your ex-Alphas. Gareth and Dustin say you’re a good dude. I trust them, and that makes us friends of friends, so… you want snuggles or not? It’s totally up to you.”

Steve peeped at Eddie from between his fingers, and somehow, he couldn’t lie: “I’d like snuggles.”

Eddie relaxed into yet another grin, this one deliciously wolfish: “Okay, Steve. You call the shots. How do you wanna do this?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

It was true. His parents didn’t believe in hugs, let alone snuggles. Carol and Tommy had only ever petted him after sex. He’d snuggled with Hop’s younger foster pups lately in the family nest, which had helped him start to heal.

He’d never had one-on-one snuggles with an Alpha before. Even platonic ones.

And now he was trembling like an idiot.

Eddie perched on the edge of the couch. “Nothing to worry about, Sweetie. We can take this slow, or I can leave, or—"

“No.” Steve grabbed Eddie’s wrist, and the strength of his grip shocked him. “I said I want snuggles. Please, Alpha.”

The awkwardness and furtive glances lasted only a few seconds. Then Eddie scooped Steve against his hip and enfolded both arms around him. Steve nestled his cheek on Eddie’s chest, and one of his own hands crept across to clasp Eddie’s shoulder. One of his knees notched itself up into Eddie’s lap, and he melted into Eddie as if they were born to fit together this way.

A caressing warmth literally seeped from the Alpha. Damn. He’d wasted nineteen years… without this?

“You okay, Steve?”

“Mmmmmm,” sighed Steve, as a wave of pure contentment washed over him. He wanted to sink into those hints of herby Alpha musk—into Eddie—like a hot bath. Okay, Eddie’s scent wasn’t quite as distracting as the bananas, which was a shame, but he wasn’t gonna complain. He was losing himself in a happy doze, when Eddie’s fingers started up gentle brushes on his hair, smoothing it behind his ear, then drifting to toy at his nape.

Steve no longer wanted to sleep. Eddie’s hand on his back was like warm oozing honey and Steve didn’t want to miss a thing. He burrowed so deep his nose was in danger of disappearing into Eddie’s armpit. It was clear Eddie was wearing blockers, which was a bummer. Eddie’s natural scent was complex, and Steve wanted to inhale as much as he could, as if to map it on his senses for a lonelier day. After all, the banana smell was out of this world, but it was Eddie he fancied.

Ooops! No, this is platonic. Keep those thoughts platonic, Harrington!

Eddie, meanwhile, was pretty chill. He chattered a bit, about D and D, and music, and all of it was actually pretty interesting. And he was so nice. Even though, one time Steve peeped up, Eddie was grimacing.

Spying Steve, he winked and grinned, and Steve decided not to ruin things by getting too anxious. Maybe Eddie was constipated or something.

That helpful thought didn’t dampen his attraction to Eddie for long. After a few more minutes snuggling, Steve wanted to purr his heart out. He managed to rein it in and then he was having thoughts that were so un-platonic that he bit his lip to the point of pain. Shit, if he got slick, or started to perfume, would Eddie get mad?

Think of something else, Harrington. Not about how hot he is, or how you used to fantasize about him fucking your brains out, when you were still with your exes. Oh my God, I’m gonna get slick! I’m gonna leak everywhere!

He tuned into the one thing that distracted him. The crazily potent scent of those bananas.

He imagined that firm stick of yumminess sliding between his lips, rolling his tongue around it. His stomach growled for it. Steve almost purred for it. And, fast-as-fucking-lightning, some primal need shoved aside all his skittishness and, apparently, his common-sense.

He sat bolt upright and fixed pleadingly on Eddie’s eyes. “I’m soooo hungry. Please, Alpha, can I have a banana?”

Eddie hooted. “Almost forgot I brought them.”

He reached to snap one from the bunch. As they sat side-by-side, he handed it to Steve. Steve pouted. If Eddie had chosen to feed it to him, who would he have been to argue?

With unsteady hands, Steve unpeeled the banana, then slid his lips over its rounded head. It tasted… okay. Kind of bland. Not as earthshattering as he’d expected. Maybe he needed more?

He shoved half the banana into his mouth, bit it off. And choked.

“Hey, take it easy,” said Eddie, rubbing between Steve’s shoulder blades.

Having gulped the thing down, Steve was not in the mood to ‘take it easy.’ He was so damn confused, and cranky that he’d not gotten what he craved, and if what he craved wasn’t that dumb banana, then it had to be…

His nose was at Eddie’s neck before he could stop himself, scenting then licking, and… Ooookay, the blockers and being unwell had thrown him. No banana could send him loopy like this. If his spinning head was sure of one thing, it was that irresistible smell was definitely Eddie. Who now cupped the rear of Steve’s neck—no real pressure, simply holding him in place with a devastating, featherlight touch.

“Sweetie, you okay there?”

No… or maybe, yes. Slick trickled in Steve’s panties, and he jerked his chin up: “Will you kiss me?”

Eddie blinked. Then he licked his lips. That grin Steve was growing obsessed with spread slowly, bunching his cheeks into delicious dimples.

“Hop’s gonna kill me,” murmured Eddie, then, narrowing his eyes, “Look, gonna level with you. Again. Snuggling you has given me one helluva boner. I tried to think about other things, keep it cool today, but… Don’t think my feelings for you are ever gonna be platonic.”

Steve’s pheromone-drenched Omega brain took a moment to process this, and he was incapable of being anything but blunt. “Do you believe in scent-mates, Eddie?”

“Okay, comin’ clean.” Eddie’s hands moved up to cup Steve’s face. “Been obsessed with your teasing lil’ perfume, since you presented in junior year. Let’s find out, huh?”

Steve scrambled into Eddie’s lap for real, flung his arms around his neck, and all-but crushed the Alpha to him. Nope, he couldn’t have done that half an hour ago, while he was lying here feeling exhausted and generally like shit.

Eddie kissed Steve like he’d never been kissed—thoroughly and possessively, and dammit, adoringly. That bland banana taste was gone in an flash. No blockers worked for kissing, and Eddie’s true taste flooded him. It was herby with bitter notes, all doused in that multithreaded sweetness Steve had been going wild for. That rich, creamy banana was a major, major strand of Eddie’s musk, in a heady, kicky Alpha kinda way.

No wonder Steve always liked that damn fruit. He only loved the taste of Eddie, which he literally got high on. He scrubbed his tongue against Eddie’s and did his best to give as good a kiss as he got.

Eddie was for sure Steve’s scent-mate, and he was Eddie’s. After a few more minutes of kissing, and a little more snuggling and scenting, Eddie confirmed that he one-billion percent agreed.

…

A month later, Gareth finally showed his face around Eddie again.

After a whirlwind courtship, he and Steve were moving into a cosy log cabin in the woods. Eddie was wheeling out Steve’s basketball hoop, and Steve was fetching their guitars from the van. Turned out, for the one hobby they didn’t share, there was plenty they did. Steve had even had to fill in for Gareth at D and D, after the other Omega mysteriously vanished to stay with an aunt, without even finding out if Eddie was mad or not.

Eddie growled, glancing between the two Omegas. “You wanna kill him, Steve, or am I gonna do it?”

“Don’t be a dick, Eddie,” said Steve. “He brought us together. He fixed my rejection sickness.”

He fixed us both, and I didn’t know I needed to be fixed. He sure helped make me a very happy Alpha.

“Look, I know it was a bit of a gamble,” said Gareth, twisting his hands. “I’ve had my suspicions, right from when you used to lay into Carol and Tommy for me. You said more than once that you always wanted to hit ’em harder. Something always pulled you back, some faint scent, even though those two repelled you. And then, I got to know Steve too, and Chrissy did a tarot reading that said you were fated. Even Robin said she had a hunch, and what with Steve being sick for so long… We played tic-tac-toe. I lost so I had to be matchmaker. I mean, it has worked out, and… You’re not gonna kill me, right?”

“No promises, Gareth,” said Eddie. “I mean, what took you? Why didn’t you bash our heads together months ago? And how could you run out halfway through my most totally metal campaign?”

“So, we’re good or not?”

“Jesus, Gareth, how many times?” bitched Steve, as Eddie beamed toothily between them both. “He’s being a dick! Hey, you wanna be my flower-Omega at our wedding next month?”

Gareth hung around for a beer and to help them finish moving in. When he hung around after that, Eddie gave him his very best platonic hug.

The type he could never give Steve Harrington.

“Now scram,” he growled, once he let Gareth go. “Thanks to you, I totally need to carry my future bride over the threshold.”

🍌💖🍌💖🍌💖🍌💖

Thank you for reading 💖 You can find my other steddie omegaverse fic on Ao3 here 💖

[timkontheunsure]

Some of the reasons I think Stolas is on the spectrum

(finally getting around to popping this on up too).

He has special interests & misses social cues while being happy in them.

It not really normal to be happy reading legal documents when someone's life is on the line. But Stolas is just vibing that he gets to help with his love of words. Yay him!

Stims

He stims when both happy & sad to help regulate his emotions.

His happy stims are:

*clapping when he gets to take Via to the circus, because he thinks they can enjoy it together.

He also does this with contract reading.

*He hopps up and down when his dad gives him a new books. Also when getting ready for his date with Blitz. He's just so happy he needs to hop.

His sad stims:

*are bang his head again and again about the engagement.

*He self sooves with chest strokes when Blitz says his outfit is too much.

*He hand rubs and wringing his hat when worrying about Via in LA.

Special interests

The there's that Stolas info dumps on the playdate with Blitz all about his books and about plants.

Stolas also feels he has to explain why Blitz horse joke was soo funny. And why's it so funny?

Because it's accurate. I love his little cutie.

But he's also kept up his love of plants as a major hobby now he's an adult. When most people tend to swap interests as they age.

Side bar

His comfy resting hand position is t rex hands. This tends to be an autistic thing. Also works well as an owl.

Sensory issues

Stolas appears to also have some sensory issues too. When his a child he appears to be struggling when Mr Butler touches his hair out of nowhere.

But he's fine with Blitz doing it when they're kissing. This shows a lot of trust between them.

I think it's likely sensory issues are the reason why he swaps into his comfy, very old robe, as often as he can too.

Specific communication issues

While Stolas is very good at some communication styles, he's pretty bad at others.

When the audience think it's another joke about wanting to keep a puppy; he immediately knows Blitz's is panicking the studio. And tries to get to him.

However he doesn't get that his dirty talk is way OTT, because he's mostly likely coping it from the erotica. Not lived experience.

Speaking of erotica.

There's obviously a rule that reading is allowed at the diner table. But Stolas doesn't get This book isn't appropriate to read there.

Another rule he appears to follow more rigidly than most probably would; is that when you get an appointment you wait till you're seen.

Ozzie's ment to met Stolas at noon, but doesn't make it till 4 pm because of problems with work.

Stolas is only a couple of days out of the hospital and is probably feeling horrible.

But he sticks around a minimum of 4 hours to be seen, because he feels he has to.

(I'm assuming he also got taught you turn up earlier rule, but this just a guess).

Stolas genuinely wants to do something Via will enjoy, and he's fine taking Via to stylish occult when she asks.

But didn't get it till she's crying and sad that she wasn't enjoying Loo Loo Land.

"I take it you are.. not having fun." She needs to spell it out. Sarcasm isn't easy for him to interrupt.

His was obviously thought taking his daughter and his lover out to a theme park would be a good way to introduce them.

It's the sort of plot that only works on a novellas. And that's probably when he got it from. (Probably worked great for Gabrielle and Alejandro).

These are examples of him Masking, and not understanding why it didn't work.

Stella's being dangerous to be around = take Via out somewhere for her to have fun to blow off steam.

Wanting your lover and daughter to like eachother = ask IMP to tag along as the completely unnecessary bodyguards.

He doesn't really get that flirty with his affair partner, in front of his kid while going through a divorce isn't a good idea...

He also struggles to understand when his flirting comes off as condescending too. With "ittybity imps like you" or calling him Blitzy in public. He's most likely him coping language from other goeita.

But Stolas is very good at knowing when knowing when Blitz is fine being picked up, when to reassure him with face stokes, or how to calm Blitz down from a panic attack in just a few seconds.

So it's not that he's just never learnt these skills. It's just that some communication skills are harder for him than others.

But if you disagree that fine. 🙂 I just wanted to put down some of my thoughts why I think he could be.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bluebird — Azriel x Reader — Part IX

Summary: Deciding to accept Azriel's offer, Reader's world as they know it is about to change. In more ways than one.

Click here to be added to the Bluebird Taglist! Please remember to check your settings and make sure you can be tagged! 💕

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Some suggestions of smut and heavy petting, but nothing too major!

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Azriel stared out of the huge wall-length windows of the River House, watching shadows move in the sunlight that bathed the estate. 

He hadn’t been to bed. 

In the mere hours since he’d left the human realm, leaving Y/N, their conversation and his offer behind…his mind was too crowded to sleep.

So he’d come to the River House, wind still clinging to his skin and clothes from hours of aimlessly flying, and found his family gathering for breakfast.

“Where have you been?” Cassian had asked him.

“Just flying.” Had been Azriel’s explanation. The questioning looks he’d earned in response had told him they all suspected something more was going on with him. 

And how right they were. He didn’t know why he was being cagey, why he couldn’t just be open with them about the human woman who had utterly captivated him—

It was scary, he supposed. To step out of the bubble they had around them, just the two of them.

But if Y/N did agree to come across the Wall with him…it was time to be open, honest.

As if on cue, a kick landed on his shin. Amren. 

“Cassian is supposed to be the absentminded one, shadowsinger,” she drawled. “Are you present?”

Cassian grinned at the jibe. “Someone’s grumpy because she’s hungry. Poor baby.” His eyes slid to Azriel, ignoring Amren’s glare. “Our miniature friend is right, though. What are you daydreaming about?”

Azriel became acutely aware of every present pair of eyes on him. Rhys’s. Feyre’s. Cassian’s and Mor’s, Amren’s and Elain’s. If Nesta had been present, she’d probably have stared, too.

Az cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. Never comfortable with so much attention on him. “There…uh…”

Rhys frowned, realising, at once, that whatever this was held weight. “Az?” he angled his head.

He must have been pale, because Feyre frowned and asked, “Azriel, are you well?”

He didn’t know why he was fumbling this so much. Perhaps because for all he loved his family, for all he’d stared centuries down with them, his feelings were things that he’d always kept tightly locked away, and they had respected that. If he wanted them to know something, they would know. If not, they wouldn’t ask. It was how it had always been.

But this was different.

He was serious about Y/N, and his first step in proving that was to tell those closest to him about her. 

He cleared his throat again, bracing his arms on the table. “There’s something I want you all to know.”

“We all know you have the biggest wingspan, boy,” Amren speared a slice of melon. “It’s hardly breakfast conversation—”

“Amren.” Mor cut her off brusquely. She was staring intently at Az. Could tell this wasn’t the time for jokes. “Go ahead, Az.”

Azriel clenched his fists at his sides. “I…I have fallen for someone,” he swallowed a lump down, far out of his comfort zone. “I’ve fallen in love with someone. A woman. A human woman.”

Silence.

The faces of his family gazed back at him, a mosaic of expressions varying from surprise to confusion to the twitching of baffled amusement. They were waiting for an explanation, or some indication that this was a rare, random joke that Azriel had decided to crack. And Az found that he couldn’t bear them considering that. He squared his shoulders, the severity not moving from his face. 

“Her name his Y/N,” he continued, heart thudding in his chest. “She hails from a village in the human lands, and she’s magnificent. She helps run her father’s inn. She plays piano stunningly…” stop talking, stop talking, stop talking. Facts were just spilling from his lips, dumping themselves on his friends. He clamped his lips shut, squeezing his hands together again. 

And once more, silence. 

Until Cassian peered closely at him and stated, “You’re not joking, are you?”

The shadowsinger shook his head. “No.”

Rhysand’s chair creaked as he sat up straight. “Well…how did you meet this woman?”

“When you sent me to the human lands to get an idea of the unrest there. I heard her playing piano late at night and I…I went back to hear more. And I kept going back, despite you telling me not to. I’m sorry for going against your order, Rhys, but I’m not sorry for the reason that I did.”

The High Lord and Lady shared a glance, clearly communicating mind-to-mind. Az wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they were saying. 

Mor cleared her throat, coaxing Az’s eyes to her beautiful face. There was kindness there, warmth. “And you say you love her, Az?”

“I do, Mor. Since I first met her, I’ve fallen harder and harder.” His cheeks burned a furious red. “I can’t deny that that is what I’m feeling. And that’s why I want to share this with you all.” 

The initial shock seemed to dissipate a little as shoulders around the table relaxed. Mor smiled broadly, and Cassian quickly followed. 

“No way,” the Illyrian General chirped. “That’s amazing, Az.”

“We’re happy for you, Az, of course,” Feyre added. “Just a little surprised.”

“You should bring her here to meet us,” Amren grinned, flashing white teeth. “If she can hack it.”

Her remark was as close as she would come to congratulating Azriel — but the sentiment was there, hidden amongst the words. 

Of them all, Elain was the only one who hadn’t spoken.

And Az…Az, for some reason, avoided looking at her. 

“Funny you should say that, Amren,” he quickly said. “I’ve invited her to come here tonight, after she’s closed up the inn. I want her to see Velaris at night, in all its brilliance.”

“So we’ll get to meet her,” Mor grinned wider. “This is great—”

“If—if she’s available to come, that is.” The shadowsinger quickly cut in. 

Because he had to be realistic and still consider the possibility that Y/N would reject his offer. And if that was the case…well, he couldn’t bear to think of it right now. 

He certainly couldn’t bear to share that particular detail with the others. Not just yet. 

“Well,” Rhys offered a smile, “if she is available, we’ll be delighted to meet her, Az. Really.”

“Yes,” Elain’s voice, soft and unconvincing, finally drifted around the table. “We will.” 

At the same moment, Azriel’s gaze drifted to take her in. She looked…shocked. Perhaps a little perturbed. 

But for what reason? She and Lucien were giving things a go. Shouldn’t Azriel be able to do the same?

He tore his eyes away from her, dipping his chin in quiet acknowledgement of her comment. That was all he could offer right then. 

“I hope she comes,” Feyre commented, sipping her drink. Her voice was bright, enthusiastic. 

“So do I,” Azriel agreed. 

Gods, he really did. 

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Ale sloshed over the lip of a tankard, joining the smattering of droplets that were already coating the floor and making it sticky. The rowdy men in your line of sight didn’t seem to notice the mess they were making amidst their rowdiness. They’d been here a good few hours, now. Their eyes had long turned glazed, their speech slurred.

It was all background noise.

Background noise, as you stood behind the bar, staring into space. Time was ticking by, the clock hands crawling steadily closer to when Azriel would arrive and wait for you with hope.

Ten o’clock chimed. Two hours to go. Were you going to join him? You weren’t sure. You’d been contemplating it the entire day, on so few hours sleep. You’d gone through the motions, done your jobs, been that normal, plain young woman who was in charge of The Bluebird Inn. You’d compiled pros and cons in your head, the list of them growing with each thought.

Pros and cons, however, seemed not to come into a situation driven so heavily by desire. 

You wanted to believe Azriel so badly — believe that he was good. Was it so out of the question that such a thing could be the case? It didn’t diminish what you had seen out on the road with your father, but…

But after weeks of no contact, having Azriel close enough to touch last night…it had you hoping, once more, that both things could be true. That the world was not so black and white, and there was colour out there, a world of colour that Azriel could fly you right into—

Before you realised what you were doing, your hand was grasping the bell behind the bar. You tugged at the rope, causing a distinct ringing to cut through the arrogant raucous of the men. 

“Last orders!” you called. 

Every pair of eyes swivelled to blink at you. “What?” One man asked.

“Last orders,” you repeated. 

“But it’s only ten o’clock! You don’t close until midnight!”

It was an effort not to roll your eyes. This group had been here since they’d stumbled in from their day’s work. The idea of cutting their drinking short was inconceivable to them.

But you were going. You were going to join Azriel, and go across the Wall, and experience things you’d never experienced, whether it was a good idea or not.

“I’m closing early tonight,” you gave a shrug. 

The brute that had been spilling ale all over the floor gaped at you. “Why?”

Good question. You couldn’t exactly tell them the truth, and if this was going to get back to your father, you at least needed a valid excuse—

“I’m unwell,” you tried unconvincingly. “Sorry.”

Swine-like eyes narrowed on you. “You don’t look unwell, girl.”

“…It’s my cycle.”

A silent pause. And then, in an instant, every man in the room was on his feet. You tried not to smile in triumph; it worked every time.

They couldn’t leave quick enough, as though, if you truly were on your cycle, it was somehow contagious. You saw the last customer out of the door and bolted it shut. Waited until their chatter disappeared into the distance before you turned and began a frantic cleanup mission. 

This was…mad. Truly, thrillingly mad. A reckoning of sorts, you imagined, because crossing that boundary from one realm into another was like sealing a fate. There was no coming back from this — this, that was not merely dipping your toe into the world of the fae, but submerging yourself in it, taking a deep gulp of air and disappearing beneath its surface. A nerve-wracking prospect, but…also an exciting one.

And didn’t it prove to you that you still trusted Azriel at least a little? You had to, surely, to be so willing to take his hand and let him pull you into the unknown. 

Perhaps…perhaps you were tired of having that little bit of doubt. Tired of wondering what might be out there, beyond your meagre existence. This trip would surely put those doubts to bed, one way or another. 

Two hours until Azriel’s arrival seemed both too much time and not enough at all. You filled it with your usual closing duties, making quick work of tidying up and making sure the inn was spotless. Afterwards, you would ordinarily spend some time at the piano, or simply retire to bed. Tonight, your feet carried you upstairs to get ready. 

You combed your hair and changed your outfit choice too many times, not once recognising the girl who stared back at you in the mirror. She was somebody bold and daring — somebody willing to question what she’d always known. 

And you wanted to be her, no matter the fears twisting your stomach. 

Once ready, there wasn’t much time left to wait. You quelled your nerves by knocking back a glass of whiskey and welcoming the burn. Your eyes stayed on the clock. Eleven-thirty. Thirty-five. Forty. Fifty-five. 

When you heard the distant chimes of the village clock announcing midnight, you felt that familiar sensation of awareness. Like an ember under your skin, it burned, and it spread. 

You wiped whiskey from your lips and slipped out of the door, stepping into the courtyard. You were cold, despite the warm night. 

And even colder when you felt the gust of air that came from a descending figure, landing feather-light in front of you. 

Azriel was almost too beautiful to bear. 

You stared at him with an intensity you couldn’t keep a lid on. And he stared back at you, took in your shirt and breeches, your braided back hair, your shoes. He clocked within a second that you were dressed to go out �� a breath of relief forced its way out of him. 

“You’re coming?” he breathed, and then shook his head, seeming to remember his manners. “Sorry. Hello.”

You swallowed. “Hello.”

He paused. Dared a step closer. “I half expected to find you in your nightgown. Or to not see you at all.”

“I…contemplated it. Not coming, I mean.”

Another step. “And what tipped the scales in my favour?”

You sucked in a breath, inhaling his scent. He was close enough to touch, now, and the smell of wind mixed with his natural aroma, creating a dizzying concoction that, for a moment, had you forgetting how to speak. 

You shook yourself out of it, blinking a few times. “I think I’m tired. Tired of…only knowing what I’ve been told. I think it’s time I saw things for myself.”

Azriel’s broad shoulders seemed to relax a little. A beat passed of heavy silence, heavy eye contact. He stared at you like you were the only person left in the entire world. 

And then you jolted just a little, as cold, scarred fingers touched yours in a light, tentative brush. He waited to see if you would pull away. 

You didn’t. 

Those fingers explored more. Wrapped around yours. Laced with yours. And then Azriel was holding your hand in his. 

“Let me share my world with you,” he whispered.

Maybe it was the weight of his hand, or maybe the raw pleading in his tone. Whatever it was…you knew you didn’t need any more time to consider. 

“Yes.” Was all you managed to respond. “Yes.”

Just like that, Azriel was yanking you closer, pulling your body flush to his. You waited to feel your feet leave the ground, for him to lift you into the air. 

It took you a moment to register that his arms were winding around you tightly in an embrace. That it was a hug he’d so fiercely pulled you into. 

He held you, both firmly and gently, his chin pressed to the top of your head, his hand cradling the back of it. You were stunned, stiff as a statue — but then you were sinking into his hold and welcoming its security, its…passion.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am,” Azriel murmured, pulling back to gaze at you. “Truly — thank you. For trusting me with this.”

“I haven’t made any decisions yet,” you pointed out. “I just want to see for myself…if what you’re saying is true.”

But even as you spoke, you knew it wasn’t that simple. Heading across the Wall with Azriel was sealing a fate far bigger than you’d stopped to consider. Whether you were ready for it was anyone’s guess.

The shadowsinger took your words in his stride, nodding. His hand found yours again. “Shall we go?”

You were really doing this. The idea made your head spin. 

But you did not pull away. You did not run back inside, no matter how much a tiny part of you screamed at you to do so. Perhaps you were stronger than that now. 

“Yes,” you nodded, and braced yourself. “We shall.”

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Flying was precisely as you remembered — exhilarating and terrifying and cold. The night sky eddied past you in a star-streaked blur, and you were soaring, hurtling forwards towards a world unknown. 

You and Azriel did not speak. He seemed content to leave you in your thoughts, though you felt his gaze on you more than once, drinking you in. You couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking. Whether he deliberately chose to press you firmly against him and rub soothing circles into the small of your back, or whether it was a subconscious thing. 

You closed your eyes at one point, focusing on the feeling of the chilled wind on your face. 

But it was another feeling that had you suddenly alert. Opening your eyes again. 

It was hard to explain, but…something like a staticky charge crackled and sparked. You knew that the Wall was not a physical thing to behold, but rather an invisible barrier…yet somehow, you knew that was what you were feeling. Like a huge sign in bold, screaming at you: TURN BACK. DO NOT COME ANY CLOSER.

“I can feel it, too,” Azriel spoke into your ear, as though he’d read your thoughts. It was the first words that had left him since he’d carried you to the skies, and they were soothing and warm against you. “It’s the magic. Those who built the Wall abhorred the idea of humans and fae alike crossing over. I think the feeling it offsets is supposed to repel people.”

You held onto him a little tighter as the feeling grew stronger. “Clearly it doesn’t work.”

“No.” His eyes found yours. “Not when there are such enticing reasons to cross.”

You were thankful that the wind put a stop to the furious blush that crept up your neck. You stared forward, and Azriel’s arms tightened around you, and you knew that you were about delve into another realm. 

“Ready?” he murmured, before that charge thrust its way through your body like a bolt of lightning. 

It was brief and yet nauseating. Your stomach lurched, your head spinning. And then, as if clearing fog, it was gone. You had the distinct feeling of being someplace completely alien — a place where the grass was greener, the scents richer. A place where magic was the blood in its veins, snaking through the ground beneath you and breathing vibrant life into the land. 

But you had barely a chance to take in your surroundings before Azriel was coaxing your eyes back to him. 

“Now that we’re in Prythian,” he said, seeming to visibly relax, “I’ll winnow us from here.”

You gave the briefest glance to your surroundings — a forest so like the many in the human realm, and yet also something more. The thrum of dangerous life seemed to lurk just beneath its surface, and with the moon bearing down on you, you didn’t much like the idea of waiting around to see what might emerge from the dark. You dipped your head into a nod, and Azriel’s arms tightened around you. 

But before he could make a move, you were speaking, stopping him in his tracks. “There’s something I don’t understand.”

He paused, head angling curiously. It made a few dark hairs slide across his forehead, and the urge to reach out and touch the silken strands was a burning one. 

“What’s that?” he asked.

“You want to show me your home, but why show me at night time, when the world is asleep?” Besides the fact that this was the only time you could sneak away from the prying eyes of villagers.

But Azriel’s mouth seemed to lift into a subtle, beautiful smile. One that was telling — but telling of what?

“Velaris does not sleep,” he said, and then you were disappearing into starlight.

A brief burst of darkness that lurched you from place to another. The feeling of both flying and falling, of being nowhere and everywhere all at once. And then your feet were suddenly on solid ground. 

You didn’t realise you’d closed your eyes until the sounds hit you first. Distant music, mingled with crisp laughter. The sounds of enjoyment, fulfilment. You snapped your gaze open to put a picture to what you were hearing. 

You went so preternaturally still, you could almost be mistaken as fae. 

You must have been perched upon a viewpoint, to see the city in its entirety like this — but not too far up to miss the details. Restaurants teeming with activity both inside and out front, gatherings of customers who talked and smiled and laughed without a care in the world. Vendors selling their wares despite the late hour, peddling anything from food to wooden carvings to flowers. People wrapped in each other’s arms and dancing merrily to a song that a young female strummed on a lute in the busy street. 

If not for the dark blanket of stars above your head, you could be forgiven for thinking it was daytime. Your shoddy little village was never this bright nor light, no matter the hour on the clock.

This was Velaris, and it truly did not sleep.

You stared and stared and stared, for so long that your vision began to blur and smear the lights below into swirling shapes. It was almost easy to forget you were alone, just you observing this beautiful, seemingly perfect world. But a hand touched your arm.

“Would you like to take a walk?” Azriel asked, coaxing you to look at him.

Such palpable hope sat within his gaze that you couldn’t bear to look away. And when you nodded your agreement, that hope shifted into damn near elation.

The city seemed to welcome you into its arms as you began a slow stroll right through the heart of it. Azriel gave you your space, always remaining a few paces away. You could have sworn, in your periphery, that you caught him clenching his hands now and then, as though he didn’t know what to do with them. As though all he wanted was to reach out to you.

But he left you to acquaint yourself with the sights and sounds and sensations of Velaris. Never had you been amongst so many fae, and you half expected them to sniff out your mortality, to turn and stare or even make a grab for you. If they noticed you were not one of them, they paid it no mind, barely casting you a glance. Some of them greeted Azriel cheerily as they made merry and socialised. Not a drop of misery seemed to taint the blood of this living, pulsing place. 

You came to a stop on a grand bridge that arched over a glinting river, its waters stretching further out than your human vision could comprehend. Only a moment after you leaned against the carved balustrade, Azriel was emerging in your peripheral vision, stopping beside you and mirroring your stance. 

You could feel his gaze on you. And after a moment, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

A slow, stunned shake of your head was all you could manage. That was a question that had many different answers. You weren’t sure which one to give. 

But you found yourself turning to him, your brow pinched, lips parted. “I don’t understand how any of this works. What…what is this place?”

Velaris, obviously — you knew that much. But was the entire fae realm like this? Was this what had been hiding on the other side of the Wall in the centuries since it was established?

Azriel seemed to think on your question for a moment, combing through his answer. He angled his body towards yours, the way his hands twisted around each other hinting that he was…nervous.

“When I took you flying the first time, I mentioned that Prythian is divided into seven courts,” he explained slowly. “Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Dawn, Day and Night. Do you remember what else I told you?”

How could you forget? You’d turned it over in your mind enough that the words had begun to fray at the seams. 

“You said you’re from the Night Court. That you’re part of the High Lord’s inner circle. You’re his spymaster.” Your gaze swept around. “So this is the Night Court.”

Azriel dipped his chin. “It is. But it’s a city in the Night Court. A secret, guarded city. There’s more out there than just this.”

“Secret and guarded? Why?”

For a moment, silence stretched between you that felt as long as the winding bridge. You found yourself focusing on the ebb and flow of the water beneath you, watching its languid dance. Until warm fingers landed on your arm.

The touch — tentative and gentle — coaxed your gaze back to Azriel. You studied him, drank in the sincerity and openness on his face. This was hard for him, you realised — to be so forward, to bare all. He was, perhaps, as guarded and secretive as this city itself. Perhaps more. 

But his soft hazel eyes told you that he wanted to push through that difficulty. For you.

“It’s secret and guarded,” he answered huskily, “because it is beautiful and good, and the entirety of the Night Court is not. The entirety of Prythian is not. There are other places like this, of vibrancy and love and light, and then there are places of pure, evil darkness. Places that I would never dream of you venturing. They exist as truly as the good places do. As Velaris does.”

Once again, your eyes took in the area around you. On the other side of the bridge, a couple were hunched over a table, in their own world, sharing quiet words and quick kisses. A few buildings down, a group of friends roared with laughter as they spilled out of the door, arms around each other and happiness on their faces.

This place was beautiful. It was…life. 

And the existence of darker places did not change that, did not steal its essence. Good and bad both simply existed. In people, and in places. 

Just like in the human lands. 

Just like Azriel had been trying to tell you all along. 

“There’s good and bad everywhere…” you murmured quietly, the words sinking in, hitting home. How could you deny it when the people here clearly were not scared, not running and screaming and begging for their lives?

There was movement, and you felt Azriel’s side press against yours. “There is.”

And you could see it now, like a fog had been lifted. But there was still one pressing question that plagued you. One you couldn’t tamp down on as you angled yourself towards Azriel proper.

“Why bother, though?” you asked, studying him. “Why go to these lengths to prove this to me? You don’t owe me anything. Why…why would you bother taking the time to make me see this?”

Azriel gazed back at you, something burning in his eyes. He pursed his lips, like he was trying to force his words back down, trying to stop them spilling out. 

A fight he ultimately lost. 

“Because I am selfish,” he said, staring at you fiercely. “And I couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to see you anymore. Of you thinking I’m a monster. I would not care if anyone else were to think so, but…”

“…but what?”

“But not my Bluebird.” His voice was raw, raspy. He reached out cautiously, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not my Blue.”

A breath shuddered out of you, and with it went your resolve. You knew you could no longer fight what been pressing you for a while, now. Could no longer deny what was right in front of you. 

You cleared your throat, feeling the shivers that pulsed through your skin with Azriel’s hand still hovering so close to it. So badly, you wanted to lean into it. But you forced your gaze back to the brilliant city of Velaris. 

“Life seems so lovely here,” you admitted, your voice surprisingly hoarse. 

“It is,” Azriel concurred. “It really is. And you, Y/N…you deserve loveliness.”

You stared fiercely at the water, begging yourself not to get choked up. You’d never had loveliness. 

A warm, comforting hand pressed against the small of your back. You shamelessly allowed it to. 

“Would you like to meet my family?” the shadowsinger asked.

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You were going to be sick — and not from the flying.

Your feet touched down on a beautiful, ornate estate — grass trimmed and decorated with fountains, ornaments, decorative hedges. Trees and obscure plants and beautiful flowers. Never had you been anywhere so grand. 

And before you — a huge, stunning house of pillars, winding staircases, giant windows and just…pure opulence. It intimidated you just to look at. 

“This is…this is where they live? Your…High Lord and High Lady?” The words felt foreign on your tongue. 

“It is.” As Azriel stepped up to your side, you realised his arm was still wrapped around you. “Did I ever tell you she used to be human — my High Lady?”

Your gaze shot to him in a flash. “What? How is that possible?”

“It’s a long, elaborate story that I’ll allow her to tell you, when she feels like it. But it’s true — she and her two sisters were once human, and they were all turned fae.” 

A thought that set your heart thudding at a gallop. Had they once been lowly village girls, like you were? You hadn’t considered that you might have anything in common with these people.

“Shall we?” Azriel’s arm tightened around you, and you welcomed it. You needed the grounding comfort.

With a deep breath and a nod, you allowed yourself to be led up the broad stone steps that trailed up to the mammoth front entrance. You followed Azriel’s lead, wide-eyed as he opened the front door like it was his home, also, and led you inside. 

The interior was, unsurprisingly, as decadent as the exterior, but you found yourself too nervous to take in any details beyond polished marble flooring and huge, painted portraits that hung on the wall of beautiful beings. You did, however, stop to take in the portrait that was undoubtedly Azriel. 

“Feyre — our High Lady — is an artist.” Azriel stopped beside you. “She painted all of these.”

“And a damn excellent artist, too.” Behind you, a voice of pure, cloaked night echoed through the giant room. It added with a hint of glimmering humour, “Not that I’m biased, of course.”

You turned at once, knowing that such a voice could never come from a human. Your heart almost stopped at the sight of the male who leaned against a carved arch, and you blushed furiously at the thought that he could probably hear such a thing. 

He certainly resembled Azriel, in his golden skin and dark hair. But his eyes were of a stark, peculiar shade — violet — and his ears very much pointed. Something about the smug ease with which he stood screamed at you that this — this was the High Lord of the Night Court, looking regal in a black button-up shirt and dark trousers. 

And beside him, a woman — female — of such otherworldly beauty, it was hard to imagine that her golden-brown hair and blue eyes had ever been dulled by mortality. 

“He is biased,” she said with a soft smile, fondness in her eyes. She drank in the sight of you, and there was no judgement, no disapproval — just simple curiosity. “Y/N. Welcome to our home.” 

“This is Rhysand and Feyre,” Azriel explained beside you. “High Lord and High Lady.”

“Rhysand?” The High Lord echoed jovially. “You sound like Feyre when she tells me off. Just Rhys will do,” he sketched you a flourishing bow, “and as my beautiful mate said — welcome to our home.”

“I…I’m afraid I don’t know the customs, where greeting a High Lord or Lady is concerned,” you cleared your throat. “But thank you for having me.”

Feyre smiled warmly. “You’re very welcome. Shall we get a drink? The others are waiting.”

Your stomach turned with nerves, but you nodded. As Azriel stepped forward, falling into stride with Rhysand, Feyre stayed behind, turning to you. 

“It’s nerve-wracking, isn’t it?” she smiled at you gently. “I had already been turned fae when I first came here, but…I can’t imagine coming here as a human who’s never had much to do with our kind.”

Our kind. Clearly her mortal roots were but a distant memory. 

“It is,” you agreed. “This is…hugely out of my comfort zone.”

“Just stick with me, Y/N. But you have nothing to worry about.” Her smile grew. “We’re all just happy that Azriel has found someone. Even Elain.”

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Even Elain. What the hell did that even mean?

It stuck in your mind as you held yourself through introductions, your curiosity such that you were waiting for an Elain to be introduced to. But through the names that were thrown at you — Cassian, Amren, Morrigan, Nesta — that one did not come up. 

The tiny Amren was terrifying despite her small stature, and yet you found her quick wit and remarks to be personable. Morrigan — Mor — had invited you to sit with her the second the introductions were over, and she seemed almost…excited by your presence. Cassian was jovial, warm, quickly making it clear that he would joke and banter with you as much as he would with his family. 

Ironic, then, that the least forthcoming with any warmth was Nesta — who surely could relate to your humanity, even if her own was long gone. 

She’d barely spoken to you beyond a terse greeting. And since then, she’d stared you down from the other end of the table. You couldn’t help noticing that her eyes continuously darted to the round edges of your ears. You couldn’t read the ferocity in her gaze.

It was an effort to ignore it as conversation bloomed around the table.

“So he was just hovering above your inn like a little creep?” Cassian’s broad grin was savage, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he plied you with questions. “You should have shot him down with an arrow. Taught him a lesson.”

Your lips twitched as you answered, “Somebody else saw to that. I just ended up helping him.”

“Boo.” The Illyrian warrior snorted. “How boring.”

Beside you, Azriel rolled his eyes, but a soft smile played on his lips that told you he rather enjoyed the teasing. You couldn’t help relaxing at the…normality of it all. How easy and light and warm this conversation was.

How naive you had been, to assume that the fae were simply cold, severe beings. The furthest thing from this loving family unit. It didn’t even seem to be a bizarre circumstance to them, that they had been gathered to meet at such a late hour. If not for the huge windows letting the night sky in, you’d be forgiven for thinking that their energy and enthusiasm was indicative of day time.

“From which village do you hail, Y/N?” Feyre asked you, sipping from her wine. You’d tried not to stare too long at the casual intimacy between the High Lord and Lady — the little touches you so naturally wanted to mimic with the male beside you. She added, “Perhaps Nesta and I would have heard of it.”

At that, Nesta lifted her chin a little. You could have sworn a glimmer of curiosity streaked through her eyes, there and gone in an instant.

“Northern Swancross.” You answered, eyes darting around the opulent dining room. “It isn’t anything grand. “Most of its residents are living in poverty.”

Feyre sipped her drink, offering an understanding nod. “Perhaps too far north for us. I don’t recognise the name—”

“I do,” Nesta said sharply — the first time she’d really spoken to you. “I remember reading a pamphlet once, about fae attacks on human villages. Northern Swancross was named in regards to an attack there a couple of decades ago.”

Silence and stillness filled the space that conversation had lit up moments before. Your mouth went dry. You felt the cool touch of a shadow caressing your arm.

“That would have been my mother,” you answered, clearing your throat. 

Nesta stared at you a long moment, a slither of what seemed to be…solidarity…seeping through the cracks of her icy reception. She lowered her chin in the slightest of dips, and somehow, you knew exactly what that minute gesture communicated. We have both suffered at the hands of the fae. And yet, somehow, here we both are.

“That’s awful,” Rhysand’s voice cut through the moment, quiet and laced with sympathy. “I’m sorry for the loss of your mother. We all are.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

“Nesta, Elain and I also lost our mother,” Feyre supplied. “To illness, rather than to the fae. But we understand what the loss of a parent is like. Many of us here do.”

A kind and heartbreaking sentiment, and yet all you could focus on was the mention of that name again. Elain. She must have been the third sister. 

You didn’t know why you felt such preying curiosity about her standing in this group…or her standing with Azriel, and why her support for his happiness was a thing Feyre felt was worth mentioning. You couldn’t stop yourself wondering if her absence was a deliberate thing. 

As if she’d read that thought, Feyre cleared her throat. “You’ll have to forgive Elain’s absence. She’s not much of a night owl.”

“Despite living in the Night Court,” Cassian added, and his booming chuckle at once chased away the tension that had seeped into the room. He grabbed the bottle of wine and refilled his glass. “So tell us more about you, Y/N.”

You did exactly that — and found yourself peculiarly willing to do so. Such a sheltered life you’d lived with no one to truly call a friend, that it now seemed that years of pent-up conversation came flooding out of you. And as hours ticked by, pedalling closer towards morning, you found yourself relaxing, forgetting that you were human and they were fae. They were just…people. Kind, good people. 

And in turn for the information you shared with them, they told you about themselves, answered your questions, explained things you didn’t understand. Mor spoke to you like she’d known you for years rather than minutes. Even Nesta’s reservedness began to thin into something more cordial. One-by-one, the High Lord’s Inner Circle pulled you into its fold as if a place for you had been carved there for a very long time. 

They did not balk — not even a little — at the idea of you being of worth in Azriel’s life. 

Azriel himself was largely quiet throughout the night. He seemed to take a backseat and allow you to navigate this situation as you saw fit, only interjecting with comments and responses every now and then. But at your side, he remained a solid, steadfast presence, his shadows a thing of comfort. And the urge to lean against him as the night wore on was a pressing, growing one. 

You didn’t want to resist anymore. Didn’t want to take a step backwards. You’d seen what he’d wanted to show you, and there were no more weak excuses you could come up with as to why your involvement with Azriel was a bad idea.

You wanted him…and you were done denying yourself him. 

It was only when the night drew to a close that you began to feel the tiredness waiting on the edges of your mind. Nesta was the first to leave, and soon after that, everyone else was standing and saying their goodbyes. 

“You’ll come back soon?” Feyre asked you, her hands squeezing yours. She seemed genuinely thrilled that Azriel had brought you here. 

You glanced at the shadowsinger beside you, a smile playing on your lips. “If he’s willing to bring me.”

A soft, low chuckle sounded in Azriel’s chest. But there was nothing comical about the way he promised, “Whenever you want.”

Bidding the High Lord and Lady goodnight, you descended the front steps with a lightness that you hadn’t felt upon arrival. Tonight had been…easy. Simple. There was nothing more to it than merely getting to know Azriel’s friends. Getting to know Azriel’s world.

And when the doors closed behind you, it was just you and him alone, for the first time in hours. 

He strolled at your side, back through the opulent front garden. Neither of you seemed to know who would speak first.

Until you turned to him and said, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Az stared back at you, pausing for the slightest of moments. “To the River House?”

“And to Velaris. To…to Prythian.” You, too, paused. “To the truth, I suppose.”

His chin dipped just slightly. “You deserve the truth.”

A few paces forward, you walked in silence. It wasn’t until you were under the canopy of a huge, overhanging tree that you pressed your back against the trunk and allowed yourself to stare at him. Properly stare at him. To take in his beauty.

He stopped a few steps away, asking, “What?”

So many things you wanted to say. I’m done fighting this. I’m done fighting us. I want to dive further into this world with you. I want you, Azriel, whatever the hell that means for me—

“Who is Elain?” The words spilled, unplanned and undignified, from your lips. Your eyes shuttered for a moment as you regained your composure. “I mean…I know who she is. I know she’s Feyre’s and Nesta’s sister. I just mean…who is she…to you?”

Azriel was still for a moment, his brow pinching slightly. He took a step closer. “She’s…a friend.”

“…just a friend?”

“I…I won’t deny that I wondered, at one time, if she might be more than that.” His scent hit you as he continued to step closer. “But she has a mate. And I wondered that before…before I met you.”

The bark of the tree bit into your back as you held yourself firmly, grounding yourself in the moment. You inhaled a small breath, trying to ignore the dizziness that his general proximity seemed to provoke. But as he stepped closer still, now mere inches from you, you knew you were fighting a losing battle. 

Still, you lifted your chin and stared up at him. Stared, as he closed the gap between your two bodies and pressed you further against that tree, his body seeming to line perfectly with yours despite your height difference. His breath tickled your neck as he leaned into your ear. 

“Were you worried about that, Blue?” he asked huskily, a smile in his voice. 

You couldn’t control the way your breath hitched in your throat. Lie, save face, deny it, your mind screamed at you. You weren’t sure you currently had the mental capacity to do so. 

“You said you’ve had lovers,” you rasped back. “I was just wondering if, perchance, Elain had been one of them.”

A mix of both relief and disappointment filled you as Azriel pulled back — not far, but simply enough to stare sincerely into your eyes. His face was open and soft, despite the teasing that had been in his tone. 

“No.” His tone was a promise. “Elain has never been my lover. I don’t…I don’t want you to worry about that. About her.”

Your shoulders relaxed just slightly. But as your gaze began to lower from his, his hand was suddenly at your face, cupping your jaw, holding your attention firmly on him. 

“It’s been a long, heavy night for you,” he murmured, studying you closely. “I want you to tell me honestly how you’re feeling.”

Perhaps the most loaded question he could have asked. You swallowed, slowly shaking your head. “I…I’m feeling lots of things. Relief…that what you told me about this place was true. Shame…that I was obstinate in my ignorance—”

“You do not need to feel one bit of shame. There are always two sides of the coin—”

“And fear. I feel scared.”

Your words lingered between the two of you, truthful and unwavering. They were out in the open, now. You found yourself not wanting to keep them to yourself.

“I feel scared,” you repeated, “because I have nothing to hide behind, now. I can’t run and deny what I feel. You’ve shown me the truth, and I…I can no longer deny my own.”

His hand still cupping your face, Azriel brushed his thumb over your cheek. His eyes remained fully trained on you, not willing to look away for a second.

“There is no going back from this night,” you whispered, staring back at him. “And I’m glad about that. But I’m also so scared.”

“I don’t ever want you to feel scared. Not with me.” His hushed words, spoken quietly for your ears only, landed on your lips. “I just want to make you happy, Blue.”

It took a moment for you to realise that the soft noise that sounded — a small cry of both relief and need — came from you. You couldn’t hold yourself back any longer. You were done with resisting. 

Your hand cupped the back of Azriel’s head, and you pulled it down, slanting your mouth over his. At once, he hummed against your lips and moved his hands to your waist, pulling you closer against him. 

This was everything. Azriel was everything. He just wanted to make you happy, and you wanted to make him happy, too. He was not fae or a shadowsinger or a huge, imposing figure with wings. He was just Azriel. Your Azriel. Your salvation. 

The male you were so, so glad to have been proved wrong about. The male you were falling in love with. 

Your tongue pressed against the seam of his lips, and he parted them for you, allowing you to dip inside. At once, his taste mingled with yours, and you moaned softly, your hands grasping at him, wanting to feel him against you as you kissed him harder, fiercer. 

And he kissed you back just as ferociously. You may have been inexperienced, but you knew the taste of desire on his tongue, and you knew exactly what you were feeling when he hardened against you, his arms banded around you. 

“Blue,” he broke away, panting. His eyes were glazed as he stared down at you, his chest rising and falling heavily. “We’re getting carried away. Tell me what you want. I need to know what you want.”

Him. All of him. Every single inch of him.

Your eyes trailed down to the hardness that was unmistakably outlined through his leathers. Such stark hunger bolted through you that it sent shivers coursing down your spine. Had wetness pooling between your legs. 

And from the way Azriel’s nostrils flared, and a deep, guttural noise vibrated in his chest, you could only guess that he’d scented it. 

You pushed up onto your toes, brushing another kiss to your mouth. A light one that he seemed ready to get lost in, before you were pulling away, your eyes clashing with his again.

“I want you to take me back to my home,” you told him breathlessly, your fingers biting into his leathers. “And I want you to stay.”

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Not one bit of the journey was memorable. Not the flight back to the Wall, or that brief flash of darkness as you were winnowed from there, right back into the taproom at the Bluebird Inn.

Your only focus was on Azriel. The feel of his body pressed against yours, and how…how it would feel even better when you both rid yourself of clothing.

And gods, you were nervous. But you could feel in your very bones — you were ready.

This night had, indeed, been a reckoning. This night had, indeed, changed things forever, and made you realise that you had no good reason to deny yourself of the brilliant fae male who consumed your every thought.

You trusted Azriel. You wanted Azriel.

And when both your feet and his touched the wooden flooring of the inn, your eyes clashed only momentarily with his before you were pulling his face down to kiss you. And kiss you, he did. 

It was hot and greedy and desperate, a kiss that could wait no longer. He made a low noise against your mouth, his hands finding your hips as he walked you backwards and pressed you against the bar. It was tongue and touching and too many clothes, and you were done waiting, done thinking, as you dragged a trembling hand down the firm feel of his leathers, down and down until you were cautiously folding your palm over the bulge in his pants. 

You had no idea what exactly you were doing, but the way Azriel gasped against your lips seemed to be a positive reaction. One that only spurred you on further. 

Even without properly seeing him, you could tell he was huge. Your hand barely fit over what pressed through his breeches. You explored the length of him, wishing that clothes weren’t in the way. That it was just skin on skin. 

Azriel let out a choked moan — one that seemed pleasurable. Until he pulled away.

“Wait, Blue,” he panted, staring down at you. “Just…tell me you’re sure.”

You had gone past sure. Sure wasn’t a strong enough word. Sure was nothing against the certainty that roared in your veins.

“I am,” you promised, applying pressure with your hand. “Show me…show me what to do, Azriel.”

It was a pure, animalistic growl that broke from him then, and in one swift movement, he was lifting you up and carrying you over to the bar, perching you atop and slotting himself between your legs. 

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he kissed you. Kissed you again. Kissed you harder. “I promise, my bluebird.”

“Please,” you begged softly, grasping at his leathers. “I want you.”

Kisses deepened, turned more ferocious. Hands wandered, began roaming, exploring. You felt the cautious touch of a hand gliding over your breast, warm fingers permeating your shirt. You gasped, arching into the touch. 

Perhaps that was why you didn’t hear it. Perhaps you were so distracted, so hungry for the male before you, that the quiet footsteps that approached were heard by neither of you. Not even by Azriel’s fae senses, his shadows. 

No, you were both oblivious until a cold, stern voice filled the room. 

“Y/N?” Devin stood against the doorframe, not taking his eyes off Azriel’s giant form. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

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bluebird tags: @kennedy-brooke @rosessndri @anae-naea-zacheria @iambored24601 @sirenpearldust @v3lv3tf0x @lupinswolfsbanes @alohaangels @feyretopia @janebirkln @a-dizzle777 @moonbirde @natashachelsea @navyblue-eternity @multi-reader @sfhsgrad-blog @makemeurvillain @lyinginameadow @101crows @bsenpai @honeyandhalfmoons @florencemtrash @ssmay123 @historygeekqueen @mika-no-sekai-blog @ktsskgzxlu @basicbittywitty @mybestfriendmademe @cali-flow3r @lalachat @honeybeeboobaa @azrielsbbg @eatinggummybearsisacrime @ilovemangomorethanu @rhysandorian @coralseacourt @berryzxx @pequeno-atlas @secretlyhers @grimoiregrl @just-jess-losers @happywolves81 @anama-cara @spideytingley @raccooninurwalls @despoinasstuff @ntimacy @brekkershadowsinger @ariaaira @lesehexe @aunicornmademedoit @fauxdette @moonlight-kr @sekiro1310 @fightmedraco @astarlitsoul @quinzzelx

[honestsycrets]

playing house | single parent au: mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader

❛ pairing | mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader; single parents au

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | gabi's on a hunt to get a mami. miguel doesn't really need help with it. or, Miguel trades mechanic work for love.

❛ tags | explicit, mechanic!miguel, first grade teacher!reader, some mention of hurt, heavy themes of voyeurism (both ways), single parents, unhygienic sxconditions, Spanish not translated, very domestic fic, f!reader, protective miguel, very light mutual jealousy.

❛ request fulfilled | Miguel is a single dad, Reader is his daughter's kindergarten teacher, and he is both very obviously crushing on her and very reluctant to say it. Fortunately, his daughter isn't! "Did you know my papi likes you?" Cue flustered Miguel. + BROOOO mechanic!miguel is hot please tell

❛ sy's notes | flashback to that one time a car fell on my tio. 😅

The job was a simple part replacement. A fizzled-out chunk of metal that would cost any single mother more in labor and puff costs at any mechanic shop. But not with Miguel, who was known around the barrio for his begrudging care. He’d do any job Lyla brought to him for any madre around who needed him.

He wrung his hands out on his stained top and lifted his head out of the hood of an old but faithful car. After a click and a lock, he turned his eyes toward the dusty cover. Syncopated beats trill from a radio ring background static that he’s long since zoned out to focus on his work. He wiped his forehead and looked at the trampled grass underneath a cheap plastic pool.

“Gabriella, bring me the manguera,” he called out to his little girl, who looked at the hose in her little pool bobbing with poppy bright toys. The older she got, the worse her loneliness became. Not due to any ill-doing of Miguel who always tried his best to be present. For some reason, Miguel couldn’t bring himself to date in anything but short bursts.

“Papi, look across the street. New neighbors!” Gabriella cooed delightfully. She splashed out of the pool with the long emerald green hose in hand, bobbing over on her long skinny legs. “It’s a girl. A pretty girl! And she’s looking right at you!”

Like that was a new occurrence. Miguel turned his hand over his sun-bright daughter’s short, sodden braids that whipped just over her shoulder. She stood in place, bouncing delightfully over newcomers. There were many viejitos in the cul-de-sac, but not enough kids.

“¿Y qué, mi vida?” he asked her. His hand shipped free from her hair. “She’s probably taking in the barrio.”

“I think she is! You!”

He threw a glance over his shoulder only to find your prying eyes eating him up from across the street. You speak to a pair of movers-- but your eyes slipped away from theirs, where he stood with his little girl. The hose dumped water onto the street. Water that he’d usually be extra concerned about wasting. Today, he was more interested in a game.

His dirty white t-shirt is matted to his back, soaked in the sweat of the day. He gripped the bottom of his t-shirt on either side and tugged it over his head. It pulls on his well-corded arms, protesting its release from his body. Miguel slipped it over his shoulder and proceeded to release bits of sweat from his thick hair. An adorable gasp fell free from your lips, replaced by your hand over your lush lips, snapping back to attention.

“You’re right, Gabi.”

He took the sputtering hose from her and cracked a begrudging smile. Gabriella waved eagerly-- and to his surprise, you waved back. If it wasn’t the hot sun beating down your face, it was the embarrassment on your face. You settled the sunglasses on the cute crook of your nose. With that, Gabriella helps him wash the car until her most hated part, drying it with old towels and bits of Miguel’s ripped old shirts.

“Hola!”

“Coño,” Miguel cursed in surprise, turning around to face you. In your hand was a clear plastic bag stuffed full of the filled corn husks, warmth steamed its sides. Miguel glanced down at the bag in your comparatively soft hands, drawing his sweaty shirt over his cut muscles to wipe away the sweat that slicked his dusky skin.

“I brought you and your lindita tamales.”

“Tamales!” Gabriella cooed, her hands cradling a limonada. They made it together, like clockwork every Sunday. “I love tamales!”

“Don’t old neighbors bring new one’s food?” Miguel bit out, a bit annoyed. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate food, it would save him countless bright-ass early meals dragging himself out of bed to make Gabriella something with school right around the corner. He’s annoyed at that star-bright smile you have whipped across your face. It stirred excitement he thought he killed a long time ago. “Or are you just a show-off?”

“I teach first grade at the school across the street,” you ignored his snark and looked none the more bothered by it. There’s some magic in a woman that didn’t feed into his shit. You provided Miguel with a name that felt familiar to all the orientation packets he received just this week. “Ya tú sabes, umm, at Carillo’s.”

Of course.

“That’s where I go!” Gabriella beams. “I’m Gabriella O’Hara and I’m going to be in first grade, right papi? This is my papi. His name is Miguel.”

Damn it all. Miguel slaps his sweaty shirt on the top of the car. You kneel down, offering her up the tamales instead of Miguel. He blinks through his sudden irritation, realizing that he’s fucked now. Gabriella grabs the plastic bag, giggling delightfully over them.

“Then maybe you’ll be in my class, Miss O’Hara.”

When he checks her orientation paperwork-- there it is. He suddenly felt the pressure of the ordeal, of the pretty next-door neighbor who wore flowy dresses and apparently, loved muscles. His eye darted out to the window, the movers zipping off in a whir of color, leaving you just there, spinning around in the driveway of your new home, nearly too sun-bright.

Maybe it’s tied to being a father, but Miguel notices little things you do. Some are ineffectual. Others are dangerous. You leave your bedroom window wide open as you change. Miguel sat outside on Gabriella’s swing on his second cup of coffee for the day when he noticed it for the first time.

You come in from your shower and scurry about your room nearly naked. Then, cupping your breasts between your hands, you whirled around for a set of underwear. From this far, he can’t quite make out the color. It might be red. Not a poppy red, but a deep, soothing red he recognizes from his dead wife’s wardrobe.

He wasn’t sure why you wouldn’t just change in the bathroom, but in any case, it was… dangerous. Any freak walking by could see you changing. Mimi’s room had very well-used blinds and yours did not. He turns his attention back to the newspaper on his lap. Nueva York stalker confesses to stabbing murder in five-year-old cold case. He scrunched his nose at the news and drank a coffee that had long since gone cold.

Sometime later, your front door swung open. Mimi busted through, a little girl with long black twists and black eyes that held a similar excitement for the weekend. It was her papi time. Gabriella doesn’t have that luxury, two homes full of warmth. Just one, with a papi who loved her more than life itself. Miguel hopes it’s enough. He left his newspaper on the bench as you settled her in the car, making his jog across the street.

“You should buy blinds,” Miguel said the second you shut the door. You jumped, your hand on the locket on your chest.

“Ay dios, it’s just you. You shouldn’t walk up on a woman like that, Miguel,” you laughed. “Especially not a single mother.”

“You’re painfully oblivious. Buy some blinds for your room. It isn’t safe.”

Dry as his tone was, it was laced with concern. If there was no one in your life to tell you what he thought was obvious, he would. “You saw me? How much did you... see?”

He responds with a dull stare, his gaze falling to the red strap of your bra that set slightly off-kilter along your slight shoulders. You sucked in a breath to calm yourself, your heart beating at a rapid pace behind your modest shirt. You reached up to hide the strap. A frown marred his contrite features.

“You look beautiful in red,” he found himself muttering, pushing off of the back of the car without another word. He beat himself up for that-- stupid, stupid response. Because of course you know you look gorgeous. He didn’t need to say it out loud.

“Gracias, papi,” you called after him.

He hoped he was not flung into the creep category after that winning display.

You bought blinds for your window and a swing for Mimi’s new, sturdy tree. Its long arms offer some reprieve from the heat, casting a shadow on the small house. It wasn't long before you spent days on heaps of homework from the kids and a glitter-bright pen to grade spelling tests.

It's nice to have a little bit of company as he works on cars and yard work, even if you watch him like a voyeur, blushing if he notices, gasping if he plays into this new little game. At some point, he voided his shirts altogether. It’s not long before Gabriella has a game of her own to play.

“Psst, Lyla. Vente, Lyla.”

Gabriella sits boredly in the shop after school. Sometimes in his office, other times in the shop during breaks. One of his technicians, Lyla, sat on an upside-down bucket by Miguel’s side as he worked on a car. This time, it was a stupid simple fix. The idiot ripped off their bumper parking too far on a curb. Lyla sat in gold coveralls, undoubtedly grinning behind that black mask slapped across her face. He didn’t need to look away from the clips he was applying to know they were both up to shit.

“Yeah?”

“Papi has a crush on my teacher. I think she could be my new mami. If--”

“Miguel has a crush?” His other tech, Peter chirped up with a hunk of sandwich in his fingertips. How was he always slacking off and eating? Miguel didn't know, but he was. “I can't believe it. He hasn’t had a crush since Tem--”

“I don’t have a crush,” Miguel responded. “Less scheming, more homework, kid. She told me you’re behind on schoolwork.”

She does so well on spelling tests, Miguel, you told him at parent-teacher conferences. But she never turns in homework.

Gabriella was not behind because she was stupid. She was behind because she was a stubborn little child who, Miguel knew, was trying to set him up. Lyla abandoned the bucket to walk over near Gabriella’s unicorn table, pulling out a microsized table and looking down at the stupid simple homework. Single-digit numbers were a painful waste of time to a kid who loved math.

“She’s single?”

“Yup,” Gabi chirped, scratching away at her coloring page with a fat purple crayon. “Mimi told me.”

“No boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend. I double-checked. And get this, she said she would come help me with homework.”

“Lyla.” Miguel shoved the opposite end of the bumper in place, securing it carefully. Lyla was bent down by Gabriella. So Papi has more time to see her! Gabriella whispered. He may not know what you’re saying, but he knows it’s bad by the way she looks at him. As though she were a cat might with a glass it was about to shatter on the floor. “You can go home now.”

His daughter doesn’t need any more of her devilish attributes.

“You fucked it alright, mujer. What did you hit?”

Miguel twisted a bit of the sidewall between his fingers to gauge the depth of the hole. Never mind that the back passenger wheel whistled away until it ran flat. It wasn’t the first time someone brought him a car that was fucked. It was the first time you had.

You never asked him for anything, not at the price of your pride. You simply… made it work. Just like Miguel made childcare work by leaving his shop to pick Gabriella up and leaving her bored as fuck every weekday until he could close up shop.

Today, Mimi and Gabriella were inside, playing with dolls after a warm dinner of arroz blanco and fatty pork chops. He wasn’t much a fan of your sickly sweet platano, but he tried it tonight after Gabriella hounded him. Don’t be rude, papi! He’s gotten used to coming home on Wednesday to dinner. It’s something that he realizes he’s missed: having someone to come home to.

“A pothole,” you murmured shyly. His forehead rippled into wrinkles, holding the chunk of broken-off rubber between his fingertips. He rubbed the exhaustion out of his dark eyes, minding the nervous twiddling of your fingers.

“A pothole,” he repeated after you. No matter how many times he considered it, it did not fit. His body was ripe with aggravated energy. He’s too tired for this. The shit he’d seen in his shop and you expected him to believe that you hit-- a pothole? “Qué mierda.”

Miguel set his hands on his hip, rolled on his heel, and stepped back to inspect his future work. His body thrummed, a tightness pulling with the sight of your shy smile. The truth tittered on your luscious little lips.

“I may or may not have hit those rocks by Doña Díaz’s casita.” One look around the street revealed the chunky, pointy rocks you referenced. Miguel flicked the bit of rubber onto the top of the car and looked at you. You were guilty as the day was long. “They weren’t that far off the curb before! I know that it’s bad. Do you think you could-- fix it?”

“You’re going to have to replace those two,” Miguel gestured. “What, did you not see the massive rocks on the side of the road? What were you doing? Eres una mama, you have to pay attention, por dios. You could have been hurt.”

Your eyes darted to the wheels. The nervousness was strong, nearly all-consuming, bidding you to shut up. Though it was a good question, the shame that flecked your eyes was enough to cause Miguel to move on. He knew you were likely inattentive, your mind hovering somewhere else than the quiet cul-de-sac.

“I… had a bad date, Miguel. I was upset and dizzy and… Don’t tell anyone, please.”

The pain of being a woman. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his large hand warm on your slight shoulder. A pulse of warmth rushed through his hand as you leaned in, your cheek plastered to his stained top. He smelled of oil and sweat, but somehow, you find it comforting. Your hands come over his back, tugging on the dark coveralls.

“It’s alright,” Miguel sighed. He'd tell you not to pick shit men-- but sometimes, as he knew, that didn't matter at all. “I’ll have it fixed.”

“I don’t have that much money, Miguel,” you began. “I have to take care of the kids, my house, Mimi. I…”

“No te preocupes. You can do something else for me.”

You drew in a small, choked breath. The type that settled in your chest and did not leave. Not until Miguel’s arms wound over your waist to soothe you through the pain and pressed a kiss that lasted entirely too long to the top of your head. It’s the first time he wants another.

“She is dating,” Peter said. “You know what that means? It means you’re on a time crunch. She could always meet the one!”

"I'm not concerned about it."

The one, Miguel shook his head as he paced past the car he was propping up. He never heard anything more ludicrous. There was no such thing as the one. There was only a range of possibilities to pick from. At any point, life can happen. Then your one is gone-- and you’re left with only the memories and a body to bury. Still, as he clambered underneath the car, he found that he quite didn’t like the thought of you out with anyone else... especially not men who may or may not spike your drink.

“You should ask her to a date. Like, more than playing house with sticky kids and lasagna.”

“She’s never made me lasagna.”

Peter sloppily suckled on his fingers, the juice running down his thin wrists. “Then what was lunch?”

“Pastelón,” he answers bitterly. “It’s… plantain lasagna.”

“Okay, I thought you didn’t like--”

“I don't-- I eat it because she spends time on it.”

Peter sucked in a breath, eyes wide. He’s about to say something terribly unuseful, something like how Miguel has it bad. Miguel knows he does, half-formed images of what a family could be every day he went to pick Gabriella up, homework done, and happily fed. A feat in itself.

In place of that, though, were the car’s melded, mechanical squeals. He has but a moment and a half-formed plan that goes up in smoke the next second that it falls on his arm. He hears Peter’s half-formed, panicked shout to Lyla and recalls the flurry of steps and medical attention sometime later.

Admittedly, he did tell you to be careful.

When he wakes up, so does everyone else. Lyla chastizes him with her hands balled up on her hips, Peter sobs almost twice as much as Gabriella does until the two are dead asleep against his bed. Miguel’s eyes have rolled way too far.

“Is he finally asleep?” you peep into his heavy hospital door with a ginger knock of your knuckles. Miguel throws a look at Peter’s squishy face, half slumped over.

“Hermosa, I thought he’d never stop,” he grumbled.

“You scared him.”

Tch. Miguel watched you pick up Gabriella, settling her on the stiff pull-out bed. He foggily asked you what time it was, close to the end of visiting hours. He’d need to arrange something for Gabi with Lyla taking care of the shop. It itched at his throat.

“Gabi too. Should I…”

“Take her home for me,” he grumbled. “I’ll be back tomorrow. It’s just a broken arm.”

“You coughed up blood, Miggy. You could have died if Peter wasn’t there.”

Miggy. You finally used the nickname somewhere between Wednesday dinner dates and a car slumping on him. Miguel throws a growl to the side, using his non-fucked hand to pet the top of Peter’s head. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew you were right.

“What happens if… something happens to you?”

“With Gabi?” he asks.

"Sí. With everything."

You nod, looking idly at his little daughter, still in her school clothes. You brought her as soon as school was over, soothed the panic in her voice, the thought of becoming an orphan just because the car had cracked his arm. She wouldn’t have remembered her mother’s death, it was far too long ago now.

“Lyla. Why the face? If you’re jealous, know that was the agreement with my wife before she was murdered.”

You hadn’t known you were making a face, but you were to the trained eye. Some small pout of your lip, tears welling at the corner of your eyes. Miguel shoves himself up on the bed, straining sore muscles. It was going to be a long night. A longer month or two until he was up and running again.

“I’m not making a face. It's just... You were reckless when you're usually so careful. I'm wondering why. I'm sorry.”

"It's fine," Miguel urged you to come closer. "Come here."

You slid into his chair, tentatively sneaking your hand on top of his. Miguel wanted to tell you more. There was not another friend nearly so close, one that would take care of everything and anything he needed. He's suddenly aware of his situation. It would be difficult to make a woman secure that he'd not tied down yet. You clearly care-- based on the insecurity in your eyes.

You’re on a time crunch. She could always meet the one.

He doesn't want to miss his shot. He brought your hand to his lips, straining with a pained little grunt. You stood up to help him, allowing his lips to flutter over the back of your hand in a small kiss at his urging.

“Trust me. She’s not a threat,” he said. “You’ll take Gabi with you?”

“Of course, Miggy. Anything you need.”

Securing a relationship would just have to wait.

The first day back, Miguel sent Gabriella off with Lyla. Mimi is off with her papa, leaving you with nothing but time. He finally saw his projects through without Peter loitering over his shoulder, revitalizing cars with bad radiators and fizzled-out air compressors. As if Peter was the boss and he were the employee. The grease under his fingers feels more like Miguel than any squeaky clean shower you’ve helped him take. Yes, you’ve helped him take. He could have asked Lyla or Peter, but why over-extend their lives when you lived in his home for the past month to take care of Gabriella anyway?

He wonders what you thought, stripping him down to nothing, seeing his naked thighs, watching him clean sensitive bits that, as you lied, you were not looking at. He finds it cute, the way you tried to look away, but of course-- you always snuck a look. You’re nosy by nature. He’s never been ashamed of his body, though. For all the work you did, he thinks you deserve a look.

“Miggy,” you slipped through the side door, your heels clicking over a greased-up floor. He hopes you don’t fall, arms deep in the hood of a shiny dark blue convertible. It’s nearly perfect. “I got your message. You said we need to talk?”

“Don’t slip.”

Miguel whirled a wrench into its place, slammed the hood shut, and rubbed the grease on his hands together. Like it will come off his callouses. Miguel meets you half way, offering you his greased up hand. You look down at his hand, then up to Miguel again. He half thinks you won’t take it, but you do, allowing him to whirl you in a spin before lifting you on top od the hood of the car.

“Ay Miggy--” you cursed, looking down at the car. It shone bright, its smooth metal cold under your bare thighs. He pins you in place as you attempt to wiggle off, nearly jiggling your way onto his lap. “The owner will be mad--”

“It’s mine and I’m not.” He explains. “I know what I want.”

“You want…?”

“For the work on your car.” It’s cute how clueless you act, holding your breath as his fingers course past your bare thighs. You barely manage to choke the words out, your hands inching on his. He replaces himself between your thighs. You both know that you more than made up for the few hundred dollars in repairs with the work you’d done for him in a month. Holding your breath, you nod.

“Tell me.”

“I want a night with you.”

You didn’t know what to say, leaning your trembling fingers up to the bits of dark brown hair that accentuated the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes. You met his eyes, trained on your own, challenging you to respond. Words formed in a mishmash of nonsense on your tongue. You take the chance to press your lips on his, your hand suddenly cradling the side of his face for some stability. You were hardly comfortable on his car, but Miguel didn’t seem to care, biding your lower lip to open and let him in. You relinquish, savoring the distant taste of roasted coffee on his tongue, his fingers teasing along your thighs.

“That’s not an answer,” Miguel pulled back from your lips for an instant. He graces your neck with soft kisses, leaving the occasional bite and tug just in case-- he doesn’t need another man thinking he has so much as a chance. Your big man pins you down onto the car like you were weightless, any willingness to inch away tempered by his mass.

“Depends,” you answered. “I want this to be an every night kind of thing.”

“Consider it a trade.” He chuckled against your neck, the heat from his lips traveled across the valley of your breasts. You complied with his desire and let him slip your breasts free from your romper. His mouth closed his mouth over your nipple. His greasy hands melded your breasts between his desperate hands, tongue prodding your nipple fat. Your legs met his hungry performance by pulling him forward, his scratchy belt against your clothed cunt.

“Careful,” he teased. His hand fell to his bulge, unbuttoning his stained pants. You watched him pull himself free, pulling panties and romper alike to the side of your lips. Your lips parted, much like that very first day you met him, sundered by the sight of his cock. This time, fully hard. He doesn’t enter your cunt-- no, he’s patient, slotting himself between your folds for a teasing grind. His dick twitched in response, eager to finally fuck you. “You’ll fall off.”

“It’s your fault. You could have asked over dinner.” He greets your complaint with a nod, flicking your other breast. He envelops the other nipple between his mouth, his teeth grazing along the sensitive skin. You take a long breath, hips leaning up against his firm length.

“Like that would be anything new. We always have dinner,” Miguel murmured in protest. “A far better use of our time is soaking your pretty cunt with my cum on this car before dinner.”

He felt your cunt clench at nothing. His hips, thrusting against your mound, nudged over your wet little folds, knocked against your greedy clit. Before you could respond, Miguel popped off your nipple again, “You like that thought? Going to dinner leaking?”

“Miggy, por dios,” you complained. “Stop dry humping and give it to me.”

He huffed darkly, snatching one of your thighs and leaning back. He spreads your lips, inspecting his work. You were wet, but not just wet, soaking his car. Miguel brought his other palm to wipe your wetness away, jerking himself with the fluid. He tests your reaction by nudging the head of his cock against your unprepared hole.

“Miguel,” you bit out, this time a warning.

“Ya te oigo,” Miguel loomed over you, pinning your shoulder back to his glistening car. You don’t debate him on that, allowing him to say whatever he wants if it would just get him inside. Miguel relinquishes control, pushing inside of your tightness. He bit back a groan, pushing past your body’s resistance, throbbing against your core. Your hands fisted his dirty shirt, cunt split wide on his cock, and glad for it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his hands securing themselves on your hips. He gives you a moment to catch your breath before he pulls nearly free, slamming forth just a moment later. Breath punched out of your throat, his cock rocking your cunt nice and full. You loved this-- looking beautiful and full just for him. He knew it too, “Hermosa.”

Miguel held his arm tight around your thigh, holding you flush against his rutting hips. His balls slapped your ass, pulling tight. You were distantly aware of his thumb at your clit, leaning your hips into his thrusts the best you could. You could only squirm to keep yourself upright on his car despite feeling your body sliding into his. His thumb worked in insistent, tight circles, forcing the pleasure to burrow in your low belly, tightening over him. It’s no marker of your performance, you think, hoping he’d give you another chance to be anything but a toy on his cock.

“No, no puedo--” you whined, your hands dipping under his shirt to scratch at his finely cut muscles, knowing you were about to gush.

“Do it,” Miguel grunts in response, his thumb more insistent. You’re not entirely proud of the way you came, creaming his cock desperately. He held strong, smothering his own groans if only for the pleasure of hearing your passionate cries. You come to moments after, Miguel’s thrusts now intent on his own pleasure.

“Come on, papi,” you worshipped. “Cum in me.”

“Fuck,” Miguel complied, his dirty nails causing sharp indentions on your thigh and hip. His sticky cum fills you in a few deep thrusts, each more forceful than the last, and he’s spent. If he was dirty before, he was filthy now. Miguel catches your lips in a lingering kiss, going soft in your body. He knew the second he pulled out your cum was soaking his now-dented car.

His eyes peeled open to find your gaze on him, tracing fresh superficial scratches on his belly. Of course, you are-- you’re a hungry addict. Miguel pulled himself free and looked for a cloth that wasn’t grease soaked to clean your cunt with. You piece yourself together and slide off his car.

“Let’s go.”

“¿Qué?” he zips himself back into his pants.

“You promised me dinner.”

He sighs-- just as long as it wasn’t lasagna.

There’s something attractive about your love of children.

He thinks it’s likely because he’s never had that himself. His mother was a beast of a woman. Never affectionate. At least, not with him. After his wife’s subsequent death, life proceeded in a vacuum. The years passed: first one. Then six. Then he was here, holding a bundle of jewel-bright roses against an uncharacteristically clean button-up, walking down the dull blue carpet of the beige hallway to the pod that usually held the kids. For all the days you tolerated him smeared and slathered, you deserved a good display.

They were usually alight with noise, rambling on about their latest toy or prattling on about a mommy that Gabriella just did not have. The more she grew, the more important it became to have that for her-- maybe it was more for himself. Today, that hall was dead of life.

“Gabi, I hear your papi,” you called from somewhere inside. He hears her subsequent pitter-patter of feet across the carpet, popping out with Mimi from the door before he can open it. Miguel cocked his head, a sigh working on his lips. They whirled the door shut. Gabi bolted to your would-be desk and slapped her tanned palms on the tabletop.

“Maestra, maestra!”

Ah, damn it all. Miguel’s hand hovers around the knob, chewing on the next thought. He couldn’t really blame the kid for what she was about to say, because he knew exactly what she was about to do.

“¿Mande?”

“I have something to tell you, it’s really important. Papi likes you, did you know my papi really, really likes you?”

There’s a pause. Then a slight, amused giggle from Mimi. It’s short-lived as he pulls open the door, loathing this dumb thing called Teacher’s Week that leaves him with a bundle of flowers and instant regret.

“Sí, Gabriella. I know he does. I like him too. He’s so cute.”

If he weren’t so dark, he’d worry about the flush in his face with the embarrassment of being outed by his little girl. He stares at your hands on Gabriella’s, then at the small sea of desks and colorful name tags to break some of the tension, hardening his face to shield it from the embarrassment. Was he really so obvious?

“Hola Miggy.”

You scoot out of your chair.

“Hola,” he sighs, remembering he was holding flowers. He slides them into your hands, hooking his hands on his slender hips. “This is… Gabi wanted to give you flowers.”

“I never said that,” she chirped, bouncing his way. “You said--”

“Gabriella.” Miguel hisses, his tone sharp at her interjection. She goes dead silent by Mimi's side, staring up at him with watery eyes. He jerks his head in the direction of the quartet of desks she sits at. “Go get your things.”

“I think Papi is embarrassed,” you whisper, crouching down to rub her little back, soothing down her milky white top. “I’ll talk to him and make it better, okay? Go with Mimi.”

“Okay.”

Mimi bounded off behind Gabi, stuffing her bag with her colorful work and chunky crayons. Miguel exhaled air, staring at her powdery blue backpack for something other than the complete and utter embarrassment that yet someone else had called him out. If it wasn't Peter, it was his daughter.

Had he been this obvious the whole time?

“Don’t be too hard on her tonight,” He peered down at you, small in the grand scheme of his height and musculature. You pecked a small kiss on his lips, stroking his week-old stubble, just enough to cool Miguel’s teetering nerves. “It’ll be better when she finds out.”

[simplyraeblue]

hunter and hunted (jjk)

college (summer) break au: a fic in which y/n is pining over Yuji's older brother Sukuna, while unbeknownst to her, Choso is doing the same thing for her. contents: sukuna x reader, choso x reader, modern college AU, yuji and choso are brothers, sukuna and yuji are brothers, smut warning, fem reader

chapter warning/tags: swearing, p in v penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it y'all), use of "angel", sukuna is being sketchy, totally in love with choso, i think the choice is clear right A/N: sooooo slowly falling in love with choso, but things can't stay perfect forever right? (¬⤙¬ ) honestly I just really wanted to write more choso smut bc I'm addicted but like, wtf is up with sukuna now. ALSO someone asked how many chapters there will be, and as of right now I'm ending at 15! but if I get more ideas of the story doesn't feel wrapped up then I'll keep it going until it does.

index part eleven | part thirteen

part twelve word count : 2,146

your sleepover with Choso had not gone unnoticed by both Yuji and Sukuna. after finishing breakfast with Choso, you’d indulged in a long-awaited nap. when you woke up and found him still sound asleep, you thought it was the perfect time for a bathroom break. the only problem? Choso shared a bathroom with Sukuna. 

as you quietly closed Choso’s bedroom door with a soft click, a throat cleared, startling you like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head. you slowly turned to see Sukuna standing in his doorway, a hand on the knob, his expression unreadable. 

“you’re… still in your pajamas.” he murmured, his tone a strange blend of question and statement. 

you weren’t sure why you felt anxious; after all, he’d been mia for god knows how long. as you tried to decipher his mood, you realized you were never good at picking up on his cues. 

if you had been, you might have braced yourself for the sudden, loud slam of his fist against the wall.

“shhh!” you hissed, pressing a finger to your lips and silently hoping he hadn’t just woken Choso – let’s face it, the guy could probably sleep through anything.

“I think I might throw up.” Sukuna growled, storming toward the bathroom and slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the walls. you stood there, mouth agape, trying to process what had just happened.

fortunately, Choso remained asleep when you tiptoed back into his room. you decided it was a good idea to wait until he was awake before leaving his room again. 

after that, Sukuna had literally vanished from the house.

two days later, he still hadn’t come home. two days later, and you hadn’t slept in Choso’s room again. two days later… and you were falling in love.

Choso had thrown himself into being attentive, practically anticipating your every need. want a snack? he was off the couch before you could even think about it. feet sore from a night out with Yuji? he’d whisk your shoes off and start rubbing your feet right away. it was like he was made for this; providing you with attention and care without missing a beat. 

now, you lay on his bed while he played with your hair, one hand gently stroking your head and the other flipping through tv channels. you were practically purring with every soft caress, and he adored it. 

“can I ask you something?” Choso suddenly said, his hand still massaging your scalp. you nodded lightly, keeping your eyes closed in bliss. “you haven’t stayed in my room since that night. is it because I did something wrong?”

your eyes flew open as you sat up, your expression softening at the sight of his blush. “oh, Choso, no – you didn’t do anything wrong. I just… thought it might be weird for everyone else if I stayed in here all the time.” and secretly you worried about what would happen if Sukuna saw you leaving again.

“who cares what they think?” Choso pouted, giving you those puppy-dog eyes while his hand relaxed on the back of his head. “do you want to sleep in here?”

you hesitated for a moment, your heart racing at the invitation. “I mean… I’d love to.” you replied, a small smile creeping onto your face. “but what if you get sick of me?”

Choso shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “like I could get sick of you. unless you drool on my pillow again, then yeah I might get a lil sick of you.”

you slapped his arm while your mouth dropped open. “it was the one time! we’d just pulled an all-nighter!” he threw his head back in laughter, the sound like music to your ears. “if I promise not to drool, do you want me to stay in here tonight?” 

“tonight it is!” he said with a grin, relief evident in his face. he shifted to make space for you, and you settled in beside him, feeling the warmth radiate from his body.

as you lay there, the soft hum of the tv in the background as the two of you watched netflix, you found yourself stealing glances at Choso. his brows furrowed in concentration as he watched Bridgerton (you’d gotten him hooked), and you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked.

if he had noticed you staring, he didn’t show it, but when he reached for your hand to intertwine your fingers you felt a thrill shoot through you. he hadn’t moved his eyes from the tv, although you could feel his body warm at the contact with yours. you leaned your head against his chest, hearing his heartbeat start to pick up.

“are you getting comfortable?” Choso asked as his hand returned to stroke your hair, lulling you into a blissful state.

“mhm.” you purred as he gave light scratches to your scalp, tracing down your back softly. “but I want to watch Anthony confess to Kate, so I’m not falling asleep just yet.”

“the tension between them has been physically unbearable to watch all season.” Choso groaned and you chuckled at his enthusiasm. when he caught you laughing at him, he pinched your shoulder in retaliation. “I’m just saying, they both have been drooling over each other every episode!”

“you can’t blame them, it can be hard to confess your feelings to someone.” when you realized your words might seem like a jab at him, you quickly continued. “at least in their situation, he’s courting her sister.”

“at least you don’t have a sister I have to get through.” Choso smirked down at you, a teasing glimmer in his eyes. “even though it did take me too long to confess.”

the two of you had watched two more episodes, both commenting back and forth about the Bridgerton drama. everything felt right in your world – Choso was softly giving you affectionate touches, you’d gotten him addicted to rom-com tv, and you were blissfully happy. 

“Choso?” you whispered, nuzzling into his shirt. he hummed in response as he set his chin on top of your hair. “how soon is too soon?”

his heartbeat picked up faster under your ear. if you’d been looking at him, you would’ve seen his cheeks flush pink immediately. “for what?” he asked.

it was all too easy to get him flustered, and the thrill of it drove you mad. your hand caressed his abdomen, traveling lower and lower, slowly aiming for his waistband. once your fingers danced along the edge of his sweatpants, you felt him tense.

“oh.” Choso breathed, body going rigid as you continued to dip your fingers just below the waistline. “I-I don’t think there’s such a thing as too soon.”

“hm, you don’t?” you teased lightly before lifting your chin to gaze up at him. sure enough, his face was hot and red as he stared back down at you. “do you wanna…”

“yes.” his answer came out as fast as lightning, before he grabbed your chin and pulled you up to kiss you. when his lips met yours, you immediately open your mouth to allow his tongue to spit-swap with yours. Choso groaned as your hand dipped fully underneath his pants to palm his growing erection under his boxers. 

only seconds into teasingly rubbing him and he had flipped you over to land on top of you, grinding his clothed dick into your hips as he panted into your mouth. Choso’s hands worked their way up your top, pulling your bra down to rest underneath your tits and groping at them.

“fuck, I just can’t get enough of you.” Choso groaned as he dipped his head into your neck, lightly sucking on your skin as you arched your back to meet his rolling thrusts. “wan’ t’ make you feel good.”

within a mere minute, Choso removed all of your clothing as well as your own. you’d been too embarrassed to really look at his dick the first time, worried about your own image, but now – you felt warmth pooling between your legs at the sight. his bright pink tip leaked pre-cum already as he pumped himself with one hand, prepping himself before he settled between your legs.

Choso teased your puffy lips with his head, dragging his leaky cock over your clit tantalizingly as he leaned down to capture your already open mouth in his. as he deepened the kiss, driving his tongue inside you, his dick pressed further into you while just the tip has you moaning out his name.

“oh fuck, Cho, you – you’re so big.” you whined as your eyes rolled back, expanding for him as he ventures deeper inside of you. 

just those words have Choso bottoming out with a quick thrust, his balls slapping against your ass just as you feel his tip kiss your cervix. “ohhhh shit, angel.” his hips thrust again, giving you every inch. “feel s’ fucking good.”

your mind was already a puddle of mush as he drove into you, every pull and push of his cock driving you to madness. when Choso's hand flattens over your lower abdomen, pushing down slightly, you feel your walls tighten where he was pressing to accentuate every bit of his veiny length. 

Choso fingers moved to press against your clit, making small and absolutely maddening circles that made you whimper. his fingers applied more pressure, eliciting a loud moan of his name from your lips and causing your legs to clench around his hips. his pace picked up faster and faster, until he was gasping for air while he watched you blissed out below him, the sight almost sending him over the edge immediately. 

“yes – hah – please right there.” you’re drooling already, your fingers weaving through Choso’s hair as his eyes fall shut with pleasure. his bicep twitches next to your head, fist gripping the sheets as he uses every ounce of his strength to fuck you just right and rub your clit at the same time. you can feel the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter, so close to snapping. as your cunt clenches and flutters around him, Choso’s struggles to plow through your tightening walls with his thrusts. 

“that’s it, angel, just like that.” Choso babbles through the pleasure coursing within him, and when you drive your hips to meet his every thrust he just about loses it. “fuck – wait wait – slow down I’m –“

before he can finish his sentence, your orgasm rips through you, electricity thrumming down your veins. your back arches so deeply into the mattress as your pussy contracts around his cock. you’re too high to even form the words to tell him you’re coming, but based on how Choso starts rutting into you, he can feel it.

“ohh – fuck – please. you’re so fuckin’ tight I’m gonna cum.” Choso whines, eyes scrunching shut as his hips become sporadic in his attempt to find his last bit of strength to work you through your orgasm. 

you’ve barely begun to come down before he’s bottoming out, his dick pulsing before shooting your pussy full with streaks of thick cum. you can hear the lewd squelches coming from your cunt as he lazily fucks into you through his orgasm, stuffing you to the brim with every ounce of his seed.  

“shit Choso.” you moan as his forehead settles on yours, sweat slick on both of them. you panted as you looked at him, his eyes fucked out as he settled slowly from his release. 

“wanna hear something really stupid?” Choso whispered softly, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your lips. 

“wh-what?” you stammered, your heart racing.

he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m beginning to think I’m addicted to you.” he confessed, a shy smile spreading across his face.

you felt a flutter in your chest, caught off guard. “addicted?” you echoed, a mix of surprise and amusement flooding through you.

“yeah.” he said, his voice low and raspy. “I can’t help it. you’re just… so fucking perfect.” his fingers brushed against yours, sending shivers down your spine.

“so, you’re not going to get sick of me then?” you teased, and Choso swore that as your laughter followed he could feel your pussy walls flutter around his softening cock. 

“don’t get cocky just yet, angel.” Choso hummed in amusement before dipping his fingers between your bodies. “that’s still yet to be seen.”

as you were giggling, your breath suddenly hitched when Choso fingers pinched your sensitive clit. your eyes sparked as you looked at him, a wicked smirk spread across his lips when he began to rub circles around the nub. with one more pinch, he leaned his face down to whisper in your ear.

“might just have to keep testing it.” 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist: @nighttwingg @sweetsformysoul @casualpoetrytaco @lvingd3adg0rl @haikomaiko @csolya @deathlypink @sad-darksoul @elisedylandy @jinxiewritings @aldebrana @ravester @futuristiccurlyhair @san-it-is-i-guess @marie-is-in-the-dark @llovergirlll @iseeyouuu @makingtimemine @spicykimchii I hope I got everyone, and I hope the tagging worked for all of you! thank you so much for liking this enough to be tagged, it means the world to me! xoxo that fact that nineteen people have asked to be tagged for this makes me sob tears of thanks .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. if you'd like to be added to the taglist let me know! ♡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

[joshth647]

THE AMAZING DIGITAL CHEFS (CHEF AU) - MASTERPOST + BOUNDARIES

"Welcome to the kitchen, superstars! Here you'll learn to make the most delicious meals of the century, and appeal to our dear customers!"

We've all watched shows where chefs have contests where they try to make the most delicious and appealing meal to please their customers [or something like that] (*cough* Master Chef *cough*)... so why not take the cast of The Amazing Digital Circus and have them be chefs! That's what this AU basically is.

CHARACTER LINEUP:

CHARACTER CARDS:

SILLY STUFF:

THE LAMB SAUCE!! Drawing Dumps She Knows How to Work An Oven Character Card Template The Goober and the Stupid THE LAMB SAUCE!! Redux

COMICS & SKITS:

The Kitchen The Lament Kinger's Problem Pomni's Backstory Jax Being Jax Chitchatting Mini Comic: Pressure

Small Q&A/FAQ:

Q: Are OCs allowed? A: Very much so! Please tag me in your OC's post so I can see your work! Q: Can I make fanart? A: Why, of course! If the fanart is NSFW then use the appropriate CW/TW for your safety! Q: Can I make fanfics? A: Eeyup! Go wild with your writing skills — and PLEASE TAG ME WHEHSHHDHDJDJSJS,,, Q: Can we ship what characters we want? A: Well, where do I start... you can ship anyone with each other as long as it doesn't include either Pomni or Caine (GEHEHEHEHE SHOWTIME RGRHRHEHDHHDHD)! So Ragatha x Jax or Jax x Gangle is allowed, but not Pomni x Jax or Kinger x Caine... please keep that in mind! (Taking a cue from @/sm-baby's Carnival AU here because I am a big Showtime shipper just like them)

Feel free to ask other questions about this AU!

BIG THANK YOU TO @endomentendo FOR INSPIRING ME ON MAKING THIS AU (they made a post on AU ideas)!

[dmc-tings]

Loved the take on not writing what you do not enjoy. It made me think, as though I hated Netflix Devil May Cry, I just cannot hate Dante. Anyway. I respect your opinion. So I'm requesting something and see if you're comfortable with it.

Can I request DMC 5 Dante who has a teenage daughter. How he reacts and navigates through challenges like her getting first period (her mother is around, but it's just she was not there when it happened), boys trying to hit on her (I mean she got Sparda genes and those beautiful white hair), her trying to experiment with wardrobe which might not be so appropriate for underage girl (I know Dante isn't one to care about what a girl wears, but from perspective of underage), or her trying to be very assertive about going on mission or worse wanting to see demon world.

I love detailed ones like this. Tee-hee

Im the eldest out if two. And my dad was a single parent so... I know the look of horror on a dad's face when it comes to this.

(Reader is F: afab and Dante's kid, so read appropriately. TW: menstrual times mentioned)

Dante: A Girl Dad

Alright. So. When is wife was on that bed, pushing YOU OUT, he didn't expect a girl.

Cue, the 6'5 devil hunter passing out

BIG THUMP

But he hopped back up like a champ when you cried out

DAD MODE ACTIVATED (He didn't know he had that one)

Yes. He lunged at the doctor, half-devil triggered

(SKIPPING FORWARD A BIT)

Oh. It started in 6th grade. You came home with, fucking, FUCKING VALENTINES

"Where..." *angry demon dad noises* "where'd you get all those sweetie?"

"Boys at school." You innocently spoke, dumping the ones without candy in the trash

He smiled at that. He didn't care if you played boys for money.

But when you came home with all sorts of gifts!? He went to the school and "Karened Out"

The superintendent had to get involved.

It was a fiasco in Redgrave

"Devil Hunter's Daughter: Off limits"

Hehe; until you got older

But... sadly, puberty isn't kind.

12. You were twelve years old

The morning hadn't gone well.

Your stomach hurt. And your body... just... wasn't right.

You told mom. And she looked you over sympathetically. Considering whether or not-

"Nah. She's fine." Papa Dante nodded.

(MIND YOU HE DID SMELL SOMETHING OFF ABOUT YOU LATELY. MOODY TEEN HE BRUSHED IT OFF, DESPITE MOM TELLING HIM SOMETHING WAS UP)

So you went to school

Then it happened, oh God.

You didn't even say anything to the teacher!

You thought you just needed to go to rhe bathroom

Only to... feel nauseous at the... blood.

It was blood from the... South end.

You always had your phone.

Can't call Mom. She's out on a mission.

There was no way in hell you'd call Vergil. Or Nero. Or- just none of them...

Too embarrassing

"Devil May-"

"Dad..."

Your cry made him fucking run colder than an icebox in an Alaskan blizzard

"Babycakes what's wrong."

You explained through your tears. You were so scared and it broke his heart.

He kept you on the phone. Scrambling through his wife's stuff. He grabbed the emergency box.

Clutch Mom. It was for this EXACT SITUATION!

"Im comin baby. Papa's coming."

He jumped right on whatever altered devil arm, and sped to the school

He raised hell. And they had a female office worker walk you to the front.

He ushered you to the bathroom.

And handed you the emergency bag.

When you came out he didn't say anything.

Hugs and promises to get you back home.

He signed you out and got you home

And that was that. He and mom tag teamed making sure you were well taken care of

Ah... but you're a Sparda.

While hands weren't thrown, attitudes were

It was cute, you walking around in princess dresses, tutu's, crowns and fairy wings... when you were little.

Hell, he could dress you like a lil boy and you were happy!

Now... it was all... the short skirts and... the tight jeans.

"Ah, where are you going?"

16. You were 16. Walking around like the strippers at Love Planet!

His heart broke, his lil girl was dressed so... promiscuously!

You rolled your eyes. He really was a vibe killer

"Dad. I'm just going to the mall."

Who gave you money? He was often broke.

Your fuckin mom... ugh.

"Lemme come with."

You just slammed the shop door, hopping into your friends car

Oh... he felt so left out... you used to be his best buddy...

You really hurt him

When you got home he was moping on the couch

The next day, your mom had talked to you.

You didn't mean to but he was so clingy with you. You didn't like it. And, you explained that to her

"Just talk to him about boundaries."

It was a long talk. But compromises happened: you dressed in APPROPRIATE clothes, and he backed off.

Sides, Dante was a laid back enough dad...

You didn't get a real boyfriend until you were 18

He... hated him. Yup. Dante hated the boy you brought home.

You were DANTE'S DAUGHTER: No matter what your mixed with that silver hair and blue eyes caught everyone's attention

So when you finally picked one... and you didn't pick a "cool" or "popular" guy

This dude was normal. He just... kind a was there

Dante was displeased. The boy was a loser.

Well... you argued he was a loser and her mom stayed with him

*Cue Mom smugly around the corner with wine*

Dante relented, learning that... you didn't pick a dummy

Your boyfriend, was actually really smart. Even Nico was impressed and let the guy tinker with devil arms...

Dante had to relent more... accepting the fact that the boyfriend was a good fit...

Speaking of devil arms...

Your 21st birthday; Dad had promised to let you start missions.

It was the family business and your boyfriend had been more than welcomed in the shop, working...

"Just... stick close kiddo, ok? Don't give your poor Papa and Mama heart attacks..."

You rolled your eyes

"I'll stick as close as possible Dad."

He looked... happy but worried.

You were armed as you liked

Devil arms you picked out or your boyfriend made for you, strapped to your body

Oh God he wished he would have left you home.

No. Not because you got hurt...

It was a swarm. A small damned army, that came for them when they attacked the nest.

And a brute almost caught you up

Dante took the full hit, but that didn't hurt either

What hurt was: you and your mother crying trying to shake him awake.

He grabbed both of you.

"Hey. Hey. A knock to the dome ain't enough to kill me. Ya'll know that..."

But he felt his heart sink at your sobs

He got scolded after the Queen was killed

You clung to him, almost everywhere he went.

For about a month, then he reassured you he'd not do something so dumb again...

He still didn't let you go on missions alone

But... of course, the universe has its own plans...

And he had to let you handle things, a big boss was in the next space... and while Nero and Vergil could handle it... He hesitated, leaving you alone.

Your mother was on the furthest side dealing with another breaching crowd of demons... Lady and Trish were on another set of ends...

"Dad. Go. I'll be ok."

He still didn't move. For once, he didn't have a smartass comment. The fear grabbed the air out of his lungs

"No."

He pushed you behind him.

"Im not leaving you alone."

One of the few times he dug his heels in, only for you take out his knees, and jump on his back, trapping him in a headlock

"You listen here, Old Man! You don't trust me?!"

GODDAMNED IT. YOU WERE YOUR MOTHER'S CHILD

he yanked you off him, sealing you with an arm lock

"No, kid... that ain't it."

How the fuck do you tell your kid, your daughter... You're scared?

You struggled like a pissed off kitten

"Then WHAT?"

Dante let you go.

When you sprang up, you glared at him

Only to see your dad, the Devil Hunter, afraid.

"I can't lose ya. You're too important."

He was shaking

You took a deep breath and walked up to him

"You've gotta trust me. Like you trust Mom. And she's fully human. That's gotta count right?"

Fuck... you had him there...

"Besides. Vergil and Nero sound like their getting beat down."

You gave him a small push.

He slowly started to walk... watching you as he backed away

You... definitely had alot of your Mom there... but alot of him.

He couldn't stop the stupid smile that crossed his face.

You were an adult.

Even more, he couldn't stop the stupid smile that stretched across his face

"I get it."

He did. You were an adult now.

By letting you handle your own, he was letting go a little bit more.

You were the blood of Sparda and he didn't train you for nothin.

[grison-in-space]

Hey hey! Wyrd told me you trained your dog to help with executive dysfunction stickyness/ repetitive action and I would LOVE to know how you trained this. I am training my pet to do a few in-home things before I get my prospect in hopefully this year

Oh, hi! There's a longer post about this topic elsewhere in my Matilda tag you might want to check out.

A lot of my training approach is informed by the experimenting I did with alarms that interact with other senses besides acoustics during COVID. I got completely nonresponsive to phone alarms and things, and I was under a truly catastrophic amount of stress related to my PhD at the time, so my general functioning wasn't great and I really NEEDED external cues to trigger basic daily tasks. Unfortunately I have a pretty impressive ability to hyperfocus right past obnoxious alarms, and worse, I am very very good at absently turning alarms off or mimicking paying attention without actually pulling my focus away from the subject of my attention. You get a 5-30sec buffer of retained information for the purposes of holding up a conversation which I am continuously dumping. I am not necessarily doing it consciously, but that doesn't make it not frustrating. Especially because if a human does get my attention, many years of RSD tends to set me at hyper defensive right out of the gate. That's not ideal for a bunch of reasons.

Anyway, I found that vibration or tactile stimuli, as well as visual stimuli (I rigged a disco lamp to turn on at hourly intervals in a desperate attempt to track the passage of time), worked quite well to capture my attention and let me step out of hyperfocus enough to do the next thing. I figured eventually I would have to see humans in their meat suits again and people get weird about shit like this, so I needed something relatively discreet and quiet that shouldn't be disruptive to anyone else. I started thinking about building myself aids.

So the first idea I had was to just program a series of alarms into a smartwatch that could automatically attach them to alerts from my gcal, but it turns out that they don't have an api function that hooks up to stuff like "make watch buzz" and I ran out of bandwidth to deal with it. It eventually just seemed easier to train an entire dog to respond to a quiet alarm than to fight with the hardware and software to make a really good buzzwatch. I use a couple of different alarm ring tones to cue different actions just as you might train any dog to a word: this one means we go to the bedroom, that one means that if you take meds I get candy, and so forth. The actual sound of the alarm is a cue in its own right. I have some discussion in that other post about how I encouraged my dog to essentially play a game with me where she had to figure out how to get my attention without hurting (aka NO SCREAMING WITH YOUR VERY LOUD HIGH PITCHED BARK). Essentially, I'm shaping that out of whatever behaviors she offers me that successfully catch my attention, defined operationally to her as "standing up + sustained eye contact."

In terms of catching me when I'm tending to get stuck on something or stationary without moving, that one is less "Yes I and my dog are amazing and I've trained her to read my mind" and more "I don't make eye contact when I'm dissociating and I almost always am staring into my phone." So if Matilda catches me drifting across the kitchen glued to phone, she knows that if she rockets up and nudges me into paying attention to my body, she'll get a reward. Consequentially, she's a bit enthusiastic about this one and will sometimes ram passersby with her nose, so definitely figure out your failure modes before you teach the dogs anything.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Do you have any tips/checklist that can help identifying weaknesses in your writing? I read what I have written and there is always just something that seems off, I go through some of the tips you have given before and try to implement said changes but there is still something that's keeping the story from flowing/developing as intended but I just can't pinpoint what exactly. So if you have some tips for this, I'd love to hear it! Thanks!

Pinpointing Story Weaknesses

Here are some common story weaknesses to keep an eye out for:

1 - Weak Plot - Does the story revolve around a conflict? Does the conflict challenge the characters in ways that will captivate the reader's attention? Is the plot full of clichés and other tired elements that make it predictable and unoriginal? Are tropes used in fresh new ways that offer a twist on their usual usage? Are there loose threads that would be unsatisfying if left untied? Are there plot holes that won't make sense to the reader? Is the plot enriched by the exploration of theme and subtext that isn't heavy-handed but offers the reader a deeper understanding of the story? (See: Basic Story Structure, How to Move a Story Forward, How to Find Your Story’s Themes and Thematic Statement; Tropes, Clichés, & Finding Which  Clichés to Avoid)

2 - Weak Characters - Are the characters three-dimensional? Do they have a compelling internal conflict (in a story that is character-driven or both character-driven and plot-driven)? Do they have a satisfying character arc? Do they have corresponding wants and needs? Do they have an emotional wound or back story that helps the reader understand who they are and why they make the decisions they make? Do their actions, motivation, choices, and dialogue feel authentic with the personality and circumstances you laid out? Do the main characters have a unique character voice? Do they have fleshed out relationships with other characters? Do you get at the heart of the character's emotions and how they relate to the events of the story? Are emotions illustrated mainly through showing body language, facial expressions, gestures, and suggesting internal cues versus telling how a character feels? Does the dialogue feel unnatural or clunky? Is there an over-reliance on dialogue tags? (See: Plot Driven vs Character Driven Stories, Understanding Goals and Conflict, Character Arc Tips, Recognizing a Flat Character, Important Points of Character Personality, Showing a Character’s Feelings, Giving Your Characters a Unique Voice, Avoiding Repetition with Dialogue Tags)

3 - Weak Setting Development/World Building - Is the setting well-developed, relevant, and believable? Does the setting have so much character it almost feels like a character itself? Do you use plenty of emotional and sensory details to flesh out the visuals? Is the setting immersive to the point the reader will feel they've stepped out of their immediate surroundings and into the world of your story? Are there contradictions in the setting that will pull the reader out of the story? Is there an over-reliance on expository info-dumps or dialogue (aka "telling") to illustrate the world, versus "showing" it through action and the events of the story? (See: Five Things to Help You Describe Fictional Locations, Setting Your Story in an Unfamiliar Place, Guide: Showing vs Telling, The Right Amount of Description (5 Tips!), Weaving Details into the Story)

4 - Weak Narrative Voice - Is the narrative voice consistent, clear, and engaging? If multi-POV, are new POVs switched into only after a scene or chapter break, and is it immediately clear to the reader whose POV they're now in? (See: What is Writing Style?, Understanding POV and the Narrator)

5 - Weak Writing - Is the story well-edited and free from spelling errors, grammatical errors, typos, formatting errors, improper syntax, and punctuation errors? Is the sentence structure clear, strong, and varied? Is there an over-reliance on telling vs showing? Are there problems with the pacing, such as being too slow in places where not much is happening and too fast where important things are happening? Is there an over-reliance on passive vs active voice? Are strong adverbs used in place of weaker ones? Is there an over-reliance on present participles and gerunds (--ing words)? Are contractions unnecessarily omitted, leading to overly formal sounding narrative/dialogue? Is there "purple prose" or description that is excessively ornate/flowery? Is there a compelling beginning, a strong middle, and a satisfying end? (See: Ten Ways to Cut Your Word Count, Guide: How to Skip Time in Your Story, Subtle Scene Transitions, Balancing Dialogue with Exposition and Action, Dropping Hints without Giving Everything Away, Writing Great Beginnings and Endings, The 3 Fundamental Truths of Description, Exposition, Action, and Dialogue, and How to Pace Your Story) You can also see more on my master list of top posts. I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @subeddieweek, day three.

Menace to Society

Prompt: Brat/Wet/Choking | Word Count: 2556 | Rating: E | CW: Gagging | Tags: Established Relationship, Teasing, Taunting, Bratty Sub Eddie, A Bit of Orgasm Denial, Choking (on Cock), Light Biting, Light Spanking, Rimming, Unprotected Sex

He's a nuisance. A little shithead. A menace to society and Steve's life, as a whole. 

And Steve wouldn't have it any other way. 

Eddie is dripping water all over the hardwood floors of the bedroom as he stands in front of the closet, totally naked. His wet hair is dripping down his back, and he has to be freezing cold. The fan is whirring overhead, the window AC blowing full blast. But Steve just watches, waiting to see how long the little brat can hold out. 

He's pretty sure Eddie didn't even attempt to ghost a towel over himself, let alone dry off. 

Flicking through the shirts, Eddie's acting like he's never seen any of them before. Like, this is a brand new wardrobe and not his same old, ratty ass clothes that he refuses to replace, like, ever.

Steve waits. And Eddie stalls. 

He finally selects a plain black shirt, and pulls it over his head and slides on a pair of red plaid boxers. They're both clinging to his wet skin, and it can't be comfortable. But Steve says nothing, not even when Eddie slides into bed, his cold, wet hair soaking into the pillow, not even when he slides right up against Steve, pushing his face into Steve's neck. 

This cold, wet, rat of a man. 

And he's all Steve's. 

"You're a little brat," Steve says, and he can feel Eddie's smile against his skin, pressed against his pulse point. He's sure it's hammering away, giving away that he's not exactly as unaffected as he hopes he seems.

"And what are you gonna do about that?" Eddie asks, licking a wet stripe towards Steve's ear. 

"If you want something from me, all you have to do is ask." 

"Where's the fun in that?" Eddie questions, and Steve laughs. He's not sure how he's the boss here, he doesn't feel like he's the boss of anything that happens in their house. 

Long, long ago he was yanked off his feet by the living, breathing tornado that shares his bed. And he knew he could either ride out the storm, or take cover.

And he'll ride out the storm, always.

Eddie leans in and bites him hard on the neck, and it's his cue to act. He knows it, so he manhandles Eddie off him, and over onto his knees, until he's draped over his lap and draws back his hand and smacks Eddie on the ass. Once, twice, three times, a little harder with each blow.

Eddie just laughs. 

"Tickles," Eddie mumbles into the pillow. 

So, Steve strikes him again. Harder.

Then yanks on the damp boxers, wrestling them off Eddie, and pushing his t-shirt up his back. 

And Steve finds that Eddie has clearly worked himself open in the shower, despite knowing how much Steve likes to do it himself. 

"You disobeyed me," Steve says, spanking him again, then pressing his thumb against Eddie's stretched hole. 

"Well, if you'd be a little more competent at the job," Eddie says, and Steve grips his hip. 

"Hey," Steve says, firm, unyielding. It's effective, and the tone is all Eddie needs to change directions and back off. To mind. Steve's made it clear he doesn't like to be degraded or shamed, doesn't like to feel like he's bad at things, like he's bullshit, and Eddie knows better, even if he's being a fucking brat right now.

"Too far, sorry," Eddie says, and he reaches back to pet Steve's hand. 

"That's what I thought," Steve says, dumping Eddie onto the bed, moving to stand in front of Eddie. He tugs down his own underwear, just over his ass and palms his dick. 

Then he crooks his finger at Eddie, beckoning him closer.

"On your knees. Hands behind your back." 

Eddie whines, "But I'm ready…"

"And you'll still be ready when I am," Steve says firmly, pointing at the floor, "on your knees."

Eddie slides off the bed, and does as he's been told, but has a bitchy look on his face the entire time. It's a big job, but Steve will try to fix that attitude, so he grabs Eddie's cheeks between his fingers, pinching, forcing him to open up his mouth. Demanding that he lowers his jaw. 

He does, and Steve pats him on the cheek, softly, "That's my good boy. So docile, so giving, such a soft boy."

Steve's paying him back, even if Steve knows him well enough to know this won't rile him. Eddie wants to submit, even if he isn't exactly docile. Isn't soft. And doesn't want to be. 

When he lets go, Eddie is still sitting there, his mouth open. Waiting. Waiting. Eyes hooded.

Steve palms his own dick, stroking the length of himself, right at Eddie's eye level. Making him watch. 

Eddie sticks out his tongue, and Steve grins at him, can't help it, but still tells him, "You're a goddamn brat." 

And Eddie clamps his mouth shut, defiant. 

Loving Eddie, is living with constant consented to chaos.

Steve does nothing, just keeps stroking his own cock, lazily. Nothing works better on Eddie's bratty bad attitude than simply ignoring him. Lack of attention, that's what gets him to shape up.

So, Steve fists his own dick, and closes his eyes, tilting his head back. Long, smooth strokes, showing that he can please himself. That he doesn't need Eddie. That he can do this without any of his input.

Steve knows the silence won't last, can't. Eddie'll get jealous of Steve's own hand. He'll get too impatient. Steve's not wrong.

"Well, are you gonna do anything about it?" Eddie snaps.

Steve grins, wicked, opening his eyes as he leans down to get closer to Eddie's face.

"Of course I am. I was just waiting to see how big of a hole you were planning on digging for yourself, first."

Eddie's jaw drops back down, mouth open and pliant. Willing and waiting. Not wanting to be left out.

And that's more like it.

Steve rewards him for it by sliding the head of his cock against Eddie's bottom lip, then the tip of his tongue, before sliding in, in, in. Bumping the back of Eddie's throat. 

Eddie gags, he always does, and Steve's instinct is still to pull out. Even after all this time. Even after Eddie has told him not to, again and again. And Eddie must know that, must feel it happening, Steve withdrawing, so Eddie disobeys the order he was given and takes one hand out from behind his back, grabbing a handful of Steve's ass, pulling him in even further into his mouth. 

His cock sliding into Eddie's throat deeper than before, gagging him even worse.

Steve buries his hand in Eddie's hair, close to the scalp, and pulls him backwards. Off his dick completely. And Eddie makes a choked noise at the loss, but lets go of Steve's ass, and puts his hand back behind his back where it belongs. But he looks up at Steve with wet, betrayed eyes.

Steve brushes his thumb against Eddie's forehead, and Eddie nods. Just ever so slightly. 

He's okay, just pouting. 

"Do I need to hog-tie you and set you in cement? Or can you behave for once in your goddamn life?" Steve asks, and Eddie offers up his wrists, more belligerence than an actual offering, and Steve ignores him. "Behind. Your. Back," Steve repeats slowly, and Eddie puts them back where they belong.

Eddie nods, lowering his eyes, finally submitting.

So, Steve presses back in. Pressing, pushing until Eddie's eyes are watering more. Big and shining with unshed tears, but locked in on Steve's. Unwavering. 

Begging him, silently. 

Pupils blown wide, as he's getting lost in the scene, and it's a look Steve adores to get out of him.

So, Steve gives him what he wants, and bottoms out, choking him. He holds his cock in Eddie's throat for a few breaths. 

Then pulls out. Eddie gasps for air, just for a second, then opens his mouth for more. 

Steve gives him more. Over and over, until he's ready to torment Eddie further. Or, well, until Eddie's ready to be tormented further, seems more accurate. Steve's in charge, but this is always, will always, be about Eddie and his wants. His needs.

How they get there will be in Steve's hands, but the end game has always been clear to Steve. Make Eddie happy, even if he has to torture that happiness out of him, inch by inch, squeeze by squeeze.

"I'm gonna come," Steve tells him, "right down your throat."

Eddie whines, and attempts to shake his head no.

"Are you telling me no? Are you the boss of me?" 

Eddie whines again, shaking his head.

"All that work, and for what? Nothing," Steve says. "What'd you use? Your fingers? A toy? Hidden away, stretching yourself open, unable to wait for me to take care of you."

Eddie can't answer, not with Steve's cock in his throat. 

"Yeah, like that," Steve says, and then grips the back of Eddie's head. 

Eddie whines.

"Here it comes," Steve tells him, and presses as far in as he can. Eddie's nose is buried in his pubes, taking it. 

He doesn't come, never planned to, but he jerks his hips and groans like he has, and when he pulls out, Eddie swallows like he did. Giving him the big, sad doe eyes as he does it. Really laying on the patheticness.

Steve tucks his still hard dick back into his underwear, like this over. Because Eddie likes that. Likes to feel denied. Even as he whines, and kicks up a fuss, he is getting off on it. Steve knows he is. 

So, Steve crawls in bed, and Eddie follows. Steve lays his head back on his cold, wet pillow and sighs, like he's settling in for the night. 

And Eddie curls up right next to him, settling against his body. 

Steve reaches up and pets Eddie's hair, leaning over to kiss him on the head. 

"You're perfect," Steve says. 

Eddie doesn't miss a beat, "I know." 

Steve laughs. 

And Eddie grins. 

"You gonna be good for me a little bit longer?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods, adamant.

Eddie is bent over on his knees, and Steve is caressing his skin. Worshiping him. Everything about him. 

Before Eddie, before this life he loves, Steve hadn't thought about being in charge in a long time, his king's crown long thrown away with flourish and good fucking riddance. But Eddie wants Steve to drive. Even when he's being a little brat. He's still begging for Steve to take charge. To lay a firm hand against his body, guiding him. 

Steve never used to feel comfortable being in control of anything, not really, not even in his King Steve days. But he's learned to enjoy it, to do this with Eddie. Would do anything for Eddie.

He's slicked up his dick, and made sure Eddie is actually ready, and he is, before pressing inside. 

Eddie makes the most beautiful sound Steve's ever heard. A happy whine, and Steve thinks he's done good. Done right by Eddie. 

And that's all he ever wants to do. 

Make him happy. No matter what that entails. 

Even that comes from making him suffer, just a little bit, first.

"Don't you even think about coming before me," Steve demands, and Eddie whines about that, too.

Steve presses his fingers into Eddie's hips as he fucks him, and Eddie is finally behaving now that he's gotten exactly what he wanted. Head hung low, relaxed in his total submission.

That won't do. Not at all.

"What? Nothing to say now? No running commentary?" Steve goads.

Eddie says nothing, and Steve's not sure he can right now.

But he squeezes down on Steve's dick, and it makes Steve smile. He rubs his hip bone, thumbing the sharp point of it. 

"C'mon, it's the closest thing I get to hearing a sports play-by-play these days." 

Eddie scoffs, and Steve is baiting him. He watches sports all the time, much to Eddie's pissing and moaning. 

"This is entrapment, Harrington," Eddie finally breathes out. 

It is. It definitely is.

"I think you like it when I'm bratty," Eddie adds, his forehead resting against the mattress, his voice a little muffled.

Steve smiles, where Eddie can't see, "Lies." 

He feels so good, open and slick, and Steve fucks him with long, hard strokes. Well practiced, after so many years together. Eddie's so fucking wet, he must have used an overabundance of lube.

Steve shifts his hips, changing his angle, and works over Eddie's prostate. Over and over, with precision, trying to shove Eddie to the precipice without toppling him over it. He wants Eddie to feel like he's gonna fail, but not actually fail. 

Eddie whines, hanging his head, loose and limp. Finally, completely pliant. Trusting Steve.

And Steve keeps him there, dangling on the edge. Brushing past his prostate on every third stroke, then every fifth, every tenth. Backing off as he reads Eddie's body language. Eddie's loose, basically melted, but Steve can still tell. Can still read him like an open book. He knows everything there is to know about Eddie Munson.

It's the hardest he's ever studied in his whole life.

And Steve knows that Eddie's gonna come, soon.

So, Steve lets go of his own control, and shoves right into Eddie's prostate one more time, dick jerking as he empties himself into Eddie and Eddie whines, coming untouched all over the sheets below.

After Steve, as directed, like a good fucking boy.

Steve pulls out, and slaps him on the ass one more time, but this time in a good game sort of way, and Eddie laughs, wet and amused. 

"I have no bones, my bones have gone," Eddie says, collapsing to the sheets, laying in his own wet spot and not giving a flying fuck. 

Steve will just have to clean him up. Take care of him. So, Steve rubs his back, and then presses his thumb against Eddie hole. Loose and wet, so fucking wet.

Steve leans down and runs his tongue over it, flat and soothing, and Eddie sighs, content, "That feels good."

Steve rubs his hand on Eddie's ass cheek, and Eddie tries to spread his legs further, as Steve presses his tongue to him, over and over, cleaning him up, soothing him. 

And then Eddie is finally quiet, finally still. Because he's fallen asleep.

Steve will have to move him, have to clean up the bed, but for now, he just rests his cheek against Eddie's bare side, throwing his arm over Eddie's damp thighs, now wet with sweat instead of water from the shower, and closes his eyes.

And smiles.

Steve does like it. The brattiness. Lives for it, honestly. Longs for that spark in Eddie's eyes, asking, begging, pleading, trusting Steve to do something about it. Trusting Steve to do so many things that Eddie will love, even if he pretends he doesn't, the whole goddamn way.

That is, until Eddie is finally settled and still, satisfied, just like he is in this very moment. Lightly snoring, a sound that is music to Steve's ears. Background noise that means he's home.

And Steve presses his lips to Eddie's skin, loving on him a little bit more.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @subeddieweek and follow along with the fun! 🖤

My other fics for this challenge week:

Day One Day Two Day Four Day Five Day Six Day Seven

[elodiah]

WIP Wednesday

How. How is it Wednesday again? What even is time, srsly.

Revival: Homecoming

“Mobius,” a welcome voice greeted him warmly, and he’d barely even spun around before B-15 grabbed him in a brief but firm hug.

“Hey B,” he smiled at her, and she turned to beam at Loki before giving him the same treatment. He looked a little awkward as he hugged her back, and Mobius couldn’t help but grin at his apparent discomfort caused by basic friendly affection.

“Look at you,” she said to Loki as she pulled away, holding him at arms’ length. “You look amazing, Loki, I can hardly even believe the difference.”

Loki flushed a little.

”The difference attributed to several very long months away… and then some?” he pointed out with a lopsided smirk, and she rolled her eyes sassily.

“Oh, you must be well overdue to get your lazy ass back to work then,” she threw at him, and he folded his arms, chin lifting and mouth opening as he prepared to serve.

Mobius saw this as his cue to step in, and he did so with haste.

“Much as I’d love to see round two of your little sparring match kick off from exactly where you guys left it — in the Before, come to think of it — I’d actually really like to dump these bags somewhere they’re not a gargantuan trip hazard.” He tossed B a questioning look. “Did you- ah… did you…?”

B-15 gave a preemptive nod, her eyes flicking to Loki for half a moment.

”Arrangements have been made,” she confirmed with a frankly maddening smug gleefulness, and Mobius got the distinct impression she was enjoying their changed relationship status to an unreasonable degree. “Go see them at reception up there, they’ll be expecting you.”

No-pressure tags for @kcscribbler , @lokimobius , @loki-is-my-kink-awakening , @in-my-loki-feels , @insomniaflarrow , @mirilyawrites , @thosegayoldmen , @silentxsymphony , @impulsemuppet , @blackbirdofasgard , @zephyrsobsessions

[gorae]

two's company, three's a crowd

pairing — kim sunwoo x gn!reader

tags — fluff, a few curse words, sunwoo, eric, and you are close friends, pining!sunwoo, i wasn’t planning to make it this long but i got carried away so 1.1k words <3 t_t

to say that the weather feels hot today is an understatement. to quote sunwoo, “it feels like you’re in satan’s asshole” (to which you punch his arm for giving you a visualization that you didn’t ask for).

you don’t remember whose idea it was to go to an amusement park at 12 pm on a hot summer day. it’s not like you could even attempt to remember anyway; the heat is causing your brain to hot wire and all you can think of is dumping a bucket of iced water over your head.

“it’s so hot today,” you whine, complaining for the nth time. you fight against the urge to lean back against the bench since it might cause your clothes to stick against your sweat-slick back.

“you know why it’s hotter than usual?” eric asks.

unlike you, eric sits comfortably with his back resting against the bench, paying no mind to the clothes clinging on to his skin. you eye his muscle tank enviously. you should’ve worn something like that.

“no.”

he pops a piece of cotton candy that he tore off into his mouth. “it’s because i’m here.”

you stare blankly at eric, to which he responds with a shameless grin.

“what were you talking about?”

you look up, squinting a bit before your eyes adjust to the bright lighting. sunwoo stands before you, with a glorious chocolate milkshake in his hand. you gulp at the sight.

“nothing.” you answer. “eric was being annoying. you know; as usual.” you scoot a little in your seat, letting sunwoo sit in between you and eric.

“so nothing out of the ordinary.”

“yeah.”

“i’m sitting right here, you know,” eric chimes in.

sunwoo looks at him pointedly. “we know.”

eric scoffs before eating another piece of his cotton candy. both of you snicker at his response.

conversations (and bickering) between the three of you continue as per usual, but your eyes are still trained on sunwoo’s beverage. droplets of water roll off the plastic surface, making you wonder how refreshing it would be to gulp the drink down your parched throat.

as if on cue, sunwoo takes a sip of his milkshake, and you can only watch as his adam’s apple bob up and down as he drinks. groaning internally, you regret refusing to go stand in a long line and buy drinks with sunwoo. the queue would’ve been worth it.

sunwoo isn’t oblivious to your longing stare. in fact, he’s noticed it ever since he approached you and eric. he’s been patiently waiting for you to ask him for a sip yourself; that was until he’s grown tired of the miserable expression on your face. “y/n.”

“hm?”

sunwoo smiles in amusement. your eyes are still on his milkshake, even when he called your name. “my eyes are up here.”

you blink, finally making eye contact with him. “right.”

sunwoo surpresses a laugh, overcome by the unbearable need to coo at your cute expression when you frown involuntarily. “you thirsty?” he outstretches his hand, offering you his drink.

your eyes shine. you look like you just won five million dollars when all sunwoo did was offer you his drink. “really?”

he nods his head. it didn’t take you long for you to register his approval. you immediately take a few gulps of the cold, sugary drink as he holds the cup still for you.

sunwoo freezes. he knows this isn’t a big deal. it shouldn’t be a big deal. but he feels like there’s something intimate about you drinking from a cup that he’s still holding instead of taking it from him beforehand. or maybe it’s not that big of a deal and he’s just overthinking it.

you pull away, and sunwoo quickly recovers from his frozen state. but much to his confusion, instead of grinning and thanking him, your eyebrows are knit together. “sunwoo, i think you need to get your milkshake away from me. i might finish it.”

he laughs and then shrugs. “i don’t mind.”

you ignore him. sunwoo watches your eyes travel from him to his drink, and then to the line in front of the shop selling cold beverages. “i think i’m gonna go get my own.”

“i’ll get another one. you can have mine.” sunwoo offers while he watches you stand up and collect your things.

you stay motionless for a bit, considering his offer. still, you shake your head. “no, it’s okay. i want to try a different flavor anyway.”

nodding, he lets you go without saying another word. he watches your retreating back as you walk to the far end of the line. you catch his eye and give him a small wave and a grin. sunwoo smiles back, his heart missing a few beats.

“dude.”

sunwoo jumps in his seat. he has completely forgotten about eric’s existence, who’s sitting right next to him. eric sniggers at his reaction while sunwoo turns to him with a bored expression. “what?”

“you are so obvious.”

“shut up.” sunwoo rolls his eyes.

he regrets telling eric about his crush on you. at first, sunwoo gave him the benefit of the doubt. he believed that maybe, eric is going to be an amazing wingman for him and help him out. but to be perfectly candid, he’s been nothing but a pain in the ass.

a few seconds of silence pass, and eric’s lips morph into a smirk.

sunwoo knows that smirk. it’s the ‘i-know-something-you-don’t’ smirk. he has to hold himself back before he tries to punch the smirk off eric’s face. “god, whatever you’re gonna say, just say it. the look on your face is really annoying me.”

“are you sure you want me to-”

“eric, for fuck’s sake-”

“okay, okay! fine.” eric throws his hands up in defense. and then he smirks. again. “you just shared a straw with y/n.”

sunwoo cocks an eyebrow, wordlessly asking eric to continue.

eric sighs, mumbling an insult to sunwoo’s intelligence under his breath. “meaning… you just indirectly kissed them.”

eric’s laughter becomes white noise as sunwoo realizes the shared indirect kiss between the two of you. his mind turns blank, his heartbeat rapidly beating in his ears. heat travels up to his face when his eyes unknowingly went back searching for you and met yours. you tilt your head, confused with his expression.

after shaking his head at you, sunwoo angrily whips his head to face eric again. “thanks a lot, man. really,” he says flatly, a deadpan expression on his face.

eric snorts. it’s funny that he’s still trying to seem nonchalant when the obvious tinge of red is coloring the tips of sunwoo’s ears. “no problem. but maybe actually mean it next time.”

“fuck you.”

sunwoo is never inviting eric to hang out together ever again.