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badwitch-if · 2 months

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OG DEMO + AU DEMO

**a note about the demo that won the vote**

Magic is all too real and witches reign supreme.

This is a story of excess & indulgence. Luxury & depravity. Lust & love. Horror & debauchery.

But mostly it's a story of rediscovering your inner witch.

Bad Witch is set in a matriarchal, gothic universe eerily similar to our own, where magic runs the world. And at its core, it is a love letter to the incredibly strong and vibrant friendships that we forge in our youth, and how they ultimately shape the people we become.

Witxhes dominate the upper echelons of society, and magic has seeped into every facet of day-to-day life, for witches and humans alike. Humans were relegated to a lower class of living and as witches tend to be quite opulent & over indulgent [and more often than not revelling in their own personal vices], the bougie Season of the Witch began. Witching Society flourished and quickly overtook over the world, trickling down to influence even those without magic.

SO WILL YOU BE A BAD WITCH, OR A GOOD WITCH?

You were born to one of the most ancient and thus, important witching families; the only child of a famous mother and an even more infamous grandmother. Your ancestors were among the very first witches to lead the revolution, desperate to create a world where their children would never again die by human hands.

Your childhood was rather lonely and spent under the tutelage of the worlds best witches and academics, whilst your mother did her best to ignore your existence whenever it didn’t directly benefit her. And so years later you would often joke that your life really began once you were accepted into Ariadne Academy, the premiere school for exceptionally gifted Witxhes.

You were placed in a coven with eight of your peers; girls and boys who would quickly become your family, until it was almost like you couldn’t remember a time before them. They shared your all-consuming hunger for magic and knowledge and experiences, traits that made your coven [nicknamed the Silverlakers] an unstoppable force within the Demonhall arena. Everything was going so perfectly until it suddenly burned down around you, leaving your coven a husk of its former self.

Aaand this is currently where the stories splinter off.

OG DEMO — In the OG demo, your coven is still somewhat intact. MC’s feelings towards them may or may not have changed, but on the whole, the Silverlakers are still functioning as the overachieving badasses they were at the academy. They’re still your best friends, your soulmates, your lovers. You love them and they most definitely love you — it’s just one big lovefest.

As a master alchemist you tediously work through trials of your newest potion while still coasting off the success of your last serum, the wildly popular Moon Juice. The story focuses on the unnaturally strong bond that exists between the remaining Silverlakers, and the powerful magic you’ve wrought because of that. The incredibly deep but complicated friendships that you built are maintained to this day, and still just as co-dependent... or have they been making you feel stifled or claustrophobic?

You can choose how your relationship with Ash progressed post-breakup. Was it messy and dramatic, or did you keep going back to them, again and again? Have you and Ori been just the bestest friends all this time, or have things gotten a bit awkward?

AU DEMO — In the AU demo, your coven was broken following the loss of one of your own. You all went your own ways and everything that you shared was left by the wayside. You’ve spent the better part of a decade running away from your Silver Lake family, the only real home you ever knew. But now, against all of your better judgements, your returning to York. Only for a few days, of course. A couple weeks, tops.

You haven’t returned since you absconded after graduation, when you used a somewhat controversial but entirely contrived excuse for your disappearance. And as if The Fates themselves had seen to it, you once again find yourself thrown together with the other witches formerly known as Silverlakers. Their reactions to your return are not at all what you had expected, and you’re left second-guessing what actually happened all those years ago.

No matter how deep of a rift was left between your coven, Ori was the one who really refused to give up on you. In their very unique way, they practically strong-armed you into maintaining some kind of contact. Of all your former covenmates, you are hands down closest to Ori. Your breakup with Ash, no matter how it was done, was shocking and cut deep. You can choose whether to stand by your past actions or try to make amends with your first love.

Both the OG & AU stories will feature opportunities to reconnect with: the former childhood friend turned academy rival; as well as the young professor from your university years. And despite their shorter and more mysterious descriptions, they are both main RO’s, along with Ash & Ori.

Will you try to repair the broken connections plaguing your coven, or forge a brand new path? Will you decide to confront the nightmares of your past face on in the Demonhall arena, or continue to ignore the literal demons that chase you?

TW/CW: violent & horrific imagery; explicit language; explicit sex scenes (with options to fade to black); misandry (within context of the story); mentions of blood/gore; child abuse (past tense against MC); very questionable magic usage; frequent scenes where NPCs are intoxicated, under the spell of drugs or magic, as well as just as many options for MC to imbibe; elder abuse; voluntary magical torture

~ Fully customisable character — you can currently play as a woman, man, or non-binary person; straight, gay, or bisexual. Customise your character's personality, style and how they reacted in major moments of their life leading up to present events,

~ Choose how to react to your current coven dynamics — fight to save your soulmates & strengthen your long-established bonds, or play around on greener pastures with other witches

~Experience the Witch's Journey through the Major Arcana – but will your MC make it to the final tarot reading?

~ Meet your familiar and decide which form it takes, with your familiar's animal impacting the story

~ Set up a cozy, witchy corner to call your own! A few options include a reclaimed lighthouse, luxurious penthouse in the sky, and a secluded cabin in the woods

~ Continue to cross sexual conquests off your list of Lovers to Bed, or get serious and pursue a more serious connection. There are currently 4.5 love interests [all gender variable] as well as an optional poly route. I'm also considering bringing back a character who was cut from the OG story... TBD!

~ Decide what happened to MC's relationship with Ash, in the years since graduation. Have they drifted apart while leading separate lives, or have they been on-and-off for the better part of a decade?

~ Get answers & closure by chasing down ghosts from your past. Give yourself over to the demons in your past, or fight to find a balance between your life and the monsters at the gate.

~ Explore the ever-changing hellscapes of Demonhall and confront your demons, or keep those traumatic memories in the past where they belong

~ But above all else, choose which path your character takes going forward. Chase your dreams and loves, or turn your back, light it up & watch the world burn around you.

During your time at Ariadne Academy, rumours swirled nonstop about your coven.

You got along too well.

You loved each other too hard.

Some people said you were a bunch of weirdos, while others whispered [a little too loudly] that all of your parents had conspired together, bribing the Witches Council to put you all together in one coven. But back then you couldn't give a shit about anyone or anything outside your Silver Lake home.

You found your first love within your coven, as well as seven other soulmates. And for a long time, that was all you needed.

☆ Elijah Akos {m}

☆ Suki Aoki {f}

♡ Aisling Casablanca {f} // Asher Casablanca {m}

♡ Oriana Helyr {f} // Orion Helyr {m}

☆ Belladonna Humphrey {f}

☆ Endora Stills {f}

☆ Hazel Trout {f} — Deceased

☆ Bren Wylder {nb}

The grandiose and horrifying Demonhall is a favourite pastime for Witches young and old. Two opposing covens enter the arena (or as it's lovingly called by fans, the Demon Dome) and are sealed inside. Usually a timer is set for 6 hours, but some exhibition games run a 'last Witch standing' simulator, that can go on for days.

At the core of every Demonhall arena lies it's true power, a demonstone. The crystalized heart of a demon powers and creates unique and dangerous environments for covens to progress through. Whether it's a futuristic, neon playground; the dilapidated ruins of Titans; or a much too lifelike version of the floor is lava, each unique setting has been randomly and lovingly crafted by the demonstone.

Just as each demon is unique and come with their specific set of baggage challenges, so do their corresponding arenas. Some are more manipulative in luring you into their traps, while others don't waste time in throwing everything they've got at you.

The object of the game, quite simply, is to challenge & toss opposing witches out of the match, using whatever spells & curses, or hexes & charms you keep in your arsenal. All while avoiding the real terror of the Demonhall, the demon itself.

For over a decade, your life revolved around Demonhall. You were the Lead for your coven, meaning you often bore the brunt of whatever the demonstone was hurtling at you. Your Silver Lake coven dominated the amateur Demonhall circuit for the better part of a decade. You and your covemates were elevated to a level of celebrity that few others at Ariadne Academy could relate to, as you were splashed across dozens of magazine covers before you were 18.

You planned your life around your obsession and love of the game, and as your graduation approached, you fielded dozens of offers to play for top-tier professional teams. But then... the unexpected happened during a match and you lost a member of your coven.

☆The First Love☆ ...& Ash's playlist

Aisling Casablanca {f} // Asher Casablanca {m}, 31

Ash was your first love. You dated for several years during your time at Ariadne Academy. You grew up together in your Silver Lake cottage and soon after you met, you found it hard to deny your teenage crush.

You bonded over a mutual (rather mad) obsession with Demonhall, and it didn't take long for that bond to translate onto the arena. The Silver Lake Demonhall coven dominated the competition, thanks in large part to the connection you shared with Ash.

You made plans together to follow your passions after graduation, and even courted the interest of several top-tier professional clubs. They wanted you both, and were willing to restructure their teams around you & Ash.

But life happened, and you surprised everyone when you suddenly broke things off with Ash and the Demonhall teams. Instead you followed a secondary love and traveled across the world in pursuit of cryptozoological mysteries.

In the decade that you've been working out in the field, Ash has been named Demonhall MVP for three years in a row. Their legions of adoring fans have only multiplied. Is there room for you in their life nowadays, or is it truly too late?

☆The Best Friend☆ ...& Ori's playlist

Oriana Helyr {f} // Orion Helyr {m}, 30

Ori has been your longest and closest friend. No matter what your relationship was like with the rest of the coven, you could always count on Ori having your back. And sometimes being a shoulder to cry on, during the rockier parts of your relationship with Ash. In a way, it's always felt like the three of you had your own kind of connection, but at times, that could put Ori in the middle of your shit with Ash.

Ori is a highly sought after Master Architect, one of only two in the country. They’re instrumental to the buildings integrity and the future success of it’s residences. Ori often spends weeks onsite, crafting intricate enchantments around the bones of the structure, ensuring not only structural safety but doing everything in their power to position them for prosperity.

There's never been any fronts or facades with Ori, just transparent (sometimes brutal) honesty. You've never had to pretend around them and you might even be your truest self when you're with them. And then the two of you would stay up all night, talking and watching movies, and polishing off copious amounts of alcohol. In fact, many of those nights ended up serving as inspiration for your new experimental potion, a cure-all hangover draught.

In the years since the academy, Ori has tracked you down across the globe too many times to count. It always seemed like they had some magical way of knowing when your life was going to shit and they'd spontaneously turn up with boxes of wine & chocolate, immediately taking over your kitchen to cook up something utterly delicious

☆The Lifelong Rival☆ ...& Poe's playlist

Viridian ‘Poe’ Black {f/m}, 31

Poe was one of your very first friends, long before the academy. Your mothers ran in the same high society circles and so you were often left to your own devices. For Poe that usually meant running off into the woods to scout for berries and beasts, or tirelessly watching or reading up on anything to do with Demonhall. And in fact decades later, you've still never met anyone as obsessed with the game as them. Even as a kid, Poe was haughty and overtly snobby; they always knew exactly what and who they liked, and rarely strayed outside the lines.

But for some reason or another, you were someone they happily tolerated and actually seemed to like. Much to their delight their Demonhall fanaticism eventually infected you as well, and you spent countless hours debating the various forms, methods, and positions of the beautiful but deadly game. The two of you would often daydream about your future life at Ariadne Academy, and their eyes lit up with unabashed glee when they spoke of how together, you would bring about a new era of Demonhall. But then came the week before coven placements. And even after all of their extensive testing, you & Poe weren't placed together.

After that Poe very rarely spoke to you and altogether stopped responding to your many messages over the years, and just like that, the delicate friendship you once shared was snuffed out. And while they'd always been sarcastic and biting, that had rarely been directed towards you. Until you were put in competition, both academically and in the Demonhall arena, and then you were introduced to an entirely different side of Poe. The one that knew your weaknesses and just when to exploit them, who seemed to take a particular happiness from your defeat.

☆The One That Got Away☆

Julia St. James {f} // Julian St. James {m}

Jules is the youngest of nine children and grew up in Bilbao, Spain. They were generally spoiled as a child, doted on by all of their siblings, aunts and uncles. They could never want for tutors or toys or courtiers, but it was all rather tiresome.

They would later travel the continent as a young apprentice of a new philosophy, but they were never alone; always in the company of their cousins, Vix and Maz. Jules developed a deep appreciation for the fine arts and very delicious things during this time away from home.

Jules has now perfected the balancing act, living in both worlds. They work tirelessly as a professor of Theological Witchcraft but lately they've been feeling the pull to leave the classroom and get back out into the world.

☆ ... ☆

#if #interactive fiction #hosted games #choicescript #interactive novel #witches #choice of games #magic #wip #if wip #badwitch #badwitch if #if: wip #if: fyi

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mitsuristoleme · 5 months

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I just saw your requests are open so I might as well jump in BECAUSE SKDNDNSN ok buttttt what about sukuna + his tummy having a mind of its own BEFORE you were their wife, like, you know nothing about this man but everytime you come in sigh you hear the most direct cat calling you've come across only to see a man with an expression of "God kill me now" so you don't know what's happening but it makes you really curious so you just... Provoke him? Like, use revealing clothing, put on an expensive perfume, etc. AAAH I Just love that hc of his stomach mouth having a mind of its own istg aaaa

a/n: ok so im gonna write this in a modern au because lets be real heian era Sukuna did NOT care about dating/courting

formatted into a bullet point headcannon post because im having way too much fun with this and nothing is connected in a cohesive form (pls forgive me for that but my brain is going ham with this concept)

cw: gn!reader, cursing, sexual content, bestie!gojo, Sukuna’s tummy mouth is a menace but wbk

imagine you’re a teacher at jujutsu high and a special grade sorcerer (because i enjoy feeling strong and this is a little self indulgent) (yall can choose if you want to be gojo’s classmate or nanami’s it doesn’t really impact anything)

Sukuna gets reincarnated without a vessel (dont ask me how it just happens ok) and to everyone’s surprise, he volunteers to be an instructor at jujutsu high

he says its to “make these pathetic kids somewhat decent sorcerers so they dont ruin the name of jujutsu”

for whatever reason, the higher ups assign him a spot among the teachers at the school

imagine your shock when this 1000 year old 7 foot tall motherfucker shows in the middle of your class to introduce himself as the new teacher

you’d heard about his whole situation but you didn’t expect him to show up in the middle of a lesson

you attempt to shoo him away but he doesn’t even move (i mean what did you expect really?) and you’re forced to end class early

weirdly enough he keeps a hand clamped over his stomach the entire exchange?? you chalk it down to a stomach ache or something (that night you do wonder if curses, or er, the king of curses, even get physical pains)

ok so before i get into the whole thing lemme just-

in my head, the tummy mouth has the humour of a middle school boy and the self control of the dog from ‘absolutely anything’

so yk. its a mess.

you see him the next day in the staff room

hes wearing a starched white shirt (it accommodates all his four arms and you question how he got one made in a single day) and a pair of fitted slacks, looking WAY too good for a curse

you realise you’ve been staring through the glass window if the staff room and finally enter

only to be greeted by a LOUD wolf whistle followed by a “OOOOH HEY HOT THANG” in the deepest, raspiest, most demonic ass voice you’ve ever heard

sukuna looks like he wants to kill himself.

he gets up and leaves the room immediately

you hear the a faint “NO GO BACK AND FLIRT WITH THEM YOU WIMP ASS HOE” in the same demonic voice as he stalks away

and you’re standing there

wondering what the actual fuck just happened

did you just experience harassment in your workplace?? but his mouth never even moved???

Gojo enters the staff room right after Sukuna vanishes and you IMMEDIATELY fill him in on whatever happened in hopes that he would have any explanation

hes confused, curious and amused all the same time

this doesnt mean hes of any help though

no, the piece if shit just laughs at you and goes off to terrorise the first years take class

before leaving he very unhelpfully reminds you that you have to share classes with Sukuna today

you enter the classroom a couple minutes before the students (you literally have 4 students and one of them is a panda god knows what the point of 2 teachers for such a small class is) and find Sukuna already in the room, leaning back on the chair, his legs resting on the table, eyes closed

once again

looking WAY too fine

just as you internally celebrate that nothing weird happened THE SAME OLD DEMONIC VOICE booms a “DAMN BABY YOU LOOK FINE, CMON LEMME TAKE YA HOME”

“wha- I- Eh??? I’m sorry what the fuhck?!?” you sputter, eyes wide

Sukuna has leaped up from his chair, a mixture of embarrassment and murderous rage on his face

he hisses a “shut the fuck up” in the vague direction of his abdomen before turning to you and apologising

“i am so sorry,” he says sheepishly “i owe you an explanation at the very least after two incidents”

“OI DONT APOLOGISE ASK THEM OUT THEY’RE HOT AND I KNOW YOU THINK SO TOO”

“I WILL LITERALLY FUCKING SEW YOU SHUT IF YOU DONT STAY FUCKING QUIET”

and once again. you’re standing there. shook.

Sukuna turns to you again with an expression that clearly says ‘Gods please strike me down right now’ and asks if you know about him having multiple body parts

you’ve heard of the legends and stories: four eyes, four arms and mouths he can will to appear wherever he wants, so you nod

“Well it just so happens that the mouth on my stomach is sentient, and extremely vulgar. Although i’m sure you noticed the latter.”

his voice is a wonderful contrast to that of his tummy mouth

deep, melodic and smooth

he just got even more attractive.

fuck.

you realise you haven’t given him a response and nod dumbly muttering out a quick “uh-huh”

thankfully the students enter at that moment saving you from any awkwardness

what you have recently come to identify as Sukuna’s tummy mouth stays blissfully quiet throughout the class and shockingly enough the silence on the belly front continues throughout the day as you discuss lesson plans with your ridiculously hot coworker

that night as you’re getting ready for bed, you remember the exchange between Sukuna and his appendage (specifically the part about Sukuna thinking you’re hot) and a mischievous idea forms in your brain (hey gojo satoru’s influence was bound to kick in at some point)

the next day you leave the top few buttons of your work shirt undone and put on some of the pheromone perfume you got as a gag gift in an (what you presume to be potentially successful) effort to rile Sukuna up (lets be real you think hes pretty damn hot too)

clap yourself on the back for that one bestie because the second you enter the staff room, Sukuna’s eyes nearly bulge out of his skull and the tummy mouth starts BARKING

and drooling apparently (how do you know? well maybe because the front of sukuna’s pristine white dress shirt is now sopping wet)

“WIFE THEM UP I SWEAR TO-“

the sound of a coffee cup shattering interrupts whatever was gonna come after that

you’re met with Nanami’s incredibly unimpressed gaze

without saying anything he leaves the room, muttering, “its too early for whatever the fuck this is”

well.

that happened.

yall get together eventually

gojo tells you “i knew you wanted to fuck him”

before you can come up with any sort of response, your boyfriend’s stomach pipes in with a “OH HE DEFINITELY WANTED TO FUCK THEM”

this is your life now.

good luck.

a/n: HI IM HERE TOO THIS TIME!! i left the ‘getting together part kinda up to interpretation because im shit at writing the ‘getting together’ arcs but we’re gonna pretend like it was because i want you to be able to go wild with whatever you want

please dont copy or repost my work without my permission

comments and reblogs are appreciated

check out my masterlist

dividers by @/vanillekiss

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outro-jo · 10 months

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skz helping you through your chemo treatments

pairing: skz members x reader

type: headcanon? scenario? i can’t tell the difference sometimes

warning: medical shit, mentions of chemo (obviously), mentions of food, mentions of being sick/having a hard time post chemo, mentions of needles

notes: once again i’m being self indulgent but i’ve just come back from a chemo treatment myself. this isn’t just for cancer (though it can certainly apply) but autoimmune diseases and other illnesses that require chemo therapy 🤍 if this applies to you, just know i’m sending you love. this shit is brutal!

NOT TAKING REQUESTS AT THIS TIME

masterlist | info

———————————————

chan- the second he finds out about your next appointment, he schedules to be off work and this happens EVERY time. he just has to be with you. he can’t even imagine you being all alone to deal with this yourself (even if you have before), he doesn’t want you to ever have to. before the appointment, he listens intently to all it entails so that he can prepare the best for you. the amount of time it takes doesn’t bother him at all. he packs a clean blanket, snacks, a sandwich, water/electrolytes, a hoodie of his, his laptop to catch up on the show y’all are watching. the man is over prepared and he’s perfectly fine with that. his hand is in yours the entire time unless the medications knock you out, then he’s perfectly content to work on some beats on his laptop. chris is your rock.

lee know- minho has found a way to be at every appointment with you. he even went on a temporary hiatus because your health has been such a problem. all of your symptoms were so concerning and holding your hand at the appointment where you finally got your diagnosis was bittersweet. on the one hand, it was a relief to finally have a name to all those symptoms you had and that you weren’t going crazy. you spent so many nights crying in pain and confusion that it seemed like your body was turning on you and minho held you every time, even crying with you a few nights. on the other hand, hearing there was no cure and this would be a long, marathon to the eventual end of your life was so daunting but minho assured you every time that you haven’t been and would never be alone. so while you took a shuttle for your first hospital stay and treatment, minho went back to your shared apartment to get everything you would need for the stay. the ride was anything but quiet or leisurely. minho was pissed. why you of all people? you’re the most precious thing in the universe and now you had to deal with this? for the rest of your life? the brunette screamed, cried, beat the steering wheel, needing to get out his anger and frustration so that he could be the best for you, and of course he was. as soon as he was back at the hospital, they started treatment and he didn’t let go of your hand or your side for a second.

changbin- anxious didn’t even begin to cover it. it didn’t matter how many times you reassured him that it wasn’t a big deal and that you’ve done this before, he was still a mess. not to mention he was a MENACE to the nurses, asking what everything was for and how long it would take, the process of everything, and how it should effect you. once your treatment started, you got to see everything he brought with him in a literal duffle bag. a heated, massager eye mask, snacks for a whole week, kimchi and rice his mom made, blankets and pillows, slippers. this man truly brought everything. also he had called ahead of time to make sure you had a private pod to make sure you weren’t disturbed by anyone but your nurse. he’s insane but you wouldn’t have it any other way. he was your binnie and he wanted to make sure you had the absolute best care. what’s funny is after a few treatments with you, he knows exactly what to expect and seems so cocky about everything. “you sure that the right pre-treatment medication? we used x last time.”

hyunjin- unfortunately, hyunjin is squeamish when it comes to needles. he’s tried before and each time you’re the one supporting him through it. he decided that he was better off supporting you through facetime which worked out because he had to work but the boys didn’t mind also keeping you company. even when the meds inevitably knocked you out, hyunjin admired your tired features to still be there with you while waiting for his turn to record. which was fine until you woke up to seungmin staring at you. “you snore.” the real support came after you were sent home. it can be a little rough in the days after treatment and hyunjin finally got his chance to shine. chan let him go home early so he could pick you up from the treatment center as soon as the nurse said they were wrapping up. he helped you out to the car and then up to your apartment to help you get clean and in bed. he made sure to cook or get only the foods that didn’t make you anymore nauseous and he forced you back into bed when the steroids kicked in, giving you more energy that you would ultimately pay for later if you used it. his favorite thing was just cuddling with you and watching your favorite shows, jumping at the chance to help any way he could.

han- jisung did everything he could to be there, as he usually was, but the comeback was important and he just couldn’t get out of dance practice and recording. he was antsy all day, his knee is a perpetual state of motion. normally this would bug minho and he would jab his rib cage for him to stop but he refrained out of compassion for his friend. jisung was constantly checking his phone and texting you, checking in on you or encouraging you through the lengthy, grueling treatment with promises of giving you all the cuddles and kisses you could stand when it was over. though you’ve managed on your own before, you missed him being there and holding his hand through everything. jisung was your rock and he intended to continue being that for you the very second he heard from chan that he could go for the day. it was very late when he finally arrived at your shared flat and he found you curled up under a mountain of blankets, no doubt exhausted from the day. he offered a sympathetic pout to no one in particular before crawling into the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms and kissing your temple gently.

felix- he’s honestly the best person in the whole world to bring with you. felix is sunshine and positivity but he’s also extremely lowkey about everything. he knows that your probably stressed enough as it is so he just wants to be a good support for you. so, he just brings his laptop, some snacks, water, and his hoodie; just a few basics to keep you comfortable. then the two of you sit and watch asmr or your comfort show to keep pass the time. every time you look over at him he just smiles wide and kisses your temple. your hand is his the whole time and he rubs soothing circles onto the back of it. when you both get home, the apartment is fully stocked with all your favorite foods and post treatment pain meds, the sheets on your bed are fresh and clean, and he’s ready to support you any way he can until you’re back on your feet again. “angel” is an understatement.

seungmin- he’s so weirdly fascinated by everything, starting with your diagnosis. as soon as you told him, he wanted to do a deep dive on what it was, how it effected you, and what the treatment was that you needed. by the time you arrived to the center, he was telling you everything the nurse was doing (like you didn’t already know). it would have been so annoying if he wasn’t so incredibly cute. even though he was flexing his knowledge the whole time, he was still supporting you in other ways. learning about the treatment, made it easy for him to know what to expect so he was well prepared. when the nurse first prepared the infusion sight, he pulled you into his chest to have you look away from the needle. he told you a funny story about the boys when they took your blood pressure to keep it low and a few hours in, your stomach started growling and he pulled out a snack he had minho make and some water. he really thought of everything he could and you were so grateful for him.

i.n- jeongin was devastated when he found out that tour was scheduled when you would need a treatment. though he wasn’t a huge fan of hospitals, etc, he still wanted to be there to support you. so he did everything he could while he was away. that morning, you awoke to a flower arrangement at your door, then he hired a cleaning person to come in and clean while you were gone, and even had lunch delivered during the treatment. he also texted, sent voice memos of encouragement, and videos of sound check and backstage before the show. when he was finally home, he didn’t allow you to lift a finger. anything you wanted or needed, he was there for you, especially when you needed cuddles.

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shutupptara · 1 year

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‘tis the damn season - nathan mackinnon

summary: set during the 2020-shortened season- you’re home for christmas when you run into one nathan mackinnon on a grocery run. it’s been years since you’ve last talked, let alone seen each other, but it’s quickly like no time has passed. and the road not taken looks real good now..

i’ve been writing this since 2020. much like all of my writing i’ve posted, you have @kat-hearts to thank for this. she lovingly bullied me into finishing a piece i hadn’t touched in years. set at christmas, but not a christmas story. also set during the pandemic, so reality is very hand wavy (aka the nhl pushing the season happens, but lockdown isn’t reallllly a big deal) so if that bothers you, maybe skip this one.

is this any good? i honestly don’t know, but i know i loved writing nate so pls enjoy

word count: 13,151

warnings: alcohol use, strong language, explicit sexual content MINORS DNI, a general disdain for life and choices made, a tiny bit of angst, hating on Florida (it’s okay i live there) a LOT of self indulgence

title from ‘tis the damn season by Taylor Swift

It wasn’t that she didn’t like returning home for holidays, it was just a huge ordeal every time it happened. Not only was it a 3,000 mile trip, there was always ice and snow to contend with. Coupled with her well-meaning, albeit overbearing, neighbors, the holidays get to be a bit much for her to handle. Still, there’s something wonderful about the tranquility of home. Refreshing, really. With a year as stressful as 2020 had been, it was a blessing to be able to return home for the holidays.

Her first true day of Christmas break, her mother begs her to go to the store for her: there’s so much baking to prepare for, and while she is happy to do the shopping for her, she knows it’s so she won’t see her wrapping presents. Even at 26, her mom insists upon marking her gifts ‘from Santa’, and the nostalgia of it always makes her smile. So, against her better judgment, she ventures out to the closest Sobeys. She has her jacket and scarf pulled tightly around her, unwilling to admit to herself she really can’t take the cold anymore, but mostly wanting to hide to be in and out as quickly as possible.

She grabs a cart on her way in the store, unlocking her phone and holding it open in front of her, eyes sweeping across the list her mother had sent her with. It isn’t terribly long, thankfully. She makes quick work of grabbing what she needs, moving down the aisles long ago committed to memory with ease. Various other things get tossed into the cart as she moves: chocolate covered pretzels, a case of Diet Coke, her favorite cheese crackers.

When she reaches the wine aisle, she shrugs to herself, deciding it’ll be best to have some on hand, in case of an emergency. She grabs a bottle of Roscato for her mom, and two bottles of cab for herself. Once they’re safely in the cart, she makes her way to the checkout line. There’s quite a few people crowded there, and she tries to maneuver around to a shorter line, her brow furrowing when she spots a rather large looking man a few feet in front of her.

As she gets closer, realization washes over her. “Nathan MacKinnon,” she stops in her tracks, heart swooping in her chest. “As I live and breathe.” It comes out before she really even processes what’s happening.

He turns, almost as if in slow motion, his eyes widening when they land on her. “My god, it’s been ages. What are you doing here?”

She smiles slightly, suddenly hyper aware of how messy her hair is, and the fact that she hadn’t tried very hard when getting dressed this morning. “Could ask you the same thing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you home for Christmas.” She knows for a fact she hasn’t. It was the one reprieve of being back in Cole Harbour - Nate was never here.

“Yeah, I’m usually not,” he shrugs. “I uh, you know with the year as crazy as it’s been, and the season being pushed, I’ve actually been home most of the year. Hanging out with Andy, Sid, Jack, Pete...” There’s a longing look on his face, mirroring the ache she knows is lingering in his chest. There’s an identical one inside of her, and she knows she’s to blame for the pain Nate’s dealing with. This wasn’t a particularly easy run in for either of them, but it’s almost refreshing in a way? She doesn’t care about the buddies he’s spending his time with, she would’ve asked if she did, but it’s obviously important to Nate she know, and she doesn’t want to read too much into that. Maybe he wants her to know he’s not spending time with another girl, and she hates that part of her is hopeful because of that but it’s not fair to be. She can’t expect him to stay single forever, simply because being here and seeing him has every feeling she’s ever felt for him rushing back.

“Sounds like you’ve been busy,” she laughs. “I’m really glad I ran into you.” There’s a surprising amount of truth to that. God, it’s been almost eight years since she’s seen Nate, even in passing, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t followed his career. She’s from Canada for Christ’s sake, of course she follows hockey.

“I am too,” Nate grins. “Hey, you should come by later. There’s a few people coming over, no one you hate,” he raised his eyebrows and she can’t help but laugh. “No expectations, just drinking and fun. It would be nice to catch up.”

Without hesitation, she’s blurting out, “I would love that.”

“Great!” Nate exclaims. She can practically see him center himself in that moment, try to keep it together.

“I’m staying at my parents’ house,” she offers. Though I would much rather be with you, her mind continues, and she shakes her head to try to clear it. “Are you still two doors down?”

Nate reaches a hand up, rubbing the back of his hand awkwardly. “Nah, I bought a house when I signed with the Avs. It’s a bigger one, out on Albany Terrace. I think you’ll like it.”

She smiles brightly. “I’m excited to see it.”

“Yeah?” Nate mutters.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’ll text you the address,” he offers. “Guess that means you have to give me your number.”

___

She makes a substantial effort to not show up right at 8 pm. It’s difficult, as she’s been a compulsively early person her whole life, but this time it feels necessary to be “fashionably late”. It helps that she fusses with what to wear for over thirty minutes- this shouldn’t be a big deal, and she doesn’t want it to be, but that doesn’t change the anxiety that’s swelling in her chest. She tells herself this isn’t anything to stress, it’s just catching up with an old friend and if things are awkward, she can always leave. Still, as she pulls up to Nate’s house, she realizes there’s a part of her that’s a tiny bit excited.

She takes in a slow breath as she kills the engine, nodding to herself as she climbs out of the car and heads up the walkway. She’s clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels in her left hand, never showing up empty handed instilled in her at a young age. She rings the doorbell, glancing around curiously as she waits. Her heart is pounding, and she’s ready to turn and bolt back to her car when the door swings open.

Nate’s standing in front of her, a soft smile on his face. She lets her eyes sweep over him, admiring the beige cable knit sweater straining over his shoulders. He looks so relaxed, so incredibly casual. “Hey! So glad you made it. Come in.” He steps aside, closing the door behind her. “That a bottle of Jack?” She can’t do anything but nod, holding it out to him wordlessly. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he laughs. “Everyone’s in the living room. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

Nate leads the way through the house, stopping briefly in the living room on his way to the kitchen. “Hey guys!”

She peers around him, relieved to see there really wasn’t anyone she hated in attendance. Pete, who she's known her whole life and his girlfriend Hannah are first to greet her, ushering her to sit beside them.

“Hey squirt, it’s been ages,” Pete teases.

“You forget I’m older than you,” She laughs. “But yeah, it’s been a long time.”

“Where are you living now?” Hannah asks.

“Florida. Been there for almost five years.” She falls quiet then, eyes glancing at where Nate is still standing.

He fidgets, and clears his throat. “I’m gonna grab a drink.” With that, he disappears around the corner, and she’s left to slump into the couch.

For a while, she mostly listens to Pete talk about his job, or the crappy apartment Hannah’s parents are begging them to move out of. It’s only a matter of time until they end up engaged, she knows, and she’s happy they’ve found happiness. It does little to help her feel like less of a leper, though. As soon as she’s able to find a break in their one-sided conversation, she jumps on it, taking the opportunity to disappear into the kitchen. Nate’s on one of the other couches, talking to Andy about getting a Call of Duty game going, and that’ll be enough to keep him occupied for hours. No chance he’ll notice her absence until she can figure out what the hell she was thinking showing up here tonight.

She heads straight for the freezer when she enters the kitchen, pulling out the bottle of Jack, and grabbing a solo cup laid out on the counter. She drops a handful of ice into the cup, followed shortly after by a hefty pour of the dark liquid. She brings the cup to her lips after taking a long drink.

“Jack on the rocks, eh?” A voice behind her asks.

“‘Tis the damn season,” she mutters, turning to spot Sidney Crosby leaning against the doorframe. She raises her cup to him, taking another long drink.

He lets out a honking laugh, eyes sparkling. “It’s nice to see you again.”

She quirks an eyebrow, “didn’t really think you’d remember me, to be honest.” She had only encountered Sidney a handful of times, and she never thought she’d left much of an impression. Truth be told, she was always a little star struck around him- it was hard not to be.

He furrows his brow, frowning. “Come on, I met you a bunch of times when you lived in Pennsylvania. And Nate talked about you nonstop when you were-“ he trails off, shrugging.

“Pen pals?” She offers. She can tell Sidney doesn’t see it as bitter. There’s a sadness in her voice she probably won’t ever be able to shake when she’s talking about Nate.

He shakes his head, but doesn’t push her, thank god. Instead, he steps into the kitchen, pours himself a cup of Jack on rocks, and clinks his cup against hers. “Here’s to escaping hometowns,” he toasts.

She grins. She takes another long drink, frowning at her cup when she realizes it’s nearing empty. “I think I may get drunk tonight, Sidney.”

He offers her the bottle, “I’m with you. Let’s do it.”

Surprisingly enough, Sidney Crosby is the one to save her from the awkwardness of the evening. True to his word, he does stay in the kitchen and drink with her. They talk about everything from Sid’s most recent cup wins to why on earth she decided Florida was a good place for her to settle down. They tread very carefully on any conversation that can take a turn to Nate, and she’s thankful Sidney read the room. He’s quite fun to be around once you chip away the exterior and he lets his guard down. They relocate to the table in the corner, and keep the bottle of Jack between the two of them, both casually refilling their cups as the night wears on.

When the bottle is almost empty and she can feel her head swimming, she jumps at the sound of another person entering the kitchen. “Ah, this is where you’ve been hiding.” Nate takes the seat beside her at the table, his leg bumping against hers as he maneuvers his chair. “Should’ve known you’d ditch me for Crosby.”

Opposite them, Sidney snorts. “Nah, just needed a drinking buddy, is all.”

“Sid is surprisingly good at drinking Jack,” she offers.

“Yeah?” Nate grins. “Seems like you’re pretty good too. Have you eaten anything?”

She taps her finger against her lips, considering, before shaking her head dramatically. “Nope.”

“Maybe we should fix that...”

Again, she shakes her head. “No room for food. Just alcohol.”

Nate smiles at her, and even in the haze of the alcohol, she feels her heart warm. It’s that same fond smile she’d loved so much when they were together, and she knows she can’t let her mind run away from her, but at the moment, she can’t rationalize why that’s the case. “In that case, let me break out the good stuff.” He stands up, heading to the cabinet above his stove. There, he grabs a fancier looking bottle, a dark brown liquid sloshing around as he carries it over to the table. “Crown Royal XR, so you never forget where you came from.” He takes the liberty of pouring her and Sid a glass before fixing one for himself, and reclaiming his seat.

She sniffs the liquid in the cup, eyes widening. “Ooof.”

“Don’t quit on me now,” Sid goads. He nudges her with his elbow, giggling.

She shakes her head adamantly. “Momma didn’t raise a quitter,” she announces. She raises her glass, waiting as Nate and Sid follow suit. “Here’s to Cole Harbour’s golden boys.” She sees Nate roll his eyes, but he’s smiling when he brings his glass to his lips.

She takes a long drink, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips. “Oh, that is really smooth.”

“Everything’s better when it’s Canadian,” Sid pipes up.

She giggles at this, which makes Nate quirk an eyebrow. “There’s no arguing that point, Florida.”

“Come on, Florida isn’t that bad,” she insists.

Nate looks to Sid, then back to her, shrugging. “The fact that you have to say it that way doesn’t help your case.”

“It doesn’t snow there!”

“Boo,” Sid says.

“How do you even survive without hockey down there?” Nate adds.

“Shut up, there’s hockey! My friend Nick would argue Tampa is a huge hockey town. Wait- oh my god!” She cuts herself off, looking around excitedly. She pats the pockets of her pants, pulling a face when she can’t find her phone.

“What are you doing?” There’s a distinct amusement in Nate’s voice.

“Where’s my phone? I wanna FaceTime Nick. He always gives me shit about knowing y’all. He pretends he doesn’t believe me because he’s never met you, so somehow that means I haven’t? I don’t even know...”

“Nick your boyfriend?” Nate grumbles, voice low.

She just snorts out a laugh, and takes her phone when Sidney slides it over to her. She clicks around on it for a second, then the distinct sound of a FaceTime call fills the room. She drums her fingers against the table impatiently, eyes lighting up when the line clicks on.

“Hey!” An excited voice fills the room.

“Hey Nick! What’re you up to?” She keeps the phone close to her, keeping Nate and Sid out of the frame.

“Well, it’s almost one in the morning on winter break so obviously I’m drunk with Garrett.”

“Tell him I said hi,” she insists.

“Sure. What’re you doing?”

Her eyes light up again, and she grabs her glass excitedly. “I’m also drunk, but I wanted to show you who I happen to be drunk with.” She downs the rest of the liquid in her glass and slides her phone back farther on the table, angling the camera to capture all three of them in the frame. “I give you Nate MacKinnon and Sidney Crosby.”

“Holy shit. That’s- fucking hell, that’s actually Sidney Crosby!”

She chuckles, turning the phone to face Sid and he waves awkwardly. “I told you, you don’t grow up in Cole Harbour without knowing the pride and joy of the city.”

“But you said you’d only met him a few times! And Nate MacKinnon too, what the fuck...”

“In the flesh. Oh, and Nate wanted to know if you were my boyfriend before I called.” She peers over at him, watching his cheeks flush pink. He opens his mouth to protest, but Nick quickly cuts him off.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Just one of my best friends, dude. You have my blessing. I know she would love to date a hockey player.”

“Yeah? Good to know.” Nate smirks.

“On that note, we’re going back to drinking now. Just wanted to humble brag real quick.” She flashes a toothy grin. “I’ll make them get dinner next time they’re in Tampa. Maybe you and the whole crew can come along.”

“Yes, totally! Have fun! Merry Christmas!” She wishes him a Merry Christmas back, and she’s ending the call, she hears Nick muttering to Garrett: ‘yes that was Sidney fucking Crosby’. She drops her phone down onto the table then, glancing over at Nate expectantly.

“So that’s Nick, my not boyfriend. He’s a big Lightning fan, and he hates the Penguins.”

“Charming,” Sid laughs. “Seems nice though.”

“Nick’s the best,” she agrees. “He and Danielle get me through living in Florida.”

“Ah, so you do admit Florida sucks?” Nate presses. He offers her another drink, and she nods eagerly. When her glass is full, he raises his to her. “Fuck Florida.” She taps hers against his, smiling widely.

“Fuck Florida, indeed.”

___

Another hour slips by as the three of them sit in the kitchen. The rest of Nate’s house is quiet, save for the inevitable hockey talk they’ve slipped into. Nate’s sobered during their time sitting there, his attention focused mostly on her and her half hearted responses. Poor girl is exhausted.

“Time for me to head out,” Sidney mutters. He pushes his chair back from the table, clapping a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Uber’s outside. Thanks for having me, Nate. Nice catching up with you.”

“Bye Sid!” she brightens up, waving her fingers as he giggles and heads out the door. “Then there were two.”

“Sure I can’t interest you in some food?” Nate offers.

She shakes her head adamantly, eyes glossy, head swimming. “No, I told you... no room for food.” She rests her arms on the table, dropping her head down on top of them and peering up at Nate curiously.

He chuckles, resting a hand on her elbow. “Okay, time to get you home.”

She pulls a face, nose scrunching up in disgust. “Naaaate,” she draws out, “no.”

“Come on,” he laughs. “I’ll even tuck you in.”

She narrows her eyes at him, still frowning, “you promise?”

“Cross my heart.” He offers her his hand as he stands, helping her to her feet as soon as she agrees. He hooks her arm through his when she sways, trying to keep her steady on her feet. “I’ve got you.”

It takes some maneuvering, and a lot of patience on Nate’s part, but eventually, he’s able to get her into the front seat of his truck. He buckles her seatbelt for her when he slides behind the wheel, starting the car as she starts complaining about how uncomfortable his seats are.

“Good thing your parents live less than three minutes from here, huh?” He teases. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, seeing her head slumped back against the headrest.

She’s quiet for a long time, and he has to tear his eyes from the road to make sure she hasn’t fallen asleep. When he does, he catches her gaze. “Nathan?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles.

“You don-“

She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut. “No, Nathan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I walked out I just- fuck, I didn’t want to be a WAG. I didn’t want hockey above all else, always. It wasn’t fair for me to do that.”

He’s quiet, hand gripping the wheel a little tighter. “Well, it wasn’t fair of me to make you feel like that would be your reality.” He hesitates, taking a slow, deep breath. After a moment, he nods to himself. “We can call it even.”

He offers her a shy smile, and she can’t stop herself from returning it. She unhooks her seatbelt and slides closer to him on the bench, resting her head against his shoulder. “Deal. Thank you, Mack.”

___

When they arrive at her parents’ house, Nate kills the engine and lets out a sigh. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.” She groans, but sits up straight.

“Fine,” she grumbles. She pushes the door open hastily, climbing out and crosses her arms over her chest. Nate simply shakes his head, taking her arm again and leading her up the pathway carefully. He knows it’s icy, and the last thing they need is the both of them to eat shit.

As soon as they reach the front door, Nate shushes her, trying to remain as quiet as possible while he pulls out the spare key from beneath the mat. He’s done this countless times before, and truly, it never gets any easier.

“Mack, remember when you tried to sneak me in drunk right before you left for juniors?” She laughs. She just giggles even louder when he presses a finger to his lips, eyes pleading. “You always take care of me.”

“I know, shhhh. I always will. We’ve gotta get inside.” Moments later, Nate gets the door open, tugging her across the threshold. He pulls the door shut as quietly as possible before glancing up, spotting her parents in the living room, sitting on couches reading. “Hi guys,” he sighs.

“Nate,” her mom smiles. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. Sorry about this.. She was drinking with Sid and I didn’t want her driving-“

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she whines. “I’m perfectly fine, Nathan.”

Her dad gives him a knowing look, chuckling. “Thanks, son.”

“Lucky to have you around, Nate,” her mom adds. “You know the way.”

He nods, tugging on her arm to lead her up the stairs to her childhood bedroom. She grumbles the entire way, complaining about being “too tired to see” or “everything’s spinning, I’m going to die”. Nate can’t contain his laughter, which only seems to frustrate her more. She glares at him when she finally gets the door to her room open, kicking her shoes off by the door and flopping down onto her bed in a huff. “Who let me drink me so much,” she groans.

“That would be Sid,” Nate leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He’s an enabler.” She lifts her head up, peering at him thoughtfully. “I was afraid to talk to you tonight,” she admits. “And he supported my stupidity to try to make me feel better. At least his heart is in the right place.”

Nate’s brown furrows. “Why would you be afraid to talk to me?”

She pushes herself up into a seated position, crossing her legs underneath her. “A tiny screen’s the only place I see you now.” Her voice is low, eyes cast downward. “I don’t know what we have in common anymore, or if you’d even want to talk to me.”

“Hey,” Nate says, pushing himself off the doorframe and stepping into the room. Two strides bring him over to the bed, and he sits beside her, craning his neck down to catch her eye. “I asked you to come over because I did want to talk to you. Do.” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know why but I never expected to run into you, and when I did, all I could think about was reconnecting and... I don’t know, being friendly again? There’s a pretty big you shaped hole in my life.”

She looks at him, eyes sweeping over every last detail of his face. She wants to blame the alcohol for how attractive she finds him in that moment, but she knows she can’t. Nate has always been gorgeous, and their time growing, apart, has only increased that. “I’ve got a big Nate Mack hole too,” she admits.

Without wavering, he reaches out and rests his hand on hers, rubbing his thumb across the smooth skin there. “Tomorrow, then. I’m coming by with breakfast and we’re gonna play pond puck.”

She can’t help the groan that falls from her lips. “I’m going to be far too hungover to be on skates tomorrow.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you drank half a bottle of Jack,” he grins. “Night.”

___

True to his word, Nate does come by first thing in the morning. She crawls out of bed at the sound of laughter down the stairs, wincing when the light hits her eyes. She manages to pull herself together to look somewhat presentable, though her headache is enough to have her debating hiding under the covers for the day.

“Oh, look who’s up!” Her dad teases. He’s sitting opposite Nate at the kitchen table, reading the paper like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” Nate laughs. “I brought Timmies.”

“Black?” She mutters, reaching for the cup gratefully. He nods. “Not iced, but I guess I’ll live. Thanks.”

Nate rolls his eyes, bringing his own cup to his lips and taking a long drink. “We gotta get you out of America. Not iced, pft,” he scoffs.

“Nate’s got a point, kid. You’re barely a Canadian anymore.”

She gives him a pointed look. “I didn’t hear you and mom complaining in Florida in January last year.”

Her dad grins. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

“Yeah, sure,” she smiles.

“You hungry at all?” Nate asks.

“Just coffee for me,” she raises her cup to him.

“Alright. Should we get going then?”

“A heroic return to my pond puck career,” she jokes. “Should be great with this hangover.”

Her dad laughs loudly, shaking his head. “Don’t let her fall through the ice, Nate.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He flashes a winning smile as he gestures for her to head out the door in front of him. “Your dad was thrilled to help me find your old skates in the garage this morning,” he tells her as they climb into his truck.

She rests her head against the cold window, eyes shut. “Of course he was.”

“It was nice to see them again,” he says quietly. “I always really liked your parents.”

“Good thing, they love you.” And it’s completely true. To this day, her mother still asks her about Nate. What’s he up to, if he’s seeing anyone... it would be sweet if it wasn’t so painful for her to have to relive every time she brings it up. Her dad is thankfully more subtle- they really only talk about Nate when hockey comes up. Of course they both keep tabs on the Avs, and it’s a common ground that is far more exhaustive than her job that her dad doesn’t really understand anyway. All in all, yes, her parents do love Nate, which made their break up that much harder.

Nate doesn’t respond; her words linger in the air like a bad perfume. There’s a kind of expectation to them, a dare to explore what that means and how it makes either of them feel. Thankfully, Nate pulls his truck off the road before they have to broach the subject. Just ahead of them, there’s a frozen pond, a couple of trash cans tipped over on either side to use as makeshift goals. It’s the same pond they’d played on as kids, hours spent skating and laughing together. It brings back a melancholic feeling, one that seems to sit in her chest when she follows Nate’s lead and climbs out of the car. He hands her her skates and a stick when they start walking, eyes focused on the snow beneath their feet.

She laces up her skates silently, glancing over at Nate every so often. He looks like he wants to say something, but just isn’t sure where to begin. She tries no to dwell on it, and instead let herself have a good time today. It’s been a long time since she’s had the chance to skate.

She uses the stick Nate handed her to help stand and steps out onto the ice, skates wobbling as she tries to get her bearings.

“Looking a little rusty there, Gretz,” Nate teases.

“Oh shut up,” she groans. It takes her a minute, but before long, she finds her comfort on skates again. It’s second nature, something she knows she will never forget how to do. “It’s just been a while.”

“Nowhere to skate in the sunshine state, eh?” He skates around her in a circle, turning around and skating backwards so he can face her. “What could possibly make you want to stay there?”

She gives a half shrug. “My life is there.”

Nate nods. “Right. Your job, your not boyfriend...” The smile on his face suggests he’s kidding, but she can see something behind his eyes.

“Nate...” there’s a warning in her voice.

He holds a hand up in defense. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just... what do you?”

“I’m a counselor,” she tells him. She chuckles when he purses his lips, clearly having no idea what that entails. “It’s supposed to be a mental health professional in the schools - someone to help students short term, refer out for bigger issues, teach social emotional skills. I’m just a glorified secretary at this point.”

He narrows his eyes, considering her. “I don’t believe that. You’re too good.”

She lets out a long sigh. “No, it’s true. Nothing I do actually helps anyone, and the one girl I did have a good relationship with, I was too busy to help this year. So she’ll never come back to talk to me now. I’m always a month behind and I don’t know-“ she lets her voice trail off, feeling her eyes sting as they fill with tears. It never hits her like this until she says it out loud, but it’s so alarming to lose your passion. She’s content, but she’s not happy, and it’s hard to feel like she didn’t make a huge mistake with her choices in life.

Nate stops suddenly, causing her to slam right into him. He reaches out and grabs her shoulders, keeping her upright. “Hey,” he coos, “I’m sure she’ll come back to talk to you. This year is unlike anything anyone has ever seen. I’m sure a lot of this is stress.”

This seems to open the flood gates, and against her better judgment, she feels hot tears start streaming down her cheeks. It only makes her cheeks more cold, and she curses under her breath. “I think I messed up, Nate. Florida, counseling, what if it was all a mistake?” She shakes her head, dropping it down to stare at their feet.

Nate reaches out, tilting her chin up with one finger. “Then you make a change. Find out how to be happy again, and go after it.” His hand slides up to cup her cheek, warm fingers wiping away her tears. “You’re incredible. If you made a mistake, that’s fine. Regroup, move past it.”

Her breath hitches, eyes locking with his. She can feel a smile tugging at her lips, her heart warming at his words. It’s an incredible feeling to be validated like this, to know her concerns aren’t ridiculous and she’s not an utter failure for rethinking every decision that’s brought her to this point. It’s tenfold now, standing so close to Nate, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “Nate, I-“

“I believe in second chances,” he tells her. His voice is barely above a whisper now, the rasp sending a tingle up her spine. She can hear the unspoken words behind it, I believe in you, and I believe in us. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but with the way he’s looking at her right now, it’s hard to take it any other way. Maybe she could let herself do this - love again, put her faith in him.

There’s nothing she wants more than to be able to give in, melt into his arms and tell him it was all wrong, but they can fix it now. With his bright blue eyes shining the way they are, she even lets part of herself believe that.

It’s the other, realistic part of her that holds her back. The what ifs and rational thinking of distance and time zones and years past rearing their ugly head. The fear of getting hurt again, or hurting him. There’s just too much to consider, too many sacrifices to ask of any one person.

“I want to believe in them too,” she admits. “But-”

Her eyes tell him everything she’s too afraid to. He inhales sharply, nodding once. “I understand. I won’t push you.” His fingertips brush across her cheeks gently before he drops his hand to his side. A sad sigh falls past his lips, and before he can move to skate away, she’s grabbing his forearm and gripping it tightly.

“We’ll play for it,” she blurts, mostly in an attempt to keep him from walking away.

Nate’s eyes snap up. “What are you talking about?”

“We’ll play each other. Pond puck. And I’ll be yours for the weekend.”

“If who wins?”

“Either of us.” Her hesitance is clear as day on her face, the anxiety swirling in her stomach. Maybe she’s being ridiculous, childlike even, but this is the only way she can give her heart what it wants without giving up her entire life. Albeit how appealing that road looks at the moment.

Gaze narrowing, he purses his lips in consideration. “You’re saying no strings?”

She nods, “I’m saying I won’t ask you to wait for me, if you don’t ask me to stay.”

“So a one night stand?”

Her head shakes slowly, teeth worrying at her lower lip. “No. I want the weekend with you in our own little bubble. I want to ignore reality and just… be.”

“I think we need terms for this,” Nate says. “What’s off limits, what isn’t.”

“Of course,” she agrees. “What you’re comfortable with.”

“If you win, big if, I’m yours for the weekend. You can call the shots; anything you want to do. Fair?” When she agrees, he cracks a small smile. “Great. When I win, you’re mine for the weekend. I’ll call the shots.”

“Sounds reasonable-”

“One more thing,” he cuts in. “You can’t break my heart.”

His words hang heavy between them, shifting the atmosphere. This feels like a contingency meant for more than just the weekend. It makes her chest ache to think about it, but Nate’s speaking again before she can get a word in edgewise. “Alright,” he pulls a puck out of his back pocket, holding it out between them. “First to three, yeah?”

He’s courteous enough to wait for her to get her bearings, both hands on her stick, knees bent, before he drops the puck between them. He taps it a few times with his stick, moving in slow circles. He pauses when they’re face to face again, leaning forward. “I’ll let you have first go.”

“Don’t go easy on me, Dogg,” she teases. “I’m tough. I can take it.” She mirrors his stance, leaning over the puck with her hands spread wide on the stick.

“Game on, babe.” She sweeps her stick over his, cursing under breath when he swipes the puck away from her. He carries it on his stick across the ice, avoiding her attempted checks and steals as he goes. Eventually, she abandons that tactic, instead racing ahead of him and turning to defend the “goal”. She keeps her stick down, watching his eyes to try to read his play. He fakes left, moves right, stopping on a dime as he throws ice across her shins. She blinks and the puck is slamming around in the can, Nate throwing his arms in celebration.

“One down,” he gloats.

She rolls her eyes, flicking the puck out at him. It skids to a stop in front of his skates, and she heads back to center ice, knowing he won’t be far behind. By some miracle, she’s able to gain possession of the puck in the faceoff, doing her best to get a jump on him and head down the ice. In an instant, he’s right behind her, stick held out in front of her, attempting to poke check it away. When she shifts, Nate checks into her from the side, nearly sending her tumbling on the ice. “Okay Mr. Lady Byng,” she laughs.

Nate simply grins at her, taking off after the puck and keeping it a distance away from her ahead of him. Effortlessly, he sends the puck sailing into the trash can, turning around to face her with an even cockier grin. “Not looking too good for you.”

“You’re a cheater,” she mumbles, retrieving the puck and gliding over to center ice. She keeps it in her hand as Nate eyes her, his gaze dragging slowly from her skates to the top of her head. “What?”

He shakes his head, jutting his chin out. “I don’t cheat.” He hunches over his stick, waiting for her to crouch into the same position and drop the puck. The intensity that emanates from him is palpable, his bated breath, clenched teeth only adding to the stakes. When the puck falls from her hand, it’s like time slows down. There’s a frigid breeze across her cheeks, blowing her hair back over her shoulders - the puck clattering against the ice once, twice, before it’s flat and they’re both springing into action. Their sticks collide as they sweep them, neither making contact with the puck at first.

It’s Nate who comes up victorious from the faceoff, stickhandling it until he’s able to turn his back to her. She knows he’s far too advanced for her to out play - his skills are unmatched, so she opts for playing a little dirty, using her own skills to her advantage. When Nate fakes and moves left, she positions herself there, right in front of him. All the air whooshes out of her as they collide, his shoulder pressed against her chest. The startled expression on his face makes her crack a grin, and he’s distracted enough by the move to let her gain possession. Once it’s on her stick, she takes off down the ice in the other direction, keeping the puck out in front of her. She can feel Nate hot on her tail, attempting to swat the puck free, knock her off balance. Her eyes stay fixed to the trash can, and she doesn’t hesitate - just slaps the puck as hard as she can. The bang that rings out echoes through the quiet, and she glances over her shoulder, flashing Nate a triumphant smile.

“Two-one now,” she points out. It’s a ridiculous thing to try to boast about, but it very clearly pushes Nate’s buttons. She’s never known a single person to be more competitive, and it’s admittedly fun to draw that side out of him every now and again.

She can tell she’s struck the nerve when Nate gets huffy, his nostrils flaring as he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “Just get ready for the faceoff.” He reaches down to scoop the puck out of the can, quickly following her back to center ice and watching her get situated. Seconds pass in silence until they’re both ready, and Nate drops the puck.

It’s a hard-fought battle from the moment the puck hits the ice. Nate jumps into action, immediately getting his blade down, trying to gain control. But she doesn’t concede to him as easily this time. She bends her knees a little further, using her body to shove against his side, trying to throw him off. When he chances a look at her, she swats at the puck, nearly situating it on her own stick. Nate chuckles, shifts his weight to his other foot, and steals the puck back. The movement throws her a little off balance, and she reaches out for him on instinct, hand gripping the fabric covering his shoulder tightly. She tugs at it to keep herself upright, ignoring his half hearted scoff when it knocks him away from the puck slightly. Within seconds he rights himself, tearing down the ice toward the goal. He’s impossibly fast, and she knows there’s no catching up to him, so the resounding “clang” of the puck hitting the metal comes as no surprise.

When she lifts her gaze, she immediately spots a grinning Nate skating over to her. The corners of his eyes crinkle in delight. “That’s game,” he breathes as he skids to a stop, throwing snow across her shins. Breath hitching as she draws her eyes up to his face, she notices Nate is so close. Closer than he’s been to her in years, and heart is pounding in her chest. With a clatter, he drops his stick to the ice, tossing his gloves down beside it. Now bare-handed, he reaches up, brushing her hair back off her shoulder. The cold air bites against the skin of her cheek for just a moment before his hand is there, big and warm and so soft. “I call the shots, right?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but her eyes are zeroed in on his lips. His tongue flicks out to wet them after a brief nod of her head, and something in her brain short circuits. Drawing in a shaky breath, she holds it as Nate leans in, lips brushing against hers gently, tentative. On their own accord, her hands are flying up to grip his shoulders, her legs suddenly weak.

The kiss is over almost as soon as it’s started, and it leaves her breathless, eyes blinking open slowly. All she can focus on is the small smile that appears on Nate’s lips, and the deep blue of his eyes.

“Do you have plans later?” Nate mutters.

“No.”

There’s that blinding grin again. “Good.” He leans in, pressing a soft little kiss to the side of her mouth, barely inches from her parted lips. “I’m picking you up at seven.”

___

“Where are we going Nate?” She asks, eyes narrowed. They’re sitting side by side in his truck, driving mostly in silence to their unknown destination. His earlier text was cryptic, merely telling her to dress warmly with a smiley emoji. It’s out of character for him, but mostly she’s surprised he seems to want to be spending time outside. In December. In Canada. Sure it’s been warmer than in past years, but when the sun drops, they’re lucky to be breaking twenty degrees Fahrenheit.

“It’s a surprise,” he says. A small smirk dances across his lips, eyes seeming to sparkle with mischief. He knows how much she hates not knowing, but she understands he’s trying to do something fun too. So she sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, shifting her focus to the road in front of them. “You’ll like it,” he promises. There’s the tiniest hint of uncertainty there, a hesitation that tells her he’s just as nervous and confused about everything as she is. Do they know what the other likes anymore? How much has changed?

“I’m sure I will,” she insists.

They drive in comfortable silence, the low hum of Nate’s truck the only sound filling the air. When she chances a glance at him, she’s met with his calm expression, the familiar curve of his nose, his pursed lips. His concentration is clear as day, and she can’t quite place why it’s so endearing.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have much time to dwell on it. He drives about twenty feet more before he’s pulling off the main road. Immediately, they’re both bouncing on their seats, the uneven terrain jerking them back and forth. Just as she opens her mouth to ask him what’s happening, Nate puts the car in park and kills the engine. Wordlessly, he opens his door, stepping around the truck quickly to pull hers open for her. He holds a hand out to her to help her step down, and keeps a firm hold on it when she’s safely on the ground.

“Nate?” She says finally, head cocked in confusion. They’re parked in the middle of an open field, nothing but trees and the setting sun around them. It’ll be dark soon, and she’s not exactly sure what she should be expecting. “What-“

“Trust me,” he cuts in. He smiles at her when she nods, then leads her toward the back of his truck. He lowers the tailgate with his free hand, then reaches for a handle on the cover. His grip finally drops as he clicks the handle into place and walks the cover back toward the cab. Inside it, pillows and blankets cover the bed of the truck, a Yeti cooler stashed into the corner. When she catches his eye again, he’s sheepish, a bashful smile on his face. “I thought it’d be nice to just sit under the stars for a while.”

“Nathan…” it comes out in a sigh, and she’s thankful for the darkening sky that’s hiding her growing smile. She knows it’ll instantly give away how smitten she is, and that’s a conversation she’s not quite ready to have yet.

“Is it okay?” The hesitation in his voice has her jumping to reassure him.

“Yes, yes it’s perfect,” she rushes.

He dips his chin in a nod. “Let’s get you up then.” He doesn’t wait for her to respond, or really even process his comment before he steps over to her, lifting her easily around the waist and hoisting her up. As soon as her feet are planted in his truck, he gives her a little nudge forward, and climbs in after her. “Sit, make yourself comfortable,” he insists. He busies himself pulling out a flashlight, flicking it on and sitting it in the middle of the truck bed. Next, he’s grabbing food out of his cooler, placing them gingerly beside the flashlight. She merely watches in awe as item after item is taken out: plates, forks, glasses, crackers, cheese, wine, fruits. He’d thought of everything.

“It’s not a meal,” he reasons, “but I figured it’s better than nothing.” He produces a corkscrew from his pocket, then sets in on getting the wine bottle open.

“Nate, it’s wonderful,” she insists. She takes the stemless wine glass as he hands it to her, smiling softly. “Though I’m a little surprised to see you willingly eating carbs and drinking alcohol.” She cracks a grin when he rolls his eyes, making a show of bringing his glass up and taking a large gulp.

“Et tu?” Nate groans, dragging his free hand through his hair.

“I’m just messing with you.”

“You’ve read all the articles, then? Keeping tabs on me?” He lifts his eyebrows suggestively.

“Something like that.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Nathan.” Her expression is hard, a no nonsense frown on her face. “You do not disappoint anyone.”

He sighs, and passes her a plate of various snacks, keeping his eyes on his hands. “I don’t know how true that is.”

“I do. You’re being hard on yourself.”

He considers for a moment, shrugging. “Maybe. But I need to be. It keeps me disciplined.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes before popping a cut piece of fruit into her mouth. “I don’t think you need help in that department.”

“I started seeing a sports psychologist,” he mumbles. It catches her off guard, his admission, but it fills her with pride all the same. The Nate she knew before never would’ve taken that step, and he certainly wouldn’t have told anyone about it. That’s growth.

“How’s that been?”

“I like it. Kinda helps me take a step back from things and visualize what I want and how to get there.” He hesitates, opening his mouth before closing it quickly.

“Sounds like there’s a but there?”

“But I don’t know that it's enough.”

“In what way? Like you need more help with your mental health?”

He scrunches his nose. “No, I guess with hockey and stuff. It just-“ he cuts himself off with a sigh. “It feels like I’ve put in the work, and have gotten no results.”

“Because you haven’t won shit?” She offers. She cracks a grin when Nate looks up at her, expression blank. This only serves to make her giggle, and as much as she wants to blame it on the wine, she knows it’s the way Nate shakes his head and cracks a grin right alongside her.

“I haven’t won shit,” he agrees.

“You will.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Because I am.”

“Why?”

She brings her glass up, polishing off the rest of her drink and then sets the glass down. Hesitantly, she scoots forward a bit more, until her knees bump against his. His eyes draw up to hers slowly, the icy blue stealing the breath from her lungs. “Because I know you, Nathan. And you were born to do this.”

“It’s really not feeling like it these days.” There’s so much defeat in his voice it makes her chest tighten. On a whim, she reaches over and takes his hand, rubbing her thumb over his wrist slowly. “Feels more like I can’t do anything right.”

She wants desperately to reassure him, tell him his mind is wrong and playing tricks on him but she knows that isn’t what he needs. He has to navigate this himself. She can offer him support, but this is something he has to figure out on his own.

“I went first overall, I should be doing more for the team. It’s just been first or second round exits year after year. I can’t get us out of this hole.”

“It isn’t only up to you,” she reminds him. “If you feel you’re not playing up to your standards that’s one thing, but you can’t play every position. It’s not fair to entirely blame yourself.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugs. “Maybe I made a mistake with all of this.”

She frowns, eyes narrowing. “With hockey?”

He nods. “Hockey, life. I don’t know. What if I chose wrong?”

“Well, you’re preaching to the choir on that bud,” she says. She hesitates a moment, gathering herself. “For what it’s worth, I know you didn’t choose wrong. Things have been a bit bleak, sure, but you are far too talented to not share that gift with the world.”

Nate’s gaze catches hers, and she feels a shiver travel up her spine. When concern floods his features, she knows he’s felt it too. “You cold? C’mere.” He gives her no time to respond, just leans himself back against the pillows and reaches for a blanket. Once it’s situated over him, he pulls her in close against his side until her cheek is against his chest and his arm is around her back. The blanket gets tugged up to cover her too, and they lay together, cocooned in the blankets under the stars.

“Better?” Nate rasps, and truly, yes. This has made things better. Being so close to him, warm and safe - this is the first time she’s been able to take a deep breath in a long time. But she can’t admit that to him. So she gives a soft murmur in agreement and shuts her eyes to commit this moment to memory.

“I’m proud of you Nate,” she says eventually. “I know that doesn’t really help with all this, but I’m not the only one, ya know? We’re all rooting for you.” She tilts her head up, staring straight into his eyes. It makes her lose her breath, especially when he gives her a small smile.

“I appreciate how much you believe in me,” he whispers. “It does help.” He draws his fingers up slowly, tickling them against the exposed skin where her sweatshirt has ridden up. It forms goosebumps immediately, and she cuddles in even closer, out of instinct. “Being here has been like coming up for air.” He sighs, eyes softening even further. “And seeing you-“

“Nate-“

“Don’t,” he rushes. “We have an agreement, right? You’re mine for the weekend?” The hopeful expression on his face guts her, but she nods. She is. For the weekend.

“Yes,” she agrees. She tilts her chin up far enough for her nose to bump against his jaw, nuzzling it. “I don’t wanna think about after.”

“Then don’t.” He cranes his neck further, until their breath mixes. “Just be here with me.” Gently, so gently, he kisses her. It’s just a tentative brush at first, but it sets her body on fire. Within seconds, she’s hauling herself even closer to him, dropping her body over his as she deepens the kiss. She feels Nate’s big hands come up to grip her hips, keeping her close.

It’s not desperate and frenzied, but it still has her heart racing. The sweep of his tongue across the seam of her lips has her sighing, melting into him. It’s comfortable, warm and familiar, like coming home. She knows she can’t dwell on that thought, so she pours everything she can into Nate instead. Kisses him breathless, then comes back for more.

When Nate breaks away, he lets his head fall back to the pillows, a tiny grin on his face. “I’ve missed this, babe. Missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Nate.” She admits, to herself just as much as she does him. It feels monumental to do so, but she lets herself have this moment; snuggles closer into Nate’s arms and kisses his neck. They have the weekend, and she’s not going to ruin that.

Reality starts to feel a bit distorted after laying with Nate in his truck. In a way, it feels like they’re existing inside a bubble - one that gives them a taste of the road not taken. It’s addicting, with the potential to be heart wrenchingly painful if she’s not careful. But part of her knew she’d end up here. Her and Nate had been so strong before fear crept into her mind. The problem now is figuring out how, if at all, this influences her real life that she’ll be getting back to sooner rather than later.

And Nate, bless his heart, seemed to be doing everything in his power to make this as hard as possible for her. He’d taken the “I call the shots” agreement to heart, planning the entire next day for them to spend together. He arrives at her house thankfully much later in the morning than the day prior, with iced Timmy’s in tow. He leaves a dozen doughnuts and two extra coffees on the counter for her parents, flashing that heart melting smile when she insists he didn’t have to go to the trouble.

“It’s no trouble,” he insists as they’re climbing into his truck. He immediately reaches to crank the heat for her, tugging his seatbelt across his body.

“Well thank you,” she says. “What’s on the docket today?”

He eases the truck out onto the road, his tongue poking out between his lips in concentration. Only when they’re settled into the lane does Nate glance over at her. “Thought we’d drive down to Peggy’s Cove. Walk around a little bit. See the lighthouse?”

Her face lights up at the mere mention. Peggy’s Cove is about an hour from Cole Harbour, and it’s always been one of her favorite day trips. There’s something so wonderfully calming about the shoreline, at any time of year. “Sounds good to me,” she says.

She’s pleased to find how at ease she feels beside Nate on the drive down. They happily flick through radio stations, singing along completely off key. Her cheeks start to hurt from the wide smile she can’t seem to wipe off her face, all thanks to Nate. And god, what a thought that is. She’d certainly never entertained the idea of meeting up with Nate at home, nor did she think she’d find herself riding around in his truck. It feels like an alternate reality and surprisingly, the thought doesn’t put a damper on her mood. It just makes her enjoy it all the more.

Before long, Nate is pulling into a deserted parking lot along the shore. He kills the engine then looks over at her, smiling softly. “Shall we?” When she nods, Nate climbs out of the truck and races around to grab her door for her.

It’s a stunningly beautiful day, but it's freezing, even bundled up against the cold. Despite her tightly wound scarf the wind nips her cheeks harshly as soon as she closes his door. In front of them, waves are crashing against the covered rocks, a soothing symphony filling the air. There's chunks of ice floating in the water, and she shakes her head at just how picture-esque it all is. A rare blue sky day in late December, the sun breaking through the small clouds, its rays reflecting off the snow on the rocks.

Nate turns to her, offering his hand and she takes it without hesitation. His gloved fingers wrap firmly around hers, and they start to slowly walk toward, squinting to see.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been down here,” she admits. “I don’t know how I forgot how beautiful it is.”

“I’ve always loved it here,” Nate says. She glances at him, sees his pink cheeks, his hair blowing in every direction. It makes something in her chest tighten, and she squeezes his hand a little tighter. They make their way closer to the lighthouse silently, simply taking it all in.

As they approach the darker rocks, Nate stops suddenly, tugging her into him. His arms go around her shoulders, keeping her close. “This okay?” He whispers.

“Yes,” she breathes. More than okay, she wants to say. It’s touching really, that he’d drive all this way just to stand there with her and stare at a lighthouse. It’s reminiscent of the early days in their relationship, before the drama and the uncertainty, when all they needed was to be together. “Thanks for bringing me Nate.”

He hums, his cheek pressing against the side of her head. “Thanks for wanting to be here.”

She can feel that his words have a much deeper meaning behind them, though she chooses to take them at face value. It's clear they’re going to continue to dance around the obvious, even if it’s rehashing something they’d already settled on. It’s just for the weekend; there’s no realistic way it could be more and they can’t put that kind of pressure on each other. But even though all of this is true, it doesn’t change the way being with him makes her feel. It doesn’t take the warmth out of his smile, or the fondness from his eyes. So maybe she is breaking her own heart here, but what other choice does she have?

***

She and Nate spend much of their day wandering through the small fishing village. They stroll down the boardwalk, through small boutiques and touristy souvenir shops. Nate happily walks through every single open door, stopping to sign an autograph or take a photo every now and then when they happen upon another person. He has no qualms about waiting for her to browse in the bookshop, instead spending his time posted up on a comfortable chair, petting the store cat with a smile on his face.

After a late lunch at the only restaurant in town, they get back on the road, headed for Cole Harbour. Conversation in the car is light and casual, both just catching the other up on life’s nuances they haven’t been privy to in years. It’s more than just work: it’s the song that made Nate cry because it reminded him of leaving for the US when he was just a child, it’s the countless seafood meals she’s turned down in her adult life because nothing can compare to the luxuries of home. The conversation never lulls, though it does veer significantly off course when they spot the ‘welcome to Cole Harbour’ sign approaching in the distance.

“Nate, pull over!” She insists. She’s digging through her bag, ignoring his request for an explanation. After a few seconds, she emerges victorious, holding up a black marker and a piece of paper. She smoothes it out as best she can on his dashboard, then unhooks her seatbelt. “Do you have any tape?”

“What do you need tape for?” Nate asks. He earns himself a pointed look, one that says ‘don’t ask questions’. He sighs, then flips open the center console. “I think I have some stick tape lying around…”

While he tracks that down, she gets to work writing, keeping her arm strategically placed so he can’t glance over her shoulder to sneak a peek. Just a few seconds later, he’s setting the tape down next to her hand and looking at her expectantly. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” she grins. She picks up her sign and the tape, opens the door to his truck and hops down onto the road. It's not very busy, thankfully, but Nate is immediately concerned all the same.

He calls out her name, quickly following after her as she walks. “You can’t just get out of the car on a main road and walk away,” he insists, but she’s not listening to him. She’s still making her way forward, toward the welcome sign and the townline. Once she’s standing in front of it, he watches as she pulls up the tape, ripping it with her teeth. The piece of paper is held against the welcome sign, then secured with tape, and she steps back with a satisfied smile on her face. The writing doesn’t become clear until Nate is standing beside her, and once it does, he bursts into laughter.

Attached to the bottom of the sign, where it reads ‘Home of Sidney Crosby’, she’d taped up her own: “and Nathan MacKinnnon”.

“I’ll have to get a proper one commissioned, but I thought this would do for now,” she grins. As she locks eyes with Nate, she feels her heart start racing. He seems happy, but she doesn’t want to assume he’s not just saving face and she’s made him uncomfortable.

Wordlessly, he closes the space between them, gathering her into his arms. “You’re just- you’re so wonderful.” He doesn’t give her the time to respond, just leans in and kisses her, hard and long. It sets her world on end, she gasps for air when he pulls away.

“Nate-“

“You wanna come to my place?” He asks against her lips, eyes hooded. A brief nod is all that’s needed to get him moving, guiding her back to his truck and opening the door for her.

___

Her hands are trembling when they pull up to Nate’s house. Nate grins at her, taking her hand over the shifter once he parks. He brings it to his lips and kisses it softly. There’s an unspoken understanding in the air, tension hanging between them. “Hey,” he whispers, trying to catch her eye. “You alright?”

Her voice is so soft when she speaks that Nate almost misses it. “I’m nervous,” she admits. “It’s been such a long time and I really want this to be good for you-“

Nate cuts in, brow furrowed. “Look at me.” He waits until she draws her eyes up to continue. “It’s okay to be nervous. I’m a little nervous, but please, don’t feel like you have to do this.”

“I don’t. I mean, I do want to,” she interjects. “I just- what if it’s not… good?”

He actually snorts when he hears this. He’s under no impression they’ve lost that spark over the years. It’s always been good, and he knows it will continue to be. But the hesitance on her face is suggesting she’s not thinking the same way he is. “It’s going to be incredible,” he insists. “Just like it always was.”

“We were kids, Nate. I’m worried it won’t be.” She takes in a deep breath, shaking her head. “I’m worried I won’t be any good.”

He drops her hand, turning in his seat until he’s able to cup both of her cheeks. Then he draws her head up until she’s looking at him again. “You are the most beautiful woman I know, and you’ve been driving me crazy since the day I saw you in the grocery store. I know you’re going to blow my mind.” She hesitates for a moment, but then she’s nodding as best she can with the way he’s holding her. “If you’re not ready, we can wait.”

“No,” she says adamantly. “I’m done waiting.”

This is all the confirmation that Nate needs. He keeps his hands firmly planted on her cheeks and leans in, kissing her hungrily. He slides his tongue into her mouth, groaning when he feels her fingers crawl up to grip his hair tightly. She leans even closer to him, pressing her chest against his, letting him feel every inch of her torso. His eyes are half lidded when he breaks away, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

Her eyes blink open, and Nate’s smiling softly at her. His eyes are soft, filled with longing, and her stomach is doing flips. It’s tenfold when he climbs out of the driver’s seat, coming around to take her hand and help her step down. He laces their fingers, leading her up the short pathway and in the front door. They shed their shoes and their cold weather gear there, tossing it unceremoniously toward the built in to the right. They’ll deal with the mess later.

“Do you need anything?” His voice is low, raspy, and she’s shaking her head immediately. She’s of a one track mind now, and it seems that Nate picks up on that. He takes the initiative to walk her up the stairs, straight to his bedroom.

“Can I touch you?” He whispers. He rests his hands on her waist, lingering at the hem of her soft t-shirt. When he sees her nod, it’s up and over her head in a hurry, exposing her smooth skin. Nate’s eyes greedily take in every inch of her chest, and she’s surprised she doesn’t feel the urge to cover herself.

She feels a surge of confidence shoot through her; the way Nate is looking at her fueling her ego. It makes her bold, and she pushes back on his shoulders until he’s stepping backwards, and eventually, falling onto the bed. Then, she climbs into his lap, her hair falling around them like a curtain when she leans down over him. “Are you just going to look?” She asks, and the challenge in her voice ignites something inside Nate.

Before she can blink, she finds herself on her back with Nate crawling over her. He reaches up and tugs off his shirt, smirking at her sharp intake of breath. He doesn’t take much time to gloat, choosing instead to draw her in for another kiss. His hands make quick work of her bra, tossing it across the room carelessly. His lips trail down her chest, mouthing at the supple flesh, and swirling his tongue around her nipples. He revels in the breathy sounds falling from her lips when he bares his teeth.

“Nathan, please touch me,” she whines. She wriggles underneath him, trying to draw him up, get his mouth back on hers.

“Patience, my girl,” he mumbles. He kisses the tip of her nose before he sits back, eyes taking in her form. Her hair is splayed out across the bed, cheeks flushed, and pupils blown wide. He slides his fingertips over the red marks he’d left on her breasts, dragging the rough pads down until they’re toying with the waistband of her pants. He glances up at her again, eyebrows lifted to check in, make sure this is still what she wants. He earns himself a frustrated groan and a “come on, Nate”, which he takes as the green light. He slides everything down in one move, leaving her completely bare to him. “God, look at you,” he breathes. He pushes her legs open wider to accommodate the bulk of his shoulders before he drops down onto his stomach. His eyes never leave hers as he leans in close, kissing up her thighs until he’s inches away from her throbbing center.

She tosses her head back, squeezing her eyes shut to try to regain control of herself. Her body is thrumming with anticipation, desperate for Nate to do anything. After a few seconds, she’s rewarded for her patience. Nate licks a long strip up from her entrance to her clit, chuckling against her when she gasps. Immediately, her hands fly to his hair, fingers gripping tightly. Nate flicks his tongue expertly against her before drawing her clit between his lips and sucking. She feels him ghosting his fingers over her lips, the soft tickle making her toes curl. She lets out a moan, and that’s all it takes to get Nate to dive in. He slips two fingers into her dripping entrance, scissoring against the tight suck of her walls.

“Nathan,” she pants, back arching. He’s nibbling on her clit as he seeks that spot inside of her, pumping his fingers in and out quickly. She cries out when he finds it, and Nate presses down hard, keeping his fingers firmly against it while she thrashes against the bed.

She’s sure her grip on his hair has to be painful at this point, but she’s too far gone to care. All she can focus on is the blinding pleasure Nate is giving her. She can feel that coil tightening inside of her, her body wound so tightly she’ll snap back at any given second. When he sucks on her again, she snaps, trapping his face between her legs as she comes, thighs tightening around his head.

Nate keeps his fingers working inside of her as she starts to come down, her breath slowing, though not entirely coming back to her. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he climbs up to his knees, grinning wickedly. “Such a good girl for me,” he coos.

She’s having a hard time replying to him. She can’t get a sentence out, moans tumbling past her lips whenever she opens her mouth. Nate is prolonging her orgasm, keeping her suspended up on cloud nine as he watches her, eyes hungry. “I’ve imagined this so many times,” he admits. “Over the years, when I’m on the road late at night. I love to picture you wrapped around me instead of my hand, squeezing me so tight. You feel so good around my fingers; I can’t even imagine how you’ll feel around my cock. Will you let me have you? Sink deep inside of you and fuck you open, my girl?”

She cries out again, nodding quickly. She grips his forearm tightly, eyes rolling back. “Please Nate,” she chokes out. “God, please, I need you.”

“You’ve got me,” he swears. He leans down and kisses her again, stealing the air from her lungs. He tugs his sweatpants down as best he can with one hand, sighing against her lips when his cock springs free.

Slowly, she draws her eyes up from his cock, enjoying the sight of his clenched stomach muscles, and the strain of his bent forearm. Everything about Nate is absolutely gorgeous. He’s just so big; so wide and cut, and god, he’s going to be the death of her. She grips his shoulders tightly, mouth going dry at the muscles her fingers trace over. She’s trying to commit every moment to memory, the soft pants falling from Nate lips, the way his eyes are nearly black with desire. It’s so different than it had been before, but somehow the same. They’ve both matured so much- confidence emanating off of them now, but that giddiness is still there. That schoolyard crush that makes your heart beat faster and your hands shake. Her head is swimming, with desire, and the disbelief that this is truly happening. That they’d found a way to have this happen again.

She whines when he draws his fingers out of her, the loss leaving her feeling empty, and she clenches around the air. “I’ve got you,” Nate promises her. He reaches over her head to the bedside table and comes back with a condom, tearing it open with his teeth before sliding it down his throbbing cock. Her fingers are still gripping his shoulders tightly, and there’s no way her nails aren’t biting into his skin but Nate doesn’t say a word. He just runs a soothing hand down her torso and grips her hips, holding her still as he lines himself up with her entrance. His eyes are locked with hers as he presses forward, the blunt head of his cock drawing a gasp when he slips inside. He’s so wide; her walls are already straining to accommodate him, the burn of the stretch making her heart pound. Nate takes his time pressing into her, letting her accommodate for his size. As he pushes in, he’s whispering soft reassurances to her, telling her how beautiful she is, and how good she feels.

He grips her waist tightly when he’s fully sheathed, his big hands wrapping around her. “Okay?” He whispers. She can see the strain of holding back on his face, the need to make sure she’s alright before he can let himself go and enjoy this.

“Perfect,” she assures. “Please, Nate.”

He sucks in a deep breath and nods. Slowly, he draws his hips back before snapping himself forward, burying himself even deeper. She’s impossibly tight and wet around him, drawing him in and clinging to him. It doesn’t take long for him to build up a steady rhythm and when he does, he feels like a man possessed. He’s holding her down against the bed, watching as her breasts bounce and her mouth falls open in pleasure. He feels her drag her nails down his back and he groans, driving into her even harder. The force of his hips is pushing her up the bed, leaving her breathless and begging for him.

“I’m so close,” she pants. “Please Nate, touch me.” Her eyes are shining when she looks up at him. He obliges, sliding his right hand down to press his fingers to her clit. Within seconds, she’s coming around him, clamping down on him as she cries out his name. Nate fucks her straight through it, his hips slapping against her ass as he chases his own release.

He kisses her desperately when he feels his body tightening. When her tongue sweeps against his, he’s gone. He drives in and holds himself there as he comes, a grunt falling from his lips. When he’s able to come back into himself, he reaches down, holding onto the condom as he slowly pulls out. He kisses her cheek in apology when she winces, tying the condom off and tossing it into the trash just after. He runs a hand down his face, trying to steady his breathing before he stands. He grabs the first hand towel he can find in the on suite bathroom, running it under the tap and bringing it back into her bedroom wordlessly.

She’s still spread out on the bed where he’d left her, her arm thrown up over her eyes as her chest heaves. He drags the towel between her legs, cleaning her up carefully, before the towel too gets tossed to the floor. “You doing okay?” He whispers. He drops down onto the bed beside her, manhandling her body until she’s lying on her side, facing him.

“Wonderful,” she says, and that’s the understatement of the century. “Was, was I okay?”

Nate’s eyes go wide, and he’s nodding immediately. “That was unbelievable. God, the way you feel-” He cuts himself off, dropping his head onto a pillow dramatically. “It’s amazing how good we still are together.” She peers up at him, sees his eyes closed and the small, happy smile on his face. It makes her heart twist in her chest, her throat tightening. Realization hits her like a bucket of ice water thrown over her head. None of this is real. He’s not her Nate anymore, and damn it, how is she going to walk away from this?

“I can hear the gears whizzing around in there,” he teases. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

She hesitates, debates deflecting- telling him it’s nothing and avoiding the discussion she knows they should have. They’re adults now, this is the kind of thing they need to discuss, but she’s scared. “Nate,” she sighs, feels tears brimming in her eyes. “I don’t know. I just-“

“You told me you wouldn’t break my heart.” His voice is low. It isn’t accusatory, it’s just sad, like a punch straight to the stomach. She opens her mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Hot tears leak out of the corners of her eyes, pooling on the pillow case.

“It’s feeling pretty broken right now.”

This has her swallowing hard, gathering her courage. “I don’t want to.” It’s barely a whisper. “But I don’t think there’s another choice.”

“Of course there is,” he assures her. “There’s always another choice.”

“Not when it leads right back where we broke in the first place.”

“Don’t think about that. Tell me what you want.”

“It doesn’t matter-“

“It does matter,” Nate insists. “What the hell are we doing in this life if we’re not trying to find happiness?” His eyes search her face, drinking in every feature. “What would make you happy?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “You. But-“

He shakes his head slowly. “Nope. No buts. I would make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Thank god,” he breathes. “Because I’m not letting you go again.”

“It’s not that easy,” she says. “There’s too many variables, and it will lead us right back where we started.”

“It’ll be different this time.”

She sighs. “How can you know that?”

Nate reaches a tentative hand out, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “Because we know better. We can make better choices together. I know you don’t want to be a WAG, and I’m not going to put that on you. If you want to stay in Florida, okay. If you want to move to Denver, okay. If you want to move back to Canada, that’s okay too. We’ll make whatever you decide work. I just want you.”

“You… you want that?”

“If it involves you, I want it.” He’s so adamant, speaking with such conviction she can’t entertain any other thought. She scoots closer to him on the bed, molding herself against his chest and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I really want this to work, Nate,” she says. “I really, really want that.”

He drops a kiss to her forehead. “Sweetheart, I told you, I’m not letting you go again. I mean it.”

#nathan mackinnon #nathan mackinnon imagine #hockey imagine #hockey rpf #nhl imagine #my writing #shutupptara writes #Nathan mackinnon X reader #tis the damn season #shut up tara

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wayfayrr · 11 months

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Hi! I saw your requests are open and I read what you posted about fem!reader with piercings, and I wanted to request fem!reader but with lots of tattoos, maybe a full on sleeve tattoo on one or both arms in chain’s world if that’s ok (´･ᴗ･`)

It can be with anyone you want, whether it’s someone you’ve been wanting to write about, or whoever would give you the most motivation, or whoever you think would be the most interesting to do in this scenario, have fun with this ♡︎

That's very okay anon!! Ngl you actually scared me with the timing of this ask though, I was literally talking to a coworker about how I've always been considering a sleeve then I saw your ask just a bit later JSVNJODN!! But this was really self-indulgent in the end! the tattoos reader has are only loosely described If anyone wants to know what I was picturing as I wrote feel free to ask I'm happy to share!!! I ended up writing for Sky since he's my favourite! I hope you like it!!

“You and I are sharing a room tonight then, my dove? I can’t believe they’ve let me have you all to myself like this. It’s the perfect chance for you to show me some more of your music…”

That incident earlier seems to have given Sky far more confidence around me now, not that I’m saying that I don’t like how much more touchy he’s gotten, it’s far from that. Sky having more confidence to act how he wants around me rather than how he thinks he should act or like he’s trying to keep me at arm's length feels wonderful. Even if he is still teasing me about it. His laugh when he’s not holding back at all is still one of the most beautiful sounds, and I truly doubt it’ll ever stop being one.

“Yeah, maybe I can use the chance to show you some decent things, first though I’d rather get into something more comfortable and settle.”

“I’m looking forward to it dear, if you’d prefer you can go in now and change while I change somewhere else?”

“Thanks Sky, I’ll see you back here in a second then.”

It’s only fair I tease him back with a kiss, what if he’s going to be so confident with how he holds me most of the time now it’s only fair that I can be more confident as well. Sky didn’t take long either, coming back just as I finished changing, no doubt faster due to being more used to how these clothes just are. And he’s staring at me, Oh right! He’s not seen my tattoo before. He’s got every right to be curious, given I’ve never mentioned it before. The feeling of his hand hovering right over my arm almost feels near intoxicating, he’s so gentle like he’s afraid to do something wrong.

“Dearest would you mind if I..?”

“I don’t, I um well I should’ve told you a bit earlier shouldn’t I.”

“No! I mean, no I’m glad that I found out like this.”

He’s completely enamoured with the biggest tattoo I have, the one on my left arm. Tracing the lines so tenderly, like he’s scared of being overindulgent in giving me attention. It’s almost taunting how softly affectionate he’s being even just for this one, like he thinks I deserve to be treated with the same tenderness as someone would a piece of art within a gallery. Is he going to be like this with all of them?

“It means I get to appreciate your beauty without anyone interrupting, and I don’t think I could bear to share your attention right now.”

“T-thanks Sky. I swear if it wasn’t for the fact I can’t stay in Hyrule I would’ve already asked you to date me.”

“Why should that stop you dearest?”

“Well because I don’t want to cause you any pain when I have to leave, I can’t bring myself to be the one causing you that pain.”

The way his hands tensed around my arms as I said that, along with the face that he pulled? Sky doesn’t seem all that infatuated with the idea that I could leave him, not that I want to, not that I have the choice. His grip loosened quickly though, him pulling me into a gentle hug instead with a whine. Still obsessing over my tattoos at the same time, but with his focus changing from my sleeve to the band on my right instead although now his touch feels more like he’s trying to ground himself. Ironic really.

“Why would you assume I wouldn’t follow you? I couldn’t handle you leaving if I were courting you or not. Not now.”

“I can’t ask that of you Sky, you’re too important to the future of Hyrule.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t asking. It’s my choice.”

#Currently trying to work up the courage to just get one even if it's small for now TT #links✦react #linked universe x reader #lu sky #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #moss✦answers #moss✦writes

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poopwons · 10 months

Text

Thinking about Artist!Jean being just the SWEETEST boyfriend when his girl isn’t feeling herself. 😭😭

Modern Au, Fluff, fem reader, No use of y/n, this is purely self indulgent, and my first ever fic I’m actually posting, sorry if it’s bad writing 💀

TW: anxious thoughts, insecurities, reader doesn’t feel good enough, I think that’s all??

————————————————————————

You come into the apartment in a huff, putting your things down and going to the fridge to get some water.

“Hey,” Jean starts, as he walks into the kitchen from his studio down the hall, before he stops and takes in your expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Just had a bad day,” you say, not really wanting to go into all of it, all your insecurities and the anxiety you’ve dealt with throughout today.

None of your clothes fit the way you wanted them to, making you feel like nothing you put on looked even remotely good. You were sporting an acne break out from stress? Hormones? Who fucking knows, but it’s annoying. The fact that in every window you walked by today, you saw your reflection and just felt…not pretty enough. And you do all of the things your therapist recommends when you’re feeling low like this, you’ve been working out, eating right, trying to drink more water. Not to mention the affirmations you had scribbled on your mirror in the bathroom. But some days, the irrational side of your brain wins out. Today you could not see past any of the things you don’t like about yourself. You weren’t able to view the whole picture and instead focused on the small flaws. Even going to lunch with your friends was discouraging, watching them all sport smiles and feel confident in themselves. It seemed effortless for them. And nothing ever felt effortless for you. You felt like you had to work so hard to even feel some semblance of the confidence your friends exude daily.

“What happened?” Jean asks, coming around the counter, wrapping his big arms around you pressing a kiss to the top of your head before moving down to your lips. “Do I need to beat somebody up?”

“Not unless you wanna beat up your own girlfriend.”

“Mm. That kind of bad day, huh?” He says softly, tilting your head to look at him before he kisses you again.

Jean knows about your struggles, you’ve been together for a while now, so it would have been impossible for him not to notice. He tries to do the most for you when it gets like this. He knows you can’t help it, that it tends to come in waves. You’ve been stressed at work lately and that usually bleeds into your anxiety.

“Come here, Pretty.” He says, pulling you by your hand to lead you to the couch, sitting you down and getting the blanket off the back to wrap it around you. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He turns to go back to his studio, but not before turning on your usual comfort show for you.

He comes back into the living room and sits down with you, sketchbook and pencil in hand.

“You don’t have to work out here.. I know you have a deadline.” You say softly from your spot on the couch, not wanting to distract him from his work just because you had a bad day.

“I got that piece done already, this is something different. It’s not work, so I’m gonna sit with you. Besides, I haven’t seen you all day.” He says leaning over to press another quick kiss to your lips, before leaning with his back on the arm of the couch, knees up with his sketch book pressed to them.

It’s pretty normal for Jean to draw in his free time when he’s not working on commissions for clients. It’s his chance to work on stuff he actually likes and lets him get more creative without the constraints of a clients wishes. You turn your attention back to the show, finding comfort in this cute little routine you two have. The warmth of his body next to yours while he scribbles on his page, the faint sound of the pencil scratching the paper, when the two of you get time like this everything else in the world kind of drowns out.

While half your brain is still going on and on about the ways you’re not good enough and ways you could improve, you try to focus on the show, trying to ignore all those other thoughts. You laugh at a part you’ve seen probably a hundred times, but you still find it just as funny as the first time. You glance over at Jean who’s smiling down at his paper, his eyes flitting between the tv and the paper. He doesn’t normally show you his free time stuff until it’s finished, so you don’t bother asking him what he’s working on, knowing that you’ll find out eventually.

The two of you sit like that for a couple hours, just enjoying being in each others company, chatting idly about the show and some stuff the two of you have going on over the weekend. After a few more moments, Jean shifts again, sitting closer to you, his sketch book splayed open to the page he was working on as he puts his arm around you. When you finally glance down at it, a look of surprise spreads across your face.

“Is that..me?” You ask softly, taking the book in your hands to examine the drawing further.

Jean simply nods, offering you a small mumble of affirmation with a little grin on his lips. As you look over the paper you see how he’s drawn you, plush lips turned up into a wide grin, you’re laughing. Your eyes are bright and you look..happy, your hair is in beautiful waves, no frizz in sight. There’s another small drawing in the corner of the page, it looks like he’s just drawn your eyes alone, shining and bright. It hits you then that when he lifted his head up from the page earlier, he hadn’t been watching the tv, he’d been looking at you.

Taking the book you look at the front cover and realize that this isn’t his usual sketch book. You flip to the front of the book and go through the pages, as you flip through it you have to fight back the tears that well in your eyes. Every page, is filled with you, sketches, drawings, some with color some without. Some pages are just studies of your features where he was trying to get your smile right, or your eyes. Some of them are full body drawings, and you recognize your own clothes, days when you’d send him selfies of your outfits with a big happy smile.

You look over at him with a soft smile, “what is this?”

He leans over and presses a kiss to your temple. “It’s you, baby. Whenever I’m having an art block or can’t think of what I want to draw, I just..draw you.”

“You drew me so pretty..”

“You are pretty. More than pretty.” He says, leaning into you to press another kiss to your temple, resting his head against yours. “Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I thought about it when you came home and said you felt bad, that I wished you could see yourself the way I do. I thought, maybe I should just show you.”

You continue flipping through the pages, they aren’t all happy drawings. Some of them are clearly from some times when you weren’t feeling your best, but even in the ones where you have a sad expression, or tears in your eyes, he still drew you beautifully. Even when you felt your worst he still thought you were beautiful.

“Thank you…for this.” You say softly, turning towards him to softly kiss his lips, setting the sketchbook down on the table and pulling yourself into his lap to wrap your arms around him.

“Just drawing what I see, nothing else.” He murmurs as he buries his face into your neck, pressing a kiss there before holding you tightly.

————————————————————————

✨I want this man so bad, that is all.✨

Thanks for reading!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

#jean kirstein #jean x reader #aot fanfiction #fanfic #aot x you #jean x y/n #jean x you #aot headcanons #jean kirschtein headcanons #jean kirschtein fluff #jean kirschstein x reader #aot fluff

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wonderlandoffanfics · 3 months

Text

Manifest Fantasies (pt 2)

My first ever posted fan fic! I decided I'm not great with smut but I tried my best, and will continue to try in other things. This fic is Bartolomeo inspired - I'm really sorry if I didn't write him properly, I kinda got self indulgent to certain degrees. Most degrees.

This second bit it my attempt at some smut :)

Enjoy!

part 1 swimsuit addition dat dress tho

WC: 3995

CW: fem reader, MDNI, bit o’ fluff turned smutty, vaginal penetration, no protection mentioned, cockwarming, Barto’s fangs doing as they do, praise kink (for him, of course), aftercare with brief non-sexual urination

You’ve put all your new clothes away in the wardrobe and scattered the new décor about your room. It appears homier now and you relax for a moment and take in your own handiwork. You know that you’ve already set sail for the evening since you and Bartolomeo were the last ones to get back to the ship as the sun set.

Seeing the moon through the window of your room, you decide to go wander about the deck and take in the night air. It was cool out and the breeze coming off the sea gave you goosebumps, but you stand in delight of the stars and the moonlight dancing on the waves. You were so grateful to experience such a calm and wondrous sight, something you never knew you were missing from your island home all those years.

“Ya doin’ okay, y/n?” you turn your head to see Bartolomeo come to stand next to you at the railing. A faint smile across your face and a hum is all you let out, allowing the moment to continue to sink in. You were already so at peace, but his presence brought you to a new level of calm and delight. You cross your arms, leaning against the railing and bring your hands to your upper arms for warmth, “I can’t believe this is something I could have gone my whole life without experiencing. It’s a sight I will never tire of.” You say quietly, thanking him for a millionth time in your mind for this.

“I know whatcha mean…” he says back, only looking at you. He takes off his jacket again, like he did in the store earlier, but this time he drapes it over you with care rather than a quick modesty. With your arms still crossed you stand up straight and grab the edges of his coat with your hands, pulling the warmth that lingered from him onto you tighter, another quiet hum escapes you.

You turn to look at him, now only dressed from the waist down, “I appreciate the gesture but you’re making me feel bad about hogging the warmth.” You swiftly twist the coat back over his shoulders, reaching up the best you could and stand face to face, well, chest with him. You decide to take a chance and wrap your arms around his waist, sharing the warmth instead, your head turned to face the ocean still as you listen to his heart beat gain speed.

You can’t see his face now but there are droplets hitting your head and sniffling sounds coming from him, so you tighten your hug, “are you doing okay, Barto?” you echo back his earlier question. “More than.” He whimpers and embraces you in return. You become aware of his body heat raising as his heart beats louder against your ear; it’s been so long since you felt someone this close to you but you want more from him and you think he wants more too, he just won’t make the first move.

You get an idea and pull away from him a bit. He acknowledges you releasing your hold on him and he does the same. With a bit of effort, you hoist yourself up to sit on top of the railing; it gives you enough extra height to be closer to face level with him. He moves to catch you in case you start to fall, which works in your favor; you pull him back into an embrace, this time your arms are able to reach around his neck and your legs squeeze around his hips inside his coat. You see his face go red as his hands reach around your back to keep you steady on the railing.

“What’re ya doin’ y/n?” Barto asks without being able to look you in the eyes. “What I think we both want, but you can stop me if I’m wrong.” You bring one of your hands from behind his neck and touch his jaw softly. With light pressure from both hands, you pull him towards you and he finally looks directly at you, still red faced and an expression you can only read as pure joyous anticipation.

You smile as your lips meet his, his hands caress you and bring you closer as he sinks into the kiss. You move your mouth with his, bumping his septum ring, and lick his lips, also gliding along his teeth and being mindful of the sharp tips. He reciprocates and slides his tongue against yours, maneuvering his way into your mouth as he presses further into the romantic embrace.

Your hands slowly fall to his chest and begin to trace his tattoo and muscles, and explore lower to his abs, then bringing them back up his sides and around his back, using your nails to scratch against his skin. You want to be selfish and take in every bit of him that you can while this moment persists.

He pulls away slightly, breathing heavy, and presses his nose against yours, “are ya sure that’s what ya want?” Looking into each other’s eyes, “more than anything.” You say as you kiss him again, harder this time, not caring if you end up bleeding from his teeth. At this point you would encourage him to use them as he sees fit on your body.

Bartolomeo slides his hands from your back down to your ass and pulls you towards him. You’re off the railing of the ship and in his arms completely, wrapped around him and full of desire. You felt something large between you and moan softly against him, shifting slightly you realize it’s the dagger he keeps in his pants but that realization doesn’t stop you from enjoying how it’s pressing against you. He noticed you tighten your hold against his hips and roll yours slightly, “don’t ya worry, I got something even better in there for ya.” You both chuckle.

With a smirk, he begins walking back to the door that leads to his room; you kiss his neck and chest, allowing him time to see where he is walking while he carries you away from prying eyes. The late night crew has probably already seen enough but you don’t really care.

He takes you into his room, adorned with Straw Hat Pirate related things, you almost want to giggle as you take in his obsessive collection but you are quickly brought back to the moment as he kicks his door shut behind you both, cutting off the light from outside the room.

Closed into his dark room, with only moonlight shining through the windows to illuminate you both, he rolls his shoulders and causes the coat you had hung back over him to fall to the floor. He goes back to kissing you as he walks a few steps towards the large bed. Kneeling down on it, with you still clinging to him, he lays you down and leans over your body.

You appear slight underneath him as you unwrap yourself from his hips and allow your legs to fall to the bed on either side of his body. With a bit of space now between you, he takes out the dagger from his pants and tosses it onto the nearby nightstand. No words are needed as he presses himself against you and you finally grind him instead of his weapon. Your mouth opens in a pleasurable shock and a whine escapes. You lose your coherent thoughts and your body moves on its’ own, frantically looking for more of his touch, more of his skin on yours.

Your hands move quickly to lift your shirt over your head and you toss it away, not caring where it lands. Bartolomeo sits up to give you room, and take in the sight you’ve offered. Next, you shimmy out of your shorts; he helps throw those to the side as they slide down your legs towards him, leaving you in front of him with just a bra and lace thong on.

You see tears well in his eyes as the moonlight hits his face; you sit up and cup his face. Sliding your legs underneath you, you sit on your knees in front of him and gently kiss him while wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes. “Do you want to stop?” you ask with concern, “we don’t have to…” he cuts you off with a desperate kiss, one hand sliding up your thigh and the other wrapping around your back. “No way I can stop… I just needed ta revel in this moment being real...you’re everything and I’m…” you perceive his words straining and put your finger to his lips, “you’re perfect.” You finish for him.

He gained confidence in his actions after you said that, the praise hitting his ears like a key turning an engine on. Before you knew it he had taken your bra off and flung it across the room, urgently pulling you to his chest, colliding with insatiable lust, he kissed you sensuously. He started to move his mouth down your jaw to your neck and you felt his teeth graze your skin. He was being careful not to draw blood but he left a pressured bite mark on you before he moved down further.

You shift again to lie back as he teases your nipple with his tongue, all the while his hands working down to your core. Your moans and pleasured whines begin making a soundtrack to this evening with his breathing and low, rumbling, satisfied groans. He pushes two of his long fingers inside of you, keeping the thong material between his fingers as he uses his thumb to tighten the string into your folds, rubbing it against your clit. “Ahh! ….Barto….so good….” more praise comes from your mouth and entices him to continue.

As he leaves marks all over your torso and unravels you from the inside out, you haven’t even noticed how he’s kicked the last of his clothes off onto the floor at the foot of the bed. Stroking himself with his other hand as he brings you closer to your apex and watching your face intently while he continues to kiss down to your hips. He can tell you’re close, and decides to rip the lace panties from you with his teeth to expose you completely. You gasp and your hands tightly grip the bedsheets.

He sucks and licks at your clit while his fingers keep pace inside you. Your toes curl and your legs instinctively drape around his shoulders, “Barto!” you scream out as your orgasm hits. His fingers pop out of you as he uses his long tongue to lick every drop that spills from you. He takes the hand that was just inside you and uses it on himself, making his member shine in the moonlight with your juices as you finally notice he’s naked too.

“Fu...ck…” you let out as you’re riding the waves of your high to a slightly calmer place and see how large he is in his own hand. He lets go of himself and crawls back up you, bringing your mouths together again. His ardent kiss deepens and you feel him pressing hard against your lower half. He lets out a fervid cry against your mouth as you separate and breathe heavily together.

“Barto, you are amazing,” his member twitches against your inner thigh, just inches from your slick opening; “I need to feel all of you. Please.” Shifting your weight so he lines up with his tip at your entrance, you grind a bit against him and dig your nails into his back, desperate for him to take you.

“I don’t wanna hurt ya…. Tell me if ya want ta stop… I’ll understand.” He says with sadness to his tone, you imagine this has maybe been an issue in the past but you trust him. “I promise.” You kiss him from his forehead, to his nose, to his mouth, and smile at him. “Just go slow and we’ll work through this together. I want you.” You see his eyes get teary again but he holds them back as he reaches down and helps himself start to slip inside you.

Your eyes go wider and your mouth hangs open, letting out a long uncontrolled mewl, you grip the sheets with tight fists. He stops but you smile at him, mouth still open, indicating it was a good noise. Slowly still, he pushes deeper, looking you in your eyes to be sure you’re okay. He’s far enough in that his hands move to your hips and drags along your thighs, pushing your legs up closer to his shoulders, opening you for him to further dive in. You can tell he’s struggling to hold back; he pushes one last time and is finally fully buried deep inside you.

“So fuckin’ tight” he chokes out. “You did so good, giving me time to adjust to how big you are.” You’re starting to see his eyes shine again at your words and he throbs inside of you. You move your hands to trace his jaw, and bring them down brushing his neck, then chest, resting against his tattoo. “Barto… be my good boy and fuck me. Hard.” It’s like you flipped a switch in his brain again and confidence floods through him.

He rolls his hips into you and he hits every inch of himself into your sweetest spots. Holding your legs in place with his torso, his hands roam, groping every bit of you they can reach. He glides one arm up your side, delicately gracing your curves, and leans on the bed near your head, tangling your hair with his fingers and resting the palm of his hand against your face. He cradles you into a greedy, breathless kiss while his other hand is now firmly gripping your ass, all the while keeping his pace, thrusting you into the mattress.

Ecstasy washes over you with his momentum picking up; he pulls his face back, mere centimeters from your lips and grunts into your mouth, focusing on your face like he’s obsessed with learning each obscene response you let out, “So magnificent, y/n.” You bite his lower lip and lick it once releasing, “You make me delirious,” you pant out, while your hands continue around him tearing your nails into his back, his arms, and his chest; gripping at anything to keep him as close as possible.

He begins losing himself to the pleasure of your tightness, brutally snapping against your tender hole. You rasp out his name and let yourself fall into a vivid comfort, convulsing around him and orgasm again, your leg muscles twitch against his torso. “Y/n…. where…?” is all he can muster to say. “In” you barely form the word as you feel him, no longer able to hold back, release inside you with your slightest consent.

He lets your legs fall back to the bed and his weight drops down on you as you both pant heavily, sweating and unable to muster strength to untangle yourselves from each other. A few moments pass and Bartolomeo grabs you and rolls onto his back, switching spots with you so you are now lying on his chest. He’s still inside you, losing his hardness but still keeping you full.

“Sorry, needed ta catch my breath; hope I wasn’t crushin’ ya.” He chuckles slightly as his hand plays with your hair. You hum, “you felt like the best weighted blanket.” His hand leaves your hair and begins to stroke your back up and down, caressing the curve of your body, and after a few passes he stops and cups your butt cheek, giving it a light squeeze.

You giggle and start to sit up, pushing up from his brawny chest. Straddling him, you lift your hips and slide him out of you; both of you making a face at the loss of contact. You ease down next to him, using his arm as a pillow and cuddling up to his side. Cringing a bit as you mold to him, you realize moving may be difficult for a day or so, but it was worth it, and you’d do it over and over again if he wanted.

“Are ya okay? Did I hurt ya somehow?” he saw your face crunch up as you lay down and started to panic and twists to look at you. “No, no, please, I’m okay. I’ll just be sore for a bit, but a good kind of sore.” You reassure him with a smile that melts his heart, “I know something that’ll help ya.” He says and proceeds to move, scoop you into his arms, and take you to the bathroom attached to his room.

He puts you down on the edge of the tub and turns on the hot water. Now in the light of the bathroom you see each other clearly; he’s covered in red scratches and you are covered in teeth marks and bruises. You try to stand up and wobble a bit on weak legs, he steadies you quickly “where ya going?” “Oh, uhh…” you blush a little but you eye the toilet, “would you mind if I…. gramma Gambia said it’s best to pee after…” “A-absolutely! Do ya want me ta leave?” he asks, holding your hand while you walk the few steps needed. “You don’t have to, I’ll be quick anyway.”

You do your business and wash your hands as he turns to kneel at the bathtub, shutting off the water and dropping a bit of scented oil into the steaming surface. The room is filled with lavender and honey, “how delightful” you say, coming up behind him, rubbing his shoulders and kissing the side of his head.

Bartolomeo helps you get in and stand in the tub, getting himself into it behind you before guiding you down to sit with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around your waist under the water and cuddles you close as you both take in the aroma helping you relax even further into the warmth of the bath and each other.

All is quiet and still for a few moments until you decide to break the silence. Leaning your head back against his shoulder and turning to peck the side of his jaw, you let out a breathy “thank you” to him. He squeezes you tighter and brushes the marks he left on your shoulder and neck, shaking his head against you, “That should be my line, y/n, I’ve dreamt of ya every night since we met. Almost lost it while we were shopping; I thought about jumping you in the changing room. If I wake up tomorrow and this was all a dream it would make sense at this point; except this was better than all my fantasies combined.”

You bring your hand up to hold his face and pull him from hiding against your neck, “I’ll stay with you tonight then, and for as long as you’d like after, we can both wake up day after day knowing how real this is.” You lean into each other and indulge in the bliss of your shared aftercare until the water loses warmth.

After drying off and putting on one of Bartolomeo’s large t-shirts to sleep in, he, just in boxers himself, hops into bed and pats the empty space beside him to invite you under the covers. Curling up into his embrace you have never felt happier; this ship and this man have become your home, more so than your island ever could have.

-__________________________epilogue________________________-

An overwhelming bliss hits as you open your eyes to see you are still in Bartolomeo’s bedroom. At some point in the night you had turned around so your back was facing him, but he was still holding you close. You wiggle back a bit to nestle his body against yours more, earning you a gratifying squeeze in return.

“Mornin’, y/n” he says softly in your ear, kissing just behind it. “Good morning, Barto,” you rolled in his embrace to face him and provide a longing kiss, “it was real.” You add, smiling against his mouth, continuing the kiss.

A loud knock on the door interrupted your peace, “Captain, are you awake yet? We need you as soon as possible!” Barto jumped at the intrusive noise and instinctively left the bed to get pants and boots on to go deal with whatever was needed. You just watched him as he scrambled to get dressed.

Almost touching the door knob to leave, he turns on his heel and skitters back to kiss you, “I’ll make sure ta find a way ya can get ta your room without them seeing ya. See ya later, y/n.” He says while walking away again, like he already knew you had no plan in place to find your way, pants-less, back to your own room.

You wait until you hear the voices move away from the door before you rush back to your room to get dressed for the day. Not that you want what happened last night to be a secret from the crew, but you certainly didn’t want anyone to see you in nothing but Barto’s oversized shirt, that was just for his eyes.

Later that day as you were walking about the deck, trying to get gum off the railings, you heard what sounded like construction work being done. You go towards the noise and it’s coming from…. Your bedroom? You come to find that there are crewmates cutting a hole in a wall near your bed, “what the ever loving hell?” you shout over their noise. Barto comes darting around the corner and pulls you into the hall, “This was meant ta be a surprise!” “Oh, I’m surprised, Barto! What is going on?!” you desperately grab his arms and look back over your shoulder into the room again, dust flying everywhere.

“I thought ya’d like it if there was a door ta my bath – our bathroom, so I’m havin’ one installed!” You turn back to him with your eye twitching, mouth agape in bewilderment, unsure what to say to him. You love the idea but this was not how you thought this day would be going. You wish you had had time to move things around and put things away before the men were in there making a huge mess.

You sigh and drop your hands from his arms, “you sure know how to make a girls’ day, thank you, Barto.” You’d rather just accept the inevitable and let them finish the job without a fuss. However, the clean-up will be challenging later, you’ve seen how these guys leave things when they do literally anything; hence the reason you were even on this ship to begin with.

Barto just looked too happy and excited for you to say how you wish this was less of a secret project. Though it did make you wonder if the whole crew already knew what had happened between you two. “Hey, d…does everyone know?” you ask as you both start walking away from the noise. “Oh, uh, well, the night crew ended up seeing me carry you into my room, so it was already the talk of the morning when they called me out ta help them earlier.” His face turned bright red as you giggled, “I thought so, and since they already know I guess we have nothing to hide, which is nice.” You grab his hand, now out on the deck, in public.

“I’m really happy with you, Bartolomeo. This life with you will be the best I’ve ever lived.” He wraps his arms around you, tears streaming once again from his happiness over flowing, and picks you up to be closer in height. You kiss him eagerly and let out a hum of content. “Y/n, I promise ya it really will!”

#x reader #mdni #bartolomeo #bartolomeo x reader #bartolomeo one piece #bartolomeo the cannibal #bartolomeo smut #wonderlandoffanfics

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thewayofthemandalorian · 2 years

Text

supposed to be just friends - oneshot

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: You and Dieter Bravo are just friends. That all changes when he brings you along when he travels internationally to film a new movie. This has to be a mistake, right?

Word count: 8,148

Notes: This might be the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written. The vague outline I had for this fic was Dieter cuddling and then this came out of it. It’s sort of AU-adjacent as Dieter doesn’t do Cliff Beasts in this version of events and instead works on himself. There are many, many references in this, some meta, some not. Our reader is on the struggle bus at the beginning of this fic and is kind of going through it, but our Dieter helps her get through it. The title comes from the song Glitch by Taylor Swift. All my love and appreciation to @ezrasbirdie for beta-reading ❤️

This fic is cross-posted to AO3 under the same name and my taglist can be found linked in my bio as well as my masterlist which is linked below.

Comments/reblogs appreciated.

Warnings: Mentions of COVID-19/anxieties surrounding it, rehab, addictions, references to being high, swearing, food mention, (idiot) best friends to lovers, aimlessness, only one bed, unwanted attention, kissing, non-explicit sexual content (including fingering, female receiving oral), minor miscommunication.

masterlist (main) || masterlist (dieter bravo)

The door opens with a bang — not unusual with Dieter Bravo, your neighbour and best friend of four years — and a second later, he calls out your name. “You home already?” he asks. He knows your schedule in and out, ever since you were called back to your office after a year and a half of working from home (at his apartment, no less).

You look up ruefully from the couch, your eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “I-I’m home early,” you say, trying to diffuse some of your sadness.

“What’s wrong?” For all that he is a shit who doesn’t know anything about personal space or boundaries (not that you would ask him to change. That would be like asking a zebra to change its stripes), Dieter Bravo of apartment 605 is an expert at reading people and reading social cues when it comes down to it. It must come with being an actor. Or maybe he’s just good at reading people.

“I… I was let go,” you admit, wiping your eyes.

Dieter actually laughs. Not at you, but out of incredulity. “What? Why?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. “Something about downsizing? Or budget cuts? They gave a very inane reason that I didn’t really pay attention to.” You had wanted to pay attention, but once the words “I’m afraid to have to inform you that we are letting you go,” were out of your manager’s mouth, your ears started ringing and you didn’t process anything else that was said after that.

“Did they at least give you a warning? Any sort of indication?” Dieter asks, coming over to the couch where you’ve flopped down, still in your work clothes.

You shake your head. “My boss called me into her office this morning. My first thought was that I was getting that promotion that she hinted at six months ago.”

That promotion was the only thing that was keeping you at that job. You hated it. It was a menial, joyless job. What you hate the most about it is that you were good at it. So when Tiffany had called you into her office this morning, you had been hopeful that your performance was going to finally be noticed and rewarded. “Not that it matters that I’m the highest performing employee,” you grumble to yourself.

Before you realize it, Dieter’s arms are wrapped around you. “Fuck them. And fuck Tiffany.”

You snort. “You already did that,” you remark.

Dieter frowns. “Did I? When did I do that?” he asks.

“At the last holiday party before the pandemic. In 2019 I think?”

Your best friend racks his brains. “Oh yeah, I did.” He smirks, then wrinkles his nose at the memory. Apparently she hadn’t been very memorable. For her on the other hand, she’d asked you for weeks after if Dieter was seeing anyone. In the end, you’d told her that he met someone else.

His embrace is warm and you melt into it.

That’s the other thing Dieter is amazing at. Cuddles. You take them at any opportunity you can get. He’s like your own personal weighted blanket sometimes. “It’ll be okay. It’s the company’s loss.”

You close your eyes. He’s wearing lounge clothes as usual. Soft and worn and cozy, making for peak cuddles. “Is it bad that I’m kind of relieved?” you ask.

“No. You hated that job. Still, it’s never fun being let go. Trust me, I know.”

In the four years you’ve known him, he’s made about four times the references of jobs he’s been fired from before breaking into the industry. His first movie, Hunger Strike, had been a fluke, he’s sure of it. A perfect case of right place, right time. Everything he’s done since then has paled in comparison. Sure, Hunger Strike won him his Oscar, which he keeps on display next to the award he’s more proud of, his Golden Raspberry Award, that he had gone in person to to pick it up. It had been for a movie called Deadly Monster From the Deepest Jungle! He’d done it as a joke movie. It was where he’d first met the hack director Darren Eigan, who’d been a script supervisor at the time. A man so far up his own ass, Dieter almost respected him. Almost. He’d gone on and on and on about how Deadly Monster was going to re-invent the horror B-movie genre. He’d then gone on to win some award and had been thrust into the world of Cliff Beasts. Dieter would never forget the phone call he’d had with his agent when they called him to see if he was interested in mid-2020, shortly after the pandemic had started. He’d laughed down the phone and said “Hell no. If I do that movie with that hack it might just kill me.”

He also knew that if he went to film Cliff Beasts 6, his career would never recover and spending time away from his home during a time of great uncertainty would be the last thing he wanted. And to be so far away from you? No, it’s a bad idea all around.

Not to mention, filming a movie that seemed like such a clusterfuck as Cliff Beasts would interfere with his rehab over Zoom. He needed routine. And he’s not sure why, but he got the feeling that if he went to England to film during all of these upheavals, he would fall off the wagon and get so high off his rocker there’s no telling what outlandish things he’d attempt to do.

It had been rough, but he made it through to the other side, with his mentor and his sponsor and you cheering him on. You’d done work from home on one couch with your wireless earbuds (much to his chagrin) while he did his meetings. He couldn’t have done it without you cheering him on.

Your sigh pulls him back to reality. “I know. It sucks being fired. I just wish… I kind of wish that I knew what I wanted to do with my life, y’know?” you ask.

Dieter nods as he twists the friendship bracelet around his wrist, the one that you had gotten for him as an almost gag gift; he hasn’t taken it off since, except when filming. “I get it. I still don’t know if I know what I’m doing. At this point, I just go along for the ride.”

He wants to tell you that he got offered a movie role that looks promising and more in line with what he got into acting for in the first place. He’s tempted to say yes. He knows you would be happy for him – it’s his first role since before the pandemic. Or at least, the first role of consequence. He’s had recurring roles in TV series since 2021 that were filmed in LA, but this is his first starring role since Deadly Monster.

His arms are still around you. “Dieter, you can let go,” you murmur, not wanting him to.

Dieter doesn’t listen. He cuddles into you more. He’s always been a hugger. At least with you. But this is the first time he’s actively cuddled with you.

You remember the first time he hugged you was when you had been discussing the pandemic and what you were going to do. You’d been panicking. “What are we going to do, Dieter? They say that it’s really bad.” You’d been teary-eyed with worry.

Dieter, usually the more chaotic, unhinged of the two of you, had simply placed his hands on your shoulders before wrapping you in a bear-hug. It was the first of many. “We’re going to get through this. Together.”

If you hadn’t been best friends before that evening, you certainly were after that.

- - - -

It’s been an easy friendship with Dieter since he moved in next door. Sure, he gets on your nerves every now and again, but he always makes up for it. He carries himself as an asshole sometimes, which you call him out for, but you think it’s mostly for show.

Dieter cares for you. In a way that he hasn’t cared for any of his friends before. You see him. The real him. The one that he doesn’t want strangers to scrutinize on Twitter or in gossip magazines who only cared about his string of failed relationships (he needs connection) or his struggles with sobriety. It took his therapist six months before she finally cracked him. You cracked him in less than half that.

Dieter orders a pizza once he’s deemed your cuddling session over. You miss your weighted blanket as soon as he’s gotten up to get himself a Sprite from the fridge, grabbing you some water.

You’ve since moved back into your own apartment next door, but you spend a lot of time at each other's places. Despite the fact that you have a boyfriend. It’s a new relationship, still in its infancy, what you have with Ben. But you’ve just agreed to be mutual not too long ago. You’re not sure how long it’ll last, but he’s nice…ish. Dieter hates him. “He’s boring,” he’d said after meeting Ben for the first time. “And I don’t like the way he treats you. You can do so much better than that guy.”

You’d waved it off as friendly concern. Even if you agreed with him. Your other friends had also given similar opinions. But Ben was nice, if a little boring. Sometimes boring is a good thing, you try to tell yourself.

Your spirits are lifted; while you’re still bummed out about losing your job and being strung along for a promotion, it’s for the best. If you were going to be promoted, you would have already. And Tiffany was a toxic boss.

“Hey, I wanted to tell you something,” Dieter says as his phone pings with an email including the script for the movie he’s in the process of being booked for. “I think I might be doing a movie soon.”

You hit Dieter on the arm. “Get out! For real?” you squeal with excitement for your best friend. “Tell me everything.”

That’s the thing Dieter likes about you. All of his successes are celebrated by you as if they’re your successes too. You always build him up. He’s not always sure that he deserves it, but he’s glad to have someone like that–someone like you—in his corner after so many people only wanting him for his modicum of fame.

“It’s called Foe, it’s an adaptation of this really insane novel where I would be playing a bit of a double role, and it starts filming next month.”

“That’s so exciting. I’m so fucking happy for you, Dieter. Really. Ugh. I’m so glad that one of us has good news today. Where is it being filmed?”

Dieter has to think for a minute. “I think in France.” He tries to gauge your facial expression. Your excitement doesn’t diminish, though.

“You’re going to love it there. I just know it. Congratulations, Dieter.”

A few days go by. You try not to wallow too much about losing your job. Dieter books the role and is sent the script. It’s the lead role. It’s not quite a mainstream film, but it’s not an obscure indie role, either. But it’s character-driven. It’s something that speaks to Dieter. He doesn’t want to be known as the actor who does movies like Deadly Monster. Only doing movies for the money. Sure, the money doesn’t hurt. But after doing so many franchise movies and bit roles on tv, he’s beginning to wonder why he got into this industry in the first place.

He’s come a long way in the four years that he’s been living here. Sure, he still has his vices, and yeah, he might still be a bit of a fuckup and a magnet for chaos, but he’s trying. He doesn’t want to coast on his good looks and his modicum of luck. He has to work for what he wants.

If rehab and the lockdown taught him anything, it’s that hardly anything good comes easy.

In the interim, you try to spend more time with Ben, trying to get to know him more. He mostly only talks about his job. He’s an accountant.

You haven’t told him that you were fired. You know he’ll only condescend. You’ll tell him when you find a new job, and say that you wanted something different. Something new.

Part of you knows that you want to cut things off with Ben. He’s not clicking with you. The sex isn’t even that good. Most times, you’ll have to finish the job yourself after he’s left.

Still, he’s… someone.

You hang out with Dieter, running lines with him, helping where you can to get him sorted for his flight.

The night before his flight, you have to cut things short, meeting Ben at his apartment for dinner. “I will try and see you before you go before your flight tomorrow morning,” you say at the door. He pulls you in for a hug. He’s always so warm and comforting.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

After typing out a quick text (which he doesn’t respond to, which is odd for Ben), you drive over to Ben’s place. It usually takes longer to get there, but traffic is light tonight. It’s raining, so that probably has people staying home.

Usually you buzz up to his apartment, but there’s someone coming out the locked door as you’re coming in. You grab it just as it’s about to close and make your way up in the elevator.

You knock and Ben opens the door. You greet him with a smile. One that he doesn’t return.

“We need to talk.”

- - - -

“You’re back early,” says Dieter when you come in half an hour later. “Like, a lot earlier than you told me.” You don’t answer, just sit down on the couch next to his half-packed suitcase. He says your name. “Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

“Fine. Ben broke up with me,” you murmur.

Dieter doesn’t think he heard you correctly. “He what? Why?”

“He said I wasn’t giving him what he was looking for. Which is fucking ironic given that he was the one who wanted things to be exclusive. He also said…” You blink back tears, not knowing why it upsets you so much. “He also said that I’m boring.”

You omit the part where he outright accused you of being in love with Dieter and spending more time with Dieter than with him. You don’t need to put that on Dieter’s plate the night before his flight.

Dieter sees that while you’re relieved to be free from Ben and your incompatibility with him, as well as your earlier relief at being let go, you’ve been struggling the last month.

He sits down on the couch next to you and draws you into him. “I’m sorry. He was a loser and an idiot. You’re not boring. Not at all.”

You offer him a melancholy smile. “Thanks, Dee. But you don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not just saying that. When have I ever said things I didn’t mean? And don’t count when I’ve been high. Those statements are either cosmic truths or complete bullshit with no in between.”

Looking at him, you notice his brown eyes. They’re tender and truthful. You’ve never noticed just how handsome he is. How he…

You push that oncoming thought away. He’s leaving. He’s your best friend and that’s all you’re supposed to be. You’d be lying to yourself if you hadn’t started to feel more for him recently.

“Thanks, Dieter. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Dieter hates the idea of leaving you like this. He knows that you’ll be fine. Beyond any doubt. You always bounce back. But the past month—hell, the past three years—have been difficult for you. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Allowed someone to do something for you? He admires you. He cares for you. More than he probably should. You’ve made it clear you want this to be nothing more than a friendship.

“Come with me,” he blurts out.

He’s met with a quizzical look. “Come with you where?” you ask.

“To France.” You open your mouth to protest, but he doesn’t let you. “Querida. When was the last time you did something nice for yourself? You deserve this. You’ve been through so much and you need to get your mind off things. I want you to come.”

You can’t explain the emotion this last part unlodges in you. Everything becomes blurry all of a sudden and before you can comprehend what’s going on, your face is buried in Dieter’s warm chest, his arms wrapped around you. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s all right,” he soothes.

You let out a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle. “I–I just… how am I supposed to pay for it?”

Dieter doesn’t care. “The company is paying for my seat, I can pay for yours.”

“I can’t let you—Is it even okay that I’m coming? What about, like, quarantining and your schedule and all that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t really give a shit. They can’t make this movie without me and I don’t want to leave you behind. Let’s just go. Two best friends doing something nice for themselves. That’s all this is. Okay?”

Dieter levels you with a long, soul-searching gaze. You hold it for a long minute. Probably longer than is necessary, but neither of you can bring yourselves to look away. He’s made several good points. “All right,” you sniffle again, accepting a tissue from Dieter. “Yeah, okay. I just need to find my passport and hope that it hasn’t expired.”

While you’re searching for your passport, Dieter adds another passenger—you—to the flight. He can’t get you directly next to him in first class, but he’s sure that if he sweet-talks one of the desk agents tomorrow, they’ll let you switch seats.

“Is it okay that I don’t speak any French?” you ask, coming back in with your passport, which gratefully doesn’t expire until next year.

“Don’t you? I thought your mom had French Canadian heritage.”

You nod. “She does. It just… never clicked for me.”

“Should be fine,” says Dieter. “I don’t speak French either. We’ll wing it.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You wing everything, Bravo,” you tease.

Dieter offers a trademark grin that’s graced so many magazine covers. “It’s one of my specialties. Go pack, ma chérie. That means sweetheart,” he adds with a wink.

- - - -

At an entirely ungodly time of morning, your phone’s alarm goes off. You whine and hug your pillow closer, hitting the snooze button blindly. After two more snoozes, you force yourself to get up, stumbling to the shower, only turning on the overhead light in the shower and not the bathroom light itself.

Just as you’re finishing getting dressed, Dieter marches in. He looks bleary-eyed too.

“Why did I say yes to this, Dieter? You didn’t tell me the flight leaves at ass-o’clock.” He knows your complaint isn’t serious.

He mumbles something about airport Starbucks. “Shuttle’s almost here, we should head down.”

The ride to the airport is mostly passed in silence. The sun won’t be up for hours. Last night you’d hastily put together a suitcase and carry-on. Dieter said that the movie would take about a month and a half to film. You didn’t know if you had a month and a half’s worth of clothes, but you were sure that the hotel that the production company was putting him (and you, still unbeknownst to them) up in had a laundry facility. You’d asked if you should maybe return without him and come back sooner, but he’d said no and you didn’t want to come home by yourself if you didn’t have to. You hate air travel at the best of times. After informing your parents, your uncle and some of your friends where you were jetting off to, you headed to bed but only got a few hours of sleep because you were so excited.

The shuttle pulls up at the international gate entry. Even at three forty-five in the morning, LAX is overrun with people. It’s easy to get lost, so Dieter slips his hand into yours, making sure that you’ll stick together.

He can’t sweet-talk the desk agent into switching your seats, but tells him to try his luck with the flight attendants. The plane is boarding in just over two hours, so you have lots of time to kill in the interim. Dieter tracks down the nearest Starbucks. You get a vanilla latte. He gets twelve shots of espresso over ice. It’s his usual order; you often wonder when you go to get coffee with him how he hasn’t died from the adrenaline rush two hundred times over. It’s one of his many Dieterisms as you’ve come to call his more eccentric behaviours.

Before you know it, it’s time to board the plane. You’ve never flown first class before. There’s so much more room, the seats are more comfortable. It doesn’t look like it will be seven hours of pure torture like it usually is in economy. You stop a passing flight attendant. “Is it okay if I sit with my friend?” You sound like a kid.

“Wait until the plane has taken off and the fasten seatbelts light comes off.”

The pilot comes on over the speaker, goes over the safety procedures. The plane takes off smoothly, and before you know it, Dieter’s plopping down in the seat next to you.

“Do you want the window seat? I don’t mind.”

Dieter waves your offer away. “Nah. You can have it if you want.” He leans back in the seat. “I think they’re going to come around with snacks and drinks soon.”

The flight goes smoothly and uneventfully (apart from the dirty look the old lady with the Pomeranian in her lap gives you and Dieter when you’re laughing “too loudly”). Once you’ve eaten, you start to feel drowsy. Dieter is actively fighting sleep. The blankets the airline gave you are soft and cozy. Not as cozy as the man who is sitting next to you. A little rest won’t hurt…

When Dieter wakes up, your head is resting on his shoulder, his head resting on the top of yours. He shakes his head a little, sees how the two of you have been resting. It’s not a new sleeping position for the two of you, but this somehow feels different. There’s an inkling of something new. With a smile, he leans his head back to where it was a minute ago and falls back to sleep.

The flight lands some time later. You wake before Dieter does this time. You’ve been resting against each other. Nothing new, but it makes you feel warm.

It’s a bit of a process, getting through customs and waiting for your bags. The nap on the plane did you good. A lot of good. You know jetlag will sneak up on you sooner or later.

Luggage obtained, you and Dieter make your way through the airport, luggage in hand, knapsacks on your backs. There’s someone waiting for Dieter to drive you and him to the hotel.

You still can’t believe this is real, that you’re in France with Dieter Bravo.

- - - -

The hotel can’t give you your own room, since they are fully booked with the production company and cast of the movie. The best they can do is offer a king room. That’s fine you tell yourself. You’ve shared close sleeping quarters with Dieter before, usually unintentionally, but somehow this seems different.

“I can take the couch,” you offer immediately once you’ve made it to the room.

Dieter shakes his head. “Don’t be silly. I’ve shared beds before. I know you have, too.”

He’s right. You’re just friends. This will be fine.

“Plus, it’s big enough that it’s like we have our own beds anyway.” He tries to ignore the growing feeling of confusion and botherment at this. Has there been a glitch in his brain? There must have been. Or he’s just tired from the flight.

Gratefully, you don’t notice. “You’re right,” you reply. “It’ll be fine. Also, that bed looks super fucking comfortable, like lying on a cloud.”

Dieter grins. “Right? Ugh, I’m just thinking about how nice it’ll be after long shooting days to just collapse into it.”

He flops down on the bed, stretching out with a satisfied groan. He somehow manages to take up half of the bed with his limbs spread out like he’s making a snow angel.

You shove him over, lying down on the bed too. Oh, god. It’s soft.

Dieter’s sunglasses are askew on his face. You lean over and take them off, putting them on you instead. At his exaggerated pout, you give a saccharine sweet smile before pulling the glasses off and putting them on the nightstand. You stretch out your legs. Turning to your side, you see that Dieter is lying on his side facing you, twisting one of his rings around his finger. “Ready for filming?” you ask.

“I think so. Thank fuck it doesn’t start for a few days.” He fights a yawn. “D’you wanna do some sightseeing tomorrow or something?”

“That sounds nice. Apparently this is a very historic part of the country. It dates back really far.”

Dieter frowns. “Isn’t all of Europe dated back really far?” His eyelids are drooping.

The two of you decide to power through and attempt to adjust to France’s time zone. While the meal on the plane was good for plane food, you’re starving. You’re always half-convinced that Dieter is a walking, talking stomach.

Wanting to get into your jammies, you order room service over the room’s iPad, using the English setting. “Maybe I should work on my French while I’m here,” you muse. “Surprise my mom when we get back.”

You have a month and a half at your disposal. a month and a half to unwind and have some time to yourself, to pick yourself back up. Figure things out. Gratefully, you don’t have to do it on your own.

The room service is delivered and you have a small feast on the hotel room floor before attempting to unpack. There is a large wardrobe in addition to a dresser that you share with Dieter. Glaring domesticity aside, it’s a very good setup. While you finish unpacking, Dieter takes a shower.

Getting into your pajamas (stolen from Dieter), you climb into the massive bed and get cozy. You’re mostly passed out by the time Dieter comes out of the bathroom. You vaguely feel the dip of the bed on his side, so far away from your side. The comforter is warm, the pillow plush, the mattress just right. His breathing evens out and lulls you into sleep.

It’s early when you wake up. The sun is just barely making its way over the horizon. You’re wide awake but you’re cozy. Dieter’s shifted in sleep, or maybe you did, because you’ve almost met in the middle. He’s facing you, his hand outstretched. His lips are parted a little bit, enhancing his pout.

Even in sleep, even rumpled like he is now, he’s pretty. You think you can admit that about your friend.

If you listen close enough you think you can hear it drizzling outside. Checking your phone you see that it’s just before seven in the morning. Later than you thought but still early. You are wide awake. Maybe you can just rest. It’s too early to do anything right now. You’ve never done international travel like this before so the time change is going to kick your ass, at least for the first few days. And then you get to relive it all over again when you go home.

Dieter wakes up a half hour or so later and makes the suggestion that you go out for breakfast before doing some sightseeing

- - - -

Three days later, Dieter begins filming. The call time is early; even when he’s trying to be quiet, Dieter doesn’t know how to be anything but loud. It’s as if it’s ingrained into his DNA. You’re used to it from the years of living next door as well as spending a lot of time in his apartment; you just roll back over and go back to sleep.

You were stunned when there was nothing more than a platter of cheese and crackers as a cast social two days after arriving. Thinking that the cast and crew deserved more than just a paltry welcome, you’d asked the director and one of the producers if you could plan the wrap party. It would give you something to do on the days when Dieter was filming. Aimlessness was not a good fit on you, and you’d been wearing it for far too long. They had enthusiastically said yes, and given you the studio’s credit card number. They had the budget for what you had planned.

Dieter shows up at the hair and makeup trailer before shooting, his least favourite part about making a movie. He knows why he has to do it, but he’d prefer not to.

“I’m Kate, your makeup artist-slash-hairstylist for this movie.” Kate is a young woman in her late twenties, maybe a few years younger than him. She’s good-looking, he admits, but he doesn’t feel the need to hit on her as he has done in the past with makeup artists and hair stylists. Her eyes appraise him slowly. She’s checking him out, he realizes.

Dieter doesn’t really respond to her talking. Kate seems shallow and bossy. In a way that he doesn’t like. She takes way too long on his hair, and spends a lot of the time not so subtly flirting with him; he doesn’t respond. He does have to admit, she’s good at making it look appropriate for the movie. Artfully tousled. “Thanks,” he grunts when she lets him go. The old him would have asked her out. Or, more likely, just asked her to sleep with him. He’s not that man anymore, hasn’t been for awhile. It wouldn’t be fair to you, when you’re sharing the room with him. That’s what he tells himself.

Not to mention, he doesn’t gel with her vibe or her personality. No, best to just keep his distance. She’ll get the hint sooner or later.

On his days off filming — or on days where filming starts late or ends early enough — you go on little sightseeing adventures together. They almost, almost, feel like dates. Dieter’s always been a touchy kind of person. You think it might be one of his love languages. You aren’t sure if it’s just Dieter being Dieter, where you are, or something more, but you are starting to feel like more than what you’re supposed to be with him. Especially the past couple of mornings when you had woken up and Dieter, who had started on the other side of the massive king-sized bed, had made his way to your side of the bed in his sleep, apparently needing to be closer to you. You’d woken up these past few mornings with his chest against your back, Dieter sound asleep. One morning when he’d woken up, you’d been facing him on your side. It could have just been your imagination, but you were sure that for a split second, his eyes had flickered down to your lips. And were you dreaming or did he lean in just a fraction for a second before getting up before his call time?

Today, you’re doing a self-guided tour of an old castle from the early Middle Ages, his hand in yours the entire time. At one point, he says something funny. You laugh and he smiles, his eyes crinkling, and he kisses you on the forehead.

“You two make such a cute couple,” says another person on the tour in French. You don’t know enough French to know what she’s saying but understand two, cute and couple and can glean what she’s saying. Not knowing enough to dispute her claim and say that you and Dieter are just friends, despite the glitch in your mind returning and saying that you could be more than that, you just smile and nod politely, if a bit flustered.

Truth of the matter, though, you worry that if you and Dieter do become more than friends, it will be a lopsided love. That you will ultimately end up caring for him more than he would care for you. Or that he would only be with you because it’s easy to, for the sake of convenience. It would never work

You shake your head, trying to clear these intrusive thoughts.

On Dieter’s end, it’s been almost four weeks of filming this movie. Kate still hasn’t picked up the hint that he’s not interested in her. He’s started name-dropping you more and more frequently around her, hoping that she’ll pick up that he’s interested in someone else, interested in you. He’s starting to realize that he maybe doesn’t just want to be friends with you. He once heard that love is friendship on fire. Dieter’s always admired you, your sense of humour, your kindness and empathy for other people. The way you always cheer him on because you’re genuinely happy for his successes and want him to do his best. Never asking for anything in return. It’s everything he admires. He’s never felt this sort of connection to anyone before. Not even Annika, who he had dated for a long time (at least by his standards). He didn’t invite you on this trip to get laid, not at all. Nor had he done it out of pity, like he sometimes worries is what you think. He’d done it because he wanted to do something nice for you. It was never his intention to fall for you, but here he is.

As Dieter is, though, he got a bit stuck in realizing that he’s in love with you. He thinks he’s been in love with you from the beginning, or almost from the beginning. He just got stuck in realizing. It always takes a while for his brain to catch up with what’s happening. But being here, with you, doing all these things, sharing a bed on purpose, has unlodged something in him. He thinks you might feel the same way. At least he hopes that you feel the same way. He knows you’re happy being his friend, maybe that’s all you think this relationship is.

Sooner or later, you’re going to have to deal with this.

- - - -

There’s only one more day of shooting, tomorrow. It’s an early call time. The wrap party is planned and paid for, all ready for tomorrow night. You’ve worked really hard on it. It is not over the top. Just something more than what was originally planned. “Have you ever considered doing event planning?” Dieter had asked when you had put the finishing touches on the plans.

It was something new, but you enjoyed it. It gives a sense of purpose. You’ve always been organized, you like coordinating things like this. “Not until just now,” you’d answered.

You’re sitting on the couch, looking over your plans for the party. Dieter sits next to you and plays with his friendship bracelet. It’s a silly little five-dollar thing, but he loves it. To him it is priceless.

“Why do you still wear that?” you ask, shutting your laptop and placing it on the coffee table.

Dieter looks up from the bracelet. “Because it’s one of my most prized possessions, that’s why. You gave it to me.”

It had been a bit of a gag gift. When you first met, you’d talked about how difficult it was to make friends as an adult. “As a kid,” you’d said, “it’s so easy to make friends. You find someone that you share the same interests in and make friendship bracelets for each other. Boom, bang. Friends. It’s kind of hard to give a friendship bracelet to an adult.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dieter had countered. “If someone gave me a friendship bracelet now, I’d know for sure that we were friends.”

A few months had gone by, you’d forgotten about the conversation until you were out and about and saw them for sale at a vendors’ sale. You’d gotten one for Dieter and given it to him as a belated birthday gift.

That had been four years ago.

“You’re my friend, babe. My best friend,” Dieter says now, licking his lips, bracing himself for something. “But… it’s more than that now, isn’t it?” he asks.

You think you might be going into cardiac arrest. “Um… what?” you ask.

“You know what, honey. I know what, too. I think we both know what’s really happening between us.”

Weakly, not even believing it yourself, you say, “We’re just friends, Dieter.”

Dieter shakes his head, moving closer to you on the sofa. “We’re not just friends and you know it.”

You’re about to say something, but you’re cut off by Dieter’s mouth pressing against yours. You must be dreaming. He swallows the gasp that you let out before you respond to his frankly yearning kiss. Something that you, and evidently he, has wanted for a very long time.

“Dieter,” you whisper when he eventually breaks the kiss for a breath. “Are you–are you saying what I think you are?”

Dieter kisses you again, more sweetly this time around. “I like you,” he murmurs. “And I don’t think friends kiss like that.”

He pulls away from you for a minute, giving you space. You don’t want space. You want him on you. In you. You grasp the collar of his soft, worn-in t-shirt and pull him back, meeting his lips in a kiss that tells him just exactly what you think of his confession.

Dieter pulls you into his lap. You can feel just how much he wants you. The effect you’re having on his body. You would say it’s too soon, but this has been in the making for four years at this point.

Your hands scrabble at his shirt. His hands go up under your shirt, his fingers roaming your back around where your bra should be. His eyes widen when he realizes that you’re not wearing one. “That’s no fair, taking off the bra is one of the best parts about foreplay,” he whines against your neck in between kisses, nibbles, and grazes of his teeth.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you reply, your hand roaming southward. Dieter hisses when your hand makes contact.

There’s no way you can have sex on the couch. You could, but as Dieter says when he takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom, “there is a perfectly good, perfectly large bed that we haven’t been putting to proper use.”

Which is how you find yourself spread out on the king-sized bed, Dieter on top of you. His pupils are blown with want for you. He can’t believe this is really happening. Neither can you. His shirt is off. His perpetually rumpled hair is an absolute mess. Your lips are beginning to swell, your soaked underwear a testament to how much you want this man. You almost laugh at yourself for being so incredibly stupid for not seeing or acting on this sooner.

Dieter’s deft fingers pull away your leggings and your panties in one fell swoop, grinning when you’re laid bare for him. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful.” One of his fingers makes his way inside and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head in sheer ecstasy. How is your body going to react when it’s—? You don’t have a chance to finish that thought because he adds another finger. His mouth hovers around your thighs, his lips almost pressing but just barely. You’re already anticipating the beard burn later. And then, after several minutes of teasing, his mouth presses down on you, right where you want it to and you nearly die of pleasure.

Not that you’d ever really given it much thought, but it makes perfect sense that Dieter is a generous lover. He’s been nothing but generous the entire time you’ve known him.

He grunts in satisfaction, his words muffled to the point that you can’t understand them, let alone process what he’s saying. Of course he runs his mouth during sex, even when it can’t be understood.

When he comes up once he’s satisfied with your own satisfaction, he rests his head against your chest. “I feel like this isn’t fair,” you murmur once you find your voice.

He gives a worried frown. “What isn’t fair?”

You gesture to yourself and to him. “I’m naked and you’re still wearing your jammie pants. I feel like there’s an unfairness to this.”

Dieter’s eyes glint. His smile is so bright it’s like he’s being lit from the inside. “All in good time. I’m just letting you catch your breath.”

Sure enough, within a few minutes, even if he doesn’t give you a lot of time, you’re helping him take his pants off, suddenly eternally grateful that there are condoms in the bedside drawers courtesy of the hotel.

Dieter pushes inside of you, biting down gently on your shoulder, and then he starts to move and holy shit, you think you might just die from how good it feels.

“Take what you need,” he gasps between thrusts. “My pretty girl. Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking pretty,” he continues to mutter.

The two of you don’t last long. The only sounds in the room are the slapping of your hips, gasps and grunts and sighs of pleasure, and skin on skin. You suck marks into his neck, not giving a shit at all that his makeup artist is going to have to cover them up tomorrow morning.

“Dieter, I–I–I think I’m close.” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in even more. Hips stutter against each other as Dieter’s movements become less pronounced.

You cry out, burying your face in the crook of his neck, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck as you reach that peak that you created together at the same time as Dieter does.

Sweat-glistened and delightfully sore, you start to laugh.

“What’s so funny, beautiful?” asks Dieter.

“We are such dumbasses for not doing this sooner.” You don’t say anything else, not daring to jinx it. Tonight feels impossible, like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.

Dieter strokes your shoulder, a teasing glint in his eye that you can’t see. “Oh, don’t worry about that, baby. I fully intend on making up for lost time.”

- - - -

The alarm goes off far too soon. You are warm, safe in Dieter’s arms. If it weren’t from the ache between your legs, you’d say that the events of last night — and twice again in the early hours of the morning—were a dream. You moan in protest and bury your face in his chest

“Baby,” Dieter groans. “I gotta get up.”

You tilt your head up, meeting his lips in a sleepy kiss. He sighs into it. “I gotta go, babe. But I’ll see you at the wrap party. There’s something that I gotta talk to you about.”

The old Dieter would have just assumed that you were together after having sex. You deserve more than that. He wants to ask you properly to be his girlfriend, wants to ask you out on a date that’s actually a date. Preferably while you’re still here in France, the most romantic country in the world. Not much can top that for a first official date.

You’re still too sleepy to respond with more than a, “Mmmkay.” Dieter kisses you again and then, very begrudgingly, gets up for the last day of filming.

Kate notices his hickies almost immediately. She narrows her eyes. “Hmmm,” she mutters to herself. Dieter’s still caught up from last night and what happened that he neither notices nor cares, too excited at the prospect of asking you to be his girlfriend properly.

You spend most of the day doing final preparations for the wrap party, smiling every time you think about last night. You hope whatever Dieter wants to talk to you about is good news.

Filming wraps early in the afternoon. You’re out doing errands when Dieter returns to the hotel to take a nap, shower, and change. You left a little note for him on the pillow telling him that you will see him this evening.

The party is in full swing when Dieter arrives. You’ve done such a good job of organizing it, not that he doubted you for a second. He sees you at the buffet table. You excuse yourself from the conversation, heading towards the washroom. Before he can follow you, he’s intercepted.

Kate stands in front of him. She’s wearing a glittering black dress and a look of determination.

“Kate,” he greets politely. “How are you?”

Kate skips the niceties. “Dieter, I’m tired of being subtle, I guess you prefer more upfront than what I’ve been giving.”

Dieter’s insides twist with dread and discomfort. “Kate, I’m sorry if—”

She barrels over his unnecessary apology: “You’re cute, Dieter. I think we would look really great together.” That’s not presumptuous at all, Dieter thinks sarcastically. “So I think we should cut the bullshit. You didn’t need to make me jealous with those tacky hickies this morning. I say we just go for it, get to know each other outside of the makeup trailer.” Kate rests a hand on his arm, in an attempt to be seductive.

Dieter feels absolutely nothing. Removing her hand from his arm gently but firmly, he says, “I’m flattered. But I’m not interested. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, even though I’m pretty sure I’ve been clear from the beginning.”

Kate wasn’t expecting that. She blinks. “I see. So then, who gave you those?”

Dieter smiles and turns around to where you’ve returned. You look confused to see him with Kate. “See that beautiful woman right over there? She’s the one who planned all this. She’s also my best friend and the love of my life. She makes me so fucking happy. Happier than I probably have any right being. But that’s okay. I love her. You’re… a nice-looking girl, I’m sure you’ll make someone very happy. It’s just not me. Sorry,” he says, not sounding or feeling at all apologetic.

He leaves her standing there, gaping at the notion that someone would turn her down.

“Hey, baby,” Dieter greets you, kissing your forehead. “You did such a great job with this party, I’m so proud of you.”

You beam at him. “Thanks, Dee. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Dieter doesn’t think that’s true; you could do anything. “Um. What was that all about?” you ask, pointing over at who you’re pretty sure is the makeup artist, who’s now talking to one of the other cast members, a barely stifled look of incredulity and annoyance on her face. You’d been momentarily insecure when you came back from fixing your dress, that what Dieter wanted to tell you was that last night had been a one-time thing. But then Dieter looked at you like you were the sun and all your insecurities had melted away.

“Oh. That. I was telling her about you and how I’m in love with you.”

You have to blink a few times before a coy grin grows on your lips. “Is that all?” you ask.

Dieter grins, then turns serious, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s all I told her. But there’s more I want to tell you. I, um,” he clears his throat, “I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to make this a real thing. I know I’m not the best at this, but I want to make it work with you. I also want to take you on a date. A proper one where we both know it is one. What do you say?” he asks, heart in his throat.

You gaze at him wonderingly for a moment before you take his hand in yours, lean up and kiss him.

“Is—is that a yes?” Dieter asks nervously.

With a contagious smile, you nod. “Yes, Dieter. Yes.”

You kiss him again, beyond grateful that you were lucky enough to fall in love with your weird, beautiful, wonderful best friend. This isn’t a glitch, this is meant to be; you were always meant to be more than just friends and you couldn’t be more lucky that it’s with him.

The End

--- taglist in reblog.

#pedro pascal #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #my fic #my writing

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prolix-yuy · 2 years

Note

DARLING!! You deserve every follower and more- you and your blog are one of my fave things on our beloved hellsite. <3 <3

For my request, can I be vague? I would love any Pedro boy of your choosing with the topic Fear of Failure. Everything is your choice. If you want to talk specifics, message me <3

Congrats x

So this worked out perfectly, because @pedrito-friskito also requested Fear of Failure for SW!Frankie. While I'm writing her other prompt from her request, I still wanted to indulge in our favorite soft and feral boy. And who better to write that for than the most lovely Laura - you might have been one of the first people to scream at me about SW!Frankie and made me feel like part of this wonderful community. This one's for you, my dear, love you for always.

Flight Plan

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader "Ms Jackson"

Summary: Frankie takes a step in a good direction, and Ms Jackson has an important question.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, oral sex (m and f receiving), safe PiV sex, some thigh worship as a treat, little bit of subby!Frankie, some praise kink for our best boy, Frankie dealing with some self-worth issues, a bunch of soft angst with a lot more fluff to even it out.

Notes: Remember how I said I'd keep these requests under 2k for my sanity? How cute was that? Plus it's SW!Frankie my beloved, how can I not wax poetic on my love for him? This takes place after Rosalie, about ten months into their relationship.

Cross-posted on AO3

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Masterlist

“Hey babe.”

Frankie’s voice peeks in from your living room. Walking in, hands wrapped in a towel still damp from the sink, you give him a curious little look.

“Hmm?” you hum before seeing Frankie, hesitant with a stack of books on your coffee table. “What’s up?” you add, sitting down on the ottoman in front of him. He fiddles with his hands briefly, sweeping his fingers through matted locks and resettling his cap on his head.

“So I, um, I’m gonna start studying for my relicensure,” he says in a rush, like he’s been keeping it inside for so long his lips can’t contain it further.

“Frankie, that’s fantastic,” you squeal, throwing the towel to the side and scooting next to him on the couch, a bright smile following.

“Yeah, yeah I guess, it’s just…jeez, it’s a lot. I forgot how much reading and all I’d have to do.” He takes your hand and squeezes it briefly. “And I have to log flight hours, because I waited so long my previous hours don’t apply anymore. So I might be…really busy for a while.” He worries at the back of your hand, your smile softening.

“Hey.” You direct his attention from the books to your face. “I’m proud of you for doing this. You take all the time you need. Can I help with anything?” Frankie’s face breaks out into the beatific smile saved for very special occasions.

“God, I love you,” he says, pulling you in for a firm kiss. You smile against his mouth.

“I’m not quitting Will’s, or anything more than getting the license back,” he clarifies when he parts from your mouth. “I just…it’s a mistake I want to rectify. And maybe I’ll get a few more years of flying private before I’m grounded…”

“Whatever you want out of it, I’m happy you’re doing it,” you cut in, leaning into your boyfriend’s side as he squeezes you. “And don’t stress, we’ll be fine. You know where to find me.” Getting up to shut the house down for bed, Frankie darts his fingers into your back pocket and tugs you back into his arms, resting his head against your stomach.

“Right here,” he murmurs into your shirt, your fingers finding the soft sliver of skin and hair on the back of his neck.

“Right here,” you repeat fondly.

Frankie studying for his relicensure is much like how you’ve seen him engulfed in carpentry or changing the oil in his truck. He’s focused, laser-sharp. When he’s on a roll he’s fast and crazily accurate in his work and observations. You admit to yourself that if you ever saw him flying, that amazing brain and his trained body working in tandem, you might melt into a puddle of hormones. It’s all you can do to keep your hands off him when his brow is furrowed in a textbook or he’s making complex calculations look like third grade math problems.

Will makes Frankie’s schedule more flexible so he can log his flight hours early in the morning and work in the afternoon. The boys were equally enthusiastic about his endeavor, and while you assume they don’t want to embarrass Frankie you do catch them a few times with their hands on his shoulders, giving him low words of encouragement he blushes and blunders through.

“It’s gonna be good for him,” Santi says, sipping out the dregs of his beer next to you on the sports bar’s outdoor patio. “Flying’s the only time I’ve really seen Frankie out of his own head. It gives him…relief, I think. Calm in the focus it requires. I always felt safer with Frankie flying than anyone else.” Santi nudges your shoulder with his. “You’ll see. I’m sure he’ll take you up once he’s passed.” You huff a laugh.

“Seeing him like that…hmmm, might have to keep me strapped in the back,” you say nonchalantly, and Santi coughs on his final sip.

“Shit, I don’t want to hear that!” Santi whines, spinning around to shout at Frankie across the patio, “Fish, tell your girlfriend I don’t want to know what gets you going in the bedroom!” Frankie’s ears turn a cute shade of pink and you lightly punch Santi in the pec.

“Thought you had no secrets left after Pope’s,” you tease, Santi rolling his eyes.

“Ignorance is bliss, Ms J.”

With the studying and the flight hours, your time together does get compressed into smaller and more exhausted segments. Frankie’s up early sending you “good morning” texts before going to the airfield. He leaves work later in the evening too, and after the first few days of him going to his apartment to study you strongarm him into spending the nights with you.

“You’ll get a home cooked meal, you can use my office which is way better than your couch and coffee table, and I promise I’ll leave you to work,” you counted off, and Frankie found it hard to argue with your logic. He brought a duffel bag of clothes and necessities the next day. You already had a spot in your closet for him, and a drawer in your dresser cleaned out.

“Some might say you were waiting for me to stay longer than a few nights,” he joked, but you could tell from the way he stared too long at his clothes hanging next to yours that he didn’t mind the idea.

So you fell into a comfortable rhythm over the next several weeks. Early mornings, late afternoons and evenings, dinner together even if it’s rushed, then you do the dishes and watch some TV while Frankie pores over his textboots until you urge him into bed. He’s often passed out within minutes of touching the pillow, and the soft domesticity of just sharing a bed with someone you love makes a tiny spark of a plan crackle in your mind.

“It’s scheduled,” Frankie says before he’s even in the door.

“What?” you ask, distracted by the food cooking on the stove. Frankie’s panting a little bit, even though he’s only walked the few steps from his truck to your front door.

“The test. Next week,” he says, and realization brightens your features.

“Oh shit, wow, it’s almost here,” you say, but the moment you do you catch a flash of darkness across Frankie’s face.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s…shit, it’s really close,” he murmurs. Your heart sinks.

“You’re going to do great. Look at all of the work you’ve been putting in. I know you’re going to pass.” Despite your eagerness, Frankie is working through something in his head, something deeper than you have access to right now. “C’mon, let’s have dinner, you must be starving.” You lace your fingers with his and lead him to the dining table, dishing him out a plate as he sits down heavily.

It takes most of the meal for him to say anything, your voice filling the air with the events of your day, him following along with the appropriate noises of acknowledgement. As you’re cleaning the dishes, wrist-deep in soapy water, two thick arms circle your waist, Frankie’s head nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I’m scared I’ll fuck it up like I’ve done with all the good things I’ve had,” he says into your hair. You lean back against his solid chest, warmth seeping into your bones even as the vulnerability in Frankie’s voice pulls at your heart.

“You haven’t fucked up nearly as many things as you think,” you quip back, turning your face to press a kiss to his brow. Frankie hums noncommittally. “You haven’t fucked this up,” you say, stroking your sudsy fingers along the back of his arm. He inhales your scent deeply, burying his nose behind your ear. “Couldn’t do it if you tried. You’re stuck with me for the long haul,” you add as lightly as you can, but there’s a tremor in your voice that you try to play off. Frankie definitely notices, because in a moment he’s manhandling you away from the sink and spinning you around in his arms. Once he’s got you chest-to-chest, he backs you up to the counter and pins your hips with his own.

“Don’t I know it,” he rumbles into your jaw as he captures your parted lips in a heady kiss. You moan into his mouth, senses immediately ignited. Fanning his fingers against your cheek, he holds you steady as he laves his lips and tongue along your skin. “Don’t I love it,” he adds, grabbing the meat of your ass and lifting you swiftly up to sit on the counter. “Is this the longest we’ve gone without having sex?” he groans into your chest, mouthing at your collarbone as his thumb travels up your leg to the apex of your thighs. You chuckle breathlessly, weaving your fingers into his curls and tugging them gently.

“Didn’t want to distract you, but sweetie, you are so sexy when you’re concentrating,” you rasp out, a choked noise blooming against the pillowy flesh of your breast as Frankie leaves a soft bite on the top.

“Only one thing I want to concentrate on right now,” he mumbles as he moves back up to kiss you messily, full of need and promise. Then he wraps your legs around his waist and takes you to bed, and reminds you how excellent it is to not just sleep next to Frankie.

Watching the clock makes you anxious, so you decide to putter around in the garden and pluck some errant weeds while you wait for Frankie. His test is today, and as much as you wanted to be there to support him (even taking the day off), he asked you to stay home.

“I’m nervous enough as is. If I have to think about you waiting for me in the car it’ll just make it worse,” he said, and you couldn’t fault him for wanting space. “Plus I might need the drive to clear my head after everything. It’s a long day.” You hummed your acquiescence and stepped into his space, wrapping your arms around his soft waist and pressing your face into his chest. He smelled like fresh soap and warm laundry and the faint musk of nervous sweat. Immediately his arms were around you, taking his own breath of your hair, chest expanding under your cheek.

“You’ll call me if you need anything?” you asked, and he hummed in agreement. Pulling away you searched his face, creased with nerves but you could also see soft confidence behind it all.

“Kiss for luck?” you suggested, and his brief chuckle and bright smile preceded his mouth slotting to yours. You fit perfectly now, months of practice and care and love making a kiss always more than just a touching of lips. It’s an I believe in you, an I’m here for you, and I know you can do it. His mouth’s response is the same two words spoken over and over again: thank you.

That was hours ago, and the waiting is coming close to driving you insane. Deep down you knew he would pass, but the tiny kernel of fear that something would go wrong still lived in your stomach. Dirt and sunlight helped push it down for the time being.

You’re on your second bed, gloves abandoned so you could feel out the delicate roots of the infringing weed, when a slamming door startles you. Perking up out of the tomato plants, you listen. Footsteps are approaching, and quickly. Before you have a chance to stand the back screen door bursts open, and Frankie is practically leaping through it. He peers around before whipping his head to you, your head at waist level as you look up at him. You dare not react, waiting for what the next moment will bring.

Frankie smiles, and it’s sunshine after weeks of clouds.

“I did it,” he says breathlessly, and your own smile joins.

“You did it,” you gasp, and a wash of relief threatens to spring tears to your eyes. “I knew…” you start to say, but Frankie interrupts by barreling you over and flattening you against the grass, shrieking laughter following. He crushes you in his arms, letting out his own fit of relieved laughter. You wind your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, letting him settle between your legs.

“I’m so happy for you, Frankie,” you murmur into the top of his head, squeezing him tightly. He finally lets up his tight hold, planting both hands by your head to hover over you. His silhouette glows with the strength of the sun behind him, and he descends to kiss you slowly, languidly, parting your lips to dip his tongue into your mouth and slide it against your own. He takes his time, peppering kisses along your neck and chest before returning to claim your mouth again.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he husks, coming down on his elbows so he can stroke your temple and watch you with an adoration you don’t feel you deserve.

“You did all the hard work,” you joke, kissing his thick thumb as he swipes it over your mouth. Shrugging and quirking a lopsided smile, he cups the back of your neck.

“True, you definitely don’t know how to fly a helo,” he snarks, and you giggle and push at his shoulder. “But you did keep me fed, and rested, and supported. I needed that, and it helped a lot.” The world shrinks down to just you and Frankie, tangled up on your lawn with ants probably crawling on your clothes and dirt crammed under your fingernails. You fit together so completely you can barely remember the life you had before him.

“Screw it,” you say, taking his free hand and lacing your fingers together. “I was going to wait until after the celebration -” Frankie’s eyebrows shoot up at that, but you give him a ‘wait’ gesture so he holds his tongue. “- but I don’t want to wait another minute.” Frankie’s brow wrinkles, his thumb stroking against your skin absentmindedly.

“I want you to move in with me.”

Frankie’s first reaction is a quick laugh, his confusion morphing to surprise, then happiness that warms you all over.

“I…shit, babe, yeah. Yeah I really want to move in with you.” He drops his head to touch your foreheads together, gathering you back into his embrace. “Want to walk in that door and never leave again,” he murmurs close to your ear.

“Please do,” you whisper back. “Please never leave.”

“Never again.”

A quick text sent when Frankie finally lets you up brings the boys around for a much-needed celebration. Santi arrives first, carting a thirty rack of beer and a bottle of whiskey with a hasty bow tied around it. They talk low and warmly while you dump ice in a cooler and begin heating the backyard grill Frankie begged you to get. The idea of him out here during the summer, shirt sticking to his back as you watch him from a lawn chair, makes you smile secretly.

“Nice digs you got here, Ms Jackson, why don’t you ever host the shindigs?” Santi asks as he lopes over to greet you.

“Maybe we will now that Frankie’ll be here more,” you say with a sly smile. Santi’s face lights up.

“You’re kidding me? Fish is finally moving in?” You wink at him.

“I guess we’re in it for the long haul now,” you joke, and after a laugh from Santi he pulls you into a hug.

“I’m so glad for you both. Frankie loves you so much, and we love you too,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Love you too, Santi,” you say, crushed in his bracing hug.

Benny and Will come a half hour later, Will with the grill supplies and Benny with an aloe plant.

“For the housewarming. Santi texted,” he says, handing it to Frankie.

“You brought a fucking houseplant to a party?” Frankie asks with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s what you do when someone moves into a new place! You get them a plant!”

“I haven’t moved in yet, dipshit. Plus where the hell did you even get this?”

You sweep in and take the aloe plant from Frankie, placing it on a side table near the front window.

“It’s lovely, Benny, thank you,” you placate, ending the ribbing with hugs for both the Miller brothers.

“See, I told you,” Benny murmurs as you walk away stifling a laugh.

The day winds into an evening on your porch, string lights illuminating everyone’s faces with a soft orange glow. You contemplate your backyard and where you might be able to add a firepit of your own, maybe some adirondack chairs. Will joins you in leaning against the railing as Benny rapid-fires questions about the test at Frankie.

“You know, we could all get used to this,” Will says, waving his bottle at the scene around you. “Maybe we switch off weekends. Make Frankie cook for a change.” You nod and sip at your beer, the glow of good food and conversation lifting the blanket of anxiety the last few weeks laid over your shoulders.

“I’d like that. I think Frankie would too,” you say. Will’s stoic expression cracks and one of the lucky smiles you pull out of him comes to the surface.

“Good, because I’m tired of Benny saying he’ll do cleanup and then fucking off,” he faux grumbles. You shake your head as Santi balances a box of grocery store brownies over to the table and swats Frankie’s hand away when he tries to snag one first.

“I think a little mess is worth it for all this,” you reply thoughtfully. Will hums in agreement.

Santi, Will and Benny leave earlier than you thought they would, most barbecues ending late in the evening. Though you think it might have been the pointed stares you catch Frankie doling out that urges them to take their leave early.

You were just placing the last of the dishes in the sink when Frankie comes up behind you, tugging you away from the counter and scooping you up in his arms and towards the bedroom.

“Ohhh, so this is why you practically swept our friends out the door,” you whisper in his ear, nipping at the lobe playfully. He groans low in his throat before tossing you onto the bed, following quickly to pin your wrists above your head, hips slotted between your thighs.

“I don’t hear you complaining,” he teases, nosing down your jaw and neck before leaving a hot kiss at the base of your throat. “Been wanting to celebrate just the two of us for hours.”

“Could have celebrated before the boys got here,” you flirt back, wrapping your legs around his waist to feel his hardening cock against you. He buries a little moan in your chest as he licks underneath your neckline.

“Not enough time,” he murmurs, lifting back up to look you in the eyes. His pupils are blown out with need, lips parted and tongue peeking out to taste your salt on his skin. “I want to take my time ruining you in our bed, sweetheart.” The thrill of his emphasis on our makes you roll your hips against him. “Want to break this headboard so I can make you a new one,” he chuckles darkly.

“Soon,” you placate before rolling him onto his back, the oomf of surprise his only protest as you straddle his narrow hips and press down on his broad chest. “But tonight, I want you to lie back and enjoy yourself.” The rumble that reverberates through his chest tingles down your spine and into the cradle of your hips, making you grind against him again. “And to start, I’m going to undress you.”

Your fingers slide under Frankie’s band shirt, skimming along his soft stomach as he tenses below you. His smile twists into the playful wicked one he brings out when he’s letting you have your way but will take control back any minute. Hands kneading your thighs, he drinks in your visage as you tease his shirt over his head. When he tries to bring his hands back to your hips you press them beside his head.

“I said this was about you tonight, handsome,” you tut, draping your body along his thrumming one below you. Pinning his hands in the pillow, you kiss along his scruffy jawline, burying your nose in his wild curls and brushing your lips along the shell of his ear.

“You’re going to keep your hands here, and let me finish undressing you. Then I’m going to ride your gorgeous cock until you can’t stand it any longer and you cum hard for me.”

Frankie honest-to-goodness whines and the sound, so foreign coming from his throat, makes arousal pulse dangerously in your cunt. You’re so used to him driving the show, being the one in charge of your pleasure, that this reversal is making a heady sort of power go to your head. You roll your clothed core against his straining erection slowly, the friction eliciting a raspy gasp.

“Is that a yes, gorgeous boy?” you tease, and Frankie’s groaned yes makes you clench against his waiting cock. Sitting back up on his trim hips, Frankie does indeed keep his hands by his head, but grips the soft folds of the pillow. Another rock of your hips has him squeezing his eyes shut and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, and you’re absolutely soaked as he weakly thrusts up against you.

“Baby, you feel so good,” he croaks out, already wrecked and your slow progression kicks into overdrive. You swing your leg off his hips and quickly unbutton and unzip his jeans. Two taps to his hip has him lifting them so you can tug the denim down his tense thighs. Your mouth waters as he lays bare before you, eyes peeling back open to watch you with curiosity and lust.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful, taking charge. Love you like this,” he pants, the glistening head of his cock thumping against his stomach and leaving a wet stain below his bellybutton. The urge to claim Frankie, to feel him beneath your teeth and listen to more of those delicious sounds takes over. Leaning over, you sink your teeth gently into his thigh, lapping your tongue over the fast-disappearing grooves you leave.

“Oh shit, baby, fuck, fuck me, that feels so…” Frankie dissolves into another low groan as your mouth explores the oft-neglected flesh, hand wrapping around his cock to pump him slowly as you taste his skin. One particularly daring suck on his inner thigh, similar to the hickies he’s left between your legs, makes him shake and shudder so hard you store that spot away for later.

“Baby, baby, please let me feel you. Want to open you up for me, sweetheart, get you ready for my cock, god fuck baby, I’m so fucking hard, you’ve got me so goddamn hard for you,” Frankie starts to babble, hips rolling into the slow channel of your hand as your mouth skims along its path to the aching tip of his cock. When you look up at him, Frankie’s mouth is dropped open in silent amazement, eyes half-lidded and a sheen of sweat gathering at his throat. His arms are corded with tense muscles as he fists his hands beside his head, fabric creaking in his grip

“Good boy,” you croon, and the deep flush that brings to his complexion makes him even more beautiful. You smile sweetly up at him before sliding as much of his cock into your mouth as you can take.

“Ohhhhh fuck,” Frankie moans as you liberally coat him with your spit, dragging it down his length and suckling at his plush tip as he lets multilingual curses drip from his lips. You can feel his balls pulling up fast, his eyes rolling back at the speed his orgasm is approaching, and just as you sense him coming to the point of no return, his toes curling and back bowing, you grip the base of his cock and take your mouth off him.

Frankie’s vocalizations are barely short of a roar, rough gasps and growls as you stave off his orgasm. His eyes flick down to capture yours and oh, this is a side of Frankie you love. Roiling with sexual energy, desperate to rut and fuck and pound into your waiting cunt. You love that you’ve brought this side out all by yourself.

“Ready for me to fuck you, Francisco?” you purr, a very different fuck yes coming through clenched teeth this time. It takes all of a moment to straddle his hips again, fishing a condom out of the bedside drawing and rolling it on him with practiced ease before pumping his thick wet cock just at your entrance. There’s a brief flash of concern on his face, grip loosening in the blankets.

“Baby, let me get you ready for me,” he murmurs, a hand drifting down to your folds. Before he can touch you shoot him a stern look, halting his progress.

“Hands. By. Your head,” you order in staccato, waiting for him to comply. “As much as I love how thorough you are before giving me your fucking perfect cock…” You pause just long enough to seat his head inside you, your arousal and saliva slicking the way beautifully. “...I want to feel every inch of you stretch me out, Frankie. Want to feel so stuffed with you I can barely breathe. That okay with you, baby?” you ask. A third, weak yes is what begins your descent.

You thought it might be harder to take him, your cunt too tight around his thick length, but you’re practically dripping with arousal, and the stretch of him inside you is a blooming of pleasure. Shallowly fucking yourself, you finally engulf him fully in your heat.

“Oh fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck, shit baby, you’re so fucking tight, are you okay? Oh my god, I’m gonna…I’m barely inside and I’m gonna…fuck, baby, you’re gonna have to get off, it’s too good, I’m gonna cum if you don’t…” Frankie begs, eyes scrunched shut and mouth hanging open as he pants and squirms between your thighs. You’ve never felt so beautiful and powerful than this moment, Frankie pleading beneath you as you hold his pleasure in the palm of your hand.

“Francisco,” you coo, pressing down harder on his hips to pin him to the mattress. “You’re going to have to wait until I tell you to cum. I’m going to have my fill of you first.” His shuddering breath lets you know he’s trying his best. When he finally opens his eyes and looks at you, your wicked smile shoots his eyebrows into his curls.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps before you start fucking him in earnest.

You’ve ridden Frankie’s cock many times before, but he always likes to hold your hips, your waist, fondle your thighs and breasts as he thrusts up into you, giving you a modicum of control before wrecking you from below. Now, he’s shaking and writhing in waves of pleasure as you give and take in equal measures. His head drags past that perfect soft spot inside you, your fingers itching to rub your clit but intent on making Frankie fall apart first. He’s so close, neck straining as he simultaneously chases his peak and staves it off, his eyes questioning and locked on your lips. The flex of his stomach, the bulge of his biceps, veins standing out on his hands as he holds on for dear life, all make you rush to give him what he wants. You could never deny Frankie for long.

“You want to cum gorgeous?” you pant, the exertion beginning to burn in your thighs but the buttery wetness too addicting to stop.

“Please, baby, I want…” Frankie moans, a deep grind inside your cunt knocking the words from his mouth. “Please, please, please baby.”

Your heart swells, dropping down to lick into Frankie’s mouth as he chases your kiss hungrily.

“You can cum, baby, been such a good boy for me,” you whisper. Frankie moans into your mouth and pistons his hips up and into the sucking clutch of your cunt. It knocks the air out of you, arching your back and slamming back against him to drive him deeper.

“Baby please, want to cum with you on my tongue. Climb up, climb up, climb up,” Frankie growls, hands finally releasing from the pillow and wrapping around your thighs. With a grunt he pushes you up his chest as he slides down until his mouth is devouring your cunt.

“Frankie, shit baby, wanted you to cum inside,” you try to say, but he’s sucking at the wet mess of your folds and lashing his tongue against your clit so fast you can’t help but rock on his face. One hand releases your thigh and you hear the elastic snap of the condom being ripped off. The slick sounds of him stripping his cock behind you pulls your orgasm to the surface, Frankie’s own so close behind you can almost taste it as sharply as he’s tasting you.

“Cum on my face, sweetheart, need it,” Frankie growls between your legs, wild brown eyes and a flash of teeth all you can see before he sucks your clit into his plush mouth and tongues messy thick patterns that pull you over the edge.

You’re vaguely aware of Frankie’s own moans, the wet spurt of cum painting your ass and lower back. Miraculously, your hands find the headboard so you don’t crush him as you rock and shudder on his waiting mouth. When you can open your eyes again, Frankie’s head is tossed back on the pillow, hands splayed on your thighs and squeezing the soft flesh between his fingers.

“Fuck, that was so good baby,” Frankie rasps, torso rolling underneath you as he flips you on your back. You go willingly, limbs only able to flop gracelessly to the mattress as Frankie crawls up to your level.

“We’re celebrating, aren’t we? Had to make it special,” you chuckle as Frankie drags you into his arms, yours and his cum making you sticky in the sheets. You’ll have to change them tomorrow.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a moment with you that wasn’t special,” Frankie murmurs, cupping your cheek and softly kissing you, the taste of you still bright on his tongue.

“Oooh, that was smooth,” you huff, but it barely stops the soft exchange of lips and breath.

“Better get used to it, I’m going to be around a lot more now,” Frankie teases. His smile betrays how happy that makes him. “Anything I should know before we’re officially roommates?” You roll your eyes, curling one of his brown locks around your fingers.

“Wednesdays are my show nights, and you are not allowed to change the channel,” you say sternly, the twinkle of mischief glistening in his eyes. “There is always a pint of ice cream in the back of the freezer. And,” you say, snuggling in closer to his expanse of warm, soft skin that always belonged in this bed with you, “I want you to kiss me good night and good morning.”

Frankie’s gaze softens, stroking the apple of your cheek with his thumb as your eyes pull shut.

“I can do that.”

END

The story continues in Callback

#francisco morales x f!reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales x f reader #catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction #lj's 500 follower celebration #sw!frankie #prolix fics

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freesia-writes · 1 year

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Hello lovely. I know you mentioned this on someone else's post, but I do like the idea with Gregor. Reader is a heavy person and self-conscious of being carried, picked up, or sitting on his lap, but of course he wants to do these things and help them feel better about it. Would you be willing to grace us with such a story?

Well gosh, how could I resist that? Since I’ve been trundling in circles on the Howzer fic, let’s indulge in another lovely little date with Gregor… I’m just going to make this a continuation of the last one (read it here)!

These are getting longer! LOL. Word count: 2,775 Content Warnings: None Just a sexy GIF to start it off with a reminder of his prowess. ;)

You were thrilled when Gregor asked you out again; he had sounded enthusiastic about it at the end of your first date but you had been let down before… Ghosted, turned down, given a variety of excuses. Sometimes the world was not kind. But today it seemed that fortune was smiling upon you, as you found yourself getting ready for another adventure with the ex-commando who was making a new life for himself after enduring enough trauma for a lifetime.

It’s an uncharacteristically cloudy day on the island, and while it’s still relatively warm, the sea breeze has a distinct chill to it -- a stark contrast to the balmy usual. You don’t want to admit it, but you feel slightly relieved at the opportunity to bundle up a bit. Your warm clothes have been stuffed in the back of your closet for ages, and the weather is a welcome excuse to wrap your favorite soft sweater around you. You fuss in the mirror for a moment, but not nearly as long as usual -- Gregor’s unabashed delight with life had been disarming in a way, and you feel less worried at the thought of letting him see more of the real you.

A knock at the door nearly gives you a heart attack, even though you’ve been eagerly awaiting it all day, and you rush to open it as quickly as you can. There he is, tall and bright, a radiant beam of joy on a cloudy day, wearing the simple blacks of an off-duty soldier. He’s insisted that today be a surprise for you, and you struggle to be okay with that… It’s always nicer to feel prepared. But somehow his mere presence puts you at ease, and you open your arms sheepishly, inviting a hug, which he immediately and happily accepts, enveloping you in a boisterous squeeze.

“Hard to believe this day will only get better from here!” Gregor declares cheerfully, releasing you with as much enthusiasm as he grabbed you with. “Are you ready for a little adventure?”

“I feel wildly ill-prepared, but if I look acceptable, I’m ready to go!” You didn’t necessarily mean acceptable as in good enough, but as in wearing the right items for whatever he had planned. Although the insecurity began to creep in at the thought of your appearance overall…

“You look as beautiful as the twisted light of the sun shining over the Void on Abafar,” he says conspiratorially, piquing one of those sharp eyebrows to add a dramatic flourish.

“I don’t know what any of that is, but sunlight is usually good right?” you admit, laughing in a bit of relief.

“Yes, good good, all good!” he replies in a singsong voice. “Now, if you will join me, my lady?” He offers an arm, which you take with a smile, and he escorts you from your doorstep down to the winding paths that lead throughout the village. He keeps the conversation light, asking about recent events, commenting on the unusual cloudy weather, and gleefully pointing out random things he sees. You’re enamored with his apparent zest for life and find yourself swept along with his ability to delight in things that most others would overlook as mundane.

Your walk takes you to the edge of the village, to a bus stop precisely, and you give him a quizzical look as he grins back at you. Holding up two tickets, he heads for the nearest “bus”, which could barely be called that, as it’s the tiniest commercial vehicle you’ve ever laid eyes on. It looks more like a slightly shrunken van, with an aisle down the middle and bench seats that could hold maybe 8 people comfortably. But there are a great deal more than that gathered outside, and as everyone files on ahead of you, the rising sense of anxiety takes center stage. The two of you climb up the small stairs, laying eyes on the single remaining seat -- the end of the bench at the very front. One seat… for both of you.

Always the gentleman, Gregor beckons for you to take the seat, opting to stand next to you with his hand on the back of the headrest. The bus doors close and the driver starts the engine, peering in the rear view mirror. People are piled up in every nook and cranny; the concept of one person per seat is nonexistent, and no one seems to have an issue with it. So you try to relax and “do as the locals do”.

“Everyone has to be seated,” the driver calls out sternly, staring pointedly at Gregor.

“Ah! Umm, okay! Well… let’s see here, then…” he blusters, looking around for any option. You try to squeeze closer to the man you’re sharing the seat with, but it’s barely big enough for the two of you. Neither of you is petite in size, something you’ve been self-conscious about for ages. You rise to your feet next to Gregor.

“It’s okay! We can take the next bus, perhaps?” you suggest optimistically.

“Not with the way I’ve got things timed out, I’m afraid,” Gregor says with a frown, pausing for a moment before his face lights up, “Aha! But I’ve got just the solution, and I do hope you won’t think me too forward for it…” He plops onto the seat you were just in, patting his lap with a proud grin. “I mean, it’s strictly out of necessity, you see!” he says brightly, perceiving your sudden discomfort and making every attempt to reassure you that he’s not a pervert.

“Oh, no, I mean, it’s okay… It’s just…” you babble, frantically trying to find any kind of reasonable explanation other than the truth.

“Go ahead, lady! We need to get rolling. I don’t care where everyone is, as long as everyone’s sitting!” the driver calls, tapping his hand on the steering wheel impatiently.

The pressure only makes it worse, and you finally speak up in a panicked whisper, leaning close to Gregor’s ear “I think I’m too heavy for that.”

A thoroughly bewildered expression washes over his face before being quickly followed by understanding and compassion, the progression of which warms your heart despite the thoroughly anxiety-inducing situation. But his words go a step further, as he gently but firmly assures the driver that he can wait a kriffing minute.

“I was a clone commando of the Grand Army of the Republic. I assure you, I have been smashed and wrestled and crushed by every combination of human, droid, and alien. You, my dear, are nothing more than an absolute delight, if you feel comfortable. If you don’t, we can find something else to do, no problem! But I was rather looking forward to holding you tight -- these roads can be quite bumpy, you know!”

His ability to be so incredibly earnest and yet somehow keep it light and pressure-free invites relief to crash over you like a wave from the sea. You still don’t believe him fully, but his enthusiasm and entreaty is impossible to resist. Tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder, you lower yourself slowly to sit on his lap, legs dangling off the side into the aisle, and he wraps his arm around your back for support. The other hand is tenderly laid on your knees, and with a giggle and a grin, he looks at you as though you’ve made him the happiest man alive.

“Lovely! Ready when you are, driver!” he chirps, and the disgruntled little man puts the van in gear, rolling down the dirt road along the mountain ridge. Gregor gives your knee a reassuring pat, leaning in close to chat more privately, “I’m no poet when it comes to stuff like this, but I do hope you’ll believe me… You have nothing to worry about.”

His apparent honesty and genuine joy allow you to relax more fully, and you wrap both arms around his neck, leaning against his sturdy chest as the van tips and turns around the precarious curves of the road. Gregor moves his hand from your knees to your waist, holding you gently yet firmly against him. He’s solid as a rock, and you thank the Maker for the opportunity to feel his muscular build pressed against your side. His demeanor doesn’t match the traditional “war hero” type, but you’re reminded (and grateful) that he is as strong as he is kind.

The road weaves its way into a valley, where a more lush landscape rises below the stark, rocky mountains above, and the bus comes to a shuddering halt. You could have sat there forever on his lap, listening to his stories and finding other ways to occupy the time, but everyone is unceremoniously shooed off the vehicle as quickly as possible. As the passengers scatter to their various destinations (of which there are not many, as this part of the island was much less inhabited), you look to Gregor for guidance. Taking your hand with a warm smile, sending a shooting burst of tingles up your spine, he points to the forest.

“I’ve found a pretty little spot for you,” he said, “That I think you’ll particularly enjoy at sunset… Although the clouds may have foiled my plan a bit for today!” He shrugs, the smile never leaving his face, and the two of you set off, hand in hand. The forest seems to lead toward an edge of the island, sitting slightly above sea level, and as the foliage grows more dense and tiny creeks appear more frequently, your pace is slowed by the extra caution needed to avoid breaking an ankle or falling into mud. The first time you trip is easy to recover from, with a light laugh and self-effacing comment, but the second and third times begin to be more embarrassing. Finally, when you plant your right foot squarely in some deep mud, you feel some of the delight wearing off.

“I’m sorry,” you admit, feeling the self-judgment rising within, “I’m not usually such a mess.”

“Well, forgive me in advance then,” Gregor reassures, giving a roguish wink, “Because I am often a mess.” Without another word, he gently pulls your foot free from the mud, then, while still bending over, scoops you into his arms and rises to stand straight. Your complete and utter shock holds back the waterfall of self-conscious fears and hesitations, and before your brain has time to catch up, he’s continuing down the path, arms under your knees and back, carrying you as effortlessly as you could imagine.

“Oh!” he says suddenly, letting out a nervous giggle as he stops walking but keeps you in his arms, “I’m sorry! Is this uncomfortable for you?” The concern on his face is heart-melting, and the clear lack of any physical struggle on his part has thoroughly assuaged your fears.

“No…” you say softly, lifting the arm closest to him to wrap it around his shoulders, allowing you to rest your head against the top of his chest. “I mean, it should be… But it’s not?”

“Should be?” he asks, “Ah, I don’t know all the nuances with this sort of thing; I shouldn’t even ask! Am I just making it worse?” he says bashfully. His thorough cluelessness and genuine desire to care for you as best he can provokes a level of vulnerability you didn’t think yourself capable of, at least not on a second date.

“Look… I’m self-conscious about my weight,” you say, picking your head up to look at him fully, “And I know people come in all shapes and sizes, but you always see the cheesy romance flicks on the holo featuring all these tiny little women who are carried off into the sunset by big strong men. I never see someone that looks like me, much less someone that looks like me who is also being thrown around like she weighs nothing. It’s all silly, I know… but it’s just been part of my life for a long time.”

Gregor stays silent for a moment, his usual enthusiasm curbed a bit by his understanding of the depth of the situation. It’s clear that he’s searching for the right words to say, and you wonder if you were too honest. Finally, he speaks, “I wish I had the perfect words to say, but may I just point out that I am, in fact, carrying you into the sunset, and having a delightful time doing so? And I hope you are as well?”

You smile, feeling a blush rise on your cheeks. This is not the conversation you had anticipated having tonight, but the unconditional optimism and affection from him is incredibly meaningful and disarming. Taking a deep breath, you settle the qualms, choosing to accept his words and actions. “It’s been an unexpectedly fun adventure so far,” you admit, and his gleeful giggle as he continues walking makes your heart soar.

A few minutes later, the trees give way to a small clearing on the side of a cliff, overlooking the curve of the island where it meets the sunset. The thick layer of clouds fights the golden rays of the sun with an oppressively bluish-gray haze, creating a beautiful contrast of warm and cool. Gregor gently puts you down on the grassy ground, pointing to a picnic basket and blanket that has been set out in the clearing. Your face lights up as you see a fastidiously-laid assortment of snacks, drinks, and some particularly indulgent-looking treats, and you look back to him in awe.

“I thought we could do without the judgmental waiter this time,” he admits, with a little waggle of the eyebrows.

“It’s amazing!” you laugh, tentatively finding a seat on the blanket. Gregor tucks in next to you, folding his legs to the side so he can lean a little closer to you. The conversation drifts to lighter topics once again as you watch the sun surrender to the horizon and the clouds take over in dreary gloom. It feels as though you’ve known him your whole life, which is an odd thing to say for someone you’ve met twice, but his attitude of nonjudgmental openness and unstoppable optimism is inviting in a way you’ve never experienced.

Finishing the last bit of drink in your glass, you set it in the basket off to the side, glancing up at his sharp profile as he considers the darkening sky. The hint of a smile permanently curves the corner of his lips, disappearing only when replaced by a stern, reflective, or indignant expression. You reach a hand up to his cheek, giving it a gentle caress that breaks him out of his quiet reverie. His face brightens, turning to you in eager connection, and he raises an eyebrow at the sudden intensity in your eyes as you return your hand to your lap.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quiet with emotion.

“Of course! It wasn’t quite the sunset I’d imagined, but the best view is right here anyway,” he says with a chuckle at his own cheesy quip.

“Ha, well this is lovely too… But I meant to thank you for… I don’t know… making me feel…” you falter, looking down and searching for words that don’t sound so pathetic, but realizing that’s your own judgmental self-criticism coming through. Taking one more deep breath, you return your gaze to his eyes with a smile and a defeated shrug.

The right words seem to be eluding both of you today, but he is unbothered by the fact, instead opting to reach down and give your hand a squeeze while speaking. “I enjoy every minute with you,” he says simply, nodding to emphasize his admission. “Now… what was that you said earlier about wanting to be thrown around?”

You burst into laughter, giving his chest a playful slap, though it sends a tingle through your insides that you can’t deny. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, grinning irresistibly, and he joins you with that endearing giggle of his own.

“Let’s head back before it gets too cold,” he suggests, “And this time, I’ll fight for two seats on the bus.”

“Ehh… It’s not the worst thing if we end up with only one…” you say, now raising your eyebrow at him and earning not only a little chuckle but also a delighted little “ooh!” from him.

You can see this going quite well.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

APPARENTLY I NEED MORE REQUESTS FOR GREGOR DATES, as I can see this being a whole adorable series. ;)

#tbb gregor #gregor fic #gregor fanfic #captain gregor #gregor #captain gregor x reader #gregor x you #gregor x reader

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septembersummer · 2 years

Text

warmth

!! 18+ only; minors DNI !!

summary: Nanami is an alpha, and he's the very best at self restraint. You're an omega, and you need someone to look after you while you're in heat. I wonder what could go wrong here.

pairing: nanami x you

word count: 3.5k

cw: omegaverse, alphas, omegas, going into heat, triggering ruts, degradation, rough s*x

an's: my first ever nanami fic where he actually gets justice. he deserves this for real

links: wheel of fortune (ao3)

my long fics are all posted on ao3, so if you like my writing pls support me there :)

Nanami is not a cold man.

He might seem like it on the outside, because he has too much going on inside of his head to really show his warmth to other people, not that there was much warmth there to start with. But it is there.

For example, you know that he’s much more empathetic than Gojo, who tries his best, but it doesn’t come naturally to him the way that it comes to Nanami. Most of the people in this job become cold and brittle with time, as the deaths of their friends and the grim existence of curses eat away at their warmth until there’s nothing left but a husk. Cold, brittle, alone.

And Nanami, despite how hard he might try to convince you otherwise, is not cold nor brittle. That’s why you chose him to watch over you during this upcoming… sensitive time.

It happens every month or so, yours aren’t as regular as other omegas you know. Yours tends to hit you hard and fast, and it isn’t as predictable as your friends’ heats. Last month, for example, you were in the middle of a mission out in the field when you felt the familiar creeping of warmth up the back of your spine. It lingers in the pit of your stomach, ignites your skin inch by inch. Slowly, surely, it overtakes you– once a month, every month. Rinse and repeat. You go from a dignified woman who does an incredibly dangerous job which requires excellent physical prowess and mental stability to a mind-broken, lustful creature that wants nothing more than to gather all of her favorite things in her bed and get fucked until it’s over.

You want to mate. Like an animal.

It’s always made you sick. You’re one of the omegas who desperately wishes she were born an alpha, or even a beta. Alphas are easily tempted and often over-indulgent when they smell an omega, but at least they can live without fear of being taken advantage of when their rut hits. There’s no instances of omegas assaulting alphas when they’re in rut.

Beta would probably be best, though. No heat, no rut, no urges to be bred like a wild beast or to breed like a wild beast. They live life simply and quietly, and they marry each other with ease.

Alas, you are no alpha, and you are no beta, which is why you lay in bed this evening with four blankets, six pillows, three sweatshirts, and two pairs of sweatpants. The numbers are precise and exact, no more and no less. You’ve arranged them three times, you’ll do it again.

The heat is tingling at the base of your neck already. You move to wipe a bit of sweat that’s just starting to gather at your brow, and you know that you’re starting to smell. You’ve heard that the smell of an omega who’s about to go into heat is sickly sweet, saccharine, like fresh peaches or cotton candy or cinnamon rolls.

You know that Gojo often sees an omega who smells a lot like milk chocolate and espresso when she goes into heat.

“Her pussy tastes sorta like whipped cream– drives me crazy–”

“You’re so fucking gross.” Nanami snickered when you said that a few days ago, which led you into the conversation about heats and ruts that led into another conversation, which led you here, locked in your bedroom with all of your favorite things, while Nanami keeps watch outside for the next few days.

He’s a man of great self-restraint, and he’s never taken an omega, by his own choice to do so. It’s probably because the job wouldn’t allow him to take a mate without incurring serious risk to the relationship. Alphas and omegas mate for life– he’s too responsible to risk that when he has a job with a fifty-something percent death rate.

The looming threat of death and despair doesn’t keep your heightening senses from picking up on his scent as it just barely wafts beneath the doorway to your bedroom, though. He smells masculine, sort of like eucalyptus and pine, woodsy and grounding. You knew that the scent of an alpha would drive you crazy at a time like this.

Dealing with that issue, however, is better than the alternative. When you’re in the thick of it, you’ll want any alpha. You’ll want them so fucking desperately that you’d claw the door down to get to one– anyone would do, anyone. Even terrible Gojo, who would fuck you through it and purposefully not mark you because he doesn’t want to mate.

Nanami, a man of some warmth and fantastic self-control won’t let you claw your way through the door and fuck the first alpha you smell, or the first that smells you. He’ll keep you safe, protect you, and he won’t burst through your bedroom door to bite you and breed you like an animal. He’s not an animal, he’s a gentleman, and he cares about you.

You think about the sort of protector that he is, you take several sets of deep breaths from your spot underneath the blankets in the center of your bed, and you clench your thighs together hard. He is protective, isn’t he? He’s taking care of you now, even though your scent must be driving him crazy out there. He’d take good care of you in the future, he’d take good care of you and the little blonde babies that he fucks into your wet cunt when you’re–

“Are you alright?” A voice startles you.

You can hear it through the rather thin piece of wood that separates you from the six foot tall alpha that stands on the other side of it.

“Y-Yeah,” you reply, shifting beneath the covers to fight the urge to slip your hand into the waistband of the sweats you’re wearing.

You’ll have to take them off soon. It’s becoming unbearable to be clothed, and it will only get worse as this progresses.

“Your scent changed,” he remarks, and you notice that his voice has taken on a thicker, more husky timbre tonight than it usually has, “are you afraid?”

He always speaks lowly with a hint of the rasp he’s gained from smoking cigarettes all these years. His voice never sounds bad, but tonight it’s…

You shiver, and you can hardly fight the urge to touch yourself anymore.

“Afraid of what?” You ask, moving to take your sweatpants off.

Your shirt goes with it, over your head and thrown into the floor where it belongs. It doesn’t have the right scent, nothing here does. You want something more masculine, something darker that you can bury your face into when you’re biting down on the sheets later trying to soothe the itch between your legs.

“Of me,” he replies, and the doorknob makes a soft clicking sound, as though he’s resting his hand on it while he talks to you.

It’s locked, because alphas are not bulletproof, not even self-controlled, quiet, kind Nanami. Instincts are one hell of a drug, and everyone is susceptible.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you respond, noticing that your own voice has taken on a more whiny, desperate tinge when you speak.

Normally you’re so controlled, standing tall and proud, but you’re reduced now. You’ll only be reduced further into the puddle of slick that you’re quickly becoming.

“Nanami?” You whimper out, before biting your lip and trying to control the sound of your breaths. They fall faster when you remember that there’s an alpha right there who could help you, who could make you feel better.

“Yes?” He responds.

The doorknob clicks again, you release a breathy moan at the mere prospect of him coming inside.

He won’t, he swore it. Even if you plead or cry, even if you get on your hands and knees at his feet and beg him to breed you, he won’t. He gave his word a week ago.

He’s never broken a promise, it’s a true sign of his empathetic nature. It won’t do you any good to go out and beg, but the urge grows with each breath.

“Can you give me one of your shirts?” You ask, negotiating with your desire, now fully naked and sinking deeper into the blankets that smell all wrong, so wrong.

There’s nothing right here. No amount of rearranging will fix what’s broken.

“I can’t open the door,” he says, and you can hear that his breaths are falling faster, too.

“Please,” you plead quietly, “just one–”

“I’m not opening the fucking door,” he responds roughly and harshly all at once, lashing out at you because his self-control is waning, it seems.

“Take your sleeping pills. Now.”

You’re stiff and still in the spot that you lay after hearing that command. The you that exists outside of your heat would’ve not responded well to such a harshly given demand, but she is no longer here with you. So, you do as told, and you take the pills that will hopefully help you sleep through the night.

If you aren’t getting fucked, you’ll need to sleep and drink water. You won’t have an appetite for food, but your body needs to rest as much as it can to recover from the energy that’s going into putting out pheromones for your mate. You know it, and you recite it to yourself, trying to hold onto what little sanity there is left.

They take effect after a few minutes, thankfully, but your body feels burning hot to the touch now, and you’re touching it more than you should. You fall asleep with your hand between your thighs, with slick dripping onto the mattress as you pump your fingers inside yourself over and over against your g-spot. Even if your sleep, you’re still pumping just faintly.

Nanami isn’t a cold man.

In fact, he’s fucking burning alive.

Standing outside your bedroom door, he can tell by your scent that you’ve fallen asleep now. He hasn’t moved since he last gave you the command to take your medicine, for fear of what his own body would do if he did.

Instead, he’s standing there with his fist clenched so hard around the feeble little door handle that he fears he might break it if his fingers tighten even slightly more than they are. He stares at his white knuckles, and he takes a deep breath that only makes this worse.

He swore to protect you while you’re going through this, but goddammit he wants to kick this too thin door down and fuck into you until you break.

Your scent is sweet, but not so sickly sweet that it disgusts Nanami. He’s been around omegas when they’re near their heat, and frankly he’s never been very tempted by them. The scent of slick has always been so sickeningly saccharine that it’s only disinterested and annoyed him. His vague indifference to the scent of omegas is the reason that he agreed to keep watch over you through your heat this month.

He didn’t know it would be like this. The others, they aren’t compelling nor particularly arousing to Nanami. He’s been lucky throughout his adulthood as an alpha to not be tempted by scents and flavors in the way that other alphas he knows are indulgent.

You, however…

Oh, you do smell sweet, but you smell soft and airy. Like warm vanilla with just a hint of citrus. It’s a natural musk, so it’s not like perfume or confections, but a combination of your natural pheromones and the ambrosial lure of your heat.

It’s still the first day, and he’s never felt so compelled to break through a door or a fucking wall to get to anything before.

For the first time in his life, he’s feeling something other than vague indifference shrouded by duty.

For the first time in his life, Nanami wants something . Desperately, painfully, he wants you, needs you.

He owns you. You wouldn’t have called him here if he didn’t, right? You wouldn’t have called him to protect you if you didn’t subconsciously know that you’re his omega, that you need him to take care of you, to keep you safe. He’s the only one that you trust to keep you safe during your heat.

You know that you’re his. You must.

He shakes his head and takes a deep breath, gripping the door handle harder now. Gripping harder, turning it even though the lock protests, trying to open it.

He swore that he wouldn’t do this. He promised. He never breaks a promise.

The door handle won’t budge

He just wants to see that you’re alright. That makes sense. He needs to protect you, he’s here to protect you. How can he keep you safe if he can’t even see you?

Or touch you.

The lock is tougher than it looks. It’s starting to make a screeching sound.

He can’t protect you if he can’t touch you.

Or fuck you.

Breed you.

Bite the little scent spot on your throat, show everyone that you chose him to protect you. Him, not Gojo, not a trusted friend. You made your choice. Everyone should see it, smell him on you, see the way that your stomach grows rounder when he impregnates you tonight.

It’s just about to break, his forearm clenches hard as he turns the lock almost past the point of no return. Soon, you’ll be his. You aren’t yet, but soon. Soon, the whole world will know what you’ve decided, what he’s decided.

He’s so focused on breaking the stupid, stupid little knob, that he doesn’t even notice when it unlocks on its own. His eyes have to adjust to the dark when the door opens easily, and he stumbles forward a step.

He stumbles forward, landing inches from you. His hand rests on your forearm, a subconscious movement to keep you from falling. His omega, no one else’s. He can’t let you get hurt.

If he weren’t forcibly going into his rut tonight, he’d feel your skin and know that you have a fever, but he has one, too.

If anything, you feel cold to the touch tonight, because Nanami is nothing frozen nor brittle, he’s burning magma against your skin when he pulls you into his arms, when his lips collide with yours in a kiss that’s barely a kiss, and more an angry meeting of tongue and teeth.

Animals don’t need to exchange words when they’re going to mate, and neither do the two of you. That’s all you are– animals when you break the buttons on his shirt apart to lick and kiss at his chest, his stomach, and animals again when he unfastens his belt and throws it across the room, and your feeble, cold fingers undo the buttons and zipper of his pants to tug them down.

“Spread your fucking legs,” he growls, as he crawls overtop of you, doing the movement for you with his large, calloused hands when you aren’t fast enough for him.

His cock aches and burns where its pressed against his stomach, leaking precum onto his skin that he’ll fuck into you soon enough.

“Please, please, please–” you beg, shivering and shaking beneath him as he thrusts two fingers into your pussy.“More,” he murmurs, as his dark eyes look into yours in the darkness.

Your scent is flooding his senses, his psyche. There are no coherent thoughts left in him, and none left in you. There’s nothing in the world tonight but two fingers much larger than yours pumping and thrusting inside of you, and the feeling of euphoria that’s almost good enough cascading over your shaking form like a tidal wave.

“Please, more, please– want your cock, need your cock, fuck– Nanami, please–” you moan, dragging your fingernails down his back in anticipation.

“Gonna mark you, gonna– fuck–” Nanami hisses and spasms, thrusting inside of your drenched cunt in one go.

He cums right then and there, with his first hard thrust into you. It throbs inside of you as you lock your legs around his hips to drag him deeper, further in. His teeth bite down on your shoulder, not quite marking you yet, but soon.

He pulls half out, the slickness of you is already spread along his stomach, and he’d like to bathe in it tonight. His cum starts to drip out of you, but it’s stopped when he thrusts inside again, again, again.

His teeth sink into your skin wherever they land, his hands grip your thighs so hard that they’ll leave bruises, there are no thoughts left in his mind other than fuck, and breed.

“You’re my omega,” he breathes against the bruise he’s just made with his teeth, “fuck, mine.”

He shivers in delight and relief. No one else can fuck you now. His scent is all over you, his seed is inside you. The primal part of his brain that needs to possess you isn’t anxious anymore, you’re where you belong.

You are his, every inch of your burning skin that meets his, and every inch that doesn’t. He lifts you up by your hips, holding your body weight up with his muscular forearms with ease to get a better angle to just fuck you in. The only sounds in the room are those of skin meeting skin, and your cries of yes and please and more and cum inside me.

He does just that, every single cry that you make is answered by his hips moving in tandem with yours. You’re cumming as often as you’re breathing, shivering, shaking, and panting beneath him, as he can’t decide whether to watch the swell of your tits bounce with the intensity of his thrusts, or the spot where your bodies are meeting.

Vanilla, citrus, and you– that’s all there is. He throws your ankles on top of his shoulders, bearing his weight down on top of your smaller body so that he can kiss you while he slams into you. “Na- na - mi–”

You cry out his name again and again like a mantra or a prayer. It is the best sound that’s ever graced his eardrums, he’s certain when he’s this deep inside of you that there’s no sweeter scent nor sound that could compare to yours.

He’ll take good care of you, he thinks about it when he moves inside of you, starting to draw close to release again. He feels the throbbing of blood moving absolutely nowhere but to his cock as he drives it inside of you, twitching and fucking his cum back into you before it can drip down between your asscheeks and stain the sheets even worse than they already are.

He won’t let you out of this mating press until the sun blots out and he dies, or until he fucks a baby so deep into you that you can’t remove it, can’t deny that it’s his and no one else’s. He needs to mark you, he’s fucking you but he needs to mark you.

He bites your lower lip when you continue to kiss him, before diