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[mqverick]

red murder || . ｡˚ ✧

mature themes, 18+

blood mentioned, consider yourselves warned

“Shower me in blood, child

Shower me in lipstick.”

·:*────────── ✮ ───────── *:·

A biblical angel. The meaningless chatter of the riches was faintly evident in the atmosphere as you locked eyes with someone, who you didn’t know at all, who had such a striking stare into, not only your weak eyes, but also your entire body. He looked like a biblical figure, an angel perhaps, but there was something about the way he stood, shoulder lazily leaned against the velvet curtain, that pegged him not to be a creature of purity.

No, he was so distinguished and poignant, that it made you forget who you even were. Despite the fact that he was the one boring into your soul, you found yourself inexplicably dependent upon the gaze he’d cast on you, as if your heart would simply get squeezed stopped if he looked away.

Captivating could be another word to describe the façade of the luscious blonde haired stranger, eyes politely stiffed into the pockets of his expensive, elegant coat, decorated by golden buttons that shone under the dim light of the room. His eyes were either gray or hazy blue; either way they drew you in dangerously, causing you to get deeply lost in their shadowy gravitation. You wondered why he was, only for the sake of it, knowing well that the chances of getting to see him outside of the gathering were close to zero. Nevertheless, your insides turned painfully up and down as he kept the eye contact strong as ever, mind twisting at the thought of what he could possibly be thinking about.

Whoever he was, you hoped dearly that he’d have no ability to read minds, otherwise you were as good as gone. You were still young and inexperienced, but that never stopped your imagination. The corners of his lips turned into a slight smirk as he finally looked away, giving you the chance to regain control over yourself and remember how it felt to breathe. Who was he?

You opted to avoid approaching him, dreading the inevitable possibility of fainting upon his aristocratic stance. You walked into the mass of the crowd, fading into the pretentious laughters and snickers, heart beating fast into your chest as you placed your gloved hand over it on your chest, hoping it’d help it get back to its steady rhythm. You found escape in a dark hallway.

You felt dizzy just by the look of a wanderer in a charity ball. You took a deep breath, squeezed your eyes shut to regain your consciousness and let your pupils blur back to their senses. Your chest heaved painfully when you caught sight of his piercing icy eyes glowing into the obscurity of the room. You need to run, a tiny voice rang in your head, but the buzzing sounds of the blood pumping right into your ears was too loud to not cover the challenging warnings of your inner conscience. Your legs stayed frozen in place, blood running cold in your throbbing veins.

He finally approached you, slowly but with steady steps. The limited light blended with his skin, which you could still barely make out as his eyes moved up and down your body. He looked abnormal once again and you wanted to scream from the top of your lungs, but something inside you prevented you from making the smallest sound. You opted for playing it nonchalant.

“Have we met?” you asked firmly, eyebrows knitting together at the soft chuckle he let out.

“I believe not, at least not yet. I’ve noticed you. From across the room you captured my attention,” the curves of his mouth went up slightly as the smirk on his face grew larger and evidently smugger. “Don’t be nervous, my love.”

“Me nervous?” you asked, voice trembling now.

“Indeed you are, no? The way you’re standing here just like you stood back in the main room, all by yourself. Legs weak, the small shake of your knees… I can see it all.” His eyes wandered down your neck, growing particularly fond of the little vein there pump your warm, sweet blood. You followed his gaze, unable to see what he was so fixated on, catching back his attention as you pulled your sleeve higher up the shoulder in a kind of discomfort that you couldn’t really explain.

“What are you?” you found yourself questioning.

Not who, but what. The name and origin of the man did not concern you as much as how he possibly managed to look so pale, yet stand alive in front of you very eyes, with such a pompous demeanor. He chuckled, still intensely gazing at the side of your neck, down to your collarbone, then back at your lips. Shivers ran down your spine, but you kept your calmness, at least on the outside. You slightly tilted your head and waited for an answer, but instead, he gave you a smile.

One that you could not read for the sake of it.

Was he enjoying holding you in the emotional state of mind that you were in that moment, while he stood barely five steps away from you? you pondered quietly in your head, but it was almost as the man in front of you could read every single thought behind that head of yours. Your heart drummed against your chest, you backed away with every small step he took closer to you.

“Don’t be frightened, my love. I mean no harm.”

The tone of his voice and newfound appearance, that you’d truly never seen in any other person before, pegged you to think otherwise. “Quit calling me that,” you gritted through your teeth.

“Fine. Maybe I do mean you a little harm.” He burst out in chuckles the second he noticed your eyes slightly widen at his statement. You were at loss of words — what was so amusing to him?

“What is it that you need from me?” you tried again, but there was nothing you could possibly elicit from him that wasn’t a snarky snicker or stomach aching smirk. Your eyes fogged with fear and an inexplicable desire for knowing him better as you watched him grin the same time your pulse quickened significantly. You took another cautionary step back. He took one forward.

“I want to give you the choice…” he said carefully upon the cell of your ear, long fingers coming up to slightly graze against the skin of your jawline. He lets the sharp edge of his metallic ring barely, just barely, follow the curve of your cheek, causing a thin, white line to form as he pressed with enough force to just see a scar forming, but not letting any blood come out of it. You couldn’t help but feel the sensation of pure bliss to the way he touched your face, even though the voice that urged you to save yourself and run was getting louder and louder by every passing second. “…That I never had. You could come with me, spend the rest of your life by my side, be the companion that I’ve longed for for years.”

Your heart was racing. You were astonished by the choice — half of a choice, you’d call it, since he hadn’t given you the second part of it yet — he’d proposed. You could feel every vein, either thick or thin, pump wildly the blood through it, until it reached up in your brain, blinding it completely from any logic you’d ever owned. “And why shall I be the companion of a man I’ve barely spoken five words to?” you replied sarcastically.

“Because I could take all the pain away. Give you a life like mine… where pain, suffering and death don’t exist. I could make you stronger, faster, smarter, give you all that the world has to offer, that you mortals never seem to seize… or even understand. You could be forever youthful. Just give yourself to me.” Your breath got suddenly stuck in your throat, a look of shock temporarily wrapping around your reddening eyes as you kept them open, momentarily forgetting how to blink.

“And what would happen if I don’t wish for that?”

He looked up, as if mockingly enough for your poor naivety, then swiftly grabbed you by the throat, your voice disappearing instantly. His fingers gripped around the sides and you felt his ring hurting into the skin, but it felt as though he’d cast some sort of spell that could not enable the sense to escape or even speak. “I could take your life away and no one would even come to find you,” he whispered gently in your ear.

Once he removed his hand from around your neck, you could finally start breathing again as the dizzying blur slowly faded away. He looked at you with anticipation, waiting for your reply.

“And how shall you ever do that? I could scream right now and have you be the one lying dead.”

“So blissfully unaware…” he mumbled softly, and like a ray of light, you heard him hiss as something sharp — the hard surface of… teeth… more specifically fangs? — threateningly bordered on the lower side of your exposed neck, which he held with his hand, tilting your head towards the wall that was across from you.

The epiphany hit you so suddenly and quickly that you had to refrain yourself from yelping, now finally out of the state of oblivion you danced around into. A vampire. A vampire, you figured, kept muttering in your hallowing brain in order to genuinely get yourself to pull out of the fanzines of what could’ve been a dreadful nightmare, when it was reality, hard, cold reality splashing into you like a bucket of freezing ice water.

“I’d rather you finish me than make me that loathsome creature of your own,” you struggled to breathe out, nevertheless the voice came out firm and dominant, to which Lestat turned a blind eye to as he moved up closer, invading your personal space and almost having you pinned against the rocky surface of the wall behind you.

“Your wish shall be my command, my child.”

The last thing that you remembered before a soul consuming cloud of darkness covered the bright ability of vision you owned was the faded blur of the vampire kneeling down, as you slowly began to lose sense and control over your own legs and brain. Lestat, as you’d found out his name was, had been sitting by your side on the maroon silky sheets of his own bed, carefully running his long, skinny fingers through your neat locks. The way the lamp on his nightstand shone made your hair look like they were going to catch on fire. The vampire hummed in pleasure as he let his eyes flutter shut for just one second, during which he only came in contact with the feel of your velvety hair that so smoothly rolled around his steady digits. A first blink, then another. You were in a room that you didn’t recognize, nor felt comfortable in. Your pupils were dilated as you awoke from the slumber, sclera pinkish to red instead of white, as if you’d been crying.

Nothing about the setting felt familiar. Your sighting soon got restored and the heart was caught inside your throat when you laid your eyes upon his face, golden hair falling on top of his shoulders, face pale — almost white — but still beautiful; like he was filled with life, as ironic as that may be. Suddenly, you were hit with all the memories that ruggedly formed into your brain before you’d fallen unconscious on him at that ball. You pulled back, your head just an inch from hitting the wall behind as he laughed amusedly.

“Wake up… I’ve waited for so long to hear you speak once more…” he spoke in a gentle whisper that almost felt like a lingering caress on your cheek, his eyes glittering in the dim light. “Wake up, my love.”

Your limbs were somewhat trembling, power of defense against him unknown, as you fought back the urge to scream from the top of your lungs, unable to prevent his next move. There was something about the way he’d sat next to you, all so calm and unbothered, you almost wished you knew what was going on in his mind behind those light blue — almost gray — eyes. It had caused a newfound sense of anxiousness for the unexpected to pit deeply into the curves of your stomach, retinas glossy and puffy as he moved his hand on top of yours. You retrieved it immediately, but the action didn’t seem to dishearten him enough to cut the physical contact with you. Instead, it encouraged him to stomp even further into your space, cold index finger lightly, almost caring, grazing the outline of your chin’s shuddering skin.

It felt rewarding for Lestat; having you in such a state of mind, helpless, completely at his mercy. Your fate depended solely upon him and him only, even if that meant you’d have to beg him to spare you. He had no hostile intentions towards you, though, just simply enjoyed the way the terror entered your body, as you fought against it.

“Don’t be afraid,” he cooed, but you snorted.

“You spoke the same words earlier and here I am, in the house of a stranger, vainly trying to gather back my senses.” The tone of your voice was still on the same line that you’d left it during the first conversation with him at the ball. If Lestat was blind, he would’ve foolishly believed you weren’t frightened by him at all, which excited him.

How was it possible that such a beautiful creature, human amongst humans, had managed to evade his attention all that time? The tip of his thumb padded the side of your jawline softly, rubbing small circles there. “You’re troubled, my dear. I must refrain from my nature if I want to have you by my side, thus you shall not be scared about my actions towards you.”

“And why such kindness, if I may ask?”

Lestat’s eyes lingered on each feature of your face as he drank in the image of you, the woman who had captivated him, as much to the character as to the looks. The hair delicately falling on your shoulders, stopping just before the curve of your breasts, which was deep enough for him to study, every detail of each curve. The fear that consumed you in that very moment, as he sat so close to you, made something in him stir, a hunger that could not and would not be denied.

“Your human nature… it fascinates me.” His grin broadened, his voice thick with desire. He slowly reached out, brushing away the hair on your soft cheek. “The way you perceive things so fiercely, even though death threatens you at every second. Mortality is a curse, my love. I would save you from it. But I have no need for your blood.”

“Oh, Lestat, but you’re a fool, I’m afraid,” you spoke with a satisfied smirk upon your lips. He tilted his head in confusion, still seemingly intrigued nevertheless. “Immortality makes a man miserable. You forget to love and live. And what is the purpose that you’ve brought me here for? Be your eternal companion? I’ll never be yours. Let the years make me your slave for as much time shall pass, but the end of my life will come and find me one day, and I’ll be free again.”

Lestat’s brows furrowed in frustration as he took your words in. “You’re such an ungrateful woman,” he gritted through his teeth, the previous sweetness of his voice now completely gone. There was a small fire burning in his eyes, but that didn’t frighten you either, seeing as you preferred him to kill you in rage rather than sugar talk you with fake desires. Your heart pounded.

“If you don’t let me go on your own terms, I’m going to scream. Kill me for it, if you must, I won’t bring any resistance. I’m giving you a choice.”

The irony of your own choice of words made Lestat’s blood boil. You, a no one human being, had the audacity to twist his words into a joke?

“Scream all you like, my dear. It would serve you no purpose.” And as soon as the sentence left his mouth, you screamed from the top of your lungs for help, eyes watering in anticipation. Lestat got up from the bed, leaned against the wall as he crossed his hands across his chest, waiting.

He watched you with his typical air of amusement as you screamed in terror. Finally, a maid entered the chamber, concern and stress written all over her tired face from the yell that had echoed all the way downstairs. Her poor French accent soon died down her lips as she asked “Ce qui s’est passé?” while looking around for any suspicious actions. Lestat took her by the throat, sinking his fangs deeply into the collarbone as he used the sharp ring on his thumb to cut a small line there open, killing her faster. The blood began to pour down the entire floor, thick, dark and warm. He looked refreshed as he pulled away, throwing her limb body onto the ground as you watched in utter fear and disgust. Not the tiniest hint of a sound was able to come out of you as you covered your mouth in shock, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your entire body felt electrified.

Lestat smiled, savoring your qualm. He came back closer to where you were sat, shaking his head in disapproval. “Look what you’ve caused now… Are you happy with yourself?” You turned to glare at him, flames shooting through your red eyes as he kept trying to hold a laugh back.

“You’re foul! That woman was not involved!”

Suddenly, his face hardened. “I told you no one would come to help you,” he spoke, standing over you, the blood of the maid dripping down his cheek, painting his clothed chest like an empty canvas. “You have no choice but to turn to me, for I am the only chance you have at survival.”

“I loathe you,” you gritted through your teeth.

Lestat couldn’t help but smile at your disdain. He approached you slowly, his eyes moving up your body and then to your neck. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he spoke once more, his voice a whisper. “Good. Use that hatred. Hate me as much as you desire. It won’t stop you from coming to me, it’ll only make the urge stronger.”

You sighed, falling back into the bed as your hands clasped tightly over your eyes, hair messy and unruly as part of you accepted that his words weren’t just a figment of imagination. Somehow, you’d found yourself deeply lost into his midwinter eyes, ebbed ever so gently with cement, accentuated every feature of his sharp characteristics, glistening like stars melted in platinum. You wanted more, just like the way he’d predicted; more of those eyes, of his life, of who and how he turned into a vampire, if he missed his mortality at all, whether or not he enjoyed poetry as much as you did…

Ravishing was a way to put it. Lestat had wrapped you helplessly around his angelic — or was it even demonic? — charm, pulling you in further and further just like core electrons are tightly bound to the nucleus. You wished to escape from the invisible grasp, but you couldn’t.

“Do you miss your mortality, Lestat?” you asked out of nowhere and he looked a bit taken aback by your choice of question. Nevertheless, he came and sat back by your side on the bed, allowing himself to admire the way the silky fabric of your dress had fallen just a tad down your smooth shoulders.

“At times I do…” he spoke without hesitating, his voice a gentle, almost scared, murmur as his eyes fell to the ground. “There are times when I yearn for the sensation of being human once more. I miss the sense of wonder and discovery that comes with being mortal, and the feeling of truly experiencing life for the first time...” He looked back up at you in front of him a faint smile curling on his lips. “You remind me of that feeling, my love. That is why I chose you.”

You sighed in defeat and despair. There was no possible way out of this, you reckoned, just needed to find the will and strength to make amends with what the future held for you.

───

The following night, you allowed him to dress you up in the prettiest dress you’d ever laid upon your body. The burgundy colour and the rich, but delicate fabric fell down your curves so harmoniously that Lestat looked mesmerized by the way it draped over you. He’d complimented your figure as lovely and even though the certain choice of words had given your mind a little dizzy spin, you’d shown zero reaction to him. Instead, you followed him, arm strictly wrapped around his own as you strolled down the dark paths, before he opened the door to a ravishing ball for you. The memories came crashing down like a violent wave of déjà vu, that you so desperately wanted to wash off your mind.

Ironically enough, with your arms entangled, you felt some inexplicable sort of safety. You didn’t recognize any of the people there, but Lestat had promised you a fancy night out, just for the sake of it — and who were you to say no? He narrated the background of the marquess, who was sat royally in the middle of the main hall, two young male servants on each side of where her chair was placed, laughing politely along with her.

“See her? That’s the widow St. Clair. She had that young fop murder her husband,” he whispered lowly into your ear, causing the small hairs on the back of your neck to tingle. You gave him a strange and unconvinced look.

“How dare you speak such words of felony?”

“I can read her thoughts,” Lestat’s voice rang clear, that same soft murmur filling his throat. He looked at you with a playful grin; he enjoyed watching your expressions as you came into realization of the extent of his abilities. He also noticed your sudden freeze, and the corners of his lips broadened. “The thoughts run deep inside a mortal’s mind. They’re so easy to read, and so tempting to listen to,” he whispered. His voice was soft, sensual as he came even closer to you...

“And… and you’ve invaded my thoughts already, I shall presume?” You didn’t need an answer to your own question, already confidently aware of what his reply would be. “What am I thinking of?”

His tone was gentle as his own thoughts wandered inside of your mind, listening to the sounds of your consciousness and the things you thought of. “You’re wondering why I’m even bringing you to such a social gathering. You’re contemplating a way to get out of it... but you’re also secretly curious as to what kind of people will be attending such an event,” he leaned into your ear, his breath coming out warm against your skin. “You’re scared, my love. I can hear your heart accelerating in your chest. The faint sounds of your mind wandering into unknown territory.”

Your cheeks grew red and the saliva barely made it past your throat as it slithered down the length of it in a painful manner. He’d read you like an open book and you didn’t even have to speak a word out loud for him to come to said assumption. It indeed terrified you; how he’d been able to invade the privacy of your own mind, how you weren’t and would never be able to stop him from doing such thing, simply because the desire to stay in peace was beyond your power.

Lestat let a small smirk cross over his face as you blushed. He had found it was rather humorous how he could always seem to have this effect on you. “Don’t be shocked. It’s a trick I’ve learned over my years as a vampire. It’s… become something I hold no control over; if I focus on one person too long, I can hear the innermost secrets of their mind, their desires… their sins.”

“Their desires, you say…?”

You couldn’t help the question when it flew out of your mouth, just like a young child yearning for knowledge of its world. Lestat smirked.

“Yes. Even their most intimate desires... it’s quite intriguing to see the depths of the mortal realm.”

“I want to know about your desires, in that case.”

“Is that so?” his low voice was inviting, close to seductive, you beckoned. His eyes momentarily took a glance at your long legs and the way the dress fell over them, before you spoke again.

“It’s only fair since you know my own ones, already. And don’t even dare deny such thing, I know for a fact that you’ve done it.”

“How perceptive of you, my beloved,” Lestat’s voice was still a soft whisper, tracing the outline of the call of your ear, and he stepped even closer to your side. His breath hitched slightly as he took in the scent of your skin, your femininity. His eyes traced down to your lips again, and his own desires came to life. “At this moment, my desires are simple... they include the two of us alone… together... no one else.”

“No one else…” you repeated with a fragile tone.

The vampire’s voice lowered as his eyes wandered down your body once more, taking in the way your chest rose and fell with your short breaths. “I imagine the two of us without the noise of the crowded ballroom. The way that no one else is there to hinder us… our bodies would merge together, with no one around to intrude as, you and I… free to do as we please.” His mind wandered to the possibility of you alone in his room, of what you could do.

“Oh?” you encouraged him to go on, as if less than twenty four hours ago, you hadn’t uttered out that you loathed him. “You’re always so poetic when you want to end up in bed with someone, Lestat? Speak more to me with what we’d do. In this volume of voice… these words…”

You were undoubtedly washed with a sense of newfound arousal for the vampire and it didn’t escape his attention. His voice had grown raspy with the words that poured from him, a certain type of hunger coming over him as you listened.

“I can’t help but wonder about your sudden change of heart,” he chuckled with a smirk.

“I’m weak at this very moment and I’m letting you take advantage of it. We’ll go back to your manor and we’ll have all the privacy we need… we can spend the night alone, together, as you said.”

His eyes were locked on yours as his mind continued to drift away into those lustful desires. He craved you, wanted you in a way that not even his vampire nature could fully comprehend. Your hands curled around the lapels of his silky shirt and you then run your fingers all the way down his body until they clasped around his own hands.

You couldn’t tell how the time passed, finding yourself from one moment to another; from a fancy, loud ballroom, to a oaken, hand carved door that led into a lavish French-furnished bedroom, which you had —oh, so well — gotten used to. There were heavy shades on the window, an almost magical mosquito netting falling across the sides from the bed, like golden tears. You looked around for a moment, trying to help the blur of your thoughts to comprehend that this was beyond a dream reality, that it was life.

Life, as ironic as it might seem.

Lestat walked behind you as he shut the door, step light and slow. He took his time with tracing the outline of your shoulder blades that the dress allowed you to reveal, his index finger gracefully teasing the skin with only the physical contact of the digit and the bit of the nail that stuck out. His breath hitched when his hand travelled lower on your back, right hand coming up to twirl the tip of the zipper playfully, silently asking you for permission for his next move. He’d ordered all the staff to leave, so that when you’d entered through the mansion’s doors, he’d locked it behind them.

He could see you hesitate, not that he cared much about it. It was certain to Lestat that once the silence fell in, you’d come to be too focused on your intimacy with him to think back on your own emotional barriers. His assumptions proved true, once he quickly unzipped your dress and you looked back at him from over your shoulder with parted lips, not complaining, not asking him to stop. His eyes were almost sparkling as the candle light flickered on your pale face.

“Lestat…” you hummed, mostly as a plead.

But he didn’t say anything back, just picked you up in his arms, laid you upon the velvet sheets of his bed and getting on top, his gaze captivating and unnerving, head tilting to the side so that he could plant a trail of wet, sensual kisses all the way down to your neck, his tongue resting against the veins that popped out as you stretched your head backward for better access.

Lestat’s body was pressed flushed against yours, his now wrinkled shirt fallen down midway through his shoulders, revealing his bare chest as his mouth travelled further down, his left hand gripping around your neck. He moaned softly as he tasted the sweet scent of your skin, the feeling of your pulse rising against his own body.

“Please,” his voice was an alluring murmur as he spoke, his thumb stroking your collarbone. He could feel the desire growing within him to posses you, take you as his own. “Let me have you.”

───

You reckoned it was still nighttime when your heavy eyelids began fluttering open. You recognised the sound of a soft snore next to your ear, a pair of still wet and plump lips caressing and tickling the spot right below your earlobe. You slightly rose from the bed, careful as to not disturb Lestat and rubbed your eyes, but you instantly regretted the action, seeing as the chilly weather trapped inside the huge room caused your underdressed body to shiver. You brought the covers close to your chin and appreciated Lestat’s features. His body next to you didn’t offer much warmth, but the just feeling of having him there in such state had your cheeks matching a crimson shade of red. You hummed in pleasure.

You didn’t mean to wake him, nor made any sound to achieve such thing, but somehow, he’d half-opened his stunning eyes. You were still afraid of him, even if it was somewhat there. He smiled unintentionally when he acknowledged your presence, but didn’t say a word.

“This… it doesn’t have to mean anything,” you were quick to speak in a shaky voice. He only offered you a chuckle in response, bringing a hand out to brush the hair that fell into your face back behind your cheek, hugging you closer to his body. You wanted to attempt to feel his heartbeat, but somehow, your own was loud enough to cover any other possibly existing sound.

Lestat pulled the blanket over the two of you and rested the side of his face on top of your head as he laid a gentle kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes again and he leaned closer, his lips hovering just above yours with his breath being warm and inviting, as if beckoning you to merge with his own body. “Dream of me, my darling.”

───

You poured the second steep and drank out of the fine china cup, noticing the fragrance of the tea. Sweet Vietnamese cinnamon with a hint of floral honeysuckle that began to wrap around your head like the ‘I rivali di se stessi’. You’d really outdone yourself with the tea, finding the variety of herbs and scents in Lestat’s kitchen a joyful surprise to kill time with. You’d woken to the sound of what was almost identical to the pitter patter of sensuous rain on the windowsill. You saw him sitting at the huge, shining black instrument that looked like the sky on a cool summer night, coaxing impossibly soothing and amazing melodies from it. Lestat seemed lost as his fingers flew over the keys like swallows darting in a pond for fish. You sat on the couch across from him and sipped your tea with tired eyes.

“Why’d you stop?” you questioned once the sound was gone and his fingers were just resting on top of his knees. His breath was lost, too.

“You want me to keep playing?” His voice was hoarse and rasped, and he seemed to have lost some of the energy he had when you’d first met him. You pondered the reason, but not out loud.

“Sure.” He began to play again, the same slow, sad melody. You couldn’t help but wonder if it reflected the way he’d been feeling inside. As his fingers strolled through the keys, he looked at you from time to time, almost as if he wanted to say something, but his words always failed him before. “…When did you learn to play?”

“Hm?” He looked away from the piano briefly, his hand not stopping from playing. He didn’t seem to expect the question however, and so he felt a bit taken back. He began to speak slowly, as if he had to think about his answer a little. “My mother taught me how to play. She was a musician and she was very talented. She was a pianist...” He paused to think again. He didn’t want you to know much about his past, especially his human years, but he didn’t want you to think that he was just trying to change the subject either.

“Oh?”

“Yes…” Lestat replied softly, his tone remained steady. “She taught me how to play music, but also helped me understand it. It’s a form of… expressing, even if you can’t physically say it, you play it. Play with your heart, your emotions.”

His hand continued under the same melody, although his voice felt a bit more nostalgic. Still, you watched intently, your eyes following his every movement slightly from over the cup you held against your lips. You’d taken a fancy to the way he spoke sometimes, to his life and past.

“Did you have any family? I mean, besides your mom…” You knew the question was wrong and uncalled for, but it felt as though a burden leapt out from your body as it left your curious mouth. Lestat removed his hands from the instrument and got up. The heart trapped against your ribs was hammering, unable to know what feelings and memories of his you’d just triggered.

“Family?”

“Yeah,” you assured him. He didn’t seem any kin to reply to your question, however. “I’ve run away from mine. Mother held a knife to my throat every time settling down was mentioned amongst the family dinners. Said I’m old enough to convert to a church and become a nun. I don’t particularly care for marriage or any other form of settling down for that matter. I’ve got a free spirit that won’t rest until I travel in every inch of the world.”

You noticed him smile a little, weakly. But you could see him hesitating, hold back, suddenly all stiff. You asked him again about his family, but the only thing you managed to get out of him was a defeated murmur about the story having faded along the line, that it didn’t matter anymore.

“My story is much similar to yours… but it’s a long one, and it’s mostly full of unpleasant memories,” he said softly. Lestat could see in your gaze an unspoken desire to know more of his past, but he couldn’t allow you to witness the ugly side of him just yet. You urged to push him to reveal more, nevertheless, genuinely interested and curious.

“You ran away too?”

“It’s none of your concern to know that.”

His tone raised, frustrated now. You’d hit a nerve, it was certain, but would you risk to upscale his mood, whose limitations you hadn’t explored yet? You simply stared at him as he walked towards the heavy, red and golden curtains, turning his back at you. It wasn’t hard to realise that he couldn’t bare look at you, that if he did, you might’ve taken advantage of reading the raw emotions across his features, a curse that followed him through his early teenage years, up until for all eternity — as the future held to him.

“Whose concern is it then? I don’t see anyone else trapped in this prison of a manor!”

“Prison... prison?!” Lestat heard the comment, and it caused him to feel anger stir inside of him. You didn’t know what a prison felt like, this estate and this mansion was... “This estate is not a prison,” he said harshly, before yanking you by the arm and dragging you across the room in swift movements, all the way down to the basement.

The door that opened to the cold and damp room was torn down, old enough that the woody material on it had lost its brownish colour. Instead, it was a light beige, spider webs all over the rusty metal mechanisms that held it together. He pushed you inside, throwing you with force that caused you to miss your step and fall flat painfully against the dusty ground. He slammed the door behind you as he got in, teeth gritted.

“What the devil is going on inside your sick mind?!” you screamed, getting up back on your legs as you dusted your dress off. Your eyes matched his, sharp, snapping as they glowered.

“You want to live in a prison, yes? Have my blessing in that case,” he responded. You’d insulted him, the place he owned and grew himself up in. He held the door handle shut as he leaned against the door with his back facing it, patiently awaiting for your pleads to let you go. You understood that he wasn’t planning on freeing you any time soon and the anger bubbled within your nerves, matches starting fires in your head and heart. You didn’t mean the words that came out of you in the unfortunate moment, or maybe you did, to some extent, but it still hurt.

“I understand now why the memories of your family must be so unpleasant. No one would want a child like you, so arrogant and selfish. I pity the poor people!” Each letter escaped from your lips with poisonous stabs in Lestat’s heart.

He was stunned as the words reached his ears, hadn’t expected you to resort yourself in such a low place. “Is that so?” He needed to stay mad, slap you, punish you — do something, but all he could bring himself to dwell on were his years as a child, a human. He stared at you, reminiscing every detail, getting to live in his mortal body and soul for one last time as you speechlessly stared back at him, not finding the courage to apologize for the cruel level you’d stooped to. He heard you mutter his name as he almost broke the door in attempt of pushing it open, disappearing into his bedroom and locking himself inside. Ironically, his coffin felt freezing that night.

Lestat had lost the sense of understanding the climate around him a few centuries ago.

───

The next day passed and you still felt shaken. Lestat, with his usual tenderness toward you, had disappeared. Hadn’t spoken one word to you, not even walked in the same direction as you. It was weird how he’d managed such thing, seeing as you both lived under the same roof. The bed of one of the many guest rooms you’d chosen to hid into had been a ghost before your legs. It felt uncomfortable, unwelcoming, unable to hold your presence on it. You spent the night before scribbling drawings on a yellow paper you’d found in one of the nightstand’s drawers, not knowing what else to do with yourself. Twenty four hours being alone in a house with at least more than one lonely person. You took a deep breath and decided you needed to find him, see how he was doing. You’d softened towards him, it seemed, in less time than you’d expected. Your brain was still terrified to accept the idea of it, but the aching inside of your heart didn’t give it any other option.

You walked outside of the room and searched for him everywhere. Yvette told you she’d last seen him go outside. Back upstairs, you heard the soft sound of water running into the main bathroom and curiously walked over, leaning against the door just for a peak. Your mouth dropped and you shrieked loudly in unexpected terror. The bathtub went by the shade of an almost black red, thick, even if it merged with the water. There were bubbles covering the top and Lestat smirking next to it as he took a step closer.

“I prepared a bath for you,” he announced with a smile. You lost your voice along with every other possible function of your system. Lestat looked for a moment, the blood in it did fill him with a certain hunger that he had not felt before. He could almost taste it; the thought of you coming into the tub was almost alluring, he had imagined how you would look in that water... and how you would taste inside that water... he was salivating.

“W—Wh…What did you do?” you asked, your voice trembling, horrified at the freak show.

“What do you think I did?” his words came out with a cold tone, as he stared at you. His face was a bit grim, yet still his eyes were detailed with a certain lust. “You’re going to ask why, I assume. Why did I kill them…? Or why did I bring their blood here?” his voice was full of sarcasm as he spoke, he was making you more confused and scared, but this time, he was not planning to back down to your puzzled feelings and expressions.

“Both… Both!” You felt your knees weaken as you crumbled to the door behind you, the smell of the blood causing vomit to erupt in your throat. He looked at you as you collapsed upon the doorframe, the sound of your gag causing him to smirk a little. You had successfully lost all sense of control, and that was beyond pleasing to him.

“I killed them because I needed fresh blood,” he said slowly, he would not tell you anything more. A step closer, then a hand pointing at the tub, which haunted your soul. “Get in the tub.”

“No. No… no — no — you can’t… you can’t…!” You couldn’t speak. Your eyes were teary and your face had paled and he looked happier than ever. Lestat didn’t want to hear your plead, he didn’t want to hear you beg for mercy. His desire was taking over him, and now that he had killed a few poor slaves in the woods and the bloodlust inside of him had grown in intensity.

“You don’t have a choice.” He then walked towards you, his movements slow and precise. He wished to take what he wanted from you, no matter what you’d do to convince him otherwise. You’d cut deep with your previous words, which never went unnoticed nor forgotten. “I want to shower you in blood, my child.”

His eyes had grown a bright crimson as he got close to you, pulling you into his grip. You thought you were about to pass out, your body limped down on the floor, unable to move or resist. Lestat could feel your weakness, your fragility as you leaned against the door. One more pull and he began to drag you away from the wooden entry. You got more and more ill as the smell got stronger, your mind buzzing as his devious laughter echoed in it. Your throat was closing up and the need for air was growing more immense with your every weak breath. “Why are… you doing this?” you mustered with a middle pause.

“Because of what you said.”

“B-Because of what I… Leave! Let me go!”

You were kicking the air, panicking, trying to run away from him in desperate attempts. He smiled, twirled around your helpless body and hummed the melody of an old Italian song. The tears fell from your eyes artistically, in a way that they almost resembled the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Paradise, your hands clutching on every item possible for a steady grasp that would still his intentions, free you from them. As your ultimate option, you resulted in begging with choked sobs. The pleads caught him off guard.

He couldn’t tell if it was truly fear, or a ploy of some kind to get out of the situation. He was hesitant, yet still had a choice to make, and the limitations highlighted the accident of choosing poorly due to the temper of the moment. He could feel the moisture dripping from your eyes as you begged him not to do this to you, but the hunger for the fright your vocal chords held was still there, distracting him from judging correctly.

“You mocked me…” there was still a hint of anger in his voice, but not the overwhelming kind. In fact, he felt more collected than ever. You’d brought this situation upon yourself…

“This… Lestat, please, please, I want this to end, please…” you sobbed into the comfort of his neck, your arms wrapping around him as they trembled. Lestat could feel you shaking against him as you sobbed. The intensity that he had felt was now fading, a little empathy rising towards you for the first time since you’d insulted him. Your fear made you seem so much weaker, so much more vulnerable, and it made his heart hurt as he looked at you, unfamiliar with this side of you.

He couldn’t stay mad. And he had to let you go.

“You’re making it difficult for me to keep you safe. As much from others as from myself...” he said softly as he loosened his grip on you, his hand holding your arm now was a soft and gentle one. It was not the grip of a killer, it was the grip of a lover. Yet his eyes were a reminder, still burning.

“This… it’s a nightmare, right? None of this happened. The tub… it’s just a nightmare?” you asked him, deluding yourself into a lie that you believed would calm you down. You were still on the verge of passing out, your eyes heavy and swollen as they blinked the remaining tears away.

“Yes... it’s just a horrible nightmare,” he spoke softly as he kept holding onto you, he wanted to lie to you if that meant that you’d start feeling safe around him again, comfortable, that you’d forget all about the tub. He could tell you were still scared, even if you had relaxed a little. He would not allow you to be afraid, did not want you to remember any of this. He only wanted you to remember being safe in his arms.

“I’ll wake up to your bed tomorrow?”

“Indeed.”

“I need to go to your bed…” you murmured under your breath, your eyes half-lidded as he nodded and took you in his arms. Your head rested on top of his shoulder and you couldn’t really tell what was happening around you; what was real and what was not, but in your mind, it mattered no more than a useless piece of information. Lestat carried you all the way to his bedroom and helped you on the bed, as he removed a few layers of clothes of his own. You found the warmth of the scent this particular bed held somewhat comforting, that you weren’t alone anymore. He came up back by your side and stroked your hair as he kept whispering in French, a language that even though you spoke less than fluently, always seemed tricky to understand.

“Tu as un beau cou.” The poorly spoken words grazed just the outline of his vampire fangs as they left his mouth and embraced your throat. Lestat leaned down just a little to place a lingering kiss on the side of your neck, right were your pulse was beating — throbbing — in a way of letting you know that he’d provide you with eternal safety; even from his own self. He cherished the satisfied tiny moans you let out as his promises hugged your soul and sighed. Even with your presence around, his room still felt cold and for a moment he allowed himself to wonder if it’d feel the same way in case he were a human.

“Je sais, mon amour,” he heard you sheepishly reassure him, not understanding in the slightest how you’d managed to do such thing in all your tiredness and corpse-like state. He was the one with the ability to read the mortal mind, yet it seemed like you’d known every inch and depth of his darkest and deepest thoughts since the moment you laid eyes on him. And oh, how he wished you hadn’t. Because Lestat refused love.

He refused the idea of love, thought of it as something miserable and pessimistic, because how could anyone devote themselves so much to a person to forget their own problems and beliefs. Poems, philosophy, theatre, music; they all refused love in a way. The destructive kind.

But his head tilted to the side as he sat in his coffin, watching you descend to sleep, and suddenly he was gone from the world, helpless.

───

“I want to breathe fresh air. Your house is suffocating me,” you’d said to him only a few days later after finding the strength to look him back directly in the eyes like you weren’t afraid. He posed as a danger to you now, after the cruelty with the tub, but you were superior to any of his schemes. The walls suffocated you seeing as he barely let you walk around the town, afraid that he’d lose you, that you’d run away from him.

The sky that night was tranquil. The dark canvas of the it was adorned with countless points of light, like shimmering diamonds scattered across a velvet cloth. The celestial bodies twinkled and glimmered, casting a soft, ethereal glow that captivated the imagination. You always loved to watch the stars, to admire the constellations.

And that night, Lestat was in a good mood, so even though his reply had been hesitant at first, he’d eventually let you do as you wished. With his hand secured around yours, he’d promised to take you to his favourite place, his hiding spot as a newly discovered vampire, his memory founder. You strolled around the town, walked for what felt like several minutes. The setting was unfamiliar and the thought of getting lost crossed your anxious mind for a split second, but given to the concentration on his face, he seemed to know exactly the roads he strolled through. There was a small forest, one you’d never stumbled upon in all the years you spent in Louisiana, even though you were certain you’d walked past it at least once. The air was chilly and there were no others around in kilometers; just you and Lestat. It was the type of place that many nobles would avoid. It reminded you of the haunted forests your mother would read to you about in the night tales to put you to sleep.

“Here we are. Do you like it?” he asked as he let go of your hand, intertwining his fingers together as his hands fell over his crotch. He looked at you.

“Yeah, a lot actually. How come I’ve never known about this place before?”

“Well…” Lestat explained, “It’s an unnoticed spot. Not many appreciate its natural beauty,” he spoke softly, as he looked around the forest once again. “They’re afraid to come here at night, and they try not to pass by during day as well. I don’t know why, if that’s your next question.”

“And how did you discover it?”

“I used to come here often.” There was no use in hiding that answer. He had been a child who ran away, and during those years where he explored this vast estate, he had found this forest. He didn’t know it was haunted — according to the superstitions — back then, but even now when he was aware of it, he would come here often. He had not left for such a long time. It felt like home.

“By yourself?”

“Yes…” He knew the answer was pathetic, that it gave his longtime loneliness away, and he regretted admitting it out loud. “You know, we’re similar in more ways than just our past.”

Your eyebrow cocked in confusion. “And how is that, may I ask?” Lestat paused for a moment, as your question made him think. That part hadn’t always been so hard when it crossed his mind many nights during sleep. Perhaps it had been the fact that he didn’t have to look at you when he thought about his past, but... now he had to.

“We ran away from it. We both know what it’s like to be alone.”

“But we’re not alone anymore, isn’t that what you’re trying to say?” you listed his words before he could do it himself, your voice weary, tears burning in your eyes, even though you understood that he emotional pressure was more overwhelming for him than for you. He’d opened up to you, just a hint of it, you realised, but you couldn’t know why and it pained you.

“We’re not... I...” he grew unsure, unable to finish.

“I want to watch the stars.”

Lestat’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but remained in that position, looking at you silently, surprised. “We can watch the stars,” he agreed and took you to a more open spot in the forest. It was clearer and there were less trees that would potentially block the view of the sky. The both of you sat on the grass, legs crossed as your eyes focused on the moon.

“Do you have a favourite constellation?”

Lestat thought about it for a moment. there were many stars he had been drawn to over the years, and he had studied quite a lot of them as well. But perhaps, there was one that particularly stood out to him. “Scorpio,” he said softly as he tried to look to see where it was in the night sky. His gaze was focused towards the stars as you spoke again.

“Scorpio? How so?”

“It stung Orion to death. I do the same with humans in reality. Well, drain them to death…” he paused and laid back on the grass, letting his body become one with the somber pasture. His eyes still stood out, even as the pitch black sky made it really hard to find your own step around. “It’s also one of the first constellations I studied.”

You gave him a little smile and carefully positioned yourself next to him on the ground. “I didn’t know astrology intrigued you.” Indeed it felt odd to listen to him speak about his interests, however it created an invisible bond between you. For once, he looked at the stars with company. He wanted to take your hand, show you that this was something he’d never gotten with anyone else, cherish the moment. You felt him do so, eventually, and tried not to react as if to give yourself away. “Can you guess my favourite constellation? But you shan’t read my thoughts.”

“Mm…” he considered. “Cassiopeia.”

“You read my mind,” you simply stated.

“I guessed.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t.” He turned to look at you and so did you. He was holding back from something, it was evident in the way his Adam’s apple bobbled, the way his eyes had a bizarre shine in them that they’d only get before he was about to ask you a question he knew unlocked more and more of him to you, which he both allowed and feared.

“Go ahead,” you encouraged, even though he hadn’t asked anything at all.

“Do you believe in fate at all?” Fate, as in, everything was meant to be in a way. He couldn’t help but think of the idea as you laid down together, in the presence of the dark blue sky.

“I think fate is misery. I don’t understand why it’s got to punish us for things we didn’t even ask for to happen. It kills us all in the mind. But I do believe in it, nonetheless. We’re all its slaves.”

“Why do you believe in it if it tortures you so much?”

“I don’t know. Shouldn’t you ask yourself the same question? Sometimes we don’t have an answer, we just let things be the way they are.”

“I think that what you call misery shaped me.”

“So you’re miserable, then?”

Lestat frowned as the words came from your lips. “No,” he spoke, his tone seemed to grow a bit frustrated. “I most certainly am not miserable, but I just think…” he sighed harshly, he knew what he was trying to say — he just couldn’t explain it properly — and maybe the way you stared at him, waiting in so much anticipation made him lose his track of thoughts along with his own words.

“You want to go back inside?”

He nodded and got up, upset over the fact that the time had been cut off so shortly. He felt strangely warm, as if he’d recently fed enough to cause the blood run through his veins, and he wondered if you’d make him feel that way every time you gave him the slightest hint of attention.

The night was deep and his house hollow as you stepped into it, ready to take your separate ways in the rooms, but the boldness coursed through your neurons as you asked him if he’d like to have a sip of wine first. No, he replied, he wouldn’t wish for one, because wine no longer got him drunk or offered him any form of careless enjoyment. You just sat by yourself near his piano and grazed your fingers over the last four keys. A messy, silent melody came out and for a second, it echoed over the entire room, one, two, three times. You wondered if it symbolized how lonely Lestat was.

It felt gut wrenching, even though you knew he was unpleasant, seeing him have no one in his life. Seeing him know so much about the stars and have no soul to talk with about it. You went into your room and changed into a nightgown. The breeze from the windows made it feathery against your body as it flew a little under your arms when you entered Lestat’s bedroom without making the slightest noise. His coffin was covered; he’d fallen asleep perhaps. You seized the opportunity to give his room a sharper notice.

There was a neat black vase with golden details placed on the dresser, it even had a rose in it. A rose that had lost its bloom; it was just wrinkled, a little yellow—growing to brownish—near the edges, all dried up, dusty and ready to crumble. A soft touch on the back of your neck caused you to gasp as you turned around only to realise it was Lestat, seemingly paler than usual, for a reason.

“Did I disturb your peace of going through my stuff?” he asked, but his voice didn’t sound mad.

“I don’t want to sleep just yet.”

His eyes followed yours until they fell to the rose you were examining. With a swift twirl, he brought it around his fingers and held it in front of your face. “Pour toi, ma chérie,” he whispered with a smirk as you took it and placed it over your chest, right where your heart was still steadily beating.

“Pourquoi le gardes-tu encore? C’est pourri.”

A disheartening sigh followed by a slight shrug of his exposed shoulders. “It symbolizes a lot.”

“Like what?” you persisted. Lestat took the rose from you and rubbed it between his palms as it turned from a dead flower to dried up powder, piled up in a tiny hill on the rug. You couldn’t understand his sudden burst, the frustration within him, but you were very aware of the fact that even the slightly wronged word could snap him. He didn’t reply to the question, either, just paced forward until he reached the bed. You felt the rest of the world move in front of your very eyes in a sped up warp, you laid right below his body, unable to move in resistance. How he got you in that position was beyond your brain to comprehend and for a split second, you wished to scream, but then remembered.

Lestat lowered his semi-opened mouth right above the vein in the spot he’d first noticed back at the ball, right there, an inch upper than the collarbone, pulsing and pounding in such a sweet way that he was unable to resist the image, how it’d taste like if only he allowed his sharp fangs sink in it, have the dark red blood make a mess out of his mouth, feel the nectar drip on the skin, the tongue. Something about it was so romantic, so deep for him, but he couldn’t do it.

“Laisse-moi faire de toi un vampire, mon amour. Laisse-moi t’offrir la vie d’un Dieu,” he murmured into the side of your neck as he placed the most tender and fragile wet kisses upon it, it was the closest he could get to his request anyway.

“No, Lestat, leave!” you panicked, instantly denying. He was under control, or maybe he wasn’t, but taming the lust that grew in him wasn’t such a difficult task, you’d discovered.

“S’il te plaît,” he pleaded, stripping the sleeve of your clothing down your shoulder with his thumb. He was trying to avoid the conversation you so desperately wanted to have about his past, knew that if he tried seducing you, you’d forget all about it and either end up in bed with him or run off scared. Either way it was working. The smirk was displayed proudly across his lips, his breath smelled like a mixture of an expensive fruit based alcoholic beverage and rosemary. You couldn’t tell how your brain functioned at that moment, as Lestat rose closer to your face and stared at your lips, wetting his own with his flushed tongue. He teased you, leaned down as if to kiss you but pulled away the very centimeter his lips were to touch yours and moaned lowly, almost like a ghost of a whisper. He pressed his thumb on your neck and held you tight, then bent down again.

He drew closer, and for a moment, it almost seemed as if you had pulled away. You staring at him with your boring common eyes, nothing compared to his, and then his lips enclosed on yours; soft yet immersive, gentle yet powerful all the same. All there was was the two of you, or one of you, rather, and all he could feel was you.

“Tu ferais mieux de me tuer,” you whinged as his teeth tugged softly at your lower lip in his motion to pull away. His breath got caught as he cocked his head to the side, eyes still lustful and hot. “Kill me, Lestat, since you can’t have me the way you want me to. Kill me like you promised once.”

“I didn’t—didn’t promise anything like that,” he stuttered while kissing your clothed cleavage.

“But I ask for death. Otherwise we shall be this way always, imprisoned in the hope of ‘what if’.”

Lestat stared at you, smiling, becoming a hazy dreamlike vision, then hyperclear. “Ah, but the price is high,” he laughed, sinking back into the scent of your body passionately, wanting to become one with it. You were serious, in a way, and that he knew, but even the slightest thought of staring at your gray corpse would kill him internally for all eternity. He couldn’t possibly…

“We could be both covered in blood,” you suggested again in a strangled moan. You felt his teeth against your skin, he smiled at the dumb images you had to offer in order to wrap him around the strong spell of undeniable temptation.

“You could be mine forever,” he insisted.

“You’re losing me already, Lestat,” you whispered, but he was too caught up in undressing you to hear. Just a few more months, you promised to yourself as you gave in the pleasure of the night.

───

Lipstick, you found, was how falling in love felt.

Starts off in a smooth surface, full of vibrance and colour, but eventually it comes to an end, either that is natural and non-bumpy, simply finishing because there’s nothing more to it except a few smudges—remainings—on the lid that you can’t get rid of, or it breaks in half, violently, with roughness, tears, anger. Just like when you apply lipstick and the bar becomes too soft to stay on.

Lestat had been your lipstick kind of love.

Except you never knew whether you actually truly loved him or if it was the illusion of him that had you so wanderlust and captivated to him. Months had passed, you’d stayed by his side through all the fights, all the murders that followed in his need to feed, the broken glasses and frames. He always ended up showing a bit more to his fragility after every rage, the stronger, the more. He’d grown to be an open book to you, attached, unable to let go, afraid. Vampires could love. And each human sense was triple as intense for a vampire, so when Lestat fell in love, he devoted himself to it completely, loved hard and immensely, never held back or restrained his emotions. Of course, he never said it out loud.

It had been a while since he’d had someone, a person, a real person to hold on to, to caress their hair at night, to whisper sweet nothings to, to just feel like he can be free with and love deliberately.

Nights were so deep and slow, the stars faded away every time his heart beat faster for you. A vampire could only cry once, he remembered he’d once been told (by whom was unimportant).

You were done, you decided. Had suffocated enough, had cut yourself from the world for him and that was the end of it. You had grown rather fond of him, enjoyed having him around, loved kissing him and talking to him, even fighting with him had become familiar, almost in the dream of being a family with him. You saw him sitting over the piano, contemplating. He raised his eyes at you once found around your presence and smiled. You motioned him not to get up and instead dragged your feet exhaustively towards his side, bringing a hand over his cheek, cupping it softly one last time as he obliviously leaned against it.

“You look handsome tonight, Lestat,” you said.

Indeed, he was impeccably dressed, just like always, in such royal clothes, each layer holding a different peel of his personality. Every feature of his face was smooth and calm, bright and pale at the same time, but the surface felt like a fresh painting; exquisite and vulnerable to any touch. It was probably the only time you’d ever seen him gift you with such a genuine, heartwarming smile.

“I’ve been wanting… dreaming of telling you something. For a long time now, I fear,” he began the moment you removed your palm from his face and instead placed it over his hands in his lap. His fingers found yours immediately and interlocked quickly, excitedly. It broke your heart.

“I’m leaving,” you announced harshly and suddenly his thumbs froze against the top of your hands, which he dropped. He felt lightning crackle through his veins and time slowed down. Your stomach had lost no time in twisting into knots, but you put on a façade that said otherwise, showed you off as strong and determined, cold, hollow to any emotion.

He stilled and looked at you with his jaw agape, mouth quivering. You weren’t just saying it, you meant it. You were doing it—he was losing you. Lestat felt his heart clench around nothing at all.

“Have I done something? I’ll give it to you, whatever it is that you need, I promise.”

His hands were now catching yours again, this time in utter desperation, a form to plead and beg. Your chest heaved as you noticed the corners of his eyes well up, retina glossy and wet, as though… no, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—waste his only chance to let the tears go down, because he was sure that whatever he did, he’d fix, there was a way, he knew it, he was sure of it. He’d offered you so many things, for God’s sake! A house, food, clothes, safety, his trust and love, and you were throwing it all away, like you hadn’t stolen his soul and merged it with yours to become one, like you hadn’t reminded him what it felt to be alive again, after centuries of suffering eternity. Because you had been right when you said to him that eternity kills; it slaughters the purity of the heart, fights against hope. It forces you to be alone as you watch everyone you love perish. And Lestat had been there, still was, would always be.

“I told you, Lestat. I’m not your slave. And I can’t do this anymore, I can’t stay here… it’s killing me. And don’t you—don’t you—dare say anything foolish about how you feel about me,” you threatened through trembling lips, fighting back tears the same way he was, except you didn’t know how long you could put up with the pain.

“You all leave me!” he yelled as he got up from his seat, covering his face with his hands as he moved in circles. “You leave me when I need you the most, you want me dead! All of you!” In his rage, Lestat raised his fist and shattered the marble vase that sat on the coffee table next to the instrument, pieces falling everywhere all over the floor, sounding exactly like the way his heart was breaking. And there it was; the first tear.

It fell from his face in a rush, violently hitting the cold ground, burning his cheek on its way down. His only cry, his only pain, all out in the open as he saw his world come crashing down. And what broke him the most was the look on your face, the urge you felt to remain nonchalant, though. Like your heart wasn’t ripping in half either, like you wouldn’t desire him, love him, give him a chance. Like you hadn’t let him kiss you all those nights as a silent way to confess his love for you, no.

“I’m not yours, I never was,” you struggled out.

“I’m yours. Don’t you see it? I would do anything for us, just let there be an ‘us’ for once, I beg you.”

“You just don’t want to be alone,” you breathed as his chest sunk with each breath. “You don’t love me, Lestat, you just love having someone to keep you out of the misery in your endless life.”

“You can’t… you can’t leave me… you can’t possibly believe all that,” he cried as he grasped your hands, but you pulled away, took a step further away from him with each try he made to get closer, to hold you for one last time, because if he ever had you around his embrace at that moment, you’d never be able to let go. You’d leave and Lestat would look for you in the face of everyone he’d kill to feed from with pure hearted and pleasure at the same time, such sickness that drew you away from him. He shook his head in denial, refused to let himself reason as you faded into a memory, or even a long lasting dream he never wanted to wake up from.

“I must…”

“I can’t bear it! Come back to me… when did I even lose you? When did you start to slip from me? I did… I did everything… I confined in you.”

“You needn’t say such things, Lestat…”

“You’ll stay.”

“No.” The answer was final, he knew it. Lestat De Lioncourt, knelt before your very eyes, broken down to the core, unable to get a hold of himself as his fingers weakened and he watched them slowly let go of yours, now holding nothing. He couldn’t hold you, just like he couldn’t hold anyone else in his life, not even himself.

The sun and moon yearned for each other, but time kept them apart. Eclipses would the only brief moments of bliss, when both of you could pretend that death hadn’t rooted into your souls, where Lestat spent the rest of eternity loving you.

FIN.

for my girl @honeymvnt !! this is your insanely late birthday gift, i hope it lives up to your expectations from all the nights we talked about it. love you 🫵🏼🎀

[mqverick]

scummy man || ✮⋆˙ .

“Cause he’s a scumbag, don’t you know?

I said he’s a scumbag, don’t you know?”

────────── ★ ───────────

The moment Daniel Kaffee walked into your office with his stupid apple and his stupid, childish ‘hi’, you knew you were fucked from top to bottom. Of course, they hadn’t taken you seriously when you petitioned Division to have counsel assigned. They brought you the first idiot they came across.

You’d written a seventeen page memo to Bronsky outlining the situation, you’d pleaded your case for a half hour in his living room on a Sunday afternoon, and Division assigned a Lt. Junior Grade? They had too be kidding (or hate you).

You’d managed to scare him, at least, and that you were proud of. He seemed like the type, who was particularly full of himself, which was proven as quite the right accusation, after a few minutes of speaking with him. He was just a bunch of royal bullshit, you’d decided — fucking wanted him off the case, even though he hadn’t even started yet.

He was never going to take it seriously, judging on how loose and cool he acted. For crying out loud, Dawson and Downey were at his sake, while Daniel could not care less about them, opting to practice baseball instead, because he claimed he had a critical game coming. Was that guy serious?

“Lieutenant, would you feel very insulted if I recommended to your supervisor that he assign different counsel?” you threatened, face burning as you struggled to contain your anger at his complete indifference to the situation.

“Why would you do that?”

He had the nerve to ask. “You’re not fit to handle the defense. One second more with you and the marines will have sealed their poor fate.”

Daniel nodded, unimpressed with your tone.

“You don’t even know me. Ordinarily, it takes someone hours to discover I’m not fit to handle a defense. You’ve known me for less than ten minutes.” He walked away from you, as if your threat was a joke to him, like he didn’t believe you.

You stupidly stared at him, blood boiling as you wondered how impossibly scummy one could be.

“I do know you. Daniel Allistair Kaffee, born June 8th, 1964 at Boston Mercy Hospital. Your father's Lionel Kaffee, former Navy Judge Advocate and Attorney General, of the United States, died 1985. You went to Harvard Law on a Navy scholarship, probably because that’s what your father wanted you to do, and now you’re just treading water for the three years you’ve gotta serve in the JAG Corps, just kinda laying low til you can get out and get a real job. And if that’s the situation, that’s fine, I won’t tell anyone. But my feeling is that if this case is handled in the same fast-food, slick-ass, Persian Bazaar manner with which you seem to handle everything else, something’s gonna get missed. And I’d be damned if I allowed Dawson and Downey to spend any more time in prison than absolutely necessary, because their attorney had pre-determined the path of least resistance,” your monologue prevented you from taking a breath, confidently crossing your arms like you’d just won an argument, as Daniel took a quick sip from his Yoo-Hoo, staring intently at you. The sun was hitting his face and if you allowed it to yourself, you could’ve observed how stunningly green his eyes were.

“Wow,” he admired, very taken aback. “I’m sexually aroused, Commander. I may be picking the wrong time to ask you this, but are you seeing anyone right now? ‘Cause I think you and I would be perfect together. It’s clear that you respect me and that’s the foundation for any solid—”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You let out an angry exhale and grabbed him by the collar of his thin baseball shirt, pulling him towards you. He gasped in surprise, breath caught in his throat as you stabbed your finger into his chest as a warning.

“Listen there, Kaffee, I will have you removed from the case, so don’t go around being cute and unbothered. Mark my words, you just waisted your last chance with me.”

And with that, you threw him back to the bleachers, storming away in annoyance and over the top frustration. Never had another human being ever crawled up under your nerves so quickly, it had to be an astonishing world record.

When you walked into your office the next day just to find Daniel sitting on your chair already, you neared the dreadful experience of going into cardiac arrest. You silently wondered how he’d managed to sneak in, but decided to ignore him.

“You didn’t do it.”

His words were softly spoken, causing you to look at him, undoubtedly baffled. “I beg your pardon?”

“You didn’t do it,” he repeated with more emphasis, as if that would help you understand what he was referring to. “I thought you really wanted me out of the case, so I went to check, see if you talked to my supervisor. You didn’t.”

Oh, so he was talking about that. You played it off as something frankly unimportant, not even bothering to reply anything to him. If you turned your back around just for one second, you could’ve seen exactly how distressed he was.

Daniel got up from your chair, walking up behind you as he towered over you, hands unexpectedly nervous, seeing as they couldn’t stay still for a full minute on the waistline of his uniform trousers. You chuckled silently to yourself, nose scrunching in pride as you turned your back, looking dead into his eyes, your own ones fixed on the way his Adam’s apple moved in his neck as he gulped.

“Good job, Lieutenant. I see you took my words seriously for once. Need to keep into mind that you shit your pants way too easily, threats have you following every order you’ve been given.”

Daniel’s eyes were blown with disbelief of your manners, brows raised in offense. There was no doubt that you were prepared to make his life a living hell, had every intention to cause this case to be his first and last one, because the way it was going, he’d either rip apart his diploma or plain out kill himself. And who had the delightful opportunity to hear Daniel complain day and night? None other than Sam.

“She hates me, I don’t even know why,” he cried while pacing back and forth in his small living room, bat placed over his shoulders as he rested his hands on it, mind far away from the case. Sam sighed, sinking back into the couch. “She barely even knows me! I always do stuff wrong for her, she’s never satisfied. Little miss perfect,” he continued without a break, swinging the bat now as he ignored the board that stood in the middle of the place. Sam felt nauseous, having baring his unstoppable yapping for what felt like decades, even though it’d only been less than ten minutes.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his unlimited boredom and he got up to see who it was, ignoring the way Daniel kept going on and on. He looked over the eye on the door, almost letting out an audible groan at the fact that it was you who had knocked, meaning that your appearance would drive his friend even crazier.

“Come in,” he whispered lowly to you as he unlocked the door and let you in. You shrugged your jacket off your shoulders, noticing that Daniel hadn’t even acknowledged the fact that someone else had gotten into his house. “Damn, I’ve never seen him like this before. Normally he loses interest in a girl after a date or two…” he commented with a smirk, but you ignored him.

“You know, I wish she could’ve taken me out of the case, so that I wouldn’t have to see her face again,” Daniel admitted frustratedly, stopping dead in his tracks momentarily as he laid his eyes on you. Suddenly, hitting his head as hard as possible with his bat didn’t seem like such a terrible idea. Oh, he was fucked to the core.

A smug, proud smile spread across your lips.

“Talking about me, Lieutenant Kaffee?” you rhetorically asked, crossing your arms and puffing your chest out arrogantly as you strode confidently across the room to get to him.

Daniel pretended to turn a deaf ear to your question, head strictly observing the case’s board as he gripped on the hand of his baseball bat. He wished the earth would open up and swallow him out of existence, his brain bleeding at the pure satisfaction he’d so universally given you by admitting the very phrase that you’d been accusing him of; dropping the case, because he couldn’t take the seriousness of it. And oh, well, because he couldn’t bare another second with you breathing down his neck and constantly criticizing him without even caring enough to get to know him — not as Daniel Kaffee, but Marine Lieutenant Kaffee. You had no idea of his potential, yet you still found it in you to look down at him, underestimate and humiliate him.

Sam incredulously just existed there, not taking any stance against either one of you. He’d been friends with Daniel since ages, which cast him to be very close to his way of thinking, and he knew for an undeniable fact that his friend was building up a brick wall of denial, hatred and irony just because he wouldn’t want to face the reality of the situation that pained his mind.

Daniel was captivated by you, Sam claimed.

He silently watched the way his eyes never left your face the entire time you spent in the small apartment, while working on the case, the split second that Daniel subconsciously let his jaw slightly hang open when you determinedly explained every detail of how to teach the marines how to act in the courtroom. Of course, Daniel was going through a matter of confusion.

You stood an obstacle to his limitless confidence and that wasn’t something he particularly wanted to experience every passing day, thus why he’d convinced himself that he hated you. But that was simply not true, at least according to Sam’s observations, which always proved to be right.

“I hate her,” he’d say all the time, but even the sound of his voice gave away the fact that he didn’t. How could he, anyway? Despite the hard time you were giving him, you actually worked by his side, boosting him even more. Come on — he was going to be in a courtroom — he’d never been in one before. All because of how stubborn you were with this case. Daniel loved it.

“Nobody likes her very much,” he’d said in Cuba, shouting his statement loudly enough for all the people in the convertible to hear despite the dizzying noise of shots and fighter planes. You’d rolled your eyes, opting not to give him the chance to stupidly smirk at himself for managing to piss you off (that was exactly his only goal).

───

Predictably enough, Daniel was laying down on his couch as a baseball game faintly played in the background, preventing him from concentrating. Truth be told, his mind was blank. He’d prepared himself mentally for what was coming; they’d lose the trial, make complete fools of themselves in front of an entire courtroom. His father was shaking his head disappointedly at him, Daniel knew it. He fiddled with his bat, glancing at the remnants of the two days old pizza he’d heated up in the microwave fifteen minutes ago, lazily thrown in a piece of kitchen paper, next to a half empty bottle of Yoo-hoo. His white uniform from earlier was thrown in a pile in a corner, like a piece of garbage he was itching to get out of his house.

A sudden buzz from his bell was heard, throwing him off as he jumped a little, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he went to the door, wondering who it could be at that time, since he wasn’t even expecting anyone. Or so he thought. The moment he opened the door, you stormed inside without even waiting for him to invite you in. Daniel stood speechless for one second, then shrugged it off, simply because it was you, and your ignorance of him was unquestionable. He looked shit, he realised; dressed in a dark gray T-shirt that had small oil stains on it because of the pizza, an abstract, unbuttoned red, brown and green colored shirt thrown over it.

“I’ve really missed you. It’s been almost three hours since I last saw—” he began sarcastically, but you cut him off abruptly, while placing a stack of papers onto the living room table.

“I can already tell that you forgot we had to meet up to discuss about the case by the way you’ve shamelessly displayed your gross dinner all over the files we need to present tomorrow. Good job, like always, Kaffee.”

Daniel didn’t bother to huff or give out any reaction, at that point, he knew that you were aware of the fact that you pushed his buttons just by breathing the same direction as him. He let his bat against the arm of the couch, taking a folder into his hands and pretending to examine it.

“Is Sam not coming?” he asked without raising his eyes to look at you.

“I don’t know, he’s your buddy. Aren’t you supposed to know better than me?”

You judged his choice of childish drink with a long, disgusting glare, then buried your face into the papers as well. Dawson and Downey relied upon the three of you deeply and if proving them not guilty meant you had to spend your Friday evening in Daniel Kaffee’s apartment, then so be it. It was a lot quieter than usual and the unfamiliar emptiness had you wondering. The baseball game was still on, distracting you from thinking clearly. “I think Kendrick ordered the Code Red. So do you,” you mumbled out of the blue, catching his attention in a second.

“You didn’t just come here to bother me?”

“You’re the worst lawyer I’ve ever met,” you spoke rudely, noticing Daniel’s face drop. “Why don’t you get the poor guys a new attorney, huh? You stand no chance anyway, you’re too afraid.”

“You still haven’t taken the time to get to know me, so I don’t think that you have any rights to go around telling me what to do, Commander,” the boldness of his tone matched yours as he sat on the couch, still denying the urge to look up at you, gauge your reaction to his words. He liked to ignore you, it gave him the impression that he had some sort of power over you that drove you as far mad as you did to him. Ignorance was kind.

“Think I’m going to change my mind about you the moment I hear your childhood sob story? They can all say you’re the best damn lawyer it’s ever been their pleasure to have as an attorney, and I still wouldn’t be convinced. But go on, though, I’ll humor you for tonight. Were daddy’s expectations really that high that they scare you off to do your job correctly?”

He pursed his lips, a slight furrow between his brows again as he stared pointedly at you. His heart crashed every time you went down the family path, not fully understanding how you’d figured him out so quickly and with less effort than even Jack put into his conversations with him. “Okay, then, if you really believe all that, get me replaced, I won’t stop you. Or did you already try that with no luck? Please, spare me the psycho-babble father bullshit, though, it’s your only argument and it’s getting tiring.”

“At least I have an argument.”

“Fucking congratulations! That’s just splendid!”

“Another lawyer won’t be good enough!” you accidentally admitted on your temper. Your eyes widened at the echo in the dead silence, that grew in the apartment, after what you’d just blurted out. Daniel’s eyes softened, filled with pure bewilderment, jaw going slack. His upper front teeth were visible as he stared at you stupidly enough to have your cheeks burning the brightest shade of red. You tried to find an excuse to reason yourself, but nothing could cover up the royal bullocks you’d thrown all over yourself.

He’d never let you live that moment down.

“You frighten me. I’m involved in a situation now, in which the stakes couldn’t be higher. I’m not going to take time out to give tutorials in criminal procedure to an internal affairs schoolgirl who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing and still has the nerve to threaten my lead.”

“I just melt when you sugar-talk me, Danny.”Daniel felt a sudden rush of heat form in the back of his neck, traveling all the way up to his face at the sound of his nickname falling out of your lips. It wasn’t even a big deal — everyone called him Danny, yet the way it sounded in his ears when you uttered it out, it felt as though someone had turned up the dial on his internal embarrassment thermostat to maximum, and now he was sure he was ready to burst at any moment. The awkwardness of the moment had both of you completely mute, blankly finding random things in his house to interestingly stare at, as if they were suddenly very important. “Anyway, I think you know exactly how to win. They need you.”

A dumbstruck smile lightened up his face.

“You really think so?”

“Do you have something to drink?” you dodged the question, knowing that you’d revealed too much of your genuine feelings about him. Of course you admired him, how could you not?

“Yeah — Yeah! Something to drink, yes, just a second, let me see what’s in the fridge,” he exclaimed, inexplicably jumpy as he practically flew to the fridge. The corners of your lips turned upwards, enjoying the way he struggled to roam through the drinks and food, some things falling over in his attempt to search in the back. When he finally approached you, he was proudly holding a small bottle with a yellow Yoo-hoo tag on it.

You sighed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s chocolate milk, you’ll love it.”

What the hell, you thought, taking the drink from him as he handed it over to you with a warm smile. Your face was filled with disgust, almost hollering at the smell. When you let a few drops touch your lips, you coughed dramatically and shook your head in denial of what you’d just drank, placing the bottle back on the table.

“That’s the most foul thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Wait until you try my cooking. I usually save that card until the fourth or fifth date, though,” Daniel smirked, eyes gleaming under the bright yellow light of his living room. He looks so dumb, how is this man a navy lawyer? you questioned yourself.

“Explains why you’re single, then.”

“Maybe I’m just waiting for someone.”

“Is it Jack Ross? ‘Cause I think he likes you back, you should totally make a move,” you teased him.

“Maybe said someone is annoying me as we talk.”

“Come on, Danny, can’t take a joke?”

He didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes and twirled his bat on the ground, while pacing around the coffee table. “Can I ask you something personal?” he asked out of the blue, causing a pit of anxiety to form into your stomach.

“I suppose you’ll ask even if I refuse.”

“Look at you, you’re finally getting to know me.”

“Shoot, Kaffee.”

“What made you become a lawyer for the Navy?”

Your expression changed, now fully confused. You wondered how he’d possibly come up with that question all of sudden — was he doing some sort of research on you, get you exposed and out of his lead case so that you wouldn’t annoy him anymore with your constant complaining? Or was it more just Daniel being… well, Daniel and randomly coming up with the most out of context questions and things to discuss about?

“They wouldn’t let me fly the planes,” you simply gave and he tsk’ed with a dramatic head shake.

“Pegged you for the one that never gave up. You are becoming less of a role model on Junior Lieutenant Kaffee now, Commander. You’re like seven of the strangest women I’ve ever met.”

“That’s rich of you to say,” you added a little too quickly and loudly for your liking, hating how you were always so eager to defend yourself in situations that didn’t ask for it. “I’m the girl guys like you hated in sixth grade.”

Daniel’s eyes softened as he hesitantly took a seat next to you. “You’re wrong,” he muttered through his lips, looking down at his entwined fingers before exhaling exhaustively. “You’re the girl guys like me pulled the pigtails of at minor interactions just because they were too afraid of letting her know how they really felt about her.”

A pause. Silence built up in the room as Daniel kept looking down on his lap, eyes closed as if he was hoping for something, as if he was scared that the moment he’d open them, you’d be gone, because he’d screwed everything up again. But you were still there when he eventually decided to look over at you, staring blankly at him with no emotion whatsoever. He despised the fact that he couldn’t read you, hated the thought of not knowing exactly what went through your mind during that moment; it caused him too much anxiety, plus, with his little experience with girls, he’d never lived anything similar. They were all so chattery and urgent to fuck him that they didn’t hold anything back… and then, there was you.

You, who Daniel didn’t know how to feel about.

And suddenly, he couldn’t stand — bare — the fact that you’d been staring at him with so much to say, all that visible through your glassy eyes, and it was killing him, causing his stomach to flip, because he was ridiculously unaware about whether he did the right thing to reveal so much with that metaphor, or if he’d just ruined every aspect of professionalism between you.

“Kaffee?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, his voice worn out, shaky as if he was about to break down right there in front of you. Your lack of response made his heart feel tight. “I’m not going to reassign Dawson and Downey to another lawyer, by the way. Neither will you ever be able to replace me, because I’m going to stick here.”

You instantly warmed up. For the first time, his confidence gave you that slight ounce of reassurance that you needed to get, put the colour back in your eyes as you grinned proudly at him, not caring about the so though Commander title you’d been given. “What made you change your mind?”

“Not you,” he replied, reciprocating the calmness and brightness of your face. “Just… don’t wear that perfume, it wrecks my concentration.”

“Really?” you asked in awe. Daniel just smiled. You noticed his Adam’s apple bob as he inhaled the courage to say something, then…

“This might be the wrong time to ask this, but would you really hate the idea of me taking y—”

“I am so sorry,” Sam interrupted, barging into Daniel’s apartment while panting, struggling to take his coat off as he put a hand over his chest. “I had to take care of my daughter, she got sick and my wife wasn’t home, I — Oh, I walked into something there, didn’t I?”

You think? Daniel mutely thought of saying to his friend, so mad inside as he glared at him with burning passion to slam the door shut into his face and returning to the conversation he was having with you less than twenty seconds ago.

“I need to go, anyway, I promised the Marines that I would visit them and help them prepare for the court. I’ll see you tomorrow, Danny. Bye, Sam,” you dismissed them, getting up from the couch and waving goodbye to the two of them as you walked outside with a small smile.

“No wait!” Daniel called, but it was already too late. “What the fuck, Sam?! You know something called knocking on the fucking door?”

Sam didn’t reply, simply because he was too busy explaining the story of why he thought he wouldn’t make it to the case preparation as he cleaned Daniel’s living room. He realised that his friend was paying no attention to him at all, only staring at the almost full Yoo-hoo bottle you’d left on the table from earlier, and that was all Sam needed to know exactly why he was being ignored. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

Daniel never replied.

───

“Hi!” he greeted you with the following day, head peaking in your office through the half closed door. He looked dumb, his oversized blue varsity jacket covering most of his palms as he held onto the door with a wide grin, eyes sparkling. You couldn’t understand his excitement.

“Hey,” the reply was dry and held back.

“I think we might actually have just enough evidence to prove Dawson and Downey innocent, all thanks to you,” he claimed happily, allowing himself fully into your office. You gave him a weird look but didn’t question anything, instead ignored him as you organized the discarded papers on your desk into folders. Daniel’s face dropped at your lack of enthusiasm for him, worry written all over his face as he quickly began fiddling again.

“That’s quite literally my job, Daniel.”

“Did I do something to offend you?” His heart was racing now, mind stuck in the loop of any words that he could’ve said to cause your so indifferent reaction. “You’re giving me the cold shoulder. I thought we moved past that.”

“It was just one conversation about the case. It’s not like we’re expected to act like friends after not bickering for a total of five minutes.” Oh. Daniel’s stomach was tied into knots, he felt as though he’d been kicked in the crotch with the worst possible amount of strength. His face was paled, eyes growing blurry as he nodded at your statement, not finding himself strong enough to say anything back to you, and instead choosing to walk out with his last pieces of remaining dignity.

He thought you might had started liking him. Even a little, he didn’t care about the numbers.

Daniel got easily emotionally influenced, though, and his performance at the court was screwed. He wouldn’t communicate with either you or Sam, interrogating the men on the stand with such frustration that the jury sighed every five seconds. You pinched the bridge of your nose and tightened your fingers into fists, crumbling a paper in front of you as Sam touched your shoulder in a way of telling you to calm down.

But how could you? You were losing the case already and it hadn’t even been a day. What is he doing? you thought, relentlessly questioning his choice of tone and movements. You had no idea how you restrained yourself from slapping him against the wall when he returned to the desk, hands shoved into his pockets as he set his jaw.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you whispered yelled at him, but he didn’t even bother to look at you. When the judge dismissed everyone, Daniel walked away as if nothing had happened. Your head was going to explode, you decided, as you followed him, high heels slamming against the floor. You’d strangle the soul out of him, who would even defend you? Sam followed silently, keeping it low-key as he whispered at you not to create any more trouble. Daniel was seemingly upset and at the back of your mind, you wondered if the reason was the fact that you’d neglected him less than an hour ago back in your office. You felt like you should’ve kept that for yourself and tell him later eventually, when the trial would be over. “Do you have any idea why he’s like this?” you turned to the other attorney.

“Why do you think?” was the only thing he left you with, his words ringing in your head as your pace quickened unnecessarily faster than expected. Your breath was coming in short, eyes stinging as you repeatedly called for Daniel’s name in the corridors without any response.

He was proving you right by all this.

All your doubts and fears about him being unable to thoroughly handle the case were bursting one by one, getting huger and huger until you’d start breaking down in a corner on his behalf. You hated Daniel Kaffee more than any other person.

“Daniel, fucking stop!” you shouted and he finally stilled. Your immediate instinct was to take a break from the intense walking, hand over your chest as you tried to regain your balance.

“Maybe you should’ve asked for them to keep me out,” was all he said before disappearing outside. He was mad, but mostly exhausted with everything, especially overwhelmed by you. He was done trying; finished with the case, finished the way you treated him — how one day you loved him and the next day you pretended he wasn’t even there, as if he didn’t exist. And he was fine with that, you didn’t want him, he could live.

But you gave him false hope, or so he thought.

“Lieutenant!” he heard you yell again, your pants mixed with the sound of your heels against the hallway floor. He decided not to turn around, didn’t want to hear anything that you had to say. “Lieutenant Kaffee!” And suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, letting out a breath as he slammed his arms against his sides in defeat.

“What? What do you want from me?” he asked with frustration, voice raspy and shaky as he firmly loosened the black tie that felt like it was cutting the air out of his lungs, suit all messed up and wrinkly from fighting it off his body. He felt heavy, bothered, didn’t want to exist anymore.

“What do you mean what?” you asked with fragility, and it was the first time he’d ever heard you speak a sentence so softly and fearfully.

“I mean what is it?”

“I wanted to say that you did quite well in there, even though it was your first time and that—”

“Please — don’t even — don’t even start…” he cut you off mid-word, eyes squinting close as he tried not to look at you, afraid that just one glance at your face would be enough for him to bend.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re giving me mixed signals!” he abruptly bursted, making you jump a little. You’d never heard him raise his voice like that before, despite the fact that you’d been into countless bickers before with him. No, there was something different this time, something more into it.

“What?”

“You’re — you’re confusing the shit out of me! One day you fucking hate me and the other you get so nice with me that it almost makes me believe that maybe, just maybe, I could have a chance with you… Start things over. And then you go back to day one — and no one has ever… I feel like one day I’m saving you from a burning building and the next I’m throwing you to the sharks, this — this is exactly how it is with us and it’s all your fucking fault! I’ve tried so hard with you, to make myself worthy, to catch your attention, to make you realise that I don’t think I’ve never admired a person more than you in my life before… and you keep throwing everything away! And I’m fine with that, but for the name of love, stop giving me hope that one day maybe you’ll actually start liking me.”

His monologue left you speechless, every word, every breath engraved and buzzing into your troubled brain as he walked away, this time without being stopped by anyone. Daniel felt like rubbish. On one hand, he felt relieved for letting the thoughts that had been eating him alive out, but on the other he felt even heavier. He knew he’d risked so much for speaking up, but the final straw had been put into his overfilled glass.

For a short moment, he considered turning back.

Perhaps you’d have something to say to him, but that was exactly what he dreaded. The more he’d spend looking at you, waiting for an answer or even the slightest reaction, the more he’d want to listen to what you’d have to say to him, and that was cautionary for his condition. Obviously, he’d fallen for you along the line. You’d screwed him over so deeply that he didn’t know where to grasp at to save himself from losing the grip he had by the end of the cliff. No, he decided, if you wanted him half as bad as he wanted you, you’d go after him, search for him, ask people, show that you cared, even if the amount wasn’t a great deal.

It was insignificant to him, if you cared about him as much as he did for you, he just wanted you to care. Even as a companion, or a respected fellow attorney. You didn’t follow him, though, and the sad part was that he wasn’t even surprised. Of course you had nothing to say to him, you’d made that very clear by wanting him so badly off the case that you were prepared to move the sky and earth just to earn the satisfaction of watching him be defeated. And if you so utterly needed him uninvolved, why did you give him motivation not to quit? Why did you keep pushing him?

Every ounce of feeling that he had for you was a big, unanswered why that tortured him inside.

Daniel wished he could erase from your memory what he’d just confessed. Make you forget all about it, have you look at him with the same hateful eye that you always did. Because now, you’d look at him with pity, scared of what to say to him (he’d revealed way too much and he was only just realising it) — gosh, he’d ruined it. He was so exhausted, both mentally and physically.

Ethic violations were involved in the mess, as well, because of course they would be. A sexual relationship with a fellow counsel in the middle of a trial? What was he thinking? As if you even wanted him breathing near you in the first place.

───

It had only been three, going to four hours, ever since Daniel got his heart crashed, made a fool of himself not only in the courtroom, but also in front of you. For him, it felt like days, even a full week. His only company was a bottle of Jack Daniel’s that he’d almost finished, stuffing it in his coat’s large pockets as he walked back home.

This was how you felt about him. You hated him.

And he’d have to make amends with that, but not without the encouragement of cheap alcohol pouring into his system. Thank god for Ross, who always bought him all the booze he needed.

You, on the other hand, had wasted all of your breath trying to look for Daniel everywhere. It’d almost been an hour and you were at the hands of Sam, trying to think about all the possible locations that his friend could be at. You searched for him at the O Club, down at the basketball court, even his own apartment, but he was nowhere to be found. Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest, caught in your throat as you walked back to his neighborhood, opting to give his apartment another try. It’d been more than thirty minutes ever since you first went, maybe he’d returned by now. Your hands were shaking as you brought a loosely balled up fist to the surface of the door, hesitantly knocking on it once, twice — then heard steps from inside.

“Go away.”

Your entire body eased momentarily at the sound of his voice. Good, he wasn’t dead. His tone was cold and distant, nevertheless, and you knew that he was in no mood for seeing or even speaking to you after how you’d behaved during his speech, or even earlier, during the trial. Your mouth went dry at the first attempt of speaking back to him.

“Danny—”

“You’ve got no place to call me that.”

Oh. So, you’d really broken him.

“Daniel,” you corrected yourself halfheartedly, your hands rubbing up and down against the sides of your outer thighs, “can you let me in?”

“No.”

Your face dropped. You weren’t used to Daniel being so… you didn’t even know how exactly to describe it. The relationship between the two of you hadn’t started on a brilliant basis, neither did it get any better throughout all the time, but even though he didn’t seem to like you very much, he’d always been open for you, in some sort of way that your mind still struggled to comprehend.

“Daniel, please,” you begged, stepping back, surprised when his door creaked open just an inch to reveal his heavy lidded, blurry eyes.

“Do you have anything to say to me about the case? Otherwise, get moving, Commander.”

“Did you… Are you drunk?” you found yourself asking worriedly, ignoring his previous question.

“Why do you care, huh? Last time I checked, you didn’t give two shits about me!” he yelled, slamming the door back shut into your face, causing you to flinch. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“So this is it?”

Daniel swore he was only a second away from exploding, your question sending him over the edge as he chuckled in frustration, not knowing whether you asked what you asked simply to piss him off, or if you were genuinely placing an inquiry that you had been unclear about.

“This is what? Are you fucking with me?”

“You’ve hated me ever since you stepped into my office. You always did, say it. Just say that you hate me, you can’t stand me anymore, come on. Or is this just for Sam’s ears? That you wished I’d taken you out of the case just so you wouldn’t have to listen to my voice any longer. Come on, Kaffee, that’s all you’ve got to say.”

Daniel backed away in disbelief, then made you silently wince as he punched hard against the door, the sound of his skin hitting the processes wood ringing in faint echoes inside your eardrums. You’d driven him out of control.

“Me? Hate you? How could you possibly say such a thing — I — I…” Daniel wasn’t sure how to continue the sentence. There were too options and both of them would have a negative impact upon your relationship with each other and case.

One; he could let his tipsy mind ramble on and on about how you hadn’t once left his mind ever since he saw you for the first time, that he’d never felt so intimidated by anyone, never had fallen into such a deep awe of someone’s passion and ability to pursue their goals in life. That he wished he could possess the one thirds of your courage and determination, because you were honestly scared of nothing, got all the questions you wanted answered within a heartbeat. You didn’t back down in any occasion, you were your own person and Daniel had fallen so deeply in love with everything that you so proudly owned in your character that he thought he was a lost card.

Two; he could never continue the sentence, trail off and stay completely silent, see if you had anything to reply to him — and of course, he opted for the safest option, which was the second one. He was too scared of wearing his heart on his sleeve, knowing that you’d break it anyway.

“The fact that you’re so fucking scared of being a lawyer is beyond me. You’re in the Navy for crying out loud, get a hold of yourself,” was all you muttered in response, leaning against his door, completely unaware of the fact that he was also in the same position, that if the door disappeared in thin air that very moment, you’d fall on top of him with your mouth so dangerously close to his own that he’d pass out (and so would you, in some extent.)

Daniel’s every muscle was so tightly contracted, that he believed they’d crash altogether without any warning if he spent one more minute, forehead pressed against the door, knowing damn well that you were still outside, that you breathed just as heavily as he did, that he’d tied himself to the tracks, ready to be run over.

He knew that whatever was happening in that moment would reek of runny makeup and salty tears, sweat of agony running down the faces of two attorneys, bewildered and scorned as they fell into silence in preference of doing what they’d studied in law school for four years; defend their own selves, master the words. The ability of speaking had died down your throats near the day you chose bitterness over respect for each other.

Daniel averted his eyes to the ground, mustered all the courage he could possibly get and loosened his fingers in his fist. He called your name once, twice, but no reply ever came back. He knew you’d left, could understand it by the way he peaked through the glass hole in his door and saw that no one was there. His logic screamed at him to stay where he was, crash in the couch, close his eyes and sleep, forget about the case, forget about you, the conversations, the feelings, the tension, everything. Take down the entire Jack Daniel’s bottle and lean into the cushions without any further thinking.

Thank God that Daniel hated logical reasoning.

His door flew open as he hurried outside, not caring about his half unbuttoned dress shirt and blowsy uniform. It had been raining for hours now, the steady patter of water hitting against the windows of his small apartment long since faded to a dull rush in the back of his mind. He stepped out of the building, the thick material of his coat almost getting soaked through instantly. He squinted his eyes, trying to make out how far ahead you’d gotten, the pouring rain blurring his vision as he eventually spotted you on the road.

“Commander!” he shouted, but you didn’t turn, so he called for your name instead, numerous times until your feet gave up. A piercing gust of wind shook the trees above your head, showering your already miserable frame with a fresh deluge. You wiped the water from your eyes with a wet sleeve and tucked a lock of long brunette hair that fell into your eyes behind your dampened ear.

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” you said with a steady voice, barely audible in the downpour. Daniel tried to catch his breath as he finally reached you, looking like he was about to either melt along with the rain, or simply vanish.

“No, I can’t accept that. We — We braved extraordinary circumstances to get over here. You need to give me one chance,” he begged, but you kept walking, tired of his mediocre speeches and dramatic overreactions everywhere possibly imaginable. You wanted facts, wanted to listen to him fully, crystal clearly admit what he had to say. Not dance around it like he’d catch on fire. “Hey, I’m talking to you! Fucking listen to me!”

“Fuck off, Lieutenant Kaffee!” you screamed back, not caring about the fact that the rain would probably give you a deadly cold the following day, if not kill you by throwing you off at a very abrupt road pit. Daniel was soaked, hair sticking to his forehead and still very drunk. He felt embarrassed of how high pitched his voice got whenever he yelled from the top of his lungs, almost sounding like a complaining kid at the supermarket, who wouldn’t get the sweets he wanted from the counter while waiting to pay.

He needed answers. Did you even like him?

“You’re saying I’m scared and you can’t even face how you feel!” he shouted catching you off guard. “You can’t even look at me without lying.” Your blood was boiling into your veins as you gave him that chance, which he so desperately wanted, to explain himself to you, to see what he had to say.

“What did you just say?”

Daniel came closer, hands shaking from the temper building within him, looking pathetic as his hair dripped along with the rain down his face.

“You say I’m scared, but you’re terrified. At least I’ve shown you how I feel about you. I give myself away, because I can’t hold back everything that goes into my head the second you walk in it. I’m too weak to defend myself when it comes to you — look at me, you make me forget how to do my job — and I’m one of the most qualified lawyers out there, according to the Navy.”

“What are you talking about? You haven’t even once told me anything about how you feel about me. I’ve overheard you say to Sam that you hate me, that you wish you couldn’t hear my voice. What the fuck were you on about, huh, Kaffee?”

Daniel threw his hands and looked up, gulping down his worn out feelings as he tried to collect himself from breaking down in front of you, yet once again. “You know what Sam said to me when I kept telling him all that stuff about you?”

“I don’t care about what he said to you,” you scoffed in annoyance, ready to leave again, when you heard the words fly out of his mouth.

“That I’m in love with you!”

Daniel ached to prove that you were the scared one in this, breath wasted as he summoned every single ounce of remaining strength he had to grab you by the arm and yank you close to him, crashing his lips into yours forcefully. He never imagined the first time he’d get to kiss you to be that way. His body was trembling in fear (and because of the weather), heart hammering in the most literal way possible. The kiss barely lasted, seeing as you pushed him away almost instantly.

He felt crashed into millions of pieces, exploding like they did in the cartoons. He’d gathered so much courage to finally kiss you, and there you were, looking at him like he’d committed some sort of unbelievable crime, like he’d offended your honour. Daniel felt like an idiot; he’d ruined everything even worse. Had he really misinterpreted every look, every conversation, every fight? He wanted to cry, so he did. His tears ran down his salty cheeks, mixing with the rain, which allowed him to sob as hard as he needed to, not caring whether it made him look more pathetic and weak than he already was.

Who was going to see anyway?

You weren’t saying a word and Daniel was sure that another heartbeat was all it would take for the organ to crawl up inside his throat and hurl out, break; rip in two. He’d said his biggest fear, had actually put the exact words in it, then proceeded to throw an action. And he was destroyed, not because you didn’t kiss him back or because you pushed him away, but because you had chosen the mute torture of silence.

“…What else do I have to do to prove to you that I’m so fucking head over heels for you that I can’t possibly concentrate on anything else? I might lose the case and make a fool of myself, because you make me not think,” he tried again, this time with a fragile and weak voice. He honestly had no idea what more he could do to convince you about his feelings, about how nuts you drove him with your attitude and insane personality.

But again, you opted not to say anything. Instead, you quickly took a few steps forward, grabbed him by the ends of the collar of his long, black coat and pulled him into you, mouth capturing his own swiftly as you tilted your head to the side, deepening the kiss. Daniel was paralyzed for a short second, not knowing if he’d been struck by some sort of lightning that had killed him and brought him to a different reality, or whether you kissing him was an actual, real, skin to skin thing.

Stupidly enough, he allowed his lips to turn upwards into a broadening smile, responding with such enthusiasm, even though he was ridiculously taken aback by your choice of action. It took him a minute to regain his composure, the storm — hell, the entire world — around you feeling meaningless as his hands laced with yours, causing your grip on him to relax a little.

Daniel was falling fast, faster than ever, craving more of your scent and the feel of you pressed closer and tighter to him, the taste of alcohol mixing along with the buds of your mouth, unsure how this whole story had even began for him.

But his stupid, stupid lungs had to find air, and he was forced to separate from you with the feeling of gravity being torn out of his core. You’d disconnected your hands from his (with another pitiful drop in his stomach) so you could run them through his disheveled, wet hair, and his eyes fluttered close at the touch. You looked up at him with an emotion that neither of you could really find the words to explain, and Daniel wanted to kiss you again, heat rising to his face, forming a what he thought could be a permanent blush as his heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

“I’m so wet,” you realised out loud with a dumb smile, trying to hold back a giggle as you watched him bemusedly, eyes glowing brightly at the way he looked at you with such confusion, a bulge straining into his damp uniform pants.

“What — wha… what?” his voice was high pitched and shaky as he cleared his throat. “Oh! Shit — the rain, let’s — let’s get you inside!” He was so flustered and hard, just from one kiss, and he stuttered in every word he spoke. He took his coat off and covered your head with it as he grabbed you by the hand, hurrying back to his apartment.

When you went inside, you acted all unbothered, like nothing had even happened just a moment ago, and it was killing Daniel, because he was terrified of you throwing him away once again. He helped you to the couch, then rushed into his bedroom, pulling out every piece of clothing that he had in the wardrobe with such anticipation as he anxiously roamed through the selves to find blankets to offer you, get you dry from the rain.

“Okay, this is all I have. Do you prefer the pink or the... what color is this — orange? Coral? Erm, which one—” he was getting tongue tied and you found it adorable, taking both blankets off his hands as he stared at us, mesmerised. You looked over your shoulder, as if he was looking through you, then returned your gaze at him, getting nervous. “I’ll — I’m going to make coffee!”

You heard him smack his forehead as he went in the kitchen and grinned like a child. “Daniel?” you called from the living room with a slight chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“It was coral, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“The blanket. It was coral. Can I change my clothes? I’m getting your couch wet,” you asked.

“Sure! Closet’s in the left.”

You got up, wrapped in the blankets as you walked into his closet, shamelessly going through all of his ridiculous, childish, cheap shirts that you so deeply hated (loved). You found a black shirt, which you threw over your body as you picked a checkered shirt to put on as well, feeling a little lump from the chest pocket. You went through it and pulled out an unused condom, cheeks turning pink as you held out the object and went to the kitchen, proudly exposing it in your hand.

“Is this a gift?” you questioned, laughing wholeheartedly when you noticed Daniel’s cheeks burn red in earth swallowing embarrassment.

“Oh… uhm,” he snatched the condom off you, “you’re wearing my special shirt.”

“Your what?”

“My special shirt. It’s for… good luck… for when I go to baseball games and everything. Or — Or dates. Nothing important, no need to make a great deal out of it.” He felt dead inside, still very confused by the fact that you still hadn’t made the smallest reference to the kiss you’d shared. Was it just a thing that occurred due to the heat of the moment? It broke him just to think so, because for a split minute, he gave himself the permission to picture the two of you together, as an actual couple in love. Was he supposed to bring it up first? Were you waiting for him?

Daniel felt like a jerk, unintentionally pouting.

“Please,” you mumbled. Please stop being pathetic, I really like you too. “Danny?”

“It’s still raining. You can stay… I mean, if you want to, of course.” And gosh, both of you were about to melt, saying nothing, just staring at each other with millions of words being exchanged just through the different kinds of gleams in your eyes. You fucking hated Daniel Kaffee so much.

“Danny?” you repeated and he urgently shook his head, letting you know that you could keep going with the question. You smiled warmly, wrapping your arms gently around his neck, then, “I’d love to stay overnight. Oh, and you’re like seven of the strangest men I’ve ever met.”

FIN.

for your information, me and @honeymvnt wrote this together. might be one of the best things i’ve ever had the chance to write, ilysfm lia 🫵🏼🎀

[mqverick]

come undone || ˚୨୧⋆.

“Chill, is it something real?

Or the magic I’m feeding off your fingers”

──────────────────────

You hated the pretentious celebratory gatherings that Bendini, Lambert and Locke threw every time they enrolled a new lawyer into their tightly controlled firm. The poor new guy? You’d heard from mouth to mouth that his name was Mitch McDeere and Nina felt the urge to let all the girls know that he was some hot piece of ass.

You looked around, fiddling with the glass of wine that you held delicately around your fingers as you cautiously took a sip, noticing that once again, your husband was too busy flirting with the secretary newbies that looked innocently at him through their glasses, twirling strands of hair and giggling every now and then at something that you were certain could never be funny enough to be considered as a joke, because your husband did not have the slightest sense of humor in him.

The ticks of the clock across the wall were echoing in your head, your head dizzy from the chatter and fake laughter of the Firm’s members.

You hated every single one of them.

“Fine, you want to leave then be my fucking guest!” you heard a guy yell, probably from the next room and you silently approached the door, peeking carefully through the hole in the lock. There was a man rubbing the sides of his forehead in exhaustion and another woman — tall with dark ginger hair and brown eyes, which seemed to be equally frustrated.

They were mumbling now, cutting you out of their conversation as you tried to read the man’s lips. They were pretty. Pink and slightly wet, you guessed from the wine, glowing under the dim lighting of the room as he took the bottom one between his teeth and leaned over on the table behind him, dismissing the other woman, who stormed outside swiftly, almost hitting you with the way she so aggressively pushed the door.

You never considered yourself to be the meddling type of person, but the distressed look on the guy’s face had worried you just a tad, plus he looked like he could use some company. With a light grip, you turned the handle and entered the room, closing the door behind you as you looked at him without any emotion. The sound seemed to catch him off guard and he glanced at you as if he’d just opened some sort of mystery portal.

“Hi,” you uttered lowly.

“Hey,” his voice came out more like a hesitant whisper, as if he was scared to talk to you. “Sorry, is there anything I can help you with?”

“Just seemed like you could use someone to talk to after all that yelling,” you replied indifferently, chuckling to yourself when he cursed under his breath at your words.

“Shit — were we being too loud?”

“Not to the others. They’re too busy floating over their own heads to notice. Was that your girlfriend you were arguing with?” you asked curiously.

“Wife. I’m sorry, I don’t really see how that interests you, though.”

“Mm, scared she’s going to come back and see you talking to me, I get it. I’m just here to keep you some company…” you trailed off, waiting for him to reveal his name.

“Mitch. Mitch McDeere.”

Oh, so that was Mitch. He looked precisely how you’d imagined he would; handsome, powerful, a little bit like a polite jerk. His eyes were a truly mesmerizing shade of green that gleamed under the lights, matching the beauty of his lips. His hair was unusually gorgeous as well, falling off on top of his forehead in a non forced way. Suddenly, you realized you couldn’t really blame Nina after all.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. Everyone’s excited that you’re here, says that you’re a groundbreaking deal for the Firm.”

Mitch smirked proudly.

“Yeah? Did you follow me in here?”

You crossed your legs and pretended to think for a second. “Would you like the idea of that?”

“Where’s your husband?”

“Why are you so sure that I have one?”

“For the short period I’ve been in here, I haven’t seen you working anywhere and you’re too pretty to not be taken, so I’m guessing that you’re one of the wives. ‘Cause apparently there’s a no bachelors policy in this firm,” Mitch flirted, taking a few steps closer to you as he fixed a hand through his thick hair, looking deeply in your eyes.

“You’re good at guessing. You should do it for a living.” He snickered at your comment and allowed himself to admire your long, tan legs that were covered by the black stockings you wore.

“You haven’t told me your name yet,” Mitch left the unspoken question hang in the air, looking at you through his long lashes, the smirk still tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really see how that interests you,” you mocked him, repeating the same words he did earlier as the heel of your covered foot nudged his ankle playfully. You traced the outline of your lips with the thin glass of wine you were holding, wetting it just enough to see his Adam’s apple bob. You tilted your head flirtatiously and gifted him a small smile, which he mirrored.

“Would you be kind enough to provide me with the information of why you’re not by your husband’s side right now, then?” Mitch tried again, pursing his lips as he tried to contain himself, resisting the urge to screw up everything.

“New chicks. You get bored with the same person everywhere around you, eventually.”

He pretended to be offended and shocked by your statement, placing a hand over his hammering heart as he inaudibly gasped.

“See now, I would never do anything even near that, considering that the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on gave me a chance in the first place. He sounds like a first class idiot.”

You hummed, impressed by how quickly you’d managed to charm him under your spell. His wife was long forgotten — you’d figured — so, probably, it’d be naive to ask him why she’d abandoned him with such anger and rush only a few moments ago. Nevertheless, you opted to do so, genuinely searching for more information about him and the stability of his marriage.

“What about you? Why did your wife leave?”

Mitch huffed, suddenly brought back into reality. The heaviness of his wedding ring on his finger felt unbearable at that point. “She’s, um… she wanted to leave, I wanted to stay. Go figure, I guess. She’s very strong minded about her decisions and that’s honestly one of the things I admire the most about her, but sometimes she drives me over the edge. It’s as if she prays every night for me to not find a stable work.”

“Oh.”

Their marriage didn’t seem to be in the honeymoon phase you’d imagined it would be. Maybe you could give it a try, push it a little further, test how far he’d go just on that one night. The chances of meeting him again were high — you were the wife of one of the lawyers, after all — you could just pretend to pay visits in order to leave him food, but your real intentions would be associated with Mitch.

How had it even gotten like that? You’d known the man for less than twenty-four hours, yet your mind had been consumed with the mesmerising colour of his glowing eyes and pretty pink lips. You wondered how they’d feel against yours, all soft, swollen and wet. Wondered if you would be able to taste the red wine on his tongue, chase the thin saliva string that would form after you’d pull away just to bite on his lip and pull it between your teeth. You weren’t even tipsy, but that seemed to play no groundbreaking role for the pooling heat that formed in between your legs as you squeezed your thighs together, letting your pinky finger graze the side of his knee.

As a lawyer, it was embarrassing for Mitch to admit to himself that he’d never felt so tongue tied before, so unable to use words in the right order. You got him weak just by being around him, your lingering fragrance stroking his nostrils tenderly as it wrapped him in a chokehold. You smelled unbelievably delicious, your dazzling choice of clothes showing off your body — God, what was he even supposed to do, how was he supposed to feel? It hadn’t even been ten minutes since Abby, his wife, had left. He knew he was making a terrible mistake by keep talking to you, but it wasn’t like he was able to do anything else.

Your inviting, big pupils were pulling him in, giving him no other option but to stare deeply at them, try to figure out more about you, get lost in your beauty. Mitch felt paralysed and useless. He’d barely even realised that he’d been leaning in unintentionally, itching achingly towards your lips.

“Abby,” he spoke out loud as a reminder to himself that his wife was still very much relevant.

“Right,” you dismissed disappointedly and got up from your seat on the desk, fixing your ridden up skirt while he stared, dazed by your movements.

“You’re going?”

“Husband might be looking for me and you’ve got Abby. I’ll see you around, pretty boy.” You left the indirect message linger in the atmosphere, along with the smell of your perfume as Mitch collapsed on the floor, mentally cursing himself. Not long after you left him, he abandoned the party that was more of a gathering, unable to take you off his mind as he drove back to the new home that the Firm had gifted him as a welcome abroad present. He noticed that Abby’s car was gone.

Didn’t even question it.

The living room was dark as he entered, heavy footsteps dragging across the carpet-covered floor. Hearsay, his dog, ran up to him excitedly. Mitch crouched down to pet him, smiling half-heartedly as the dog tickled his earlobe with his tongue. Abby was nowhere to be found.

Great, he thought, just great. She’d probably driven off to her parents as a warning of letting him know that when they fought earlier, she’d been dead serious about her opinion on his newfound job in the Firm. Mitch groaned as he got back up on his feet, throwing his black coat carelessly on the couch and getting out of his asphyxiating shoes. He unfastened the suspenders from the front, letting them fall over his shirt as his trousers now hung loosely around his hips. He also loosened his tie on his way to the bathroom. There was a small mirror over the sink that Mitch was scared to look into. His reflection seemed more like a ghost instead of an actual living person; bloodshot, exhausted eyes with bags under them, hair sticking on his forehead, nose pink from the cold. He looked almost dead.

The blanket weighed more than usual when Mitch got under it, lying alone in the bed, shivering. The worst part was that he didn’t even miss his wife. The only reason why he felt so crushingly lonely was because you couldn’t seem to be anywhere near him and it was killing him. How fucked was he — brain rotted by the short-lived ten minutes you spent with him in his office.

Hearsay jumped on the covers, fluffing the space that Abby usually took on the bed as he let out an exhale, resting his chin on Mitch’s stomach.

“What’s up boy? Feeling alone too?” he asked the dog, without expecting a response. “You know, I met someone unreal tonight. I think my mind’s playing games with me, because there’s just no way someone like her actually exists…” Mitch trailed off, reminiscing about your eyes.

He had a restless night, barely got any sleep at all.

Abby hadn’t contacted him in any way. Avery was driving him insane. And as for you… it’d been the longest eleven hours of his life until he finally caught you strolling down the corridors of the Firm, most likely looking for your husband.

Mitch’s breath was caught in his throat when his eyes locked on you, immediately forgetting all of the work he still had to finish. He hurried to catch you, almost tripping over a plant that stood next to the wall right outside of his office. You were yanked by him in the storage room, almost yelping out loud for help, but he placed his palm over your mouth to prevent you from doing anything stupid that could’ve given him away.

“Fuck’s sake — Mitch?! Is that you?” you whispered-yelled, fixing your hair as you removed his hand from your mouth.

“Hey,” he simply replied, as though he hadn’t just given you the fright of your life. “Thought I’d never see you again or something, I-I had to…”

“Had to what?”

“…Had to talk to you, I guess.”

You tried to hide the satisfied smirk from him, biting down on your bottom lip instead. He looked and sounded absolutely breathless, it was sending you over the edge. Neither of you knew how to continue, what to say next.

“Made up with your wife yet?” you opted for, hoping that no jealousy had surfaced in the question you just so shamelessly dropped.

“No, uh… I think she might want nothing to do with me for a while, I’m sort of used to it, it’s fine honestly. What about you, what brings you here?”

“See, unlike you, I’m an exceptional spouse,” you replied sarcastically, proudly waving a brown paper bag in front of his eyes with a note stuck on it. Mitch grabbed the little yellow piece of paper and read it out loud, all while trying to remain calm around your presence. His eyebrows furrowed at the ‘with love’ note. He balled it and slipped it into his pocket, instantly regretting how he’d just given himself away — easy like that.

“Cooked lunch for the guy who looks at chicks?”

“Hm, fine, I might’ve exaggerated only a little. I actually just brought him a sandwich that expired two days ago. He doesn’t have to know, though, it looks just fine and I doubt that work will allow him the time to check the date.”

Mitch chuckled in amusement, ogling you as the tight space of the room forced the two of you to squeeze closer and closer. He looked like a starving man, it was ridiculous to him how he was brought back into his teenage years, like seeing Abby walking down the halls with her friends for the first time all over again.

“I’ve… I have to finish my papers,” he exclaimed, all flustered and unable to make eye contact with you as he pushed himself through some discarded brooms and walked outside of the closet as if nothing had even happened.

The next time you saw him was shortly afterwards the rushed encounter in the storage room. Two partners from the Firm, Kozinski and Hodge, had died tragically in a car accident, according to Lamar. Your husband had been good friends with them, so you couldn’t miss the funeral, practically being forced to be there.

While the ceremonial speech was going, you searched for Mitch in the crowd, knowing that he’d be there. And you were right; he was standing in the back with who you remembered was the woman that had stormed out the same night you met him — Abby, his wife. She was tightly pressed against his side, one of his arms lazily draped around her waist as she rested her head against his chin. You looked at them zealously, subconsciously leaning more into your husband’s embrace, as if you wanted Mitch to look back at you and endure the same feelings you were going through in that moment.

It didn’t take him long to figure out that you’d been staring holes into his head for at least five minutes. He knew you weren’t fond of the way he held Abby around him, the jealousy in your eyes saying more than words ever could. He brought his lips down on his wife’s bright ginger hair, his eyes fixated upon your own while kissing her.

It turned you on; how much he teased you.

He was fully kissing her square on the mouth though, not anything too deep or hot, just a long-lasting peck, but his gaze was still locked on you. What was he even doing? Wouldn’t Abby notice?

“Babe, I need to go give my condolences to some of the partners, I’ll be right back,” your husband whispered in your ear as he gave you a quick kiss on the forehead, abandoning you once again just to give attention to the crying ladies without a man’s arm to rest against. He really thought you were that stupid, didn’t he. You’d stopped beating up yourself for his naivety a long time ago.

Out of the blue, you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You jerked away from it in overdramatic shock, but relaxed when you realised it was just Mitch. Nevertheless, you felt uneasy by the fact that he was meeting you in the middle of a public place, where everybody could see how pink your cheeks had turned just because of the warmth his hand provided on your arm for the short second he touched you. You were about to speak when he put this index finger over his lips, signalling you to not utter the slightest word. His nose was just as reddish as your cheeks had grown to his presence. His hand wrapped around yours, like a ghost touch as you urgently followed him in a place, hiding behind a melancholic dead tree.

“Wanted to see you,” Mitch breathed lowly as he let a visible puff of air hit your face with warmth through the freezing atmosphere around you.

“That excuse is getting old,” you mumbled back.

“What do you want me to say, then?” You didn’t respond, frankly, because you didn’t know if the question he asked you even had an answer. “You look beautiful. Have I told you that already?”

“You have not.”

“Well, you do. It’s a double fucking funeral and all I can think about is how stunning you look amongst all the other dull people that have attended.”

“Is your wife one of them?”

You knew you were pushing it with the sarcastic remarks, but Mitch never seemed to get any defensive whenever Abby slid into the rude parts of your conversations. That alone should’ve been a massive warning for him to run as fast and far away from you as possible — yet he couldn’t.

“I can’t — fuck. I don’t even know what to say whenever you’re around, you take all my Harvard Law courses’ privileges away from me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that… I don’t know.”

Mitch felt fragile, vulnerable. He’d never been more breathless around a woman before, or any person, for that matter. He moved closer, hands shoved into his coat’s large pockets, leaning in. He pulled away before his breath could even hit your face, instantly regretting his actions.

“What are you—” Mitch shut you up, burying his head into your thick hair as he closed his eyes, letting himself breathe into your perfume. His freezing cheek rubbed against yours, eyes fluttering shut as his body pressed flushed over yours, covered by at least three layers of clothes.

“Who the fuck are you, huh?” he murmured against your hair, his hands shyly shaking as he placed them on your hips. You hummed and tugged at his wrists, unsure whether you wanted to remove them from touching you, or press them firmer into your coat, even under it, until you could finally get to feel how his fingertips would be like while grazing the goosebumps he gave you every time he had that look. It wasn’t even like you’d met him for more than two times. You didn’t know anything about him, not even the basics and the same could be said about him.

“Oh, Mitch, come on. Really? At a funeral? You want to fuck me in a fucking funeral, which may I remind you, your wife is also attending?” you teased, not allowing yourself to give away how weak he had you feeling under the slightest touch of his hands on your clothed body.

“You don’t get to do this to me.”

“But you do? You get to bend me over against this very tree at the risk of some old shit from the Firm catching you — or worse, Abby catching you? You have some sort of dirty fantasy, Mitch?”

“Don’t say my name,” he ordered with a hoarse voice, pulling away from you as if you were made out of acid, as if he’d only just realized how much damage you were doing to him. “Who are you?”

“Who am I?” you repeated the question and he nodded, shoving his hands back into his pockets. You scoffed with a suggestive chuckle. “You want to know what exactly? My name, how old I am? Because I don’t think that excites you, Mitch. I think you like that you know so little of me, it turns you on, because it’s something you haven’t grown accustomed to. No, Abby… she’s quite predictable, isn’t she? High school sweethearts, I assume. Stole your heart and then a few years later you realize how much of a big mistake you made by marrying her at such an immature age.”

“You don’t know anything about me and my life.”

“But I do. See, I’ve got you figured out already. What, are you going to say to me that I’m wrong? Well, go on, be my guest. You know that I’m right. She doesn’t really let you fuck her at home, does she? Look at you, so young, constantly turned on…” you slowly took a few steps forward, coming dangerously close to his lips as the hot puffs of air both of you breathed under the worsening weather, “…she’s playing no attention to you.”

Mitch didn’t know what was happening, his brain preoccupied with too many things all at once. Before he could say anything to you — deny every accusation about his failing marriage — you were gone with the wind and he was standing there like a complete idiot, until he noticed Abby coming back to look for him with the corner of his eye.

Later that night, she finally felt like doing something spontaneous in bed besides reading her book, but Mitch didn’t even consider participating. Instead, he rolled off to his side, pretending to be asleep as he thought of the way you’d touched and confronted him earlier.

───

He admitted to himself that he was a lost cause only a couple of weeks later. You kept passing by or outside of his office, mostly as an excuse to tease and mess with his head, and he wasn’t having any of it. You’d been on his mind every second of the day, even while studying for the bar exams that were critical for his career. Fail and you can kiss goodbye the BMW, they’d said.

But how could he possibly concentrate every time he caught side of your long legs, delicately dressed in black opaque stockings, your thighs squeezed into short pencil shirts that had his hand itching not to move from his desk. Mitch was a dead man. He was also only twenty-five with a very unsatisfied high sex drive that Abby couldn’t fulfill to take advantage of late at night.

No, instead, he had to live with his sad fantasies.

Fantasies about what he wanted to do to you, how he’d kiss you for the first time, tangle his fingers into your hair, help your hands down his pants, feel your sexy legs that drove him crazy.

He’d found out your name, eventually, but only because he asked poor, unsuspecting Avery about it during lunch one day, in complete secrecy and confidentiality during their trip.

Nevertheless, he’d found out stuff about the Firm on that very vacation, which caused him to spend more nights at his office until late, investigating. Abby was not thrilled, but he couldn’t care less.

Neither did you care at all about your husband, who was seated right in front of you in his office, checking some papers. You’d come again just to play with Mitch’s remaining patience, thinking that you had it in yourself to bare another boring, one-sided conversation with your husband, but you were proven otherwise, seeing as he barely even acknowledged your presence.

“You know this new guy, McDeere?” the question was dropped out of the blue, having you pretending to be indifferent. Your palm was supporting your cheek as you looked around the room, knowing that your husband didn’t even turn to look at you when you asked about another man — especially Mitch. He simply nodded, not caring enough to respond. “What do you think of him? Avery and Lamar seem to be impressed.”

“Don’t know, seems like a tough worker, has got potential to go places, I guess. Haven’t had an opportunity to talk to him, but everyone admires how seriously he’s taken his job. Oh speaking of, Locke wanted me to pass him some papers. Think you can be a dear and stroll by his office?”

So eager to get you out of his face, he wasn’t even hiding it. You snatched the papers out of his hand and left without a world, tugging the black skirt you wore upper around your waist, just so you could see the satisfying panic in Mitch’s face.

“Nina, is Mr. McDeere in his office? I’d like to—”

The words got caught in your throat as you saw Abby walking out, this time calmly and with no sight of anger on her face. You didn’t know what specifically made your stomach turn upside down at the realization that she might’ve come there just to see her working husband, whom see so little got the chance to have at home. That was what married couples did, anyway. You cleared your throat and hesitantly knocked on his door.

“Come in.”

There he was, face buried into paperwork, his coat taken off. He was just in a white shirt and maroon suspenders, that in your opinion, made him look gorgeous, besides them mostly being a clothing item option for much older gentleman. The clicks from your high heels hitting against the marble floor echoed in the small of his office as you closed the door and tried to swallow the fact that it hadn’t even been a minute since you saw Abby leaving. Your eyes unintentionally scanned him from head to toe; was his hair messy, did he breathe normally, face flushed and sweaty?

None of the above. Nevertheless, your lips betrayed your mind as they spoke the question that your logic didn’t dare to even let you think.

“Finally fucked your wife, Mitch?”

He looked up from the rather large binder he had in his hands, eyes fixed on you as if you’d just offended him. “How’s that any of your business?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly know. Perhaps you told her about the way you approached me at the funeral less than a week ago — or am I mistaken and you’re back in love with her?”

You didn’t know where all the spite and bitterness in your voice were coming from. You wandered back and forth in the room for a second, opting to ignore how intently he was staring at you, only because you knew that it needed just one glance from him to have you weak in the knees. Exactly like the way he looked at you back at the funeral.

“Well, again, not that it’s any of your concern, but she just came by to say to me that she needs to go to her parents, run some tests for her mother. You seem to be awfully upset, though.” Mitch’s tone was cool and sharp, he was annoyed.

“Mm, so you didn’t fuck her then.” The last bit of his observation was spiraling into your brain, yet you decided not to give out any rights and just chose to saw ignorance. The saliva in your mouth was almost dry, making it harder and harder for you to swallow, throat clenching tightly as you gently rubbed it with your index fingers.

“I don’t think I’m in a place to get criticism by someone who hasn’t been fucked either in a long period of time. ‘Cause, I mean, come on, who do you think you’re fooling?”

You felt sweat form in the back of your head, why had it gotten so hot all of sudden? “Locke wants you to have these papers,” you changed the subject, avoiding to talk about your marriage. You handed him the folder and stood in front of him with crossed arms, as if you expected something.

“You can go, now, I’m very busy,” he dismissed.

“Busy fisting yourself under the desk while everyone else thinks you’re so fucking hardworking?” you pushed, voice firm.

“I think your husband needs you.”

“And I think that your wife needs you.”

Mitch closed the binder rather abruptly and loud as he glared right into your soul. “Go back home.”

“To do what? Cook him some nice, warm dinner? Clean the house? Run him a hot bath? Is that what Abby does for you when you return home?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want, just get out of here!” he yelled, instantly regretting it, because of Nina outside. He hoped she wouldn’t ask any questions. Then, he turned back to look at you, his bottom lip trembling slightly from the anger as you looked at him with matching frustration, eyes burning. His hands had formed into fists and he slammed them on his desk as you stormed out of his office. You made him lose control over everything, as it seemed. He wasn’t used to being around such a strong and dominant personality, secretly adored the way you always had a comeback for everything, insulting him, making him feel worthless and unimportant, whereas everyone else kept praising him for all the little things he did. He liked being challenged.

But, as expected, he’d screwed up again.

───

You were in the car with your husband, ready to finally go back home. It’d gotten just ten minutes before midnight and the only three people remaining in the Firm were you, him and Mitch. He’d given Mitch the keys, entrusted him to lock after he was done with work, as all sorts of variations about what Mitch would do alone in such a huge building crossed your mind. The poor man was just working his ass off, yet your twisted brain pictured him jerking off under his desk, just like you’d accused him for only a few moments earlier. Just the thought was enough to get you going, all warm and wet as you eventually managed to get your husband to make out with you for less than five minutes in his office, right after you left Mitch’s office from the fight.

“I need to go back to the building, I think that I left my coat at my office,” your husband spoke, snapping you out of your thoughts as you stopped mid-chewing on your fingernail.

“No need to get up, I’ll go fetch it real quick.”

Real quick was just a saying, you laughed a little in your head, knowing exactly why you’d offered to go back inside. You were sure that Mitch was still there, beating himself up over the bar exam. Your suspicions were right, your eyes caught him biting on the cap of his yellow Bic pen, fingers toying with the thin skeleton of his brown glasses.

Those were a new accessory, you noticed, thighs subconsciously squeezing between your asphyxiating skirt at the sight of him. You thought he looked gorgeous; with or without them. But you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to yourself that you wanted to walk into his office and fuck the anxiety out of his system — glasses stay on.

For a brief moment, you contemplated whether speaking to him was a good idea, but your cold stance prevented you from doing so, heart squeezing uncomfortably in your chest as you walked hurriedly into your husband’s office to get his coat, so many words bubbling up in your throat and dying there the very same moment as your stilettos hit the floor with anger. The image of Mitch was still getting you high as you took a deep inhale, entering the car and hoping you didn’t look as shaken as you felt. Your husband’s ignorance was on your side that night, for once.

At home, he didn’t even care to talk you to. He plopped into your shared bed, sinking under the covers and announcing aloof (and half asleep) that the following day he had to leave early for a business trip that Lambert had planned for him. You sighed, turning the page of your book as the sound echoed into the room — as if it was empty. You couldn’t even say much, didn’t feel curious. You knew that whenever he had to go on one of those so called businesses trips, his only concern was how to enchant the tropical women under his charm, cheat on you repeatedly and then return just to crash in bed all night long, forcing you to a restless slumber because of his inconvenient snoring. You could seize the opportunity to approach Mitch, you thought during reading the seventh chapter. He’d told you that Abby was gone, so that meant no obstacles in the way.

But he was pissed at you.

Except…

Except he really wasn’t. The following day came and since you had no husband to pay a visit to in the Firm, you’d chosen to stay at the comfort of your house, getting warm under the covers while reading your book, watching TV and… thinking about Mitch in the most inappropriate ways.

He’d been worried, disappointed too, but mostly worried, because he’d grown accustomed to you passing by his office every day. You weren’t there that day, though, no sight of you. No sight of your husband either — but he couldn’t really see himself concerned about the last bit. He’d asked both Avery and Nina about your disappearance, hoping that he didn’t come off as too urgent, that they were moronic enough to wave off the way his voice was a tad squeakier than usual. Mitch felt like he’d fucked up big time. Mostly because he blamed his own self for your lack of presence in the Firm; thought that he’d been to direct with you the other night, too strong-worded.

“Fuck,” he cursed breathlessly, shoving the stack of binders off his desk as he fell back into the chair. He should’ve been missing Abby for being away again, he should’ve felt guilty that she had gone to her parents for once more as a warning that his own disinterest in her had caused, but no, instead he was restlessly crashing his soul about a woman that he barely knew, that had such a strong chokehold around him. Mitch felt unsure.

He was also very oblivious, even though that was a rare occurrence. He’d missed the way Nina, his assistant, had a knowing smirk growing in her face as he stupidly asked her for the third time that day if she knew your whereabouts. Of course, you and Nina had a history. She’d been your husband’s secretary for ages before Mitch came, was very fond of the way you treated her and considered you like one of her closest friends.

The house felt just as empty as it felt whenever your husband existed in it. The corridors were cold against your feet as you walked into the bedroom, having just taken a steaming shower. You sat by the end of the bed as you spread a coconut body lotion on your legs, mind preoccupied with a certain lawyer that had recently become the bane of your thoughts. You hummed as the chilly cream made contact with your legs, wondering how Mitch would be looking at you if he was in the room. It was no secret that he appreciated long, tan legs, after all.

The telephone unexpectedly rang in the living room, interrupting your train of dirty scenarios, causing you to jump a little, startled by the sound. You sighed in annoyance and dragged your feet lazily across the room, yawning as you picked up the call. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Miss. It’s Nina Huff, from Mr. McDeere’s office. I hope I did the right thing and call you,” the older woman spoke from the other line. Nina? Why was Nina calling you in the first place, you wondered, brain not functioning fully.

“Anything happened, Nina?”

“Mr. McDeere has been asking about you. I mean, where you are, of course. I thought that it might tickle your interest to know.”

You took a moment, taken aback by her statement. It wasn’t as though you didn’t know that Mitch would question your sudden absence, but you certainly did not expect him to go around asking others in the Firm about you. The information made your heart melt just a little, eyes softening for a second as you pictured the worry in his eyes; not the one from you not having visited, but the one from being paralysingly terrified of anyone figuring out his feelings.

“Thanks for letting me know, Nina,” you replied kindly to the woman as you removed the phone from your ear with a smile on your face that was wide enough to have your stretched lips hurting.

───

The rain was pouring outside, windows foggy as Mitch found himself buried in paperwork once again. He was determined to become the youngest partner; he’d convinced himself, yet his body stood obstacle to achieving the goal, seeing as every inch and cell of him was covered in anticipation; where were you? Had he hurt you?

Voices from the fight still played non stop inside his head, overanalyzing his tone and choice of words. You were pissed at him, he’d concluded. He was livid at you as well, his mind wanted to believe. No — he didn’t care. He needed a glass of the old, cheap cognac that the Firm offered. He poured the drink into an expensive, patterned glass and brought it to his lips, inhaling the scent of the alcohol before slithering it down his throat. It burnt; matched perfectly with the confusion of his feelings, the incapability of handling such a simple situation by just clearing things out. He thought he was hallucinating when he suddenly noticed you leaning against the doorframe, dressed in all black with your usual signature pencil skirt showing off your legs just the way he’d been thinking about only a few minutes ago.

“I’ve heard that you missed me,” you mumbled seductively, tilting your head with a playful grin spreading against your lips as you scanned his every move and reaction. He seemed intact.

“From who, shall I ask?” he asked, fingers wrapping securely around the glass of cognac he was holding, looking at you with no emotion. He needed to conceal exactly how desperate he’d been to see you all day, hide back the leaps of his beating heart as your appearance started to feel more and more real to him — maybe not a hallucination after all.

“None of your concern.”

“Hm. Either way, your resources have been mistaken. I’ve been particularly busy all day.”

You didn’t believe a thing of the bullshit he gave you, but decided to play along to his game regardless. He wanted a tough time? That was what he’d get, then, you decided. You brought yourself dangerously closer to him, head leaning down as you pretended to smell the alcoholic beverage he was holding, hand wrapping around his own as you wrapped your lips around the base of the glass and took a sip, eyes fixated on his dilated, bright green ones.

“Busy turning your knuckles white by jerking off again? My god, this Abby woman needs to return home and give you some attention already,” you teased, taking notes of how his breath instantly hitched at the mention of his wife’s name. It went beyond you how she had a husband like Mitch at home and didn’t fuck his brains out every passing second of the day. You were even jealous that she got to call him her own, that the stupid ring decorating her finger was a symbol of his love for her and how he’d promised to be with her in sickness and health. You hated promises, always thought they were the most pretentious thing in the world. Out of seven billion people in the planet, you reckoned that maybe a humble 5% could keep a promise. “And how disappointing… Drinking at work, McDeere? It hasn’t even been a month since you got a job here.”

Mitch slammed the glass on his desk, grasping your wrist and firmly squeezing the pads of his fingers around it as he dragged you out of his office without warning and in swift movements.

“I want to show you something,” was the only explanation he gave. You reached the library, one of your personally favourite rooms of the Firm. It was always so dark, even with the lights on, no windows in it as thousands of books that were stacked in the shelves garnished the walls. There was also a huge, long table with small antique lamps right in the middle, the table that Mitch had sat on during his first day at work, feeling like he owned the place. It was his favourite part of the Firm, as well, loved how silent it was. How he could get lost in his thoughts in there.

He gave you a look that you couldn’t really read, something between ‘I regret where this is going already’ and ‘it’s now or never’. Your mind was buzzing, heart clenching into your rib cage as Mitch rushed to the door, twisting the key and locking it. The sound echoed in the entire room, covering the sharp inhale that he took, right before approaching you again, hands unable to find a place to stay steady in.

“What are you doing?” you asked, even though you’d already gotten a blurry idea. Mitch was dragging you by the hand again, and before you knew it, you were pressed against the table, until he quickly let go of you to sit on the chair. You glanced at him without speaking, admiring how he managed to pull off the dark circles under his eyes like some sort of expensive accessory.

“Where were you all day?”

“Missed me?”

“No,” his reply was quick and certain. Almost as though he hadn’t been picturing himself bending you over in every corner of the Firm, placing his hands on your outer thighs and caressing the curves, before gently stripping that fucking skirt that you wore and knew drove him mad. You innocently walked up to him, sitting on top of the table and crossing your legs as you reached for his arm, running your fingers up and down the length of it. Mitch was looking at you like he would burst if you kept touching him, explode into a million pieces, completely disappear.

His eyes fluttered shut when you uncrossed your legs, the skirt riding up on your thighs as you gave him a revealing view of your black lace underwear that he’d been dying to take off since the day he met you. He shook his head and sank it into his hands, not knowing whether he wanted to go on with this. That was mostly why he’d locked the door; because he didn’t trust himself enough to not run out and never deal with the consequences of his actions. But he wanted you, wanted you more than he’d ever wanted any other woman before, and he needed to know if you felt the same way about him as well. It drove him out of control, made the logic in his system vanish into thin air — and Mitch loved every second.

“They don’t have to find out, you know,” you suggested softly, moving just an inch closer. The distance was seemingly still there, torturing the two of you the more you invaded each other’s personal space. Distance that made him afraid of what would happen in case the adrenaline in his veins challenged him just the right amount. They don’t have to find out. A nervous feeling wrecked his stomach, feeling weak the more he looked at you. Mitch wanted you, he wanted every inch of you, every curve, every patch of skin under his fingertips. His heart felt as though it would flip, hammer out of his chest and kill him — and he honestly wished that something similar could happen and get him out of whatever situation he had gotten himself into.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh, come on, Mitch,” you watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, feeling a familiar warmth pool between your legs. Everything about your movements, the place you’d chosen to sit and even your unsteady breath was giving him a hard, really hard, time to focus, to remember his own name. Fuck it.

There was silence for a moment, allowing the rain from outside to be heard as both of you stood in the middle of an empty, dark room, contemplating. You recrossed your legs and began toying with the end of his maroon, striped tie, not caring how sweaty it made him; the way your thin, long fingers made small circles on top of it suggestively, rubbing the material softly.

Run for your life, Mitch thought, but his mouth spoke before his logic could. “You’ve never left my mind once ever since you talked to me.”

His words had you melting. “Then do something about it.” Run, run, run, run. It’s not too late. His chin started to tilt towards yours, lips parted.

“I want to know what it feels like,” he whispered. Mitch was going to kiss you, and it was so wrong, and so was how badly your wanted him to… But he pulled away abruptly, before you could even realise what was happening. You sighed in frustration, missing the way he stood, paralysed.

“You’re so fucking scared.”

Excuse me? Mitch cocked his head to the side, still dizzy from your magnifying perfume.

“Scared of what?”

“Scared of doing what your heart tells you to do. What your dick tells you to do. You want to kiss me so bad, but you can’t, because you’re scared that miss goody-two-shoes will find out and do what exactly? Divorce you? You’re better off without her, in any case.” Before you could finish every other thing that you wanted to say, you were suddenly thrown back into the table, wrists trapped and pinned over your head as his shaky hands held them down forcefully. There he was.

“I can kiss you any time and any way I want,” he ordered with a hoarse voice, his breath hitting against your plumped mouth as his eyes stared into your glowing ones. You wanted to smile; you’d officially pushed all of his buttons down, you’d made him weak to the core. Mitch was at your complete mercy, had you wanted him.

“Then do it.”

And without a second thought, he did. His stomach pressed against your as he heaved over you, kissing you feverishly. Your hands escaped from his grasp and you locked them around his neck, kissing him back, showing him how it was meant to be. You could feel his thumping heart against your own hammering one, knowing that he enjoyed this just as much as you did, that he’d been thinking about it for as long as you did.

His tongue slid over your teeth, teasing the roof of your mouth as his shaky body mercilessly enhanced the friction between your burning desires. Neither you nor Mitch had ever experienced such a kiss, such an agony and carnal need for each other. So many unspoken feelings and confessions hung in the air as you tried to express them through a simple kiss.

No one will ever know.

FIN.

for my favourite person @honeymvnt 𝜗𝜚

[mqverick]

diet mountain dew || ꕤ

“Baby, stoppin' at 7-Eleven

There in his white Pontiac heaven.”

───────── ˚｡⋆ ( ၴႅၴ ⟡ ─────────

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Daniel was looking at you with the smuggest smirk you’d ever seen on a man’s face before. His eyes were burning into yours, glistening under the light as he stared at you, his mouth slightly agape. You tried not to gulp as the question echoed in your ears, face hot and flustered.

You never thought you’d find yourself outside of Daniel Kaffee’s door, contemplating whether to knock on his door or not. You’d always had the first word with him, ever since the moment he burst in your office with that stupid apple of his.

He’s looked like an idiot then and he looked like an idiot now, all proud of himself, looking at you — forcing you to use the actual words you’d been practicing and itching to say to him for God knows how long. It was deeply humiliating.

“No,” you simply and coldly replied, but your voice weakened by the end of the two-lettered word.

“It sounded like you were asking me out on a date,” he argued, crossing his arms as he took a few steps closer to you, ignoring the baseball game on the television that played uninterrupted in the background. He slyly raised his eyebrows as if he was questioning your previous ‘no’.

You stood there robotically, fumbling with the end of your thin jacket as you avoided eye contact with Daniel, knowing very well that your knees would buckle under just one look from him.

“I wasn’t,” you continued firmly.

“Mm,” Daniel hummed, his face so close to yours that you swore he was asking to get roughly hit in the balls. You were a woman with dignity and respect, though, you had to be stronger than that. God, you were aware of the fact that he had one of the most self-absorbed, cocky personalities, but when had he gotten like that? “I’ve been asked out on dates before, and that’s what it sounded like.”

Regretting your life’s choices should’ve been a paid occupation for you at that point. You wondered what came over you, thought hard about the nerve in your burnt brain that screamed and cried for you to get up from the bed, have a good day and then ruin it all by finally gathering the courage to go alone to Daniel’s place and talk to him about something that wasn’t related to the case. Ask him out on a fucking date like the desperate, little, touch starved loser you were.

Men had been going after you, begging for a chance since forever… yet, there was Daniel.

Daniel Kaffee, who had graduated from law school a year ago, had gotten in the Navy freshly — around nine months ago — who was so admirably impressive and intelligent and a whole person of his own. Daniel, who couldn’t come to a realisation without his thinking bat.

How had you fallen so hard in love with him?

“Do you like seafood? I know a good seafood place,” you blurted out, mentally kicking and cursing yourself for how stupid you’d sounded.

“I’ll tell you if you admit you’re asking me out.”

You weren’t going to, not even if he held a gun to your forehead and threatened your life. He did not need that kind of boost for his ego, nor did you care for getting embarrassingly paralysed in front of him after the smile he’d give you in case you actually did convince yourself to admit that this was your horrible aspect of asking him on a date.

“N-Not a date,” you stuttered, hating yourself.

“The sweat forming on your forehead says otherwise.” He snickered when you hurriedly snatched your hand from your jean’s pocket to wipe the non existent sweat off your face. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. You know, I really wouldn’t say no to going out with you.”

“Well, you’re not. I just want to grab some dinner with my colleague is all. Will you come or should I get going? It’s late, they’ll close soon.”

You eventually gathered the courage to breathe, backing away from him as you headed towards the door, placing your hand on the handle. Daniel snatched you back by the arm, catching you off guard as you silently cried, mind short-circuiting after noticing how much closer he’d pulled you to him. His grip was strong on your elbow, fingers tightly pressing into your warm, reddening skin.

“Are you dismissing me?”

You cocked your head to the side.

“What?”

“I want to go on a date with you. Do you want to go on a date with me?” Fuck, he was killing you. You were an exceptional lawyer, distinguished, had even won service medals. And all of that just vanished, the words dying in your throat, just because Kaffee was holding you so painfully close to him that part of your mind subconsciously dared you to move your head just an inch further into him, invade completely his personal space.

“I…” you began, but trailed off, seeing as you were truly incapable of understanding what was going through your blinded head in that moment. Had his eyes always been so dazzlingly green and big? Had Daniel always looked so unbelievably pretty?

“I didn’t even know you liked me. I mean, if you like me. I won’t make you say it — I just want to know if you’re asking me out on a date. Which is sort of like asking you if you like me, so that automatically cancels out what I just said.”

Daniel was getting nervous as well. Both of you were so utterly fucked with each other, but none ever spoke about it out loud without jokingly throwing flirtatious innuendos. He was done with just guessing how you felt about him, though, decided to take the matter into his own hands if you didn’t have the guts to make a move first.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost you to another man just because his stupidity was too much of an obstacle to overcome. Died in silence every time he had to say goodbye or goodnight to you wherever you had to leave his apartment after judging that you’d all conversated enough about the case. Daniel knew that you had to be feeling something for him — even if that was a tiny spark.

All the secret glances, the way you commanded and spoke to him, the contained smiles; they had to mean something right? But why weren’t you trying anything with him? He thought he made it pretty obvious that he felt the same way about you, had been feeling like that for a long time.

He knew you knew.

“Danny, can you let — fuck, I can’t breathe when you hold me so close to you,” you accidentally confessed, eyes bulging the moment your words played loudly rent free in your brain right after they so easily and boldly left out of your mouth.

“You can’t?” he repeated softly, in awe as he tried to comprehend what you’d just said. “You can’t — you can’t say stuff like that to me and then tell me that you don’t want to ask me on a date. You can’t do that — you can’t fuck like that with my mind.”

You jerked away from him, brows furrowing.

“Me? I can’t say stuff like that to you? You’d known me only 12 hours when you told me you were sexually aroused. You’ve been looking at me as if I’m some sort of grand lawyer, like I amaze you or something — you know how hard it is for me to keep a fucking professional stance around you?” you were shouting for no reason now, practically admitting your feelings for him due to the anger that had fogged your brain.

Daniel closed his eyes in wonder, then looked at you dumbfounded. “What?” Fuck. “What did you just say?” he repeated hesitantly.

“Nothing.”

“No, don’t give me that bullshit. I thought you hated me. I always try so hard to impress you and I’m so afraid that I’ll do something wrong or offend you in some way I won’t even realize and you… You feel the same way about me?”

The question fell off his lips like he was terrified of the answer you’d give him. And it was true; he was, beat himself up for how little confidence he had around you even though his actions showed the opposite. He’d been melting for you.

Was captivated by your determination, the way you could make him feel so worthless just by giving him a weird look. Scary?

To Daniel, you were divine.

“I—I don’t feel a certain way about you, Danny.”

“You kill me,” he rushed to comment, cutting you off the second his nickname was mentioned. “Every single time you call me that, a small part of me dies. That sounds horrible, I didn’t mean it that way. You know how it feels to walk in a courtroom for the first time?”

You nodded with a slight chuckle. “Yeah, I do. I could never forget. Do you?”

“Because of you, I do. If you weren’t so damn stubborn and annoying, I couldn’t even dream of it. When I walked inside, my legs were trembling. It was a confusing, but beautiful feeling.”

Your knees were bucking — what was he doing?

“Fuck you, Kaffee,” you muttered under your breath, running a hand through your hair.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying. Fuck me. Fuck me, Commander, I’m already yours. I have been ever since you listed my entire life in front of my very own eyes, then proceeded to threaten my position in the case. How can you not know that? How can you act so surprised when the only reason why I keep calling both you and Sam at my place repeatedly every day is because I believe that there couldn’t possibly be any way I’d ever see you in my little, humble apartment under any other circumstances? Don’t you think we could’ve perfectly arranged another meeting spot?”

You’d lost touch with the environment. Daniel’s eyes looked as though he was about to burst into tears; all glassy and red, holding back a million words and emotions that he’d so successfully held back for such a long time, that they almost didn’t even feel real. He had to be kidding you.

“Is it too late to ask you on a date, then?”

Daniel let out a sigh of relief, a gorgeous smile cracking on his lips as he finally shut the game on the television off, moving dangerously toward you. He cupped his hands over your cheeks and pulled you tightly into him, capturing your lips with his own after what felt like ages. His eyes were forcefully closed, afraid of opening them and waking up to what could be just another dream. But no, this was reality, he decided after he discreetly opened them just an inch to make sure that the person he was smushing was real.

You weren’t kissing him back, though, and it made him pull away, feeling like a complete fool. Had he misread anything again, had he done something wrong? Had his hurried intrusive thought to kiss you been too much?

“I’m really sorry, I—”

Embarrassment welled up inside of him as he stared down at your feet, his mind still unable to process the taste of your lips as it barely even functioned for any other reason; talking like a normal person, for example. Harvard lawyer, they said. Lawyer his ass. What kind of lawyer was ever known to get so tongue tied in a situation?

“Your lack of response to my question makes me believe that you haven’t truly been asked out on any dates before,” you eventually spoke, opting to break the silence with sarcasm, just like it had always been between the two of you.

You pressed your mouth against his this time, smirking nobly as you heard him take a sharp inhale. You walked backwards, forcing him to do the same, then pushed him against the outside arm of his pathetic couch, causing him to fall.

You wasted no time with getting on top of him, straddling his lap firmly as your back arched on top of him, making the kiss get profoundly deeper and wetter as tongues got involved. You’d never been French-kissed like that (or in general, ) — your head felt like it would explode.

Daniel wasn’t skilled just as a lawyer. He was awfully good at kissing, sending you over the edge just by adding a little extra saliva in the kiss and letting his hands roam freely in your back, pulling you closer and closer to his scorching body. His soft brunet hair softly brushed against your forehead as he titled his head for a better angle and you could almost feel yourself die.

He winced when his bat dug into his back and the miserable sound he made caused you to moan.

“Are — Are you going to ask me out?”

You ignored him, grasping on his shoulders as you accidentally ground against his crotch, losing your mind and grip over yourself when you felt his semi-erection rub just the right away over your jeans and panties, your wet core clenching around absolutely nothing disappointedly.

“Let’s go to the seafood place, yeah?” you exclaimed against his mouth.

“As a date?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

You untangled yourself from him, still neatly seated on his legs as if you couldn’t feel him flush and hard, aching to be freed from his trousers.

“You know I’m very intimidated by you, right?”

Daniel gave you a peck on the before getting up to sit normally on the couch. “I do not, Ma’am.”

“Shut up.”

“Pretty impressive, huh?” he mocked, just like he’d said to you the first time you met. God, you really, deeply hated his self-absorbed guts. But you loved him. Loved him like crazy.

“I changed my mind.”

“About what?”

“I don’t want to go out to eat.”

Daniel’s face dropped when you got up from the couch and began putting your jacket back on. He’d messed up, he’d messed up, he’d messed up… Fuck him and how he never thought before doing. You were going to leave him, of course you were. You were scared of how fast he’d moved.

Except you really weren’t, you just really found joy into toying with his lowered remaining patience.

“What?” he asked, nearly like a whisper.

“I’ll see you at court tomorrow at 10. Don’t be fucking late, Lieutenant, or I’ll just might have to cancel the dinner reservations I’m planning. Up until then, you’ll do well with your very manly and grown up Yoo-Hoos,” you walked up to his door, feeling your heart beat rapidly in your chest as the corner of your eye caught him almost stumbling into the coffee table in his hurry to get to you.

“Is it going to be a—”

“And before you ask, yes, it’s a date.”

FIN.

@honeymvnt 𝜗𝜚

[mqverick]

buick roadmaster | ₊˚⊹ᰔ

mature themes, +18

rough smut included, consider yourselves warned

“Because I’m going deeper and deeper

Harder and harder”

─── ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ───

“I don’t want to be demanding here, but… could you say maybe ten — twelve words to me before we get to the hotel?” you asked Charlie, half frustrated, half smiling at him, trying not to look too pissed off. It had almost been an hour ever since he’d begun driving, not even bothering to turn the radio on. Just dead silence.

Charlie glanced over at you, then returned his attention to the street, driving quietly with opaque eyes. You sighed, hand coming up to your forehead as you rubbed the skin between your eyebrows in despair, not knowing what to do.

“…Consider it foreplay,” you tried again, this time more playfully, hoping to get him in the feels.

Instead of saying anything, though, he just smirked discreetly, secretly loving being busted by you. “Glad we decided to spend the weekend together, gives you two whole days to bitch at me,” he eventually replied. As a response, you scooted over and knelt his thigh, crossing your arms as you looked forward with narrowed eyes. “What, you’re not talking to me now?”

God, the nerve of that man.

“If you’re so damn worried that you can’t look like you’re not holding back a giant shit, call your dumb service. I took Friday off because I wanted to spend three nice days with my loving boyfriend, who apparently is the biggest, pompous jerk I’ve ever met.”

Charlie chuckled sarcastically, still not giving the slightest care of looking at you, his gaze firmly locked on the road ahead of you. “So that’s what’s on my mind, huh? The service?”

“I sure hope it’s not another woman,” you replied with the same snarky tone, your head now leaned against the widow as you also refused to look at him. You could feel the radiation of his proud, teasing smirk burning you, nevertheless.

“Maybe it’s three other women.”

Oh, he just loved keeping the tension going, didn’t he? Hadn’t you had enough patience and experience of his almost childish behavior after dating (and baring) him for a whole year, you would’ve grabbed the steering wheel from him and crash the car right into the nearest tree. Sometimes, you wondered how you put up with him, with how full of himself he was.

You saw his motor running and huffed. How convenient, you thought, urging him to pick up.

“Maybe they’re calling you right now.” With flared nostrils, you punched up the speed dial on the car phone, hearing the electronic beeps as Charlie continued ignoring you. His nerves were at the surface, fingers gripping unintentionally hard onto the steering wheel as he pushed his sunglasses over the bridge of his nose, scratching the spot there for just a second.

“Babbitt,” he called.

“Two calls from a Mr. Bateman. You want the number?” the voice operator spoke and you the way Charlie closed his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you as you slowly turned your body around so that you could see him better, getting worried.

Quietly into silence, “No.”

“Oh, okay. Then there’s, uh — oh shit. There’s this, um, Mr. Mooney, says he’s your father’s lawyer in Chicago… your father died, sir.”

Charlie clicked off the line, interrupting the call. Driving with one hand, the other one sat on his lap, looking for something to fiddle with, doing eighty. He was shaken, that you could tell, even though he was putting up the biggest effort not to let it show. All the previous anger you felt about him was long gone, taken over by compassion.

“Oh, Charlie. Are you all right?” you asked, your fingertips reaching for the side of his face, but he shook them away, strangely cold and distant. You just stared at him, unable to read him as he pulled off the road, trying to turn. No reply to your question, struggling to keep up the façade.

“Sorry about the weekend, hon,” he mumbled lowly, turning the car around. Was he serious? Did he really think all you cared about was Palm Springs? You opted to maintain your calm.

“The weekend? Charlie…?”

You found it weird, how little emotion he showed. Charlie always tempted to do things like that, completely leave you out of his thoughts, pretend that nothing had ever bothered you. It annoyed you, sure, but mostly, it caused you sadness. You wanted to be there for him, let him know that he could count on you whenever he was feeling bad, if only you knew what was going on in that mind of his. He was really good at hiding his reactions and feelings from everyone as well.

“Didn’t mean to ruin our trip, I’ll make it up to you, though, I promise,” he announced weakly. “Look, we… uh, we hated each other. Mom died when I was two and it’s been me and him ever since.”

You reached for his face again, this time more gently. Charlie accepted your touch, leaning into it for comfort as he closed his eyes just for a short moment. That was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him — that he’d ever let you seen him.

“Did he not treat you well?” you asked, stroking his hair carefully, smoothing it back.

“Beat me up. Emotionally, I mean. Nothing I did was ever good enough… I dealt with it, eventually. Learnt to ignore and let go. Hated him.”

To you, it explained a lot about why Charlie had been behaving like that. It was how he’d grown up, having to shield himself from the others. It hurt you that you couldn’t seem to be helpful for him, hurt you when he abruptly pulled away from your touch away, swallowing back his feelings.

“We’ve been dating for a year. When were you planning to tell me all this? Let me be there for you, Charlie, I’m sick and tired of always having to guess what’s on your head.” But he was back to being silent and acting as if he couldn’t hear you.

Putting up his guard again, not allowing himself to show you how he really felt. You hated him.

“I’m talking to you,” you said in a demanding tone. “Stop fucking playing a game with me. I’m your fucking girlfriend, I should know how to comfort you for Christ’s sake, but you pull away all the damn time! It’s always one step forward and a whole airplane flight back with us. Quit pushing me away every time I try to understand you, it’s exhausting.”

“Not one of these again,” Charlie whispered under his breath as he sighed too loudly for your liking.

“What? Doesn’t it concern you that you had to say ‘again’ in that sentence? You exclude me from everything that’s going on in your life, maybe you’d like to do something about it, just for a change?” you begged sarcastically.

“Fine, you want to talk? Let’s talk. How was your day, honey?” Charlie questioned with indifference, not bothering at the slightest to hide how much he felt like he itched to piss you off.

“I don’t want to talk, I want to—”

“No, you wanted to talk, let’s talk. C’mon, tell me, how have you been doing? Had a nice day? How was it, tell me everything about it, come on.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you mouthed, unbuckling yourself free from your seat. “Stop the car, I want to leave.” But once again, he pretended like he hadn’t heard anything from what you’d said.

“Not going anywhere,” you were simply given.

“No, you know what? One whole year and you haven’t once told me how you feel about me. It’s as though we’ve been stuck on the third date stage, going out for dinner and then fucking. That’s all we do. I’m not asking you to explain everything to me, just let me know that you feel comfortable confiding in me, trusting me. What if I wanted to meet your parents one day? When would you have told me that your mother had died and that you and your father didn’t speak? Relationships are about care for each other.”

“I care about you, you know that.”

You looked over at him with unsure eyes. You’d doubted Charlie’s faith in you before and maybe that was the problem with your relationship. You loved him, loved him dearly — had been in love with him ever since you began dating him. You knew he was capable of showing you a caring side, which was rare, but still very existing.

You believed you loved him enough for the two of you. None, however, had ever expressed that to each other. Spent days, weeks, months, patiently waited for him to make the move, do something romantic or even just spit it out awkwardly while watching a movie or cuddling in bed. But no, Charlie’s head was more stubborn than a donkey and if there was one thing he was good at, it was constantly shielding himself and drawing you away. As if he hated being in a relationship.

“Do I?”

And it killed him. Killed him how incapable he was of reassuring you that for him, it was pretty much over since the day he met you. How he’d bottled up all the things he wanted to say to you, how important you were to him, his only family.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered lowly enough for you to unintentionally miss it.

“If you’re not ready for a relationship, Charlie, I won’t force you to be in one. And for fuck’s sake stop the fucking car already!” But he wasn’t stopping, wasn’t anywhere near stopping; instead only sprinted faster into the empty road. The wind was blowing through his hair, throwing it on top of his forehead as he pushed it aside, annoyed.

You hair was probably a mess too, for all you cared. You were furious with him, with how little he’d let you know him, how you’d almost never been a part of his life. If only you knew.

“You don’t get to go, I need you,” he yelled, voice loud enough for the first time during the car ride for you to actually hear. He was mad too and you didn’t even know why — no, but honestly — he had no right. No right to even have the smallest, tiniest bit of irritation into his body, when he was the only one responsible for all of this.

“You don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you gritted through your teeth, glaring holes into his head. “Now stop the fucking car or I’ll hit the brakes and we’ll both fly the fuck forward into the glass.”

“All right, stop you want?” Charlie asked, abruptly taking a turn that almost sent you out of the window, holding onto your stomach and the seatbelt that you’d unfastened earlier. “Then stop you’ll fucking get.” He was being insane with it, driving ridiculously fast, you were certain he was planning to end your lives once and for all.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you screamed, regretting the moment you’d decided it would be sane and safe to not be wearing a seatbelt while on a car with a man who barely knew how to contain his anger tantrums.

“You wanted to stop, so we’re stopping the car. I’m stopping the fucking car!” he yelled back, slapping the steering wheel so loudly and with so much force that he accidentally winced in pain.

You were holding on for dear life, clutching onto the fabric of the seats and holding your breath down your throat, when he finally stopped with a turn that you were sure was a death sentence.

You didn’t even know where you were, where he’d driven. Your brain was permanently off after that reckless driving of him, making it clearer for you that you needed to leave him or at least threaten him about ending the relationship, giving him a break. There was no way he’d ever be clear enough to think straight, though, especially after your argument, especially after his dad’s death.

Man, he was really getting one slap after another.

“You’re not capable of handling a relationship, then you don’t fucking get to be in one! Go fuck yourself, Charlie!” you shouted at him as your hand went to clasp around the door’s handle, furious at him, but before you could even realize what was happening, Charlie had yanked you back by your shirt, sending you flying into his lap.

You yelped and tried to free yourself from his grasp, but he was holding you so tightly on him that you couldn’t move besides wiggle your legs. He looked both troubled and pissed, unsurprisingly hard to read. His eyes were cold and sharp, sparking as they glowered at you.

He wanted to say something. You could tell by the way his lips subconsciously moved as if he had the words right on the tip of his tongue, but were being choked up by him. He was weak with words, always had been. He thought of them as an action that you couldn’t take back, something like a pearl in your head that you’d be able to roll around as you reminisce. He hated words.

The second time you tried to pull away from him, he kissed you. Attached his lips forcefully into yours, causing you to gasp and completely stop moving. It took you a little to comprehend the situation, but once the warm feeling of his mouth moving against yours kicked in, you reciprocated the kiss with the same urge and compulsion.

“I need you,” he murmured into your ear as he rubbed his nose against the soft flesh of your cheek, wrapping his hands around you so tightly that he wouldn’t have to worry about you trying to make an escape again. With each hand firmly positioned on the sides of his neck, you pulled him down on top of you, laying uncomfortably on top of the seats. You didn’t even care if your back was hurt by hitting the transmission stick a little too hard, or how he’d accidentally pulled a few hairs from a strand that was covering your face.

You lifted your leg up as he crashed his lips into yours again, extending over the top of the console and wrapping it around his waist, arousal already pooling in your underwear. Charlie had his way of kissing you; knew exactly how long it took you to get weak for him, to shut your mind off and beg him for more. He loved using it against you.

Loved how it turned you on the same amount it did for him. His left hand travelled in your hair, pulling it from the ends. His right was around your waist, just under the rim of your shirt, gripping your hip. His tongue peaked out of his mouth, exploring yours before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your lips, detaching abruptly and creating a thin string of saliva between the two of you. His breath was hard to catch and so was yours, both still incredibly mad at one another. He stared at you blankly for a second, his hard-on growing against his pants as he looked over at your swollen, wet lips.

“You fucking dick,” you snarled under your breath as you angled your knee outward until it was tight on the dashboard. You urgently unbuttoned your jeans, then pulled him back toward you, kissing him passionately as your left hand searched for his, leading it downwards and eventually pressing it firmly onto your mound. Charlie groaned into your mouth, cock twitching painfully against the hard material of his trousers. He let his fingers feel down your body, stroking your clothed leg as his palm curved over your butt and down the back of your thigh. His touch was your cause of death.

“Scoot a little,” he instructed you, struggling to pull down your jeans, accidentally hitting the top of his head against the roof of the car. You tried to suppress the automatic laughter, simply choking out a chuckle, which Charlie hushed away the very moment he ground his covered erection on your pulsing core, soaked through your panties.

Your moan came out ridiculously loud, shadowing the pleased hum that fell from his lips due to the feel of your warmth and wetness, almost convincing himself that he was just a second away from losing it when he hadn’t even gotten to touch you yet. You took the chance to knee him in the crotch, livid at the fact that he was smirking at how ready you were for him, feeling all proud of himself, knowing that he was the only one to ever offer you that feeling — that kind of pleasure.

Charlie looked at you with lustful, blown pupils. You were pretty sure you were as much of a mess as he was, hair combed, clothes half off, red neck and ears, swollen lips and glassy eyes. You grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, the only thing covering your chest know being a black lacy bra. You swore you felt an orgasm creep up inside of you as the pad of his thumb made contact with your clit through the underwear, biting so hard down on your lip in order to not scream his name from the top of your lungs, hips subconsciously thrusting against his hand. You were embarrassed, on one side, but on the other, you couldn’t care less.

After all that was done, you were out.

Out of the car and out of his life, you’d decided.

“Fucking touch me already,” you demanded, but he responded negatively to your tone, pinning you down on the seat so tightly that it caused you to let out a tiny wince. With one hand, Charlie held your wrists down and over your head, while the other finally shoved your underwear out of the way. For a contemplative minute, he almost forgot that he was supposed to be mad at you.

How much he loved having you like this.

But he wasn’t going to say anything just yet. Maybe another time, in another case, where he wouldn’t utter it out during sex talk, where he was stronger than that, put his pride last instead of first. He didn’t want to break up with you, ever. To him, you were the one. It was hard to express, complex to explain — bless his heavy heart strings that only allowed him to pick all the wrong talks, places and times.

“Y’feel so good,” he murmured into your ear as he entered a finger into you, carefully enough not to hurt you with the rings he had on. “You fucking kill me whenever I see you. You’re too much, I can’t handle you, I just can’t.” The word came out of his mouth like honey and you had to dig your nails into his back, over his shirt, to stop yourself from cumming undone right then and there.

His finger curled inside your walls, following all the small bends and curves of the part of your body that needed him the most, sluggishly applying pressure and picking up place.

Your juices are dripping down your thighs, thing that helped him to easily add another finger in you. The mixture of his low groans, your choked moans and the slapping sounds of his hand rawing you was probably the biggest turn-on you’d ever experienced. All that in the middle of an empty street, in public view. All one had to do was peak over the windows of his car.

“Keep doing that, I’m so fucking close,” you purred into Charlie’s lips as you kissed him, giving permission to your hands to travel around the waistband of his trousers and undo the zipper.

“Yeah?”

“I want to fuck you.”

“Maybe another night,” Charlie replied with sureness as he suddenly dragged his fingers out of you and rubbing them against the skin of his bottom lip. You both wanted to punch the life out of him and not say anything at all, just enjoy the view of him licking your precum off his hand.

The image was so insanely sexy that you could orgasm just by looking at him and nothing else.

Charlie finally threw his black shirt off somewhere into the backseats, his trousers coming up next as he stood on top of you with just his boxers, which were pretty much a whole other level of mess; leaking with his own precum. He’d never looked so pretty before, so blown away.

It was visible to anyone with a single brain cell that he wanted to fuck you in a way of letting you know that you had no place to leave him, that he needed you more than anyone and more than ever. You opted not to comment on it, instead, leaving him be. Charlie loved angry sex, anyway.

Seemed that you were right after all — the twelve words he’d spoken had been the best foreplay.

“Charlie, I need you,” you pleaded beautifully, so desperately that he discarded his gray boxers immediately, taking his throbbing cock into his hand as he grazed the tip over your entrance, torturing you just a little. You cried out, wanting more, tired of his games. His heart pounded, close to beating right out of his rib cage.

Fuck it, he decided, as both of his hands grabbed your left hand and placed your open palm on his chest, right over his heart, and let it linger there. For the first time that night, you could finally understand what was going on behind his eyes. You smiled as he let go of your hands, running his fingers through your hair and gently guiding your face closer to his, eventually leaning himself in to rest his forehead on yours.

When he thrusted for the first time, you were already chasing after your high (and you were pretty sure the same thing could be applied to him as well.) The grunt he breathed was insane, sending you to heaven and back as you moaned along, realising that you didn’t want to repress yourself any longer. If he were to get cocky and insufferable, then so be it. You’d been used to it.

Your fingers flew into his hair, pulling at it and encouraging him to go deeper and harder. Charlie happily obliged, getting the message instantly as he whispered your name through every groan, beads of tension gripping one body on top of the other. Both his mind and vision were blurry as his thrusts frantically took off to a steady pace, fucking you so deeply, so roughly that he was sure it was hurting you. Why weren’t you stopping him? Why weren’t you telling him to slow down?

“Harder,” you hoarsed, and it nearly rocked his world. Charlie was quick to accomplish your request, filling you up with his dick so nicely as he fucked you through the pleasant moist of your combined bodily juices. He couldn’t comprehend how you weren’t scared of him damaging your body; instead taking lazy glances at you just to figure out that you were loving it, embracing him just right as you clenched so tightly against his dick, squeezing him gut-wrenchingly hard.

“Fuck — ‘m not going to last any longer,” he confessed while pressing his eyes shut, pursing his lips and trying not to fall apart on you yet.

“Just a little bit, Charlie,” you croaked, digging wounds into the muscles of his back with your nails, letting the roughness of his grinds and thrusts vibrate through your entire system, get you pathetically weak under his weight.

“‘M going to cum.” And with that, he gripped onto the sides of your outer thighs as he held still while still deep inside you, releasing hot jets of cum into you as you clamped down on his cock, following with your own earth shattering orgasm. You felt so full, so vulnerable and so fulfilled, all at the same time and it was overpowering. With an exhausted, loud groan, Charlie collapsed on top of you, squishing you as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, placing small pecks down on the curve of your shoulder as he tried to catch both his breath and untamable heartbeat.

“Charlie, I…”

“I just want to hear that it’s not over,” he interrupted you, still a bit breathless as you gave him a puzzled look. “I mean… I’m scared it’s over. Everything you said was right about me. I can’t offer you much, I’m terrible with relationships and I’m very fucking terrified of trusting someone. I’m not really good at showing my feelings.”

“There are many things you’re not good at.”

“I know. I know and I’m scared of getting my heart broken, because I genuinely believe I won’t be able to last one second without you. I’m in love with you,” Charlie finally confessed, trembling as he looked you dead in the eyes, hoping to catch the tiniest hint of response from them.

Your jaw hung slightly agape at his words, never in a million years expecting to hear him drop those words out of his mouth. You were on the verge of tearing up, grabbing him by the sides of his face as you pulled him down to kiss him sweetly on the lips, lingering there longer than needed. Charlie sighed in relief, chuckling with pure joy as he heard the following sentence reassuringly fall from your lips; “I love you too.”

FIN.

again, this is for my favourite person on earth @honeymvnt i hope you’ll like this ml 🫶🏼🎀

[mqverick]

your woman || ‎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ

mature themes, 18+

very detailed smut, dni if you’re a minor

“just use me up and then you walk away

boy, you can’t play me that way”

─── ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ───

Every time Charlie Babbitt opened his mouth, it seemed like a never-ending awards ceremony was on, a lazy smirk living permanently on the corners of his lips. It was as if the idea of someone questioning him was both amusing and absurd. Charlie’s ego was so immense, it practically had its own gravitational pull. It was the sun in his universe, with everything and everyone else relegated to mere planetary status.

If the work didn’t pay well, you wouldn’t had bared a single second next to him, leaving to finally rest at your home with his excessively loud yelling still ringing in your ears, the annoyed sighs, the rude commands. To sum things up, Charlie Babbitt was the kind of man to drive you insane even if you were walking on sunshine.

It surprised you when he first announced that he’d preferred little old you over Lee to come along with him on a business trip in Palm Springs.

The response that rolled on the tip of your tongue at first was a big fat no. Why on earth would you want to spend an entire weekend with that nerve wrecking boss of yours when you could just enjoy the rewarding silence and comfort of your own home? But then again, when Charlie had his mind set on something, he stuck with it until the end.

In other words, whether you liked it or not, you were going on a little ‘getaway’ with him. Turned out, though, that his plans got disrupted by the sudden death of his father, forcing him to take a turn and drag you along to Cincinnati, where the funeral was taking place. You found out later on in the car that Charlie wasn’t the biggest fan of his father due to the lack of emotion he showed throughout the ride. You didn’t care to ask, simply letting out an annoyed groan every now and then to piss him off even further.

For four hours, you were participating in a scoff contest with him, winner would be the one with the longest, most pained sigh. Things got even worse — if possible — after Charlie spoke to the family lawyer about his inheritance, which was as disappointing as getting to work for him all day long. Couple of rose bushes and a stupid car.

“For fuck’s sake, Charlie, can you quit complaining about everything?” you yelled at him after deciding that you’d had about enough.

“Quit complaining?” he repeated, looking at you as if you were a lunatic. “Tell you one story. Just one. You know that convertible out front? My father loved that car more than he loved his family. It’d always been off limits to me. Tenth grade, I’m sixteen and for once I bring home a report card and it’s almost all straight A’s.”

You glanced at him, impressed with the statement, whistling out a low ‘ooh’. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Babbitt,” you commented and he had to break the eye contact for a minute, flushed with embarrassment and a light blush.

“Don’t look so damn surprised, Jesus. So, I go to my dad. Can I take the guys out in the Buick? A victory drive, you know. Says no, but I sneak it out anyway, take the keys. We’re on the Lakeshore Drive; four kids — and we get pulled over. He’d called in a report of a stolen car, not his son took the car out without permission. Just… stolen.”

“I’m getting bored of your sob story.”

“Shut up, will you?” he gritted through his teeth, sighing when you faked a yawn to demonstrate how deeply nonchalant you felt about his story.

“Get to an end, it’s been years.”

“Cook County Jail. Other guys’ dads bail ‘em out in an hour. He left me there two days. Drunks were throwing up everywhere, psychos eyeing me up… That was the only time in my life I was gut scared. Shit-your-pants fucking terrified. Left home, never came back and here I am.”

By the end of his memory, Charlie was trying to choke back a couple of tears that burned through his blurry eyes. His back was turned to you, he hated getting weak, felt as though the Trojan walls he’d built to keep up his mental strength had been bombed, collapsing into crumbles.

You said nothing — couldn’t bring yourself to. You weren’t used to being around that Charlie, had no idea how to react. Under normal conditions and had you not despised his guts, you would’ve hugged him so tightly that the air would get knocked out of his lungs, but it felt wrong, inappropriate for the moment. You settled for a tight-lipped smile instead, standing up and grabbing the second pillow from the bed, tucking it under your arm along with a blanket.

“Looks like you need the bed more than I do.”

Not even a goodnight. He didn’t bother to say another word to you either, so you called it a night, hugging the uncomfortable pillow closer to your head as you shivered under the blanket, wishing that you could’ve gotten the bed instead of the couch. Charlie deserved it that night, though. It was probably the least you could do for him, seeing as your way with words wasn’t exactly a delight. Sleep wasn’t on your side either.

Spent a couple of moments tossing around in agony, until you eventually decided to get up, blanket wrapped loosely around your shoulders as you rummaged through the library in the living room, encountering a photo album. You looked around in the room, making sure that Charlie was still in his room and placed the heavy album on your lap, carefully turning the pages.

Charlie at four years old. Then a bit older, standing alone in the picture, scrawny chest, baggy trunks. You had to stifle a chuckle, the pictures of younger him amusing you.

───

You both woke up early the next day, wind blowing through your hair as Charlie drove to the beneficiary down at the Lynwood Home. Just some stuff I have to wrap up for my dad’s estate, was the only explanation he gave you as he turned down the narrow road, clearing the crest of a hill now, a huge white building coming into view. A country estate, you reckoned.

Charlie continued toward it, approaching a man painting at an ease near the side of the road, shielding whatever he was working from the view by having his back turned to you.

“Excuse me, that place up there is the Lynwood Home, isn’t it?” But the man didn’t acknowledge Charlie in any way and you had to hold back a chortle. Nevertheless, he continued his way into the building, asking you to wait for him outside (wouldn’t take long, he said) as he sorted out the beneficiary issue that seemed to taunt him.

Not being in a mood for arguing, you did as you were told, patiently sitting in your seat as you shuffled through the radio station, trying to find a catchy song to listen to. You gasped in surprise when the sudden presence of a man sat next to you at startled you out of your boredom.

“Hello, can I help you?”

No response.

His hands were firmly grasped around the steering wheel as he started intently at it. Didn’t move at first, just stayed still for a couple of seconds before he began murmuring something that you couldn’t really make out. You tried to get him out of the car, but he flinched as if your touch was scorching against him in every intention of pushing him away. At some point, you gave up and hoped the man would leave when Charlie would come back, otherwise he was bound to hearing it from him very loudly.

Which indeed happened when he finally returned, rudely asking the poor guy to get going. Raymond, as you found later he was called, had other plans though. Apparently — and it came as much as a shock to you as it came to Charlie — he was his brother. Son of Sanford Babbitt.

Raymond Babbitt, who was kidnapped in some sort of way by Charlie, claiming that Dr. Bruner had suggested that he took his brother on a little trip. You knew that was just his usual bullshit talk, though, but tried to keep it down your throat, focusing more on helping Ray relax. He was mouthing stuff that made no sense, spelling out Vern and memorizing TV dialogues — he looked and sounded stressed and it made you want to hit Charlie’s breaks so abruptly that he’d crash his stupidly air floated head into the front shield of the car without the slightest hint of a warning.

Fucking California.

You found yourself in a crappy motel he’d rented in California for the night. Raymond was upset, so out of his comfort zone and familiar routine and places, sitting alone in his room as Charlie wandered back and forth all over the rooms while making calls back to Lee, informing him that he needed to put a pause in the business for a bit.

How insane was he exactly again?

“You’re a horrible fucking person, you know that?” you muttered lowly into his ear as you mustered a warm smile to his brother, opting to make whatever the hell of an experience that was at least enjoyable for him.

“You have no place in this.”

“No? Last time I checked you’ve been dragging me back and forth your stupid trips like I’m some sort of forgotten luggage.”

“That’s it — lights out, Ray Ray,” Charlie exclaimed in a forced enthusiastic voice as he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you outside, closing the door to Raymond’s room.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Get a fucking taxi and leave! I’m not going to give you explanation on what I do in my personal life,” he whispered-yelled at you, stalking across to his own room as you followed him, pissed.

“He’s your brother! You’ve kidnapped the poor guy, have been nothing but a dick to him and all that for what? Go apologize to him, tell him that first thing tomorrow morning you’re taking him back to the beneficiary,” you ordered him in the same tone he used at you.

Charlie shielded his eyes, running his palms down across his cheeks as he let out a long, dramatic sigh, burning holes through your head with his malicious glaring. “The fuck that’s happening! He’s a freaking pain in the ass, obviously I’m not going to tuck him in and kiss his forehead goodnight — I’m not his mother.”

“You’re his kid brother, Charlie. For crying out loud, he needs you, the least you can do for him is show some respect. It’s not his fault he doesn’t understand the world the same way you and I do,” your voice softened just a tad, trying to keep the noise down for Raymond not to hear. “He’s your big brother, could be someone to look up to—”

Charlie glared down at the floor, fighting of his temper. He shook his head — could be even be hearing to your nonsense? “What’s going on in my life is none of your fucking business and you get no chance to go around giving advice.”

“Fine, be the shitty piece of burning crap you are then, I couldn’t care less. But you owe me explanation on why you brought him here. What are we even doing in California?”

Charlie collapsed on the foot of his bed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to keep him. I’m pissed off at him…”

“What is that even supposed to mean? Pissed off at Raymond? What has he done to you?”

“No, at my dad. I need to get what’s mine, okay? He left Ray a shit ton of money and… You heard what Lenz said, okay? He doesn’t even understand the concept of money — my dad preferred to leave him three million dollars, up until every last dime, he fucking despised me.”

You blinked slowly, trying to absorb all of this.

“You’re telling me you’re treating Ray like he’s some sort of your property for money? Where the fuck do you get off, Charlie — you’re disgusting!”

You stalked past him in the bedroom, storming off as you slammed your hands on each side of your head in disbelief. You heard him get up from the bed, catching up with you as he snatched your arm and turned your body towards his own.

“You don’t know how it feels to be in my shoes right now, okay? Look, I need you… I need you here, this is all very confusing for me and—”

“For you?! What about Ray? Is anyone’s life even worth anything to you? No, wait, everything has to be about you only! What do you even need me for, huh? Babysitting, pussy, more money? I’m fucking leaving, I don’t want to be involved in your little freakshow,” you were screaming now, unable to hold yourself back as your finger stabbed toward the wall to punctuate your points.

“What’s my crime here?” Charlie continued, as if he was clueless to the entire situation. You wished you could just start punching sense into his head.

“Your crime is that you use people. You’re using Ray, you’re using me, you use everyone you son of a bitch. I hope your money goes into your fucking grave when you—” out of the blue, his mouth was covering yours with force, hands clutching into your shoulders as he tried to keep you steady against him, eyes squeezed shut.

You recoiled, unable to gauge any reaction out of your body, but let him continue bringing more heat into the moment, eventually getting you to start moving your lips against his, matching the urgency he initiated. When Charlie pulled away, your brain was still foggy, struggling to catch your breath, which seemed to be an issue for him too.

“You wouldn’t shut up,” he explained in a raspy voice. It’d just hit him what he’d done; kissing you, kissing the person that he swore he hated. It was true, though, he’d only done it to get you to stop talking, your angry statements about his screwed up plans causing him to lose control.

Your eyebrow raised upwards in slight confusion and effort of comprehending that Charlie’s lips had been on yours just a moment ago and you’d never felt so good, so complete before in your life. You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pinned him against the wall behind him, hearing him let out a chocked gasp, which for some reason sent a tingling sensation through your lower body. The second kiss was firmer, more passionate, because this time, you both knew exactly what was happening, it was consensual and Charlie’s crotch was pressing so beautifully against your thighs that you felt as if you were high. His hands were going through your hair, messing it up completely as he explored the rest of your face too, fingers gently cupping your cheeks for a brief second, before they dipped into the curves of your waist.

You arched against his touch, biting down on your lip as his mouth now moved below, leaving a trail of rushed wet kisses through your jawline. You felt him smirk against your neck as he softly dragged his teeth against your soft spot, licking and sucking, applying just the right amount of pressure to hear your muffled noises of pleasure.

“Ray—Raymond is in the next room,” you breathed, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your lips parted in a silent moan when you felt his index finger graze your underboob through the material of your thin blouse.

“He doesn’t understand this, he’ll probably think we’re fighting,” Charlie replied to you as he surfaced from the side of your collarbone to pepper small, quick pecks on your lips.

“We are fighting.”

“Good, shut up and fight me more then.”

You melted against him as he guided you backwards into the bedroom, dipping your chin over the slope of his shoulder as he held your weight, stumbling as your back accidentally hit against the corner of the door, making you wince. You didn’t care, though, pushing the door shut as Charlie pressed you against it with a loud thud. You lazily wrapped your legs around his lower waist, but his grip on your ass was strong enough to support you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, absentmindedly tugging at it and eliciting a somewhat loud moan from him that made your entire system shudder, embarrassed at how wet you were growing just by making out. “Fuck, Charlie — bed now.”

He obliged, laying you on the bed as he pulled his already half unbuttoned shirt off, fighting back a cocky smile when he noticed you impatiently unclasp your bra under your blouse. He towered over you, falling gently on top your shoulder as he held onto your hips, placing soft kisses on your flesh. He had full consciousness of the effect he was having on you, finding it incredibly hot.

“God, you’re so…” he trailed off, hoping you hadn’t heard him. Truth was, Charlie had always been captivated by your beauty, convinced himself that there wasn’t another person in the planet that was half as gorgeous as you were.

He placed a tender kiss on your lips and helped you take your blouse off, giving you a moment to breathe before getting lost into the V-line between your breasts. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped from your mouth when the tip of his tongue made contact with your cold skin, his hums and groans vibrating through it.

The man who you’d been at odds with was tracing his digits dangerously close to the hem of your underwear and it all felt like the glimpse of embarrassment from having wet fever dream that pleased you more than any other human touch.

“I still think you’re the worst person I’ve met, by the way,” you muttered through tiny sighs, eyes closed as your fingers twisted around the bed sheets, hips suddenly jerking as you finally felt his hand hover over your scorching core through your trousers. “Stop fucking teasing me.”

“I think it’s rich that you’re giving me orders when I can just completely stop touching you and go to sleep while you’re whining like a mess,” Charlie replied, distancing himself from you in demonstration, walking right across the other side of the room to pick up his discarded shirt.

You were going to skin the bastard alive.

“Fuck you, Charlie, you’re a fucking brute, you know that?” you yelled in frustration, getting up from the bed and sprinting over to him, turning him around and crashing your lips against his, nails now digging painfully into the curves of his ripped back. Stealing each other’s air, you fell back into the bed again, pulling his trousers down and almost cumming when you caught a glimpse of his cock twitching against the fabric of his gray boxers, sort of visible due to the front patch that had gotten all wet and sticky from his precum.

You pulled at his hair, breaking the kiss to smile a little when you noticed that he was equally lost in the moment, biting on his bottom lip lustfully, looking at you through half-lidded eyes and beautiful blown pupils. You could feel the thud of your combined heartbeats, while fumbling to take off more clothing pieces, needing to feel every inch of his skin pressed up against yours, giving you goosebumps. You’d never felt that way.

“Fuck, that hurts,” he winced as your nails dug so deep into his back’s muscles that they ended up leaving wound marks, fresh and sort of pinkish.

“Touch me or it’ll get worse,” you threatened, knowing that as he’d said earlier, you weren’t really in a place to be colourful with him. His tongue scraped the roof of your mouth as he ran a finger down your center, testing the waters over your underwear and smirking when he felt the heat of your soaked panties radiate against his digit. You were so ready for him and he hadn’t even began doing anything to you — his erection growing painful at the observation.

“You’re so hot for me, I haven’t even touched you yet, gosh,” he whispered through a strangled moan, mind hazy as he tossed your panties aside and finally slipped a finger inside of you. Your hips jerked in surprise, rocking against his hand, craving the friction, the urge to fill you up more.

You moaned embarrassingly loud when the tip moved in a hither motion, almost losing your shit. He didn’t take too long to add another finger, which only made it better for you as you took a quick glance at him through your lashes, butterflies gushing inside your stomach at the sight of him, all worked up, lips parted as small groans came out of them, eyes closed as he fought off the need to wrap a hand around his dick as well, get off to touching you.

“Charlie,” you cried out his name, hips rolling forward as his touch made contact with your bundle of nerves. His long fingers were hitting all the right spots inside of you and the combination of the still very burning anger for him and the little wet noises along with his grunts had sent you over the edge a lot faster than you’d expected.

The moment Charlie felt your walls clench around his fingers, he pulled them off, wiping them off on the fabric of his boxers as he muffled your frustrated whimper with a kiss, permitting his hand to touch himself over his boxers as you ground against his thigh, pulling him down on top of you. Off, you mouthed, looking at his underwear. The bastard was driving you insane, so you yanked them off when you noticed he had no intention to giving in to your requests, sliding them down his ankles. Your jaw almost dropped at the gates of hell when you saw him, needing a moment to take it all in. He was so pretty, so achingly ready to go inside you, the image alone was enough to make you cum, your previous upcoming orgasm still hanging around the air.

“What did I tell you earlier? We’re doing this my way or we’re not doing anything at all.”

“Fuck, please, just fuck me, Charlie, I can’t wait any longer,” you found yourself pleading, forgetting that just ten minutes ago you’d been on the verge of cracking his skull open.

His eyes scanned your naked body for a second and you scoffed, tilting your head in confusion.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he admitted lowly, face growing hot as if he wasn’t just about to raw your bones. He crawled closer to you, giving you a kiss before parting your thighs, muscles clenching as his tip teasingly grazed your entrance. He wanted to make you feel so good, have you remembering that moment all the nights you’d be alone at your house, be the man you’d compare all the other men to in bed.

Except Charlie didn’t want you to have any other men after that night. Hoped he’d be good enough to make you want more of him, perhaps stay the nights over, ask to sleep next to him after, if he was lucky and satisfying enough.

“Sure you want to do this?” he asked you before he could change everything between the two of you, already knowing what your reply would be.

“Yes, god, yes, be fucking done with it already,” you dragged out, dramatically impatient. Your head was thrown back the moment he slid fully into you, staying still for a bit in order for you to adjust. Both of you inhaled a sharp breath, eyes shutting closed as he lost his balance a little, the dizzying feel of finally getting to be embraced by the warmth of your walls causing his heart to beat faster than a sledgehammer against his chest.

“You feel so good,” he hoarsed, forehead connecting with yours as he absentmindedly leaned down to kiss your nose. When he moved, slowly thrusting forward, you swore you wouldn’t be able to last enough. His breath was hot against the cell of your ear, allowing you to hear every groan, every noise he made and it turned you on so much that it practically ached.

“Faster,” you ordered, rolling your hips as he began having a steady pace, sloppy, wet sounds echoing in the room as Charlie fucked you rougher and rougher, skin slapping. The bed was squeaking now, your one hand grasping for dear life onto the sheets as the other wrapped tightly around his waist, fingers dipped into the curve of his lower abdomen. You focused on his face again, your heartbeat racing as you noticed his front teeth poking out of his parted lips, finding it both adorable and incredibly sexy.

He’d stopped moaning, not wanting you to know how desperately he needed you, his hands firmly placed on your hips as he tortured himself silently. “You like that? Like how we’re fighting?”

“Shut up,” you cried out. The angle he was hitting inside of you was killing you, you wanted him deeper, impossibly much, needed him to split you in half. “You’re the fucking worst.”

Electricity jolted through your veins as he picked up pace, practically slamming into you now, the moans he’d tried to hold back in his throat coming out in a struggle. “‘M not going to last long,” he warned you, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, hands cupping your cheeks with force.

“Cum inside of me.”

You really had no idea what you were doing to him, had you? Who — Charlie Babbitt — feeling his cock twist against your walls just by hearing you say you wanted him to cum in you. You had him in a chokehold, it was kind of ridiculous.

“Fuck, I—” he never got to finish what he was going to say in the first place, because you were trembling under his touch, overwhelmed by the speed and the fact that your worst fucking enemy was fucking you like you’d never been fucked before and it was all enough to send you over the edge for the second time that night, except now Charlie didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. You propped your chin upwards and caught his mouth in yours as you came, feeling him follow shortly after you, cum shooting inside of you in warm spurts as he fucked you through your orgasms, groaning loudly, body jerking.

Once both of you had reached your highs, he collapsed on top of your body, head buried into your shoulder as the two of you tried to catch your breaths, legs tensing. It eventually dawned on you that you just had sex with Charlie Babbitt.

“That was the hottest fucking sex I’ve ever had,” you confessed as he rolled off of you, laying next to your side as he chest rose in and out.

“Yeah,” he breathed, unable of saying much.

“I hate you.”

“You’ve got a really nice way of showing it.”

You kneed his thigh and he winced, still very fragile from the intensity of his orgasm. His hair was all sticky and sweaty, clung into his forehead, face flushed and red. You could orgasm all over again just by looking at him. “I believe we’ve traumatised your brother for life.”

“Worth it.”

“You’re taking him back tomorrow.”

“No, I’ve already told you—” you cut him off by kissing him, the tip of your tongue lingering against his bottom lip as you pulled him deeper into your mouth, hand tangling into his hair.

“You’re not the only one who gets to shut up others by kissing them. And if you ever want this to happen again, you’re going to do things my way from now on.”

And Charlie was just fine with that.

FIN.

tags: again, i wrote this for @honeymvnt so i hope you’ll enjoy reading this ml !! 🎀🫵🏼

[mqverick]

st. tropez party girl || ִ ࣪𖤐

“if you hold me tight, it's alright

let the fire ignite.”

─── ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ───

Jerry fucking Maguire. The man with the vision, the most known sports agent in the town, the guy who could set his mind into something and actually achieve it, even if it meant costing him the money for a once in a lifetime opportunity. Jerry Maguire, who was very openly a flirt, a cocky bastard, a pretentious loser and a little bit of a crazy person with unrealistic ambitions.

That’s who you had to work with and it both physically and mentally hurt you. You hated his guts, always had. You didn’t know a lot about him, just the basics and the ones written on the papers or spoken on the telly, but those few were enough for your mind to build up the rest of his personality, which you were not a big fan of.

God. You hated yourself for being so sentimental, but Jerry had just gotten fired and he looked sweaty and alone and miserable — not to mention how he’d literally fished out Flipper in front of everybody while completely losing every single remaining of his dignity through that ridiculous speech, at which everyone has been holding laughs back from, and you’d found yourself growing rather empathetic to his embarrassment, so you’d yelled out that you were going with him.

All eyes had been on you, strange looks, muffled snickers, even your friends at the office had warned you to sit your ass back where it had been for the past couple of years, with a secure future.

But no, you just had to save Jerry some of the embarrassment. You were currently in the elevator with him, awkward silence building up between the two of you as he fiddled around.

“Thought you hated me,” you heard him utter shyly. You glared at him, noticing the ungrateful choice of words after you’d just publicly humiliated yourself for him.

“Hate doesn’t exist in professionalism, Maguire. I’m strongly opposed against your idealism and quite frankly, not exactly fond of you either,” you replied sharply, not daring to look directly at him.

“Hm, so much for hate not existing.”

“But, I refuse to work for a bunch of fucking hippie hypocrites like Sugar. And you know, if it weren’t for me, no one would have had your back in there. Not even your precious assistant.”

Jerry gave you a weak, tight-lipped smile as he raised the bag with Flipper in it in the air. “From now on, the fish will symbolize a better future.”

You unintentionally chuckled, hurrying to put a straight face back on as you cleared your throat, wondering how the hell he managed to sound so drunk without having had the tiniest drop of alcohol in his body all day.

“You’re stupid,” you whispered under your breath, thankfully loud enough that it only reached your own ears.

“Thank you, you know,” Jerry turned to you, holding out his hand for you to take. “I honestly thought no one would believe in me.”

“Prove to me that you can be alone and then you’ll thank me, Jerry,” you spoke, moving past him and ignoring his hand as the doors opened.

That same evening, the moment you reached your home, you collapsed against the door, face buried in your hands as you mentally slapped and kicked yourself. What the fuck had you gone and done? Trusting Jerry fucking Maguire, Jerry Ma-fucking-uire, as Avery liked to call him. You were screwed, hopeless and at the mercy of the person you swore you wanted to erase from the universe.

But his mission statement had inspired you.

He spoke words that the others back at the office weren’t ready to hear, truths, facts, goals, dreams. That was the Jerry Maguire you quit your job for and maybe it wouldn’t be the messy waste of potential that your brain had pictured.

Except when you thought that things could actually possibly work out, Jerry found out that Cush and his family had signed a contract with Bob Sugar behind his back, and everything had returned back to the crap hole where it had began. With a single client hanging on by a thread, Jerry was wrecked and so were you.

Your life was destroyed, you’d decided.

Maybe acting out on those amateur pole dancing lessons that your older cousin had taught you back when you were 17 wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Jerry’s backup people were falling down like flies. Everyone was dropping him, first his own company, then Cush and eventually — which came as the biggest surprise — Avery.

You and Rod were his only hope.

For days now, you’d been rehearsing in front of your mirror how you’d tell him that you were dropping him as well. You were done, wouldn’t allow yourself to go bankrupt for a petty sad man.

It was either 9 o’clock or midnight, you couldn’t be arsed to check, because your favourite show was on TV and the commodity of your couch and blanket was comfortable enough to have you watching with your eyes half-lidded — when you heard a series of playful yet lazy knocks on your door. You groaned at the noise, not bothering to get into your slippers as you slid your sock-covered feet across the entrance, peeking through the door to see who was feeling rather silly in the middle of the night.

Of course it would be him. Who else?

For a second, you considered not opening the door for him. See if he’d stay there, in that pathetic posture of him, fingers running through his fucked up hair as he shivered just a little from being undressed in such a chilly weather. But then again, you’d already thrown your career away for him, so what gives?

“Hellooooo,” he said happily as you let him inside, grinning from ear to ear. The smell of booze hung in the atmosphere as he lazily wandered through the living room, smiling at your furniture and bursting into uncontrollable chuckles. You wished someone would shoot you — or rather him.

“Have you ever heard of a little something called, oh, I don’t know, calling before showing up at my front yard like the drunk fucking tooth fairy?” you gritted through your teeth. Jerry seemed unfazed.

“Mmm, someone’s… m-mad.”

“What are you doing here, Maguire?” you asked with a sigh, already growing tired of the sight of him. “And care to explain why you’re wearing alien sunglasses during nighttime?”

Jerry laughed as he pointed as his glasses, before removing them to reveal a swollen black eye with a huge cut next to it. You gasped when you saw it, concern washing over you as you rushed to his side for a better look.

“I, um, broke up with Avery.”

Damn, you certainly had not pegged Avery for the violent type. “Too bad, huh,” you mumbled, disappearing into the kitchen in search of an ice tray and a glass of water. When you walked back inside the living room, you found Jerry staring at the fishbowl that was placed on top of your fireplace, muttering something to Flipper, who was swimming without any worries.

“I fucking hate that fish,” he admitted and you held back a laugh as you gestured for him to sit down on the couch.

“What’s going on, Jerry?”

He shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know. For the past few weeks, I’ve been watching my life fall apart right in front of my eyes. I’m finished. I am fucked! I’m a cautionary tale for everyone, no one trusts me because of that stupid mission statement I wrote after having what I think was two slices of cold, expired pizza and the worst of all is that you and Rod are the only people in my life that ever believed in me. Why are you even still with me? Why haven’t you dropped me yet?”

Your gaze softened and you opted for silence as you carefully let your hand graze the soft skin on his cheek, laying his head back against the couch. You brought the ice cub near his eyelid, feeling him wince as the cold material made contact with the still fresh wound. Jerry closed his eyes, trying to let himself relax against your touch.

“Wanna know why I haven’t left you, Jerry?” you asked and he nodded hesitantly in response. “Because what you think is a stupid memo made me realize that you have more potential than you give yourself credit for. You have something more than a need to succeed, you have a vision. You’re not just doing it for a money and in my brutally honest opinion, you’re more than just a man hiding behind a silver suit.”

You caught him smile at your words.

“You really mean that?”

Your contained smile barely lifted the corners of your mouth as you felt a certain warmth build up on your reddened cheeks. Sure, you’d seen Jerry smile before, but the gentleness and innocence that his soft, genuine beam wore was something you’d never witnessed before in your life. His two front teeth were visible through it and it tugged at your so far cold heartstrings, heating them up.

Your heart was hammering against your chest and your mind had gotten foggy along the way, which was partly the reason why your breath got caught in your throat the very moment you noticed that Jerry’s look had changed. “Do you mean that?” he repeated, this time more lowly.

“I’m still not fond of you.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

You gulped, eyes fixated on his own green ones, which you swore were sparkling under the dim light of your sort of broken lamp. “Yes, I mean it.”

There it was again, that smile. Except this time it had something more to it that you couldn’t read (that you wouldn’t allow yourself to read, because you’d had your own share of drinks that evening and they had left just the right amount of courage in your body to do something stupid and regretful for the next day to feel embarrassed about.)

“What have I ever done to you?”

Jerry’s question sent your dreamy train of thoughts out of the rails, snapping you back into the reality of the things. “What?”

“You don’t like me. Why? What have I done?”

“Frankly, I thought you were just a pretentious jackass like Sugar. Maybe slightly less worse than him, but still pretty much a scumbag. Not to mention that your outbursts make me believe you’ve escaped out of some sort of mental institution centre.”

You never expected Jerry to lunge himself forward and knock the air out of you as his arms wrapped tightly against your sides, squeezing as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. Unsure of what to do, you froze in position, hands stuck uncomfortably on the couch, balling into fists as you bit down on your lip, waiting to breathe again after he pulled away with a hint of disappointment and gloom.

“Not a hugger?” he questioned.

“I just don’t want to be hugging you.”

“Ah, the heartwarming words of kindness.”

“I’m one step away from kicking you out of my house, Maguire. I don’t care if you’re drunk, it’s not my responsibility to take care of you or whatever you think this is. Want a place to crash, then you’re more than welcome to use my phone and third wheel Rod and his family.”

“I like that you’re honest.”

You blinked in surprise. How much had he chugged down before he decided to come over?

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s a quality I’ve never fully owned, you know?”

“You don’t say.”

Jerry didn’t say anything, just looked at you longingly, a silent conversation passing between the two of you. Then suddenly, “No one ever listens to me. When I’m with you, even though you say you hate me, I feel like you understand.”

Gosh, you couldn’t stand him. Was he really so desperate and unable to hold his own that he had to throw himself to whoever showed him the slightest sign of interest? “Jerry, stop.”

“All my life, all I’ve tried to do is talk. Really talk. And it’s not that people don’t listen, it’s that they don’t want to listen. Whatever I have to say just goes straight in and out of their ears. I spoke through my mission statement and you were the only one that actually heard.”

“Don’t.”

You felt your heart momentarily stop as Jerry moved closer to you, his lips alight on your cheek as if a ghost was gently stroking your skin in a silent confession that was so much deeper than what came through the surface.

“I’ll call a taxi. Thanks for not kicking me out. You know, tonight and, uh, generally speaking. I promise I’ll make everything work again and it’ll all be worth it,” he added before placing another kiss on your face, this time on your forehead. Jerry waved goodbye to you as he walked outside and for a strange reason, you found yourself fighting with a newfound desire and urge to both push him in front of a car and never have to see any of him anymore or set fire on the taxi he’d called and invite him back into your home to spend the night. You did neither, didn’t even have the words to say goodnight to him as you heard the door close, signalling that he’d finally left.

What time was it anyway? It felt like he’d been sitting beside you for what seemed like eternity.

The following day at work, you could say that you’d officially lost every will to live. Rod was yelling like crazy, as per usual, which was not helping your raging headache due to the lack of sleep you’d gotten over the night. Jerry Maguire occupying your brain into nightmares wasn’t exactly a chamomile and plate of chocolate chip cookies to help you drift in slumber.

Speaking of, Jerry had just asked you to come into his office, which was the sort of situation you’d been dreading ever since he’d left from your place last night.

“Asked to see me?” you called, voice cracking a little near the end of your sentence, which probably gave you away — fuck’s sake.

“Yeah, um, I wanted to talk,” he tensely replied.

“If it’s about…”

“It’s about last night,” he completed with a jittery tone. “Look, I brought you in a difficult moment. I was drunk and lonely and had no idea what was going on — I didn’t mean to show up like that.”

“Jerry, it’s fine,” you tried to cut him off, putting an end to the already painfully uncomfortable conversation before any other late night actions were mentioned, but apparently, Jerry had plans of his own.

“No, let me finish. I’m sorry I came over without warning and I’m also sorry for taking advantage of… you know, whatever was going through the atmosphere at said moment. But, uh, I feel like I need to let you know that I did and do appreciate everything you said and did for me last night, it was really nice to, um, hear something honest.”

Jerry glanced down at his lap, fingers fidgeting with the pen he was holding. You dared to take a quick look at him, just to see why he refused to meet your gaze, but the lighting from the blinds was dark enough to hide the blooming bush on his cheeks.

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, that’s all.”

“Okay,” you got up from your seat and were about to leave him alone in his thoughts, but your feet subconsciously stopped moving for a second and your body turned towards him as you cleared your throat in order to catch his attention. “Next time you show up at my place in the middle of the night, consider giving me a call first.”

You hurried outside, cursing your mouth for being such a pain in the neck. Whatever professionalism you and Jerry had shared was now long gone.

What you missed, though, was the relieved sigh and small smile that crept into his face when you left the unspoken invitation hanging in the air.

───

It had started getting better with Jerry. A few days (or was it weeks? You couldn’t really tell, because whenever he was around, you’d lose track of time) had passed and what had begun as great hatred for him had turned into tolerance and slight fondness. It was weird how sometimes you’d catch yourself watching Jerry walking away or Jerry smiling or Jerry panicking through the phone — for that matter. The man had gotten under your skin into a worryingly quick time.

For once again, as accustomed to, everything went to hell the moment he came across the struggle of yet another emotional meltdown. Rod was losing and the recruiters and reporters seemed unimpressed with him, which Jerry handled poorly, unable to imagine a scenario where Bob Sugar was laughing at his face for being what his ex fiancée had so successfully described him as; a fucking loser.

He was alone, pissed off with Rod, pissed off with Sugar, with his job, with the company, the circumstances of his daily fucked up life, with you, but mostly with his own self.

You could see he was letting himself have it and this time, you wouldn’t risk it again. So you decided to do what you thought was moral and announce to him that you’d been offered another job opportunity, which you wouldn’t decline.

“You’re leaving me?” he asked in disbelief, wearing that stupid pair of sunglasses again.

“Look at you, Jerry! You’re fucked, how the fuck am I supposed to think you can afford to have me when you don’t even know what you’re doing?”

“Fine! Be like all the others, then, go the fuck on. I don’t need you here anyway. You said it; I don’t know what to do, well you’re fucking right!”

Jerry was shouting and throwing fists at the wall, eyes widened and red, holding back fearful tears.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be me out here. It is an up-at-dawn, pride swallowing siege that I will never fully tell you about, okay? You don’t know anything about my fucking life!”

“And nor am I interested to!” you yelled, throwing your purse across the room, almost hitting him. “You know, if I had even one shred of respect for you before, it’s now kissed goodbye,” you added in a much calmer tone before leaving him, sniffling and holding back hot tears that burned through your eyes. You let them free once you home, streaming down your face like lava.

You didn’t even know what you were crying for.

Last time you checked, you didn’t care about Jerry Maguire raising his voice at you. Last time you checked, you were just a simple accountant who worked for Sports Management International, barely acknowledging his existence.

It was late when the phone rang and after a series of sobs and thousands of tissue packets filling up the rubbish bins, you wondered who it could be.

“Hello?”

“You told me to call.”

He surely heard the hitch sound your breath made when his voice echoed in your head.

“Maguire?”

“Yeah. I know it’s late again and I would be lying if I said that I didn’t want to bother you, because I really, really do. I need to see you, please. It’ll only be a minute, just give me a chance.”

It sounded as though he’d been crying as well, voice raspy, weak, chocked.

“Get lost. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“That’s fine, you don’t need to. I’ll talk enough for both of us. Can I come over? You won’t even notice when I’ll be gone, it’ll be that quick.”

A short inhale, then; “Fine.”

When he arrived, he looked like a mess. His eyelashes looked darker and red, eyes puffy and blurry. His hair was all over the place and you could make out the fact that he was struggling to keep his breathing steady, his lips drawn in tightly. The sight of him in that state almost made you burst into tears all over again.

“Hi,” he greeted lowly, afraid of his voice cracking.

“You have five minutes, Jerry.”

What sort of torture was this? Being just a breath away from breaking down in front of him, making a complete loser move and humiliating yourself, you stared at the ceiling above you, biting so roughly down on your lip that you thought you tasted a bit of blood (but that was just you being dramatic about the whole situation.)

“Five minutes? I’m trying to apologize, I can’t do this being timed! Listen, I—I wanted to say that I was stupid about everything I said earlier, I was having an existential crisis and there were so many emotions bottled up and it just flooded. Flooded all over my brain, which caused me not to think straight, so I took it out on you and—”

Jerry was cut off by the loud thud of your door getting shut. You ignored his restless knocking, walking back into the living room, drawing the thick curtains together when he tried to catch your attention from the windows as well. It took him a great deal of time to eventually give up, motioning to you something that you couldn’t quite understand at first. His hands were moving in a way as though he was saying he slipped something under your door and damn you for believing that the curiosity killed the cat.

When he got out of sight, you tiptoed slowly to the door, grabbing what seemed to be a wrinkly napkin. You wiped your tearing up eyes and read what he’d written on it.

‘You’re right. I do drive people away, but I can’t afford to do that to you too.’

“Jerry Maguire!” you called loudly after him after running outside to catch up with him. Thankfully, he hadn’t gone too far, freezing still at the sound of your voice. He turned around to double check that it wasn’t some sort of mirage his mind was playing on him and let out an exhausted laugh of relief as he walked quickly toward you, grabbing you into a soul crushing hug. He was so tightly pressed up against you that you thought you’d merge into one person, but you couldn’t care enough, returning the intensity of the hug right back.

“Please, just hang on for a little bit more. I’m going to make everything up to you, I can’t fucking lose you, I—” he stopped mid-sentence, stunned at himself as he began pulling away, hands still holding onto your shoulders.

You urged him to continue, clueless about why he’d so abruptly cut himself off just to look at you. It was giving you the creeps, the silence and darkness outside allowing the light breeze to be heard into your eardrums like a loud parade. Jerry was looking at you with such fragility and it hurt that you couldn’t read him, couldn’t understand what was going through that head of his.

His pupils were dilated, blown and dark, causing the green irises to glow under the gloominess of the sky. Jerry was looking at you almost as if…

No. No — this was just your mind being sick.

Jerry left as suddenly and coldly as he’d abandoned his previous sentence, out of any excuses and explanations. You couldn’t bare to question anything, simply leaving it to the way he had, hanging in the air, playing tricks with your imagination, giving you hope for something that you couldn’t fully comprehend either.

Three days later, you accidentally caught yourself shamelessly overhearing him ask Rod how to be able to tell if he’d fallen in love.

───

You were certain that the universe had chosen to make it your destiny to lose and hate Jerry Maguire. It was always one step forward and a whole road trip back. There were moments, many of them, where you thought that the thin line between hate and love had been crossed, but it ended up showing that you couldn’t have been more wrong, ultimately always screwing up — either him or you, you were tired of keeping score at this point — what seemed to make your heart flutter like you were leaving into the dream of a hopeless, predictable romcom movie.

Jerry was hot and cold.

You were up and down.

It was pointless, had been ever since the beginning. You kept losing him, right when your fingers had just grasped him, he kept slipping. It was neither’s fault really; both occupied with the misfortunes of work, trying to psyche Rod up for his big game, consulting endlessly while trying to maintain the already existing deals, raising the prices, focusing on that one client, showing the money — as Jerry liked to put it.

Under the environmental stress of the job, you and Jerry had been unable to connect the same way you did during all those short lived moments, the late night visits, the sleep disrupting calls.

But then, one day he caught you off guard as you’d just finished your duties and were about to take off, making you stop dead in your tracks.

“Do you, um… Are you… I know a great place!”

You stole a quick glance at him and noticed that his fingers were crossed, lips curled into an upward pout, eyes dreamingly bright. There wasn’t much you could say except for pick me up at 8 o’clock. He did exactly as he was told, ringing on your doorbell right on time, but you kept him waiting outside just for a minute, fixing your high heel in a rush. Truth is you’d spent all time trying to figure out the perfect outfit, just for him, just to get to see that one look he’d given you back in that night all over again.

And he did.

When you opened the door to reveal yourself dressed neatly in a velvet black dress that stopped a few inches lower than your thighs, hair flawlessly covering your bare shoulders, Jerry blushed bright red, not sure how to greet you. His jaw was slightly agape in awe, heart pumping fast and loudly against his chest, blood flowing quickly as the butterflies battled in his stomach.

“I— Woah,” he eventually managed. You innocently looked down at yourself, knowing exactly what you were doing to him but deciding to pretend to be oblivious.

“Is there something wrong?”

“You look… Fuck, you look Audrey Hepburn stunning. I feel like an underdressed jerk.”

That was not true, at least not for you. He was wearing a Sacramento colored shirt, with the top button of the collar undone, revealing a white tee. His pants were a simple beige pair of trousers and for the first time, he showed up at your house with his hair looking surprisingly nice.

You chuckled nervously at his comment, matching the scorching redness on his cheeks.

“Are we actually supposed to be nice to each other now?” you spilled out after a few moments, embarrassed by your choice of words.

“I suppose so. Shall we?” Jerry proposed, handing his shoulder out to you playfully. You slapped it away, hurting both his pride and arm, but the minute you realized the disappointment in his eyes, you mentally took a deep breath and linked your hands together, squeezing unintentionally due to the nervousness, but relaxing as you felt his thumb rub circles on the outside of your palm.

The restaurant he’d chosen was beautiful.

He was a gentleman; helping you get seated, pouring water into your glass, handing you the menu. It almost felt like a real date. In anticipation of the food getting served, you went for a small talk, which felt embarrassingly awkward.

“So, uh, how do you know this place?”

“Took Avery here on the third date, I think?”

“Ah.”

Jerry noticed your uneasiness and reached for your hand that was on the table.

“I don’t want to talk about her tonight, though. I’ve got a beautiful woman with me already.”

Your eyes widened comically and you slipped your hand away from his, scratching the back of your neck. “Look, Jerry, I thought this would be a nice way to get to finally know you, you know?”

“It is! I’ll help you get to know me. At work I’ve been all over the fucking place, you probably think I’m insane or something, but, uh, I swear, I’m actually a decent person.”

“Are you? You’ve done nothing to prove me otherwise.”

“I am. Besides, you said that my mission statement inspired you. I wrote that from the heart, put all my thoughts and dreams in there, so I guess I have in fact proven you otherwise.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

You gulped in order to gain the confidence to utter the question out, looking deep into his gorgeous green eyes as you tugged a strand of hair behind your ear. “That night, when you came into my house drunk — I just can’t help but wonder why did you come to me instead of Rod? Or anyone else for that matter.”

Jerry tensed up, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked as if he was about to confess something and just the thought made your knees jittery.

“As I said that same night, I feel like you understand me in a level no one else does. I was lonely and miserable and had no idea to do with my life and suddenly you were the first person that came into my mind, so I decided to pay you an unwanted visit. The reason I didn’t call was because I know how you feel about me and I could only imagine that you would’ve held a negative attitude if I asked to come over through the phone, so, that’s pretty much how it goes. You’ve been in my mind ever since.”

“Oh, Jerry,” you mouthed in a dazzling tone. No, you couldn’t do this. “Jerry, we need to stop.”

He looked at you through furrowed brows.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m taking about this. It’s been happening for almost a month now and all I know is that it’s confusing me, but I know for one thing that I can’t bare to put myself through something that I know will end up hurting me. It’s not your fault and it’s not mine either — it’s just our nature. I’m not build like this; I can’t just tiptoe back and forth into whatever the fuck this is, it needs to stop.”

Jerry was more confused than ever, feeling his own eyes well up at the sight of the first tear rolling down your cheek. “What happened?”

“You know what, Jerry — and for fuck’s sake, quit staring at me like I’m your entire world or something!” you said, your voice subconsciously raising. You got up from the chair and roamed through your purse for your wallet, leaving a bunch of money bills on the table as you hesitantly walked over to where he was.

“So what, you just stop talking to me?”

“You and I are both aware that an end needs to be put in this and you’re not strong enough for it, so I’m going to be the one to do it.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

“It’s not your call,” you whispered, leaning down and taking his head in your hands, pressing it softly against your stomach as you leaned down to place a lingering kiss on the top of it.

“Please don’t leave me,” you heard Jerry choke out, his hands encircling your waist, afraid to let you go.

“You need to focus on Rod. Big game’s coming up and you can both do it. You’ll have a brilliant career, Jerry, I truly believe that and you’ll always have all my support, but you’re just going to have to do this on your own,” were your last words before you walked away, leaving him behind, wrecked, people staring not so discreetly as he held behind the sobs of the following two weeks.

───

Rod was finally getting to be a big deal. Jerry’s career had blossomed again, just as you’d promised to him. Everything in his life was going perfectly — then why did he feel so fucking empty inside? Watching Rod with his family made him hurt, reminiscing about the way you’d left him that day at the restaurant. Hadn’t been able to reach out to you ever since.

Jerry Maguire realised he was in love when his client called him in the spotlight to pose along with him. Nothing like that had ever occurred to him before and it felt so surrealistic, yet so true at the same time. He needed you to be there with him, needed to hear your voice, see you smile. Listen to you say that you were proud of him or even glare at him as if you wanted to burn a hole through his head and finish him.

Jerry was in love with you and it dwelled on him how much he’d actually been missing you.

Not caring about anything, he ran to the airport, knowing he had to make things right. The flight back home was killing him, time passing disgustingly slow for his liking. When he finally got off, he almost tripped towards his way to the taxi station. Precisely forty three minutes and ten seconds, he was finally standing outside of your door, his luggage thrown over his shoulder as he simply stared forward, unable to move.

Was he really doing this?

According to his bachelor video, the only thing he was great at was friendships. But he’d just taken off with his career and he needed to fulfil all the promises he’d made, so there he was, knocking on your door for once more. If you decided you still didn’t want him, then he’d go forever.

“Hello — oh.”

His breath disappeared when he saw you. How long had it really been? You were surprised, not expecting him at all. Your movements were limited, limbs completely in shock as you scooted away to let him in. Your mind was short circuiting as he looked around the place like nothing had happened, like the two of you hadn’t had talked in — was it months? Or just weeks that felt like decades?

“Hello. If this is where it has to happen, then this is where it has to happen,” Jerry began. You cocked your head in confusion, staring blankly at him. “I'm not letting you get rid of me. How about that? This used to be my specialty. You know, I was good in a living room. They’d send me in there, and I’d do it alone. And now I just... But tonight, our little project, our company had a very big night — a very, very big night. But it wasn’t complete, wasn’t nearly close to being in the same vicinity as complete, because I couldn’t share it with you. I couldn’t hear your voice or laugh about it with you. I missed you, I missed having you around. We live in a cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you. You complete me. And I just —”

“Shut up,” you mustered through tears. “Just shut up. You had me at ‘hello’.” And before you even knew what was happening, you were walking towards him, crashing your lips onto his hard with a fervent need you’d never known before. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to his body as he smiled through the kiss, feeling you reciprocate the action. Both you and Jerry were still crying, unable to hold back the tears of what could’ve happened ages ago if either of you had had the balls to actually pursue it.

But neither of you cared.

Because you were finally kissing Jerry Maguire and your life felt complete, just as he’d described. He completed you and you completed him and the feeling had you melting against him, knees buckling, mind dizzy from his words and his scent and the way he so perfectly belonged against your lips. Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest as he pulled away, trying to catch his breath.

“I love you so much. I’ve loved you ever since you came with me when I got fired. I wouldn’t be where I am right now without you,” Jerry said, leaning his forehead against yours as he cupped your cheeks, holding you gently and lovingly.

“I love you Jerry Maguire.”

FIN.

i wrote this for my favourite girl @honeymvnt , hope you enjoy beautiful !! 🫶🏼🎀

[mqverick]

Walking On Air || chapter 9

Take me to bed or lose me forever, was what Carole said to Goose every time they were together, having fun. Maverick never really understood what she meant by it until he started having feelings for you. It was exactly how he felt about you; he needed to just fuck everything and everyone, every obstacle in the way, and take you with him before he could lose you to someone else — which ironically enough, had already happened.

Or so he thought, until the other night.

He had been so fixated on the fact that you were taken so deeply inside of him, that he believed he could never fully have you, that part of your mind would always stay true to Iceman, even if the miracle happened and you broke up with him.

Hearing the drunken words come out of your mouth, so rushed and so painfully angsty, got him hoping you might be getting lost in the same path he’d been since the day you spoke to him for the first time. Drunken words were — in fact — sober thoughts, after all. Not to mention that it was the — what, third? — time he almost got to kiss you. Maverick was not the one to pine after someone, he was used to the exact opposite effect, never having to chase anyone.

He liked having to chase after you, though. He liked to dream up flawless scenarios of you, desperately wanting them to come to life. He liked how much of a dopamine rush he got from those breathless conversations and moments with you. It was hard to resist the urge to keep his feelings buried, opting to play them off as a charismatic, casual flirt — because that was what he’d been used to. That was all he knew.

You liked the way he yearned for you as well. He just made you feel so irresistibly wanted and loved, even if his cockiness never really helped his pure feelings come to light. You were very aware of them though, you were in the same page as him, never mind the fact that for you, it happened as an accident. Sure, a little flirting never hurt anyone — but oh, he was holding your hand (and for some reason you found yourself struggling to breathe steadily.)

In the morning, you woke up wanting to beat yourself to death. You’d been mindless; consuming all that alcohol, getting yourself hammered and ignoring the consequences.

Goose’s words were bloody when he said that Maverick technically had every right to hit on others. Goose’s words teared your heartstrings in pieces and made you conscious of how you’d been accusing everyone else to be a jerk, when in reality, you’d been the only twat in the story.

Maverick probably hated you.

Tom would probably hate you, too.

You tried. Gave it your all — good point to chuckle — to make your relationship with him work, but every time you closed your eyes, your mind betrayed you, unable of getting a certain someone out of the picture. The worst thing was the fact that you didn’t even really care whether Tom would want to cut you off once he found out about the situation you’d been dealing with.

You were frightened of the scenario where Pete stopped caring about you, mostly because it was impossible to imagine. Therefore, you did your best to turn yourself invisible by making up a rushed excuse of being too hungover to properly function at Top Gun, opting to stay home.

Tom respected your decision, wishing you to get well soon as he gave you a sweet kiss goodbye.

“Fuck,” you muttered as you fell back on the couch with a plop. You felt as if hours had passed when a thud on the door startled you. You fumbled to get up, standing unblinking as you opened the door to see Maverick holding a paper bag with both of his hands as he fiddled the heel of his shoe around the floor while chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Heard Ice say you felt poorly and got you something,” he spoke lowly, reaching his hand out for you to take the item he held. Your lips parted in silent surprise as you hesitantly invited him in. “Look, I know you don’t want to see me, but you might as well say a word, because it’s getting sort of weird.”

“Maverick, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d bring you a little something to eat.”

You honestly despised the man. How did he still care about you after you you’d been unable to seal your mouth shut the night before, yammering about mistreating you (mind the irony), you didn’t know. Still, that did not constitute an obstacle for you to lunge forward and fling yourself into his arms, your head hitting against his chest as you encircled his waist tightly. You moved your head a little, stopping dead in your tracks as your ear picked up the sound of his heartbeat violently increasing.

He still had to reach for you, taken aback by your sudden affection and not being sure how to react. Maverick’s brain short-circuited, until everything finally clicked and he was holding you so close to his body, he thought he was squishing the life out of you — but he never heard you complain.

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” you whispered, muffled in the fabric of his shirt. You wanted to say more, apologize for being so ridiculously indecisive and not giving him the chance to move on, instead having him wait until you could grow a pair and end things with Tom, but the words died down in your throat when you felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his palm now cupping the back of your head. He knew you could hear his heartbeat and he also knew it was giving him away.

When you pulled away, your knees buckled and you almost melted into a puddle. His hands had somehow traveled down to your smaller ones, holding them delicately.

Take me to bed or lose me forever.

“It’s a grilled cheese, in case you were wondering, by the way,” Maverick blurted, looking over to the paper bag with the food you’d left on a counter.

“I love it.” I love you.

“I need to get going.”

“No,” you argued, grabbing his hand in yours the moment he reached for the door handle. “Stay here with me. I’m sure Viper’s more than happy that you’re not there to wreck the planes. Goose might be missing you, but he can cry about it to Carole when the day is over.”

Maverick let an amused chuckle escape from his lips as he wrapped his fingers around your wrists, gently rubbing on the skin with his thumbs.

“You want me to stay with you?” he asked in disbelief. It was adorable how flustered he was.

“I’m not repeating anything, Mitchell.”

With a little smirk and a smudge look on his face, he moved toward you, leaning in closer to your lips, which was a scenario you’d accepted, hadn’t he had a sudden change of heart and went for your forehead instead, pressing a long, warm kiss against it that made you shudder under his touch.

“You want me to stay with you,” he chimed, sounding more as if he was bragging to himself.

You tried to stifle a smile as you placed your ear over his drumming heartbeat, already forgetting you had the whole ‘sick from the booze’ act to keep up, but then again, when had you ever been able to hide what you really felt around Maverick?

“We can’t be here though,” you suddenly mouthed, the image of Tom unlocking the door to you and the man he hated snuggling comfortably up on the couch causing sweat to form on the back of your neck as you pushed Maverick away from you and fixed your fingers through your hair.

“Why not?” You gave him a knowing look that made him sigh. “We can’t hide forever, you know.”

Deciding to ignore his comment, you dragged him outside by the hand, nodding where he’d parked his motorcycle. “Cliff tops,” you silently explained and saw the corners of his lips turn upward as he helped you onto the seat.

It seemed to startle him when you wrapped your arms around his middle, laying your face against the fabric of the leather jacket that covered his back, turning his head ever so slightly to look at you with that charming Maverick smirk of his.

Your heart hammered against your chest as he began driving, hair flying carelessly through the wind, leaning further into him and clutching your intertwined hands firmly against his stomach.

Your brain felt as if it was fogged by the light fragrance he was wearing, head nuzzling on his shoulder now, lips moving dangerously close to his cheek. You let them carefully graze his skin, feeling him shudder — or was it just your mind playing tricks on you?

After having arrived at the tops, Maverick got off his motorcycle, lending you his hand to take as he helped you get off as well, shaky, nervous fingers testing the waters as he gently let them linger around yours, waiting for your hand to pull away. Instead, your knuckles tightened, grasp sinking into his, not daring to look up at him for capturing his reaction.

He sat next to you on the hill, so close that the warmth radiating from his outer thigh gave you goosebumps. You shifted just a little, so that your leg could be touching his, eyes darting down on your lap as you crossed your arms.

“It’s beautiful up here. I like how I can consider it our spot now,” you heard Maverick mutter.

“Our spot?”

His head turned to look at you. “Yeah. Ideally, the first time I would’ve liked to bring you here would be a date, but I can settle for the late sneak-out after your fight with Kazansky.”

Your heart clenched as you hesitantly met his cherishing gaze. You hadn’t wanted anyone like that in really long time and it felt like something was sucking the soul out of you. “Maverick?”

“Hm?”

“When you’re flying, you might lose power. It’s a fatal risk, but it doesn’t stop you from enlisting in the Navy. Flying at up to 700 mph, the smallest mistake can be deadly, your plane could plunge out of the sky, break apart on impact. The cockpit is too small, so you’ll feel like your losing your breath even though you might not have died just yet — and it’s all terrifying and out of control.”

Maverick stared blankly at you, waiting for you to make a point. “What are you trying to say?”

“This is exactly how I feel whenever you look at me,” you finally mustered the courage to confess, seeing your lip starting to quiver. Unsure of how to properly weave the complexity of your feelings, you opted to let your pinky softly wrap around his.

Maverick stared at you, jaw slightly hung, eyes gleaming. “You feel that way about me?”

His question came out so shaky and gentle that it worsened your situation of trying not to break down right there in front of him. “Of course I do. You’re so ridiculously insufferable, I hate you.”

He cocked his head to the side with the tiniest hint of a smirk. “But you love flying.”

“I love flying,” you confirmed, letting the rest of your fingers wrap around his hand as you brought it over to your lap, holding it firmly enough to believe that what was happening in that moment was not just a figment of your imagination.

“I love flying, too.”

With hope written all over your face, your mouth stretched into a grin, holding back a giggle. God, when had you turned fourteen all over again?

Right when you were about to say something, you felt his lips ghost above your forehead before he was leaning down just a bit and kissing the bridge of your nose as tenderly as he could, making you dizzy and unable to think straight. Kiss me, kiss me before I regret it, before I start thinking again. He stalled against you, foreheads now touching as he realized that you hadn’t moved away from him yet.

“Take me to bed or lose me forever.”

“What?”

“It’s what Carole says to Goose. Said. I don’t know if she still tells him that. I never got it, to be honest, but all I know is that I don’t want to lose you, Maverick. Never,” you explained breathily.

“You’re not losing me, not even if you want to,” Maverick chuckled, letting a warm puff hit your already very reddened cheeks. You smiled at him, head now moving forward, so that you could nudge the top of his nose with your own.

“Pete,” you whispered, the words coming out as a ghost tugging at his heart. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, bringing you oh so impossibly close to him that if you squinted hard enough, your lips would be touching. And there it was again; that look he’d been giving you ever since the day you met, lovestruck eyes melting into yours. “Drop looking at me like that, Pete.”

“I can’t,” he spoke, voice weary as if he was on the verge of tears. “You walked in the room the first time Viper came in and the breath was knocked out of my lungs the very same second. So, no, I don’t think I can look at you in a way that’s not giving away how deeply head over heels I—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, stunned by his words. “Don’t continue the sentence, Mav. Don’t continue it, because if you do, I’m going to lose every last ounce of self control I have in my body right now and I should warn you, there’s not much remaining.”

Maverick nodded slowly in acceptance before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, then deciding to be brave, ducking down just the right direction to kiss the corner of your lips. His palms were still holding onto your cheeks, applying more pressure now as he let his mouth linger, heads connecting. You were about to lose it; all the sanity in your system, all the thoughts of do’s and dont’s. With a slight angle twist, he could be kissing you properly, on the lips, but every cell in your body was sweating to prevent that from happening. It was killing you.

“I love flying so much, Roger. So much that I don’t care if it costs me my life, I’m going to keep pursuing breaking the typical rules and fly on my own. It makes me feel alive,” Maverick confessed.

“You should,” you replied breathlessly. “It’ll get you places, Pete. You can hold your own.”

“Take me to bed,” he whispered, loud enough so that you heard him, a small smirk creeping up against the — now flushed from the kiss — corners of your lips.

“Or lose me forever.”

tags:

@holishol

@honeymvnt

[mqverick]

Walking On Air || chapter 8

Normally, you always had been fond of spending Friday nights in Miramar at the O Club, dancing and drinking carelessly with your friends and boyfriend. That specific night, you wished someone would be drunk enough to stab you with a beer bottle and save you from the dreadful consequences of coming face to face with Pete.

You’d almost confessed your feelings to him, just a couple of hours ago — not even a full day had passed. For a moment, you considered acting by heart and not by mind, giving in to the emotion. You were helplessly hanging on to the thin threads of your remaining patience and loyalty to your very much already existing relationship.

Things were turbulent, but that wasn’t news.

The bar was crowded, just like always, some upbeat music faintly playing in the background as laughs and conversations overshadowed it, pilots reuniting with their girlfriends and wives for a fun night, Goose getting sturdy on the dance floor, lights bright enough to blind half of the world population.

And there he was. Surrounded by a swarm of young women swooning over him, smiling stupidly at the lame jokes he’d made up just for you — had you been his. The setting bothered you, an irritating feeling bubbling up in your stomach as you slouched down on the bar counter, giving your stool a little swirl. You half-heartedly took a sip from your beer, waiting for Tom to finish his rather amusing conversation with Slider and pay some attention to you that could be used to get Maverick off your mind.

The room was filled with people, but all you could see was him. For a short-lived second, your eyes met across the room, a silent talk passing between you, but as you began to gather the courage and make your way over to his table, a blonde woman stepped in, sweeping him onto the dance floor. Your heart sank, but you couldn't look away from the pair, wishing it could be you.

“Ice, wanna dance?” you spoke suddenly, interrupting what Slider was talking about. Tom gave you a sweet smile and excused himself, taking your hand and leading you in the middle of the floor. The music had switched to a soft, slow rhythm, which allowed you to place your chin on Tom’s shoulder while hugging him and moving. Your eyes were undoubtedly fixed on Maverick and that woman, however, the feel of a thousand knives tearing your heartstrings down, as you came across his diamond-bright smile.

His gaze accidentally traveled to you, face dropping the same way it happened with you earlier. You refused to show how weak you were, putting on a façade, even though the glimmer of your pupils spoke in hushed whisper. It always seemed to be that way with him; a compliment here, a tease there, a shared laugh, a shared silence. It was your very own private dance.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” you heard Tom whisper in your ear. You pulled away from the embrace and lovingly looked into his eyes as if you hadn’t been fantasising about the guy whose guts he passionately hated just a hot second ago.

“How about we do some shots, Ice? I want to have fun tonight,” you lied. The shots were in need to forgive and forget. He was hesitant to the suggestion, which you found off-putting and opted for the second best option to get a hangover from. Nick Bradshaw.

You spotted him lazily twirling his index finger around the head of the beer bottle in his hand, looking quite tipsy already. You approached him warmly with a hug and sat down next to him and requested a shot of afterburners, all while trying to erase Maverick from your brain — which was frankly impossible, seeing as he was mostly the reason why you yearned to get more alcohol in your system.

“Celebrating any special occasion, Roger?” Goose questioned after doing a shot, wincing as the drink burned down his throat.

“Your friend,” you replied shortly, entering the sharp liquid in your mouth.

“What’d he do this time?”

You sighed, going in for the second shot. “He’s being a brat, but then again, when isn’t he?”

“Gonna need you to be more specific than just the, Rog, you said it yourself; he’s got no limits to being a tad irresponsible.”

“I think he’s about to screw everyone with flesh and bones at this bar. And for fuck’s sake, how is every woman here attracted to him and him only? There are other men.”

“Ah,” Goose exclaimed knowingly with a smirk. “It’s all clear now. It’s bothering you watching Mav’s charm unleash on the female population.”

“Right,” you scoffed in frustration, embarrassed by how transparent your suppressed jealousy was. Your stomach was in knots, palms sweaty and warm as the booze poured into your brain.

“You know, Maverick really does like you. He’s just got a bad way of showing it,” Goose insisted, trying to ease you back from the drinks, but the rapid movement of your hand grabbing the glasses prevented him from being successful, so instead, he opted to let you keep going. “I’ve told you before and I’m telling you again now; words are his weak spot. He excels in action though, I’ve watched the guy make women swoon just by looking towards their direction. He’s a natural.”

“Your point being?” you rushed him, irritated.

“My point being that even though Maverick is head over heels for you, he still remains a single man, whereas you’ve got Kazansky.”

You glared harshly at Goose, even thought everything he’d just said made perfect sense. Who were you to be mad at a single man for flirting after you’d repeatedly shot him down? Were you expecting him to wait for you forever? The silence from your side betrayed your feelings to Goose, who wasn’t surprised at the slightest. You drunkenly slid off your seat, tripping on the toe box of your high heels and almost falling flat on your face, which you apparently found amusing as you giggled, looking around in the crowd. Your eyes caught him sipping out of a beer bottle in a corner — at last, without a stupid chick invading a bit too much of his personal space for your liking — and you lazily dilly-dallied your feet to his spot, feeling newfound boldness in your body as the previous, uncontrollable consumption of alcohol was put into test.

“Heeey,” you chirped, dragging out the ‘e’, Maverick looked taken aback to see you, but not missing a second to give you one of his very Maverick toothy grins. His fragrance danced around your nostrils, the scent of cheap beer mixing in as your senses tried to process how on earth it was possible for a man to smell so good.

“Are you drunk?” was the first thing that popped out his mouth, making you laugh humourlessly.

“What, no lines today? Wasted them all in those girls that seemed to take quite an interest in you earlier?” Oh, god, it was already getting messed up. You needed to respectfully back out of the conversation or simply run the fuck away.

“What?”

You chuckled, biting your bottom lip as you took him in with your eyes, admiring the white uniform on his frame, ocean eyes glowing under the club lights. His hair was slightly ruffled — you prayed not from a shag — and all you wanted to do was drag him in the restroom, jump on the counter and wrap your legs around his waist, to get to see what the fuss was all about.

“Are you avoiding me today, Pete?”

You didn’t mean for the question to come out so sensual.

“You have been drinking, then.”

Truth was, he had in fact been avoiding you, though. It killed him watching you distance yourself from him every time you formed a deeper connection and it was certain that with the help of booze and the whole bar vibe, something similar would occur again — and the just couldn’t bring himself to have you slip right through his fingers for once more. So he tried to stay away, just for that night, save some pain.

Your heart started to hammer against your ribcage as you took a step closer to him, noticing his Adam’s Apple bob. It dazzled you how insanely attractive his body’s responses were.

You lifted your stare up on his eyes once more, getting lost in them as you bit the inside of your cheek, holding back the urge to gently place your hand against his cheek, curious as to how soft it’d feel. He must had noticed that you’d been eyeing him up instead of talking to him, brow slightly cocking as he shifted just a tad with a suggestive smirk on his face.

“What?” he asked again, looking down at himself.

“Noth’n,” you mumbled, blushing and hoping the lighting wouldn’t give it away. “Having fun?”

“Now that you’re here, yeah.”

You chuckled ironically, shaking your head in disbelief at how incredibly, stupidly cheesy he was, as if he hadn’t been shooting the same lines with someone else earlier (you could bet it was the blonde with the blue eyes — you knew it).

“Goose says you like me.” You watched him tense at your choice of statement — only momentarily though — returning to his beloved cocky persona in a matter of seconds as he nodded with a grin. His face dropped when you mouthed that you disagreed with his RIO’s point of view. “I just don’t really believe him, you know? I don’t think you go around flirting with other women when your mind is supposedly set on one person.”

Maverick sighed, hands coming up on his sides.

“That’s not fair, Roger.”

“Oh, it’s not? My bad,” you giggled, running a hand through your hair as you furrowed your eyebrows in consideration. “You want to know what’s not fair, Pete? Not fair is being unable to bare the night without alcohol because someone decided they want to get laid by a random bimbo. Not fair is having to constantly doubt whether you actually fucking like me or just want to get into my pants. Is that it, Pete? Do you want a blowjob? Go for a quickie in the broom closet, perhaps? Will that get some steam out of your system?” You didn’t really understand when the wasted in you transformed into livid hammered, but it felt as if someone had cut your breaks, kept you yapping on and on. “It’s not fucking fair of you to just swoop in my perfectly functional relationship and blow it to shit.”

It wasn’t all Maverick’s fault, though. After all, it did take two people to fall in love. You could’ve just shut him off, pay no attention to him, had he not caught your eye even since day one, with all the characteristics about him that made him Maverick and not Pete Mitchell. You were falling so hard and quickly in love with him that it consumed you, had you in a whirlwind.

When you gathered the courage to quit daydreaming and focus on his reaction, you realized he looked a mix of hurt and mad.

“You know, you can’t just decide how I get to feel about you.”

“Yeah? Then how do you feel about me, since it’s so much more than sex? Prove me the fuck wrong, Pete Mitchell, show me!” you urged, pretty sure loudly enough to earn a few stares from the people close to the two of you.

“I can’t fucking do that, you have a boyfriend!”

“When have you ever legged it because of that?”

“Since you permanently became the only fucking thing I can ever think about!”

You’d lost the plot; mind foggy, incapable of making the right choices, whether that referenced to words or actions. Due to the dizziness, you took a second to process the fact that Maverick had just come a step closer to silently yelling to you he was as much bonkers about you as you were for him. Very irrationally and without considering it too much, you glared at him, eyes burning through his scalp, muscles tightened, setting your jaw as you raised your hands, causing the pilot before you to flinch in dread of getting slapped, but instead firmly cupped his cheeks and pulled him in, feeling his hot breath in puffs against your very welcoming lips. You were almost there; about to finally kiss him, but pulled back with force rather abruptly.

His eyes were closed from being so caught up in the idea of getting to taste a cocktail of the alcoholic beverages you’d been gobbling all night on your lips — he barely even noticed you’d shoved him away from you and were stomping away once again, fists clenched to your sides without giving him a word. He huffed in disbelief, unaware of how you always managed to do a runner.

You, on the other hand, suddenly made a turn of mind and began batting your eyelashes to a very clueless as to what had happened Tom Kazansky, determined to not let Maverick have it, not again, you were stronger than that. Hilarious, your inner conscience chuckled, as if you weren’t about to fuck it all and let Pete take you senseless on a sodding public bathroom’s counter.

“Shut the fuck up,” you whispered, clenching your eyelids shut. “Fucking shut the fuck up.”

“What’s that?” Tom asked, unable to hear what you’d muttered through the blasting music.

“We should head back home,” you lied with a raised voice, grimacing suggestively. You wished the rest of the night could’ve been like when u and him first started dating; passionate and full of mutual love. Except all you could picture as you seated yourself on top of him, throwing your hair off your shoulders and turning the light switch off to enrich your imagination, as you closed your eyes and let your mind work its magic, was Maverick.

Maverick, Maverick, Maverick.

Maverick and how you’d basically confessed to him. How you’d been just an inch away from devouring his heavenly-looking mouth.

Maverick and how he’d permanently became the only fucking thing you could ever think about, too.

chapter 9

tags:

@holishol

@iheqrtaustin

@cinnamoncaramelapples

[mqverick]

Walking On Air || chapter 7

Tom Kazansky was many things according to his flight mates; an arrogant pilot, a determined man who did not like being bossed around by people like Maverick, a passionate fighter and a gentle lover, despite his tough stance. While he couldn’t deny any of those characteristics, he drew the line when people thought of him as foolish. Thus to why he knew — had known from the very first day, the very first moment he caught you laying an eye on Maverick — that he’d been slowly, but with a steady pace, losing you.

Though it might not have been crystal clear to you in the beginning, Tom was very aware of the fact that Pete Mitchell was intrigued by your presence and eventually would get you to feel the same way about him. He didn’t know Maverick well nor cared to befriend him, in fact it was quite the opposite. Call him prejudiced, but he believed in the power of first impressions, which the freshly transferred pilot had made into a disastrous impact upon his name in the Navy.

There were countless nights when, even though you were tucked in bed, cuddling against Tom’s chest, his brain would betray him with nerve wrecking thoughts of you calling quits on him. He’d been preparing himself for that moment ever since the two of you began dating, knowing you were and would always be too good for him, notice all his flaws, grow bored of his routine.

At some point, your relationship had been a dream. It was steady without any distractions, doubts, fears or problems and Tom had shortly forgotten about the worries gnawing at his head. He was planning to tell you how he felt; that he loved you and could see a future with you, his only future — but then Maverick crept his way into the picture, drawing you apart.

It wasn’t even intentional on either sides, that’s what bothered him the most. If Tom knew one thing, it was that falling in love rolled naturally, all it took was a good glance on that one person to realize they were made for you, that they were the fundament of your existence. During dogfights, discussing tactics — hell — even during lunch, he watched you fall in love with Maverick a little bit more day by day. Unspoken words, guilty gazes, forbidden touches. He had been genuinely hurt the day he found out that you had secret plans with the pilot, refusing to believe that his overthinking was actually a piece of reality.

He knew he’d overreacted and had hurt you too along the way. You were distraught, distancing yourself from him, building up walls that he thought had collapsed somewhere along your relationship. Watching you fade him out of the picture was painful, but (and that might sound weird) he’d never seen you look happier than when you were with Maverick. It was all natural, your heartwarming smile, your dilated pupils, your nervous hand movements. It was exactly how he’d felt when he first asked you out.

You, on the other hand, were completely in the dark about how deep Tom’s knowledge was in your relationship with Maverick. You thought of him as the innocent, trusting boyfriend which he’d proved to you he was, making your heart burn the minute you walked into the same room as Pete, instantly getting washed with guilt.

After babysitting Bradley with Maverick while Goose and Carole were away, feelings had gotten even more confused and complicated if possible, twisting the gut inside you painfully. The more time you spent around him, the less you trusted yourself not to engage in anything foolish that could ruin everything you’d worked so hard to build. But the heart wants what it wants, as Carole had put it. You were going through a hard time and it showed, but at least your temporary grounding at Top Gun had served its time.

Being able to fly again was like a drug, made you not ever want to see the ground again, let alone touch it. You wondered what the impact would be if you just left everything behind and went on a different route, get lost somewhere mysterious, explore new paths, new people. Leave Maverick.

You couldn’t, a little voice rang in your head, almost mockingly. You found a quiet spot at the hangar and walked there while the others spoke loudly in the background while waiting for Viper. You leaned against a railing, sighing in exhaustion as you supported your chin against your palm and stared off into the distance.

“Not feeling well?”

You looked over your shoulder to realize that Maverick had been towering above you, cheeky smile on his face as he fought off the need to run his fingers across your arms.

“Go back with Goose, Pete,” you replied cheerlessly. Your morose approach had him take a few steps away from you, nodding at your state. He didn’t push it for once, which brought you at ease. You made your way along with him a couple of seconds later, seeing as Viper had finally come.

Sitting with your head lazily laid on your boyfriend’s shoulder, you glanced at the sky, watching Maverick’s plane fly, wishing you were up there instead of him. Iceman was discussing something with his RIO, Slider, to which you paid no attention. Hadn’t Viper been there and you would’ve drifted off; your eyes felt too heavy with burdens of the brain to keep open.

Out of the blue, you heard someone yelling in annoyance, snapping you back to reality. You realized Maverick had probably proceeded to go for a bloody show-off, such as buzzing the tower. Of course, you thought, trembling at the idea of baring Iceman ramble on and on about how irresponsible the pilot was and how little appropriation he showed for his own work.

You found yourself discreetly following Maverick and Goose inside, hiding behind the slides that covered Viper’s office as he was telling them off. Goose was side-eyeing his friend the entire time, blowing air and sighing in defeat as Maverick still managed to look like a fun sized dwarf next to him, even though his spine was straightened up.

When they walked out, Goose was pulling at his hair in dread, which earned a small chuckle from you. You’d been a fan of his over dramatic stance for as long as you could recall.

“I’m pretty sure Goose hates me,” Maverick suddenly spoke, looking towards your direction. You blushed in embarrassment, not expecting to get caught. “Love the fact that our misery amuses you, by the way.”

“You did this to yourself,” you replied coldly while every cell of your body tried to hold back a grin.

“I did this for you.”

His reply threw you off, causing your eyebrow to cock in question. “What are you talking about? Why would you buzz the tower for me, what kind of benefit could that possibly provide for either one of us?”

Maverick sighed, opening his mouth to say something but regretting the action shortly after. Your facial expressions pushed him to choke up a messy reply that took you a few seconds to process.

“You were smiling a moment ago, weren’t you?”

As much as you hated Tom’s preaches, you wished he could’ve been there when the sentence fell out of Maverick’s mouth, just to put him in his place for risking his career to see you smile. Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest, face frozen as you stared at him giving you a shy not at your lack of response and walking away. As per usual, your mind was racing through impossible dimensions and suddenly no aspirin was suitable for relieving the aching sensation.

You returned to Iceman, letting him take you back to his place in order to forget, kissing him senseless the moment he closed the door and pushing his body against it as if he weighed the quantity of a feather. It had felt like ages since you had become so passionate around him, yet ignited zero spark for you, excluding the short moment when you pulled away from his lips to take a look at him and saw Maverick’s face instead. It freaked you out and you stepped back rather abruptly, which caught Tom off guard.

He was worried, asking you what was wrong. You managed to play it off by calling it a rough day, suggesting the idea of cuddling in the bedroom to heal your migraine and exhaustion. Moonlight rays reflected from the half-curtain-covered window as you kept your eyes squeezed shut, pushing yourself to fall asleep, but even Tom’s breath against your neck was putting you in a frenzy. Silently unpeeling out of the covers, you throw a robe over you and wandered in the darkness, looking for your shoes. When you got outside, you let your feet walk you back to the gorgeous spot Maverick had taken you that one time you met up outside of the academy.

The calming sounds of the sea, waves splashing against the rocks, crickets chirping inside bushes — god, the place was magical. You sat by the end of the cliff, letting your legs dangle around and breathed in while letting your mind come at peace. Unexpectedly enough (or not), you snapped your neck around when the sound of footsteps approaching echoed through your ears.

Of course it would be Maverick.

“Pete?” you asked in surprise, running a hand through your messed up by the wind hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m just here because I needed to think.”

“Crazy how my thinking spot provided enough inspiration to become your thinking spot,” he commented sarcastically, earning an eye roll from you as he crouched down a few centimetres away from where you’d been sitting. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You sighed, shivering a little. Maverick shook off his jacket and put it around your shoulders for what was — what, the millionth time? You accepted and embraced the warmth of it nevertheless, wrapping it further into your arms.

“You’re such a scumbag, Pete.”

“Pardon?” he chuckled slightly in confusion.

“Being a reckless pilot won’t magically amuse me enough to fall for you. Don’t ever do that again.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about,” Maverick realized, wincing dramatically in pain when you shoved him with a nudge of your shoulder.

“I’m already impressed by you, okay? Whenever you’re up there, it’s like you own the sky. I’m both incredibly intrigued and envious,” you admitted in a low voice, not daring to meet his eyes.

“I can’t believe you just said that, I need to record it for proof when Goose hears about it tomorrow,” Maverick joked, making you scoff at how unserious he was being.

“See? I told you; scumbag.”

“Hey,” he called defensively, easing back with the nonsense. “In all seriousness, and you know I’m one hundred percent truthful right now, I would do anything to see you smile. I don’t care in how much trouble it’ll get me into, because cause in the end it’s worth it. I hate seeing you so upset.”

You felt a jolt deep in the pit of your stomach, breath coming in short as your heartbeat picked up space, threatening to break free from the prison of your ribs. “Don’t do that, Maverick.”

“How can I not when you say my name like that?”

Your eyes finally captured his, holding a blissful and secret glow you yet had to figure out how to make go away. You couldn’t stand Maverick; not because of how much of an impossible douche he was, but because it was difficult to tell whether he meant the things he said to you or was just too fucking good at getting what his mind was set on.

The more you pushed him away, the more he clung to you, just like magnetic force. The mere thought of giving him a shot almost crossed your mind. Your love would be a tumultuous symphony— full of passionate crescendos, heartbreaking solos, and soft, tender interludes. It wouldn’t perfect, but it could be real, it could be yours.

You carefully scooted closer to him and leaned your head on his shoulder, feeling him shudder under the contact. It was a bizarre, funny feeling to watch a man who makes every woman in his way faint dramatically, like in a 40s movie, get nervous around little old insignificant you.

It was dark, and the night sky was picturesque. A black to navy gradient was the backdrop for a full moon; the night sky so clear you could almost see every crater. The moon, a glowing bluish white, loomed large, surrounded by an ethereal glow, which shone brightly against Maverick’s facial features, casting him even more mesmerizing.

The ocean waves lapped lazily, a jumble of royal blue that glistened in the night. White foam crested the top of the waves as they approached, spilling onto the sand like a net being cast. The two of you were sat in silence, but this time it had escaped the awkwardness, having embraced something the intimate.

“Can I ask you something?” you spoke softly.

“Go ahead.”

“Why are you always so hotheaded?”

A long, pained exhale through the nose, then silence all over again. “Have I ever talked to you about my dad?” You shook your head, burying it deeper against the side of his neck. “He disappeared in an F-4, November 5th, 1965. Everyone believes he died because he screwed up, but there’s no way. My old man was the best fighter pilot.”

“That’s why you rush to be the best as well. You want to be like him,” you realized out loud, gently wrapping an arm around his and giving it a little comforting squeeze. You felt him nod against the top of your hair. “Nobody knows what happened to him?”

“Someone must. But to hell with it, it’s all classified. I never got to enjoy the feeling of having a family. I watched my mother die. Cancer. She had a long time to think about it. They say you reach an agreement with death. Come to accept the fact that pretty soon you won't be here. She was very brave, braver than I am. You go up there, there isn't time to think. If you make a mistake, you're just a smudge on the ground.”

“Bloody hell, Mav,” you sighed, daring to look up at his glistening eyes. You could tell they were burning with hot tears, which he struggled to contain. Your free arm tugged his at the side of his head, laying down on top of yours as you held him. You weren’t accustomed to that side of him, yet found it incredibly beautiful; how sweet and courageous he was with all the miseries that had tortured and deprived him of a childhood.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for the atmosphere to get so gloomy,” he chocked with a sniffle.

“Don’t you apologize. I wish I could help you find out about your dad, though. I’m sure I can pull some strings and—”

“I don’t want you to get in any trouble, Roger. You’re already so much more than I could ever ask for and I know I don’t mention it a lot, but I appreciate having you, even as a friend, more than you actually think.”

You awed, untangling yourself to him except from moving your head away from his shoulder in the slightest inch. You stared ahead at the starry sky, until the warm feeling of his fingers touched your own, silently asking for permission to hold you. You granted him the favor, clutching tight against the little gaps. That was it. Everything you’d dreamt of as a child, finding your soulmate, the only person in the whole universe that was made just to be yours. You’d found him.

“Do you believe in soulmates, Pete?” you asked intrusively, regretting the words the moment they left your mouth.

“Do you?”

Yes. Yes, I do, your inner voice replied confidently, but your brain never let you express the opinion out loud. Not when nothing was supposed to happen between the two of you. Not when you were such a coward, afraid to admit the things you mutely screamed at him.

“Touché, douche,” you opted for instead.

“You’re always so direct.”

“You’re always so irritating.”

“That I am.”

You both chuckled, aware of the true feelings expressed through mildly sarcastic and mean remarks about one another.

“I need to go,” you muttered with a broken heart.

“You go every time it gets like that,” Maverick complained, pouting slightly. He could almost feel the sadness bleeding from his heart whenever he just stood there, watching you get lost in the road, walking away from him. It killed him.

“I’m sorry, Mav,” you whispered back apologetically, trying not to show that you felt the same way he did when you left him. “It’s better if I don’t stay, for both of us. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with a faint goodnight and the ghost of your lips against his cheek, you were once again one with the shadows of the night, just like always.

chapter 8

tags:

@holishol

@iheqrtaustin

[mqverick]

Waking On Air || chapter 6

Sleeping peacefully in your bed, you were cradling a pillow to your chest. The sun was beaming through the blinds causing you to stir slightly. It was chilly outside, blanket clung over your shoulders as you groaned when the first beam of sunlight hit your face. Your head was still throbbing from everything you’d experienced with Maverick last night; his hot breath still ghosting over your lips — you couldn’t get him out of your mind, which lead to you having some very intense dreams about him closing the gap between your lips and kissing you senseless.

With a heavy heart, you peeled yourself out of bed, (not) ready to face another hard day. You knew Iceman would question how you’d been feeling last night due to the continuous dodges of his calls — and frankly you hadn’t even thought of any excuses yet, nor cared to come up with any.

Your mind was consumed by Pete Mitchell and every little bit about him; how welcoming and loving his hug had been, how touch deprived you felt after the loss of physical intimacy with him, how he looked at you as if you were his everything, how he’d hovered over your lips, just a breath away from pressing his own softly against yours. You were all about Pete, Pete, Pete, Pete.

At Top Gun, your mind was still racing, especially after knowing that Maverick was just a few feet away from you (and Tom, but his existence had grown irrelevant since the almost kiss incident). You eased a little when Goose came up to you with a wide grin, announcing that Carole and Bradley would be coming to visit for a week.

You loved Carole — she was your girl-friend, the only person you felt free to talk to about anything and honestly, she decided to come the right time with everything that had been happening lately. With her, you were in a judgement free zone; you had an utterly great deal of trust in her and the feeling was mutual. You felt like crying when Goose mentioned that Maverick would be tagging along — and that apparently, both of you were invited over to their place for dinner.

It came with its price; being friends with Goose. He was Maverick’s best buddy, his RIO, it only made sense that they’d come together as a package deal, which meant that there would be no possible way to avoid him. Not that you really wanted to.

Except you did.

You had to start focusing on Tom again. Even thought it turned out as an unpleasant experience to you, you’d promised to give him another chance — you really wanted to and you truly believed he deserved it. Tom, it would be — no more letting yourself get wrapped around the ridiculous Mitchell charm that had you swooning in the air.

Having just arrived outside of Goose’s door, you knocked on the wooden surface, closing your eyes momentarily and preparing yourself to greet Maverick, who Goose had informed you was already there. You flinched a little when the door opened to reveal him holding little Bradley on his arms. His face looked pink, you supposed it was because the kid had been exhausting him with his games.

“Hey, you,” he breathed softly, giving you a little smile and scooting away to let you in. You returned the expression, muttering shyly a hi back. “Look who’s here, Bradley!” Pete exclaimed enthusiastically, handing him to you gently. You hugged the younger boy, taking him in your arms and spinning him around. He giggled, tiny fingers wrapped around your longer ones.

“You’ve grown so much, Bradley! I missed you.”

Maverick grin was threatening to tear his face in two — seeing you with a kid was making his heart beat rapidly against his rib cage. “Goose and Carole are in the kitchen,” he informed you and you looked up at him, nodding and letting Bradley know that you’d be right back. You made your way in the kitchen, squealing when you saw Carole. The blonde’s lips parted in silent surprise, eyes widening with joy and within minutes she was asphyxiating you in a tight embrace.

“Man, all this time I thought my occupation would kill me but you’ve been the secret assassin all along,” you joked, trying to free yourself from the hug because it was starting to hurt. Carole slapped your arm playfully in response.

“I haven’t seen you in years, I can’t believe it!” You both smiled and hugged again, the corner of your eye catching Goose in his ‘Kiss The Chef’ apron awing at you two. “God, you’ve got to fill me in on everything.”

A good amount of thirty minutes passed, having ended up telling Carole about literally everything, including the situation between Tom and Pete. It surprised you nonetheless how unbelievably unbothered she looked when you mentioned you might be having feelings for Maverick. Were you really that transparent?

“I love Mav, Roger, I’m not going to lie to you. That boy has been nothing but a delight to me and my family for as long as he and Goose have known each other — trust me, Nick has painted the picture between you and him so I could already figure out that you like him.”

“I don’t like him,” you denied, your inner voice laughing sarcastically in your head. Right that moment, Maverick walked into the kitchen, holding hands with Bradley and asking if the food was ready. Your voice got caught in your throat, which didn’t go unnoticed by Carole.

“You might’ve convinced me if you didn’t stop breathing the moment he walked inside,” she whispered to you after Maverick left. Your cheeks burned knowingly with embarrassment, eyes darting on the floor. “You both need to stop being so childish about it. You’re grown enough to know that the heart wants what the heart wants.”

It was true; you knew that. The heart wanted what it wanted and it was painful enough to have you emotionally wrecked; torn between dread of betrayal and heartbreak and chasing what you wondered could be love. All that you knew was that every time Maverick looked at you, you died a little bit inside knowing that it would be wrong to simply grab him then and there and kiss him like it was your last day on earth.

You excused yourself, seemingly upset but not bothering to care as you walked back into the living room. You stilled against a wall at the sight of Pete Mitchell — the cockiest man of them all — curled up on the rug, making takeoff noises and waving around a model plane in front of Bradley, who was having the time of his life. Your lips curled upwards at the image, a newfound fuzzy feeling tugging at your heartstrings.

Maverick’s head snapped towards your direction when the sound of a cough echoed in the living room — it was Goose, who’d been trying to hold back a snicker from watching you find yourself in a head over heels moment. The RIO rushed away from you before his friend could even see him and you wanted to punch him with inhumane force. Trying to play it off, you cleared your throat and approached the pilot, kneeling down on the carpet next to him and turning your attention to Bradley. The little boy hugged you, giggling.

Your head unintentionally turned towards Maverick, whose heart clenched painfully as he reminisced about the fact that you couldn’t be his. He gave you a tight lipped smile, bringing out a hand to gently caress Bradley’s blond hair.

You didn’t even realize how fast the time was going until you looked at the sunset outside of a window that was partly covered by a thin beige curtain. Bradley and you were seated on the couch, the younger Bradshaw having the laughs of his life bouncing up and down on your lap.

Maverick was somewhere in the kitchen with Goose — you occasionally scanned your eyes through the little window-thingy on the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room to find Pete stealing glances from you, which had you all flushed and hot.

“Roger, promise not to kill me,” Carole begged sweetly, standing over your shoulder. “Goose and I haven’t seen each other for a long time and we thought it’d be kind of nice for us to go grab a couple of drinks together. Tonight.”

“What about Bradley?”

“Well…” she trailed off suggestively, looking over at Maverick.

Realization hit you instantly, taking over your facial expressions as you glared at Carole. “No. No, Carole, don’t do this to me.”

“I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m really not,” the blonde said with a smirk and slight raise of her shoulders. You lifted Bradley off your lap, placing him on the ground as you stood up, ready to strangle Carole and go for Goose next. By the time you were about to react, the newly reunited couple announced that they would be taking off for a night of ‘fun’, as Nick liked to put it, leaving you, Maverick and Bradley trying not to suffocate into the awkward tension that had built up.

Clueless to your lack of emotion, the kid ran to his room happily, imitating airplane sounds. You plopped back on the couch with a heart-clenching sigh, rubbing your eyes in exhaustion.

“I hate your RIO. I fucking hate him,” you gritted through your teeth, not bothering to open your eyes.

“What can I say, Goose is a fabulous wingman,” Maverick replied proudly. You hated him as well, especially his smug demeanor and smirk.

“I’m going to ignore you through the rest of this night and go take a shower. Can you put Bradley to sleep?” you announced, already making your way to Goose and Carole’s room. Maverick obliged to your request. You carefully shut the door, not trusting it open when the cocky pilot was in the same place as you, knowing you’d be bathing. You peeled your clothes off of you in a hurry, deciding to wash your hair as well.

When you stepped into the shower, you let your body relax and follow the rhythm of the hot water dripping down your back. Truth was that part of you, the same one that’d been complicating both your loyalty to Iceman and relationship with Maverick, was sort of grateful for Goose’s wingman skills. Maybe you needed that night alone with Maverick. Maybe it was just a test for your limits; see how far he or you would take it.

Your hands massaged the soap against your abdomen, giving a warm rush throughout your insides. Obviously, the thought of Maverick hadn’t left your mind and you desperately wanted — needed — to act on it, but you’d be damned if you let your intuitive thoughts get ahold of you. Turning the shower control shut, you wrapped a towel around your wet body, entering the bedroom once again. The tension had eased for sure, but there was still a rather irritating feeling around, which you decided to ignore as you began dressing. You roamed through the dressers and found a large black tee and pair of sweatpants that belonged to Goose (by great chance). You put on your sports bra and then the stolen clothes, flinching when the door opened out of the blue. Your hands intuitively covered your private parts, even though they were fully clothed.

“Hey, just wanted to let you know that Brad’s asleep,” Maverick informed you, jaw slightly dropping when his eyes rose to look at you. You’d never been as gorgeous to him as you were that specific moment; looking so casual in Goose’s clothes, with one sleeve of the shirt hanging a bit down your shoulder due to the size and revealing a strap of your black bra, hair damp and dripping.

He wanted to just grab the back of your head and kiss you as if his life depended on it. Little did he know that you’d been dreaming about that too.

“Thanks,” you muttered lowly even though your heart was pounding violently against your chest. After dismissing him, you supposed he’d go away and let you be, but you were proved wrong as he did the exact opposite, walking further into the room and gently kicking the door shut. You swallowed harshly, fighting back your raging blush.

“Hi,” he said again, only this time with more softness in his voice, which caused your heart to do a little flip-flop. Ignorance was your to-go with response, but knowing how stubborn Maverick became once he set his mind on something — or rather someone — he tried one more. “How was your shower?”

“‘T’was fine, Pete. What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

His gaze burned into you, the hunger in his eyes making you barely lose your nerve. It was driving you out of control, palms sweating, blush eventually spreading across your skin as the tingling sensation that originated from your lower body but had managed to multiply its growth all the way up to your stomach caused you to cross your legs in hopes of stopping a certain wetness from pooling between them. You gulped down what felt a wall of bricks, fidgeting with your fingers all while refusing to hold his eye contact.

Maverick spoke without a warning, letting you know that he was also in need of a shower. You nodded shyly and got comfortable on the bed, switching on the small TV across from it that stood on the dresser. Nothing interesting was on — or maybe there was — but to you, the faint sound of droplets running down a certain body you’d been craving for the past couple of days just a door away from you was the most fascinating thing, a true attention span.

The noises from the TV had blurred out in the background somewhere along your fantasies as your brain partially collapsed into thoughts and feelings, letting your body take complete control. Your eyes rolled back, eyelids closing in pleasure while your thighs unintentionally squeezed tightly together in anticipation and arousal. You wondered if Maverick was thinking about you in the shower as well.

Suddenly, the doorknob of the bathroom twisted open and you prayed you didn’t look as flushed as you felt. For the first time, you got to witness Pete in an outfit other than his signature white t-shirt, bomber jacket and blue Levi’s. He’d probably grabbed Goose’s clothes just like you had earlier, throwing on a pair of gray sweatpants and a long sleeve black sweatshirt with sleeves that were too long for his arms. He managed to look exceptionally handsome and adorable at the same time, which honestly baffled you.

“Wanna sit?” you found yourself asking him. Maverick had never been the type of guy to refuse a request that tempting, so he slid right next to you on the bed, one leg on the mattress while the other was positioned on the carpet.

Even though your eyes were burning through the TV, you had no idea what you were supposed to be watching. Your organism was one hundred percent running on Maverick and how impossibly good he looked with those sweats. In attempts to get into a more comfortable position, the waistband had slipped off down the bone area above his hips, revealing a patch of skin.

His hair, just like yours, was wet and clinging on to his forehead. It looked even darker, which you thought was weirdly attractive, yearning to let your fingertips get a taste of how it would feel through and against them.

Bradley’s in the next fucking room and you’re thinking about sex with Pete Mitchell, pathetic perv, your inner voice screamed furiously inside your head. No, forget about Bradley! You have a whole boyfriend to yourself and you’re thinking about sex with Pete Mitchell, insatiable freak.

You shook yourself out of your nasty scenarios, laying there in complete silence with him. Your feet moved up and in a crouching motion. His eyes met yours and your breath hitched up unnecessarily — God, you were embarrassed of yourself. There were droplets of water running down across the length of his jawline, casting you almost jealous of how smoothly they crossed through his skin, wishing you could be just one of them.

“Roger,” he hummed your call sign, causing a dreamy look on your face, pupils dilating significantly as you got lost on his voice, needing desperately to get drunk on it as if you were a teenager experiencing the first drink at a party.

“I want to hate you,” you blurted out. Maverick furrowed his brows in confusion. “I’ve wanted to hate you since the day I met you.”

“But you don’t?” he questioned almost shyly.

“I don’t. I can’t.”

He couldn’t help the faint smile that painted across his lips, bringing a warm palm on your shoulder and grazing it all the way up until he brushed a strand of half-wet hair behind your ear. You leaned against his hand, hankering after the physical contact like a touch deprived person. You pulled away shortly after, though, realizing that both of you had been chasing each other’s lips in attempt to make the gap between you disappear.

“I know, we can’t,” he dismissed with hints of sadness in his tone. Little did he know you’d been equally disappointed. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.”

Before he left from the room, he stopped one more time to look at you, leaning down, allowing his hand to rest against the back of your head as he pressed his soft lips against your forehead and muttering ‘good night’ in the cell of your ear.

Your hand ran up your forehead and through hair in despair of what would happen if you listened to your heart and followed Maverick in the living room. It had already been a stressful evening, you decided while tucking yourself in, face buried in the pillow as you squeezed your eyes in order to make your vision pitch black instead of seeing fantasies of what-ifs and maybes.

chapter 7

tags:

@holishol

@iheqrtaustin

[mqverick]

Waking On Air || chapter 5

It was ironic, honestly, how you managed to get back with Tom, but had the person who’d gotten under your skin eventually steer clear of you. Maverick; the daily thrill of your day, the annoying little parasite you couldn’t scratch off your body, the person who wouldn’t leave your side for a moment had been ignoring and breaking your heart for what was nearly a week.

At first, you’d barely noticed. Preoccupied with how you’d somehow managed to put your joy second for once again in order not to hurt Tom, you’d missed how Maverick would instantly change paths if he was walking the same direction as you. It began being clear, though, a couple of days later.

Like the refrain of a sappy heartbreak song, it physically burned you to come into realization with the fact that Pete Mitchell had stopped showing signs of interest in you and it had you puzzling yourself over what you’ve done wrong.

The sudden change of his behavior ended up affecting you more than your mind could possibly imagine. Your eyes drooped with sleep, skin pale as you forced yourself to walk into Viper’s office, legs and heart heavy. Sure, you weren’t stupid; you knew that all the exhaustion had ruined your performance, constantly getting called off your aircraft and aborting missions.

Part of you knew exactly what you were going to get told, word by word — but the other part chose to not expect anything. Your plane was all that could get you through miserable conditions such as the current one and you couldn’t bare to get grounded or even worse, suspended.

The words that came out of Viper’s mouth came as no surprise to you, yet still managed to make your knees weaken, uncomfortably cleaning your throat as he dismissed you. Your fingers rolled into fists, digging deep into the sides of your uniform as you bit back an entire breakdown that was hanging on from a thin thread.

You’re grounded, Lieutenant.

He’d promised it’d only be for a small amount of time, until you’d come back to your senses and would be able to perform again, but it’d cut deep through your already stretched out and bruised ego.

“Roger?” a familiar soft voice called from behind you, causing you to turn around slowly. You came face to face with a very worried-looking and confused Maverick; his brows cocked in attempt to read your stiff expression. You tried to speak to him, but found your voice dying down between chokes that accompanied tears. After glancing around reluctantly to make sure no one else was passing by, you lunged your body forward, hitting Maverick’s chest with a slight bump, burying your head in his neck and clutching your arms around his shoulders. Crestfallen, you dampened the fabric of his own uniform with your sobs, only just realizing how powerful the overstimulation you’d been holding back had gotten.

Maverick was hesitant to touch you at first. He didn’t much know what to do with himself — it was the first time you’d ever touched him as well (besides the occasional punches in his shoulders for being a jackass) — but as the lavender scent from your shampoo filled the air, his arms encircled your waist gently, holding you with so much warmth and fear at the same time; as if you were expensive china he’d be petrified to break.

His heartbeat was beating so loud that his brain was getting dizzy by the sound of his blood pumping through his veins. Having you in his embrace spoke volumes, making him melt in a puddle. It scared you to admit that your body was having an experience same to his.

The hug was tentative at first but gradually grew more secure as your sobs eventually came to an end, eyes dry and puffy. You wanted to let go of the pilot’s enveloping embrace, even though not a single muscle moved when the message was delivered to your nervous system.

“‘M sorry,” your voice was muffled by his shoulder and you finally found the courage to pull away from him and take him in, the hypnotized and sort of dumb look on his face. The corners of your lips curled into a tiny smile, which he mirrored as he unintentionally ran his hands up your back, exploring the feel of your uniform against his calloused palms, until they stopped at your shoulder blades, suddenly making him a lot jumpier than before. He quickly took a few steps back from you, causing your little grin to drop.

“I have to go,” he blurted out in a rush, almost running into a wall as he fastened his pace, walking away from you. Your heart ached as you watched him leave — the same way he’d felt when he had to watch you do the same thing to him back when you’d met with him at the cliffs.

A little sniffle, a tear escaping as you wiped it away, not knowing what to do with yourself. How had it gotten like that?

The slanting rays of the setting sun gave a warm orange tinge to the sky, as you tiredly gazed outside of your window, chin propped on your hands. The boredom was killing you slowly along with the package of unanswered questions of why Maverick was going through such a hard time with you. The phone was ringing and you were pretty sure it was your boyfriend calling you to ask if you’d like to come over to his place, but you already knew what your answer would be.

It shot arrows through your heart; having to pretend around Tom. He was such a kindhearted man and he deserved so much better than you, you just wished you had the courage to tell him.

An unexpected face popped up on your window and you jumped behind, almost hitting your head on the coffee table, hand over your fast beating heart. It was Goose, with a wide smirk on his face, snickering at your reaction. He motioned you to open the window and you did, still sort of shaking thanks to the fright he gave you.

“‘Ey, there,” he mocked in a British accent.

“Get lost, Bradshaw.”

Goose placed a hand over his heart, too, pouting in fake sadness. “Your words wound me, Lieutenant.” You rolled your eyes and slightly pushed him away, trying to hold back a laugh.

“What happened, Goose?”

“You and Mav,” he replied almost immediately, causing your eyebrows to raise in confusion. “Well, as mentioned before, you guys are my second family, aside from my baby boy and Carole, and having to watch both of you look so ridiculously miserable when you obviously both have the hots for each other kind of frustrates me.”

You cringed at the word ‘hots’, knowing your feelings for Maverick had moved far past that line. “We’ve talked about that before, Goose.”

“Yeah, I know,” he dismissed with a sad smile, placing his hand on your arm, holding you softly as he carefully caressed the fabric of your thin black shirt. “What I also know, though, is that aside from what your façade shows in public, you both have no balls to face your feelings, ergo me intervening.”

“Even if I wanted to talk to him,” you hummed quietly, looking down at your feet, “he’s been fucking avoiding me as if I’ve got leprosy.”

Goose chuckled. “I think you might be forgetting that I have his address,” he suggested, slipping a small, crumbled piece of paper into the pocket of your sweatpants, then proceeded to mess your hair up goodbye with some poor excuse of having to leave and that the decision was yours to make.

You reached into your pocket and unfolded the little paper, staring blankly at it for a moment.

Maverick was minding his own business when he heard an unexpected trail of shaky knocks on his door. It’s late, he thought, rubbing his eyes open as he walked towards the door, opening it while trying to regain consciousness from being half dozed off. “Goose, I swear to God—”

“Try again,” he heard a feminine voice chirp, his eyes suddenly wide open, pupils blown away in shock — and confusion — as he stood frozen, gaping at your frame. He looked so priceless you almost felt sorry for surprising him like that.

“Roger?” he questioned with a slight voice crack.

“Aren’t you letting me in?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” Maverick moved aside, inviting you in as he shut his door. He was afraid that you weren’t real; that this was all part of a dream he’d wake up from feeling lightheaded again, was terrified of moving any muscle of his body that could potentially ruin the dream and make you disappear from in front of him.

“I’m sorry for showing up like that,” you apologized, looking everywhere but at him.

“It’s okay, you know I don’t mind,” his response came quick along with a sharp intake of breath. Sputtering and struggling to find the words — or even get his mind think straight for that matter — Maverick scraped a hand through his un-gelled, short hair and opened his mouth. “How did you, uh, how did you know where I live?”

You chuckled, wanting to give him the same stern-looking smirk he’d been giving you since the first time you saw him. You’d never come across through such a fidgety version of Maverick before and you were terribly tempted to give him the worst time, turn his face crimson, but you opted to be civil about it.

“Not the only one who’s got the monopoly of barging into people’s houses anymore, huh? I’d keep an eye on your title if I were you, Lieutenant Mitchell.” Maverick eased, smiling a little at your joke. He offered you a glass of water (and the leftover vanilla cake Goose had made for him in the weekend), then sat down with you on his couch. “Seriously, though, I just wanted to apologize for whatever I’ve done that’s driven you away. It’s been eating my head all week.”

Maverick shifted nervously and you bit the inside of your cheek, scared you’d hit a nerve. A long, loud sigh from both of you — and then he was looking at you straight in the eyes, fingers tangled his in dog chains.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he murmured lowly, swallowing around the lump in his throat. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips and you couldn’t help but feel guilty about how he lacked of that Maverick bit about him.

“Then how come you avoid me every time we’re in the same room, Pete? We’re all in the same academy, one way or another you’d eventually be forced to talk to me anyway.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted in the first place?” You scrunched your nose in confusion, cocking your head to the side. Maverick turned his body to you, facing you completely. “Not to talk to you all the time? Not bother you, not be up your ass? It would make Kazansky uncomfortable.”

“For fuck’s sake,” you exhaled in exhaustion, massaging the spot between your eyebrows. Had he been that upset because of Tom? “This entire time you’re telling me that you’ve been treating me as a deadly disease because you’re suddenly oh, so kind to not mess with Tom and me?”

Maverick bunched his hands in fists and brought them up on his forehead, leaning towards his knees. “It’s not a ray of sunshine to watch you be every second of the day around him, you know.”

“He’s my boyfriend, Pete, what the hell am I supposed to do — stab him repeatedly in the chest and then leave him a note saying how he should take me out on that fancy restaurant around the corner?!” You instantly regretted the tone of voice you’d adopted, curling back into the couch until your back hit the arm. “Look, all I’m saying is that maybe you should give up on me.”

A profound emptiness opened up inside him, threatening to swallow him whole, his heart feeling as if it was getting squeezed. “I don’t want to.”

Your pupils widened, cheeks scorching under the dim lighting of Maverick’s living room. It was exactly what you’d been dreading to hear and what you prayed not to come out of his mouth at the same time — it caught you so off guard that you thought you were having a near heart attack experience. You crossed your legs, tapping your fingers on the top of your knees in prevention of grabbing his face and smashing your lips against his without thinking about the consequences.

“What do you mean you don’t want to?”

You knew precisely what he meant, yet your mind was spinning, dizzy by his words, lost in his eyes and intoxicating smell. Maverick scooted closer to you, bumping the heel of his foot against yours.

“I mean I don’t want to,” he repeated, voice lower than the first time, adopting a shy tone. There it was again; the Mitchell charm you’d missed about him, the slight teasing, the smirk, the look on his face that made you ascend. “Do you want me to give up on you?”

No, never, don’t you dare give up on me. You simply stared at him, so breathless, so out of your comfort zone, so speechless. He looked angelic and his words were getting your body to reach inhuman temperatures — you thought you’d die if he kept looking at you like that. Your lips parted, wanting to reply to him, because — god — had you been looking stupid enough standing there in front of him like a statue. Maverick grazed the tip of his fingers against yours, waiting patiently for any reaction. His thumbs traced your knuckles in a silent confession — he couldn’t let all of it out yet, it was too soon and he didn’t want to risk getting the remains his already broken heart completely shattered.

You couldn’t get any words out of your mouth, which was frankly becoming quite embarrassing. In that moment, only the two of you existed, leaving the rest of the world in a blurry fade; it was just you and Maverick and thousands of loud, yet unspoken words in between.

“Maverick,” you eventually breathed, but your voice muted when you realized how close he’d gotten, his forehead almost touching yours as he tested the waters and slowly began leaning in. Your eyelids shut instantly, eyes rolling at the back of your head as you felt hot puffs of air against your skin. Warmth pooled between your thighs, lips aching to touch his very kissable ones, but you couldn’t. A finger came up against them instead, slowing him down— but didn’t stop him from pressing a kiss on the pad of it.

You were sure you’d asphyxiate yourself by not allowing yourself to breathe normally — or at all, for that matter. You leaned your head against his, eyes still closed. “We can’t,” you whispered with a heavy heart and felt him sigh.

“Why not?”

“You know why,” was your answer, even though you yourself hadn’t had the slightest idea of what you were talking about. Not kissing him had been the hardest task you’d ever executed (suddenly losing your life in the pre-flight seemed like a sweet idea) and you hated yourself for it. You hated breaking Maverick’s heart again and again.

“Roger…”

“When I first met you,” you muttered quietly with a relaxed smile, “I thought you were the most arrogant and pompous person I’ve met.”

You heard him chuckle, the sound of his laughter jumpstarting your heart in the most beautiful way possible. “Is that so?”

“Mhm, yeah. Never thought a human with an ego bigger than his actual physical height existed. You probably proved me wrong.” You took your sweet time with finally pulling away from him, bringing your palm against his cheek.

“D’you still think that?” Maverick asked innocently, leaning towards your touch.

“Kind of.” He was everything you hated and loved. Pete Mitchell was the only person in your life that made you lose control, that had you falling into an abyss without reaching anything. “Pete?” you spoke his name softly, removing your hand from his face.

“Yeah?”

You got up from your seat, walking towards his door and opening it. Just before you were about to leave, you stopped to look at him, nervousness pulsing through your veins with every beat of your heart. “Don’t give up on me yet.”

chapter 6

tags:

@holishol

@iheqrtaustin

@lemmons1998

[mqverick]

Waking On Air || chapter 4

Three whole days accompanied by swollen puffy eyes, night sobbing and restless mornings had passed ever since your fight with Iceman. You’d put it as a personal goal to isolate yourself from everyone, mostly Maverick, which you had successfully accomplished. You’d seen him looking at you in Top Gun academy, quite an amount of times, but dodged every single one of his looks and disappeared into thin air whenever you caught him walking towards your figure.

You missed Tom, but not as much as you missed Maverick, which had been a shock to you at first — had you been lying.

The fact that Tom hadn’t reached out to you ever since, though, was making you sick to your stomach. You never meant to hurt him the way you did and you’d expected yourself to be more civilized than to go cry off to Pete Mitchell, for crying out loud. However, having in mind that he needed time to think and process just as bad as you did, you came to the conclusion that begging for forgiveness was not going to work.

There you were now, pushing around the dreadful food in your plate with your fork, all alone in the lunch hall. The weight of another person sitting next to you slightly scared you off as you flinched a little, hoping it would be either member of the messed up love triangle you’d gotten yourself into. The tiniest hint of a relieved smile formed on your face when you looked up to see Goose.

“My girl, Roger,” he greeted with a hug, lingering a bit longer, providing you the comfort you needed the most at that specific time in your life.

“Oh, Nick,” you sighed, burying your face in your hands. “I’ve screwed up. I don’t know what the fuck to do, it’s driving me restless. Not even flying makes me happy anymore and it used to be my only way to escape from reality.”

“Hey, there,” Goose said sympathetically, running his hand up and down the length of your back. “Uncle Goose is here. I’d ask you to tell me what’s bothering you but I’m pretty sure I’ve painted quite the picture in my head. You know, with Maverick up my ass and all.”

“I don’t even want to know his name.”

“You don’t mean that, Roger.”

“You’re wrong,” you argued, coming off too strong. “Ever since that guy showed up in my life, everything between me and Ice has been going downhill — and I like Tom so much. Now he probably fucking despises me.”

“Iceman is a tough guy, but he surely doesn’t hate you. His ego probably got hurt after he heard you’re going out with his biggest opponent.”

“I’m not going out with Maverick.”

“He seems to believe otherwise.”

“He can believe whatever the fuck he wants, I’m done ruining things I already have and love for his sake. He’s not all that either, to be honest.”

Goose exhaled rather loudly as he shifted closer to you, giving you a soft nudge. “You know how much I love you, Roger, but I also love Maverick. Look, I get it, he’s a little too much than anyone can handle, he’s not famous for being good with words and sometimes his attitude doesn’t help him make the greatest first impression, but once you get to know him, he’s actually a really nice guy.”

“You’re biased, Goose.”

“Maybe. But all I’m asking for is to not break his heart. He’d probably kill me if he knew what I’m telling you right now, but he’s not just trying to get in your pants. He genuinely cares about you — a lot — more than I’ve seen him care about anyone in his life before. I mean it; he’s constantly looking for an excuse to bring you up in the most random conversation.” You blushed at Goose’s revelations about Maverick, finding the idea of the cocky aviator being so caught up in you so incredibly distracting. Truth is, you’d been kind of feeling the same way about him. “Just, please, don’t lead him on if there’s a zero chance with him.”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, eyes burning and stinging with tears. You were so torn, so unable to decide, so incapable of thinking straight.

“As much as I’d love to see my two best friends together, I’m not here to convince you to date Maverick. That’s your own decision, but just know that if you ever need to talk to someone, my door will always be open for you,” Goose reassured you with a bright beam, which you weakly reflected.

“I meant what I said about Ice, Nick. He’s been treating me like royalty ever since we started going out. He’s a completely different person than the one you get to see here, but…” you clenched your jaw, eyes dropping back on your plate, scanning it as if it were the most interesting thing you’d seen in your life. “See? That’s the problem; there shouldn’t even be a but.”

“Do you feel like something’s missing?”

“Yeah. I mean, no — maybe? All I know is that whatever that but represents, it goes away when I’m with Maverick. And it terrifies me, Bradshaw.”

Goose chuckled. “Maverick terrifies you?”

“The way he makes me feel does. It’s like I’m seventeen all over again and I’m experiencing this unruly and intense wave of overwhelming emotions that I can’t control. It’s like I’m flying so freely and fast, but at the same time, I’m about to crash and catch on fire. He’s… he’s special and he knows it.” For a split second, you let yourself wander through the fantasy of being with Pete, forgetting all about the present actuality. You dreamt of hugging him, telling him how he made you feel, kissing him. It was growing into something that was beyond physical attraction, beyond than an innocent middle school crush.

Goose looked down, trying to cover the knowing smile on his face. “You deserve to be in a perfect relationship, Roger. You deserve to have someone who’ll make you happy.” And with that, he patted your back, giving you a quick peck on the forehead before heading back to his table.

Making difficult decisions is a common occurrence in life, you decided. Your eyes were burning, shutting as you combed your fingers through the roots of your hair. Goose’s words were replaying through your mind, driving you close to insanity. He was surely right about one thing though; and that was that in the end, it was your life and your choice whom you wanted to spend it with. You weighed every advantage and disadvantage of the situation, but still found yourself unable to audibly make a decision.

Your heart only had one person, one choice, one future. It was beating into the rhythm of three familiar syllables of a certain call sign, sending a wave of unsettling feelings in your stomach.

Were you actually about to do this?

Go big or go home, your inner voice encouraged as you stood up, eyes locked into the reckless aviator that went by the name Maverick.

“Roger?”

Out of the blue, you felt yourself glue on the floor, knees trembling at the sound of Tom’s voice. He hadn’t talked or even looked at you for the past three days — you thought he’d cut you off — but there he was, hands nervously shaped into fists against his sides, pupils scanning the ground. You didn’t even know how to respond. “Yeah?”

“I feel like we’ve got some things to discuss about.”

“Oh.”

What was it with you and the monosyllabic words that came out of your mouth in the most unfazed tone of voice? Tom grabbed your hand and dragged you all the way to the lockers, making sure no one else was there. He then proceeded to hug you; an action you hesitantly and half-heartedly returned as your eyes pricked with tears for the bazillionth time that morning.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathed against your neck. You wanted to reciprocate, tell him you missed him too, more than anything else in the world — but he wasn’t Maverick.

“Tom, before you say anything—”

“No, let me speak first,” he interrupted and you sighed. “I acted like a douche to you. So much anger bubbled up inside me that it fogged my brain and I couldn’t think straight. All I could picture was losing you to Maverick and it drove me over the edge. You’re the most important person in my life and I had a very different and more romantic way of telling you this in my mind, but I love you. I love you and I don’t want to let my jealousy affect what we have again. I swear to you, I’m trying to be a better, more positive and compatible person and I think it’s working — only because you motivate me to be the best version of myself.”

With your jaw slightly hanging, you stared at Tom speechless. Never had you ever been expecting such a heartfelt apology from him and you were pleasantly shocked. You liked him, you liked him so much and you’d remind that to yourself until it would actually become true.

“I’m sorry as well. I should’ve never talked to Maverick behind your back, let alone to meet up with him. But Tom, about what you just said—”

“I understand it might be a little too soon, you don’t have to worry about saying anything back. I just wanted you to know.”

Your face steeped in guilt, bitterly regretting every interaction between you and Maverick. Why were you so afraid of owning up to your own feelings? Pangs of sweat washed the back of your neck as you gulped what felt like a rock covered with thorns roll down your esophagus.

Tom Kazansky was a great guy and an even greater boyfriend, but could you imagine yourself falling in love with him the same way you’d already been doing with Pete Mitchell?

“Look, Ice,” his call sign rolled out of your tongue with a hint of uneasiness — and lord, you wished the ground would swallow you from the face of earth. “I like you a lot, but…” your trail of thoughts died down the moment his expression dropped when you mentioned a certain three-lettered word he’d been hoping not to hear from you.

“There’s a but,” he noticed, struggling to hide the fact that you’d somewhat crashed his dreams.

“It’s not your fault,” you attempted to comfort the blond pilot, but the sadness written all over his face was giving you such a hard time to come up with an excuse that your body intuitively lunched at his, arms wrapping around his neck hurriedly as your lips silenced whatever else you’d been about to blurt by landing right on his. Though you’d shared loads of kisses with Tom before, none of them had the same awkwardness and force of that one. He seemed to be quite enjoying it, pulling you closer to him as his hands snaked around your middle, but you, on the other hand, were suppressing tears of frustration (you were furious with yourself for not being able to handle such a hardship, let alone the fact that said hardship should’ve lead to a breakup).

Nevertheless, you were not opposed to giving Tom a second chance. Maybe you could take it from the top, go slow, reignite the fire. Yeah, you could do that, your inner voice convinced as you pulled away from him with a small smile, rubbing his shoulder a little bit as he leaned his temple against yours.

Little did you know that by opting not to break Iceman’s heart, you’d subconsciously gone against Goose’s earlier pleads and had broken Maverick’s instead, who’d stood frozen during the entire scene across from where you and Tom were, words strangling in his throat as his eyes blurred achingly at the sight of you smiling in his opponent’s arms.

Chapter 5

tags:

@holishol

@iheqrtaustin

[mqverick]

Waking On Air || chapter 3

What was worse than the situation between you, Pete and Tom? The food they served at the lunch hall in Top Gun. Honestly, an abomination — and you hadn’t even thought to bring your own lunch, which meant you had to bare with the tasteless stuff they served as so called food. For some reason, Tom was enjoying it, almost done with his plate as he offered you his bread, which you accepted (but did not entirely eat), picking on crumbs and putting it on your disk as you stared blankly right through your boyfriend’s head. A few tables behind, you could make out Goose laughing his heart out and Maverick joining him as well, keeping a lower profile. An instant smile tugged at the corners of your own lips, eyes glowing at the sight of him seeming so happy and unbothered.

Your view was blocked by Tom cocking his head to the side, grinning lazily. “What’re you lookin at?”

Suddenly flustered, you avoided eye contact and tried to shrug off the fact that you’d been staring at the man your boyfriend disliked the most right in front of him without him having any idea.

“Nothing, just you,” you replied, hoping he’d buy it. Apparently, he was lovestruck enough to do so.

“Food not good?” he asked, noticing you hadn’t touched your plate. You nodded in agreement and excused yourself to go get a glass of water. As you walked through the crowd, you felt yourself accidentally bump on someone and you prayed it wouldn’t be who you thought it was, but then again, you’ve never been the lucky type of girl.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” you mumbled, dusting your chest off. Maverick smirked and moved his head in semi agreement, even though in his opinion, he wouldn’t mind a few more bumps if it meant he’d get to see you.

“Will I be seeing you tonight?” he asked and your cheeks flushed in a deep shade of crimson.

“Pete…” you started but trailed off, not knowing what the answer would be. Your brain was split in half; part of it wanted to turn him down, choose the safe option and kindly back out of a bunch of upcoming problems. Part of it.

“Please,” he begged and you swore you’d never heard a man pronounce this word as beautifully as it fell out of Maverick’s lips. “There’s no harm in two flying mates to meet up, anyway. I’ll be waiting for you even if you decide not to show up.”

“Show up where?”

Your entire body froze in terror the moment you heard your boyfriend’s voice repeat Pete’s last sentence. You wished it was all part of a nightmare, because — no, this was not happening — not now, not to you. As if you were a criminal caught in cold blood, you slowly turned your head around, face to face with a fuming Tom Kazansky. His hands were shaped into fists and you could tell that if you were not standing in front of him, he would’ve jumped on Maverick with fury.

“Tom, it’s not —”

“No, Roger, please,” he interrupted, voice raised, “I want to know if you plan on going around with Mitchell in the middle of the night while I think you’re sleeping next to me, like the fucking fool I am, is that right?”

God, you wanted to cry. This is exactly what you’d been trying to avoid the whole time, yet had failed miserably. You hesitantly took a few steps closer towards Tom, throwing Maverick a look as if to tell him to get his ass out of there as fast as he could. Tom backed away from you, opening his mouth to say something but never letting anything out. Instead, he stormed off outside.

You followed him, almost stumping from trying to catch up. “Ice!” you called, but nothing. “Tom!”

He turned around with force and you could make out tears starting to well up in his eyes. His whole face was red and he was trying the best he could to not break down — or at least that’s what it looked like. “I expected this kind of behavior from Maverick, hell, I’m pretty sure I’d be surprised if he didn’t hit on you, but from you?”

You scrunched up your face, trying to block back your own sniffles. There wasn’t anything you could say that would change what he’d heard, so you opted to remain silent, which he did not take as well as you hoped he would. Beginning to walk away from you again, you let out a big sigh you did not know you were holding. “Tom!” you shouted, voice echoing in the corridor. Your pace quickened along with his, breathing heavily through your mouth, seeing as your nose was getting stuffy. “I wouldn’t go with him!”

Tom quits walking so abruptly that you nearly fall on him. You can take a clearer look at his face now; seeing him like that making you devastated. His lips were pressed tightly together and his eyelids were getting puffy and red. Your mouth parted, but as your brain fought to send words up your throat, Tom scoffed, wiping non existent tears off his cheeks.

“Oh, you wouldn’t go with him!” he repeated, faking his way through the most ridiculous grin you’d seen. “Well, that makes everything so much easier and happier for me, then!” You hated the sarcasm in his voice, which was ironic, seeing as you barely had any right to hate him, especially during that moment.

“Just — please, listen to me.”

“No, I will not listen to you. I’m tired of listening to you; ‘No, Iceman, he’s not ogling me!’, ‘no, there’s nothing going on between us’ — clearly, you’ve been lying this entire time, straight into my face, but what gets to me the most is how you fucking love to deny any sign of interaction with him while making plans to — what? — meet up under the moonlight and the starry sky?”

Streaming tears were falling down your cheeks now, eyes red in all feelings of embarrassment, sadness and anger. How dare he accuse you of cheating? How dare he when all you’ve been trying to do is restrain your fucking self from Maverick so painfully hard? Your gaze drifts, because you have no remains of dignity left in your body, but suddenly, Tom jerks your chin back up, forcing your eyes to meet his. Everything around you feels hot and suffocating and you know it’s the same for him.

“Do you love him now, is that it? Have you slept together, did he cast spells around you or something?” You didn’t know how or when it happened, but your eyes catch sight of your hand flying right across his face. You gasped the moment the slapping sound rings through your ears, mind fading in a blurry haze. Iceman held his cheek where you’d hit him, mouth agape as he stared at you unfazed.

“I’d never fucking cheat on you, asshole! How do you even have the nerve to accuse me of something like that?!” you ask, voice coming out louder and angrier than expected. He let out a bitter chuckle as he released his cheek.

“I don’t know, ask your boyfriend.”

“Do you think we’re in fucking middle school?” you questioned, screaming at the top of your lungs as you watched him walk away from you for once more without giving you an answer. You felt too exhausted to follow him this time, simply collapsing onto the floor, hands coming around to hug your knees as you buried your face deep into them, biting hard at your lip to keep it from trembling. All you knew was that you’d hurt one of the people you cared for the most — or at least used to — and he’d hurt you back, which was deserved (as you’d convinced yourself to believe).

Your eyes were still sore as you dragged your legs all the way back to your place after having made stops at every bar in your way, just to get inside and look at people drink and dance happily together. It was getting late and you had no motivation whatsoever to keep the day going. Falling asleep would be hard — impossible even, especially after the way both of you and Tom had acted during your first major argument. You didn’t want to lie to yourself; it was high time the heated moment happened, honestly, you were surprised he hadn’t snapped earlier. Your house felt empty and cold and so did you, despite all the layers of clothing you were wearing. Your eyes heavily glanced over at the clock on your living room’s wall to see the time. Every muscle inside you screamed not to do it, not when it would risk losing Tom, losing yourself, but you’ve always been the stubborn type of person.

As promised, there he was, sitting on his motorcycle and staring down at the beach from the cliff tops. You cleared your throat and his head instantly shot up, a huge grin spreading across his features at the unexpected sight of you.

“You came,” he said softly in disbelief, which made your heart flutter. Had you not showed up, would he have stayed there waiting for you all night? The thought made you warm. Maverick got up from his bike, moving towards you as in to hug you, but stopped in his tracks, keeping his arms uncomfortably on his sides as he pursed his lips. A light wave of wind ghosted between the two of you and you suddenly felt a lot chillier than you recalled yourself feeling a few moments ago. Maverick noticed and shrugged his bomber off, placing it around your shoulders gently. The warmth of it embraced you along with the smell of his cologne and you snuggled eagerly into it, embarrassed at how needy he made you feel with so little.

“Ice and I had a fight,” you blubbered.

“I know. I think half of Miramar heard.”

You chuckled bitterly, kicking on the sandy ground. You didn’t know what to say or do, even though your mind had a few ideas of its own. Maverick patted the seat of his bike, helping you get up on it. The touch his hand held around your waist burned in the nicest way and you wanted to feel more of him on your body. When he positioned himself next to you, you realized how close he was, knees almost bumping into each other. Even though the sky was dark, his eyes were glistening uniquely under the moonlight, wind blowing his hair into every direction and making it all messy — he was so captivating that you had to hold your breath when you realized that he was giving you that look again.

“Don’t look at me like that, Pete,” you murmured under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with genuine concern. You signed, knowing damn well that you had absolutely zero idea of how you were actually feeling. Everything had happened so fast, that you barely had any time to process it.

“Scared,” was the word that came out of your mouth when you closed your eyes to think. “I’m scared of what’s coming up. I’ve never seen Tom like that before and it’s all my fault. He’s been nothing but amazing to me the entire time we’ve been together and I honestly like him so much, but I just…” you stopped yourself before you could say anything foolish.

“It’s not your fault,” Maverick assured you with a gentle squeeze on your knee. Your eyes traveled to where his hand was sitting and you blushed. You hated how obvious you were. “Sometimes, we can’t control how we feel for others.”

The sentence came out of his mouth as if he was hurting. As if he’d been stabbed with irony and misery and it was driving him insane. You drew in a sharp breath, fidgeting with your fingers as silence fell over you. Guilt washed your face; what were you doing? Meeting up with the one you’d sworn not to give false hope to, wearing his jacket, being so close to him and listening to him dropping hints about his feelings, while Tom Kazansky, your so called boyfriend, whose heart you’d broken, was probably rotting in his place.

Pete’s name fell off your lips like a breathy whisper and you felt his hand shift on your leg, almost as if to caress it, but regretted it midway through and retreated it back to his own side.

“I’m sorry,” you heard him murmur. “I never meant for this to happen. I’m not Iceman’s biggest fan, but it’s not like I dreaded to see both of you in this situation.”

With your brain shut off and your heart picking up waves of bravery, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, before reaching for Maverick’s hand. Your fingers were interlocked with his and it felt like his hand was made to hold yours, which shouldn’t have felt so right, not when Iceman was still in the picture. Iceman. Iceman. Iceman.

“Maverick,” you started, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You hated yourself more than anything for being such a shitty girlfriend to the person who never deprived you of anything you asked. You felt Pete’s fingers hold yours tighter at the sound of his call sign coming out of your mouth, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

“You called me Maverick.”

Your eyes travelled upwards only to realize he was already looking at you with the same lovesick gaze Tom had earlier in the morning at the lunch hall. You couldn’t take any more of this — seeing Maverick so fragile and sweet, unlike the first day you spoke to him. It was sending your mind places and the smell of his intoxicating cologne wrapped around the atmosphere around you was killing you slowly — and god, you wanted to never let go of him and that moment, but you couldn’t.

“I need to go,” you breathed, shifting a little to help yourself get down from his bike. You shrugged his jacket off your shoulders, handing it to him and began walking away, holding back the urge to look behind, because you were very aware of the fact that it would take only one more look from Maverick to throw everything you’d built in the garbage. You missed the way his heart broke at your departure, a thousand words flooding his mind that he had yet to wait to speak aloud.

Chapter 4

[mqverick]

Walking On Air || chapter 2

The following day was indeed rough. You woke up with a light migraine — you hadn’t even drank that much last night — carefully sliding Tom’s arm off your middle and tried your best not to wake him up. Your steps to the kitchen felt heavy, and so did your head. Vivid memories of Maverick at the bar last night flooded your mind as you felt the water in your glass touch the tip of your lips.

Your relationship with Tom had always been sort of messy and fast. Since the moment the two of you met, there was a mutual attraction and interest, he was sweet with you, spoiled you and completely dropped the Iceman façade when it’d be just the two of you. With you, he was Tom Kazansky and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the caring side of him, but at the same time you didn’t know how exactly you loved it.

Undoubtedly, Tom had reached that stage a few weeks after dating you, but on the other hand, you’ve let quite a few uncertainties slip in between your relationship. He’d get jealous, possessive in a non-violent way, sometimes subconsciously treating you like you were his and his only, which had led to numerous arguments.

You still found it in your heart to forgive him, though, after all, the majority of the men who approached you at bars or restaurants were arseholes and had no hint of respect in their body.

With Maverick, though… it just wasn’t like that.

Sure, he was a ginormous brat and he screams at it — might as well tattoo it on his big stubborn head — with his domineering behavior, always flaunting his achievements, using big words, acting like he owned every room he walked in and never letting anyone or anything wipe that maddening lazy smirk off his face. As badly as you wanted to deny it, there was a part of your body that desired Maverick. You liked his determination, you’d love to get to know more about him, you were getting trapped under the Mitchell charm and it was more than you could handle.

Your headache seemed to only worsen at the thoughts of the dark haired pilot, but thankfully it seemed like your attempts at keeping it down were not very successful, since your peripheral vision caught Tom rubbing his eyes open while holding back a yawn. He came up to you and kissed the top of your head, offering to make you some coffee, before getting ready to take off.

Meeting up with Goose again throughout awaiting for the civilian contractor instructor to come was the most fun you’d experienced within all the 8 hours after your takeoff from the bar last night and you were so grateful for him. That was, until Maverick came up behind you, whispering good morning in your ear. You jumped a little — you couldn’t tell if it was because of how he appeared out of the blue or of how you felt a warm puff of air hit your neck, which signaled how close to you he’d actually been.

“Your boyfriend’s blood is boiling,” he commented, earning a weird look from Goose. You looked over to Tom to see that he was in fact seemingly picking up anger at the sight of you and Maverick conversating. Neither of you spoke of it when you returned to your seat.

_

Iceman and Slider were up in the air, training. The buzz inside your brain was still hurting (a little less now) and you knew that with Maverick around and your boyfriend being unable to kill him just by shooting him a look, your head would be bound to spin for the rest of the day. You were proved right the moment you heard the screech of a chair’s leg next to you against the stone floor.

“Hey there.”

You opted not to look at him. “Need anything?”

“Just wanted to talk.”

You didn’t want any company, especially not him, but then again, you had a feeling that it wouldn’t really matter to Maverick anyway. You decided to finally acknowledge him, turning around with a pretentious smile on your face that screamed ‘leave me alone’ from miles away. Apparently, he found your silent cries of despair somewhat funny, letting out a chuckle at the grimace you were making. He thought you looked cute with a pissed attitude (it’s not like he’d seen you with any other attitude whatsoever).

“Fine, you’ve got my attention. What’s up?”

“I’ve got your attention?” he repeated and you shortly regretted the words that came out of your mouth previously. Should’ve predicted he wouldn’t let the phrase slide like that. “Well, that’s pretty much what I wanted all along.”

Your body was torn; half of it wanted to scream at him to let you fucking alone just for one second, ask him what his problem was and why he was so obviously trying to hit it off with you — was it because he wanted to get Iceman angry, because after all everybody knew that the two of them did not get along very well — and the other… The other was fighting back brutally the blush that wanted to creep up your cheeks.

“I don’t get you,” you spoke out of the blue, noticing how he knitted his eyebrows together in confusion, “I don’t get what’s the fuss about you.”

Maverick scooted his chair closer to yours, pushing the bridge of his ridiculously big Ray-Ban sunglasses further up his nose as he gave you a genuine smile — not a smirk (for once).

“I don’t have any fuss about me. I’m just very good at what I do. Trust me, unlike your boring boyfriend, which you can’t even bring yourself to watch, you’ll know when I’m up there. You’ll know that it’s me who’s flying.”

You wanted to deny everything he replied to you, maybe throw a sarcastic comment or snarky remark, because the man was so full of himself, you just wanted to punch the confidence out of him — but the way he phrased it — god, you knew he’d be right. From what Goose had filled you in earlier in the morning, Maverick was reckless, had a bad family name and kept chasing danger after danger, suspension after suspension, but you were suddenly very aware of the fact that if you watched him fly, you’d know it’d be him.

“You’re not the only one who can fly here, Lieutenant.”

“I know, Lieutenant. Never said I’m the only good pilot. For example, I’d love to see you fly. How are you when you’re up there, huh?” he asked, ocean eyes shining with interest, drawing you in. You didn’t want to admit it to him — or even Tom — but there had been times when your flying had been dangerously similar to Maverick’s. There had been times when you owned the aircraft, the sky and clouds around you, times when people would look up and say ‘damn, that’s Roger in that F-14’. Just as you were about to open your mouth, Tom cleared his throat behind you, hand wiping the sweat off of his forehead.

“We haven’t finished this conversation yet,” Maverick whispered in your ear for the second time that day and each one of these times, you found yourself getting a tad more breathless.

You chose not to spend the rest of the day at Tom’s place; you were already too exhausted and there was the slightest hint that he wouldn’t be so pleased with you after seeing you chatting with Maverick again. You needed to sort things out. The radio was faintly playing from the kitchen but no sound could enter through your ears as you were too busy sitting on the couch, head down on the arm, arms wrapped around your knees, trying to drift off just for a little bit. Your stomach made a noise and you realized you had barely eaten all day — God, were you craving a grilled cheese with a salad — but your body was too numb to move.

A couple of unexpected knocks on your door shook you out of your growing misery. You rubbed your eyes open, sliding your feet into your sleepers, hoping it’d be no one so that you could go back to torturing yourself with thoughts of Maverick and the stupid ghost of his breath still very much alive on your neck. Without bothering to ask who it was, you opened the door only to see Maverick tiptoeing back and forth with a smile pursing through his lips. He wasn’t wearing his usual white tee, just a dark blue shirt with a few buttons undone and his signature leather bomber hanging lazily over his shoulder.

“Hi,” he greeted with a soft voice. You found yourself unable to utter a word back. What was he doing at your house at night? How did he even know where you live? Was he following you? Why weren’t you concerned even though you should’ve been?

“Hi.”

“Can I come in?”

Aware of the fact that he would’ve found a way to come in even if you refused at first, you stepped aside, letting him walk inside as you shut the door. He scanned your place with his eyes just for a second, then returned his full attention to you. You suddenly grew very conscious about your appearance; your hair wasn’t tied up as usual, you were wearing a larger shirt you had borrowed from Tom and a pair of black female boxers — overall you looked like a nightmare. If only you knew that Maverick had never felt so breathless before in his life at the sight of you (truth is, he himself had no idea how he managed to keep his breathing in control every time you were around.)

“Did I wake you up?”

“I hope not. I’m too young to start having noon dinners and be falling asleep at 8pm,” you cringed at your own joke, silently praying that he wouldn’t notice how nervous he was making you. “How did you even know that I live here. I don’t exactly recall trusting you with that information.”

“Let’s just leave it to the fact that Goose is a very good friend,” Maverick replied with a small laugh.

“I’m going to bomb that bastard, I swear,” you laughed too — there was something so contagious about the way he chuckled, his big white teeth forming the most wholesome smile you’d ever seen on a human being. “So, was that your way of letting me know you’ve been asking about me?”

“Sort of,” he said with honesty. You tried to hide the fact that your stomach reacted in the same way it did when Tom and you shared your first kiss as you walked in the living room, hearing his footsteps follow yours. You sat on the couch again (this time not as if you were a half asleep dying wreck), patting on the seat next to you for Maverick to sit.

“What’s going on, Lieutenant Mitchell?”

“You drive me crazy.” The moment the statement fell out of his lips, you swore you felt felt a heatwave rush through your system, legs crossing just an inch. Was he urging you to act on whatever had been forming between you two? Did he even know? “It’s just insane when you refuse to call me just Maverick like everybody else does, it won’t activate the curse of the pharaohs, you know.”

Oh. So that’s what he meant. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed — wait, what the hell? “What are you here for, Pete?” you asked again, this time more impatiently, trying to shake off whatever was happening to you.

“I want to see how you fly.”

Was he mental? He came all the way to your house just so you could continue a conversation that happened about nine hours ago?

“You’ll see when it’s my time to train. Is that all?”

“I’m afraid I can’t really wait until then.”

“Pete,” you started, but he leaned in closer to you, accidentally bumping his knee into yours. You hoped the room was dark enough to conceal the blush on your cheeks. “What do you want?”

The young aviator sighed, nudging you softly with a smirk before getting up from the couch and throwing his jacket, which he had discarded on some chair in the kitchen, back over his shoulder.

“Tomorrow at night, around 10 at the park right behind the cliff tops at the beach. See you there.”

Chapter 3

[mqverick]

Waking On Air || chapter 1

The first time you noticed him was in the Top Gun meetings hall, after Viper had just introduced himself as your instructor. He was sitting front row along with a tall blond, constantly looking around in some sort of confident way, as if he belonged there more than any of the others did.

Your boyfriend, Tom Kazansky, mostly known as “Iceman”, kept giving him thoroughly dirty looks, making you a bit uneasy at the thought of having him start competing against other aviators once again — you thought he’d been over that phase, but you were apparently far from correct.

You didn’t get to catch his name, even though Tom was already halfway through cocky remarks and jokes about him, scoffing loudly on purpose the moment the young man declared that he did in fact have it in him to become the best of the best. He was confident — a little too confident for your liking — but Viper seemed to only encourage his engrossing ego by being so pleasantly taken aback by his uniquely strong personality.

“Babe,” your boyfriend’s soft nudge on the shoulder shook you out of your thinking trail and you slightly gasped inaudibly in surprise. “Me and the guys are going to the bar later, wanna tag along?”

“Sure,” you replied, giving him a short lasting squeeze on the hand and getting up from your seat. You almost missed the sarcastic and startling laugh, of who you thought was the blond aviator, targeted towards Iceman and his crew.

The second time you noticed him was later the same evening, at the bar. You and Tom were chatting about the new Top Gun entries while waiting for your drinks. Even though it was night, Tom insisted on wearing his sunglasses, which you honestly thought was stupid but also attractive.

“Ice,” you interrupted — his voice had gone all murmur-y after having spent a good amount of five minutes just trashing that cocky raven-haired stranger — “that’s Goose!”

Surprised by the enthusiastic tone in your voice, Iceman raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? How is that ground breaking news?”

“No, babe, you don’t understand — I haven’t seen Goose in years! He and I practically pampered each other up, he’s my childhood best friend and we lost contact after he moved to Miramar. God, I thought it was him earlier in the morning when he laughed at you but I couldn’t see very well. We have to go talk to him!”

And with that, you were already standing up and Tom was struggling to catch up with your quickening pace. By the time you finally reached Goose’s table, you were excitedly squealing his name. At first, Goose was startled, trying to figure out how you knew him, but like a bucket of cold water splashing into his face, he got up from his seat, wrapping his arms around you rather messily and smiling like an idiot.

“Roger!” he giggled while calling your call sign, pulling away from the embrace but still keeping his hands on your shoulder blades. “How have you been? My lord, it’s been years, you’ve changed so much!”

“I can’t stay seven forever, Nick,” you smiled. “I’ve been great, how about you? I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you more,” Goose replied warmly, then taking a short break to acknowledge Ice’s presence right next to you. “I see you’ve made quite a few friends here,” he added sarcastically.

Iceman scoffed and you rolled your eyes at him, silently asking him to keep his mouth shut.

“Not exactly. Tom’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” he mouthed. Tension was awkwardly starting to build between you. “I wasn’t really expecting that, but oh well. I should introduce you to my boy friend as well — Maverick, that’s my childhood buddy Roger, Roger, Maverick.”

So his name was Maverick.

You extended your hand to the other aviator, which he shook after a moment, lingering his fingers around yours for maybe longer than needed. He had the most mesmerizing eyes, you unwillingly noticed, subconsciously fighting every muscle in your system from getting lost in them. Maverick shot you a stunning smile as he finally retreated his hand from yours and placing it around a half empty beer bottle.

“Alright, it was glad to catch up,” Tom suddenly spoke, slamming you back into reality as he hurriedly pulled you away from the bar and back to your table. You shook your arm away from his hand and gave him an annoyed look.

“What the fuck was that for?”

Iceman sighed. “I’m sorry but I just cannot simply stand like an idiot while Mitchell’s ogling you.”

Your eyebrows curved in offense and surprise.

“No one was ogling me, Tom. I thought we’ve been over the aggressive jealousy phase anyway.”

Tom attempted to scoot closer to you, placing his warm palm over your hand and rubbing small circles on your wrist with his thumb apologetically.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he said lowly. You gave him a weak smile and pressed a kiss on his cheek before excusing yourself to go to the bathroom.

Just before you could push the door to get in, you felt a hand softly grab on your elbow, pulling you towards them, which took you by surprise, causing you to trip on the heel of your left feet and sending you hitting straight into a hard chest. Instinctively, you tried to avoid crashing your nose by pressing your palms against their chest. You heard a light chuckle emit from the stranger and your eyes travelled upwards only to meet with familiar blue-green ones.

“It’s you again,” you spoke — a bit too breathlessly for your liking — noticing how his lips curved into a cocky smirk.

“It’s Maverick.”

“I know. What kind of name even is that, did your parents hate you or something?”

“It’s just my call sign.”

You decided to ignore him and get out of the conversation by walking inside the restroom, but the stubborn aviator followed you inside.

“My name’s Pete Mitchell,” he added. Cute, you thought — he was trying to keep the talk going.

“Didn’t really ask there, Pete Mitchell.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name? Or is your actual name Roger?”

You huffed in annoyance and turned to glare at him. The smirk was still plastered across his lips and it was driving you freaking insane. “I have a boyfriend,” you opted to reply.

“Well it’s very nice to meet you, I have a boyfriend. My name is Pete Mitchell, but most people prefer to go with Maverick.”

You rolled your eyes. There was something ridiculously stupid about his personality, but you found yourself liking it — sort of. He was challenging you and you were always in for a challenge.

“I’m rolling dead on the floor,” you sarcastically replied, keeping a frighteningly straight face. “You think you’re just so funny and charming, Pete Mitchell.”

“I’m pretty confident about my character, yeah.”

“Congratulations. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go pee, so I’d appreciate it if you could get your cheeky little ass out of here.”

“I’ll meet you outside then,” he replied with a wink and you let out a very loud sigh as his presence was out of the restroom, slapping your hands against your forehead and rubbing your eyes.

God, he’s going to cause trouble, isn’t he?

You were grateful for the fact that he — in fact — did not meet you outside and you had the chance to go straight back to your table without any more inconvenience. Tom was drinking his beer, giving you a sweet smile as you approached him. You decided not to tell him anything about your previous encounter with Maverick, trying to forget about it yourself, but failing miserably, since his stupid smirk and his stupid green or blue or whatever eyes were tattooed in your brain.

Taking a big gulp out of your own beer, you pinched the bridge of your nose and glanced around the bar (hoping to catch Maverick somewhere but you’d never confess that).

Stupid fucking Maverick.

“Looking for someone?”

You looked at Tom, cold sweat forming on the back of your neck. He must’ve noticed you.

“Nope, just feeling tired. Do you mind if we call it a night?” you asked and he ran his hand along the length of your back, nudging the side of your neck with his head and placing a kiss on your forehead before nodding. You wanted to find an excuse to see him again — say goodbye to Goose, yeah that was a good idea, but you were worried it might’ve been a bit too transparent. After all, you would see Goose tomorrow, you knew that would be Tom’s exact answer. You kept your mouth shut as you walked outside, body feeling hot even though the weather outside was chilly.

Tomorrow would be a hard day.

Chapter 2

[mqverick]

not me still crying after reading 505 for the millionth time. i have a love hate relationship with angst

im so glad you liked it <3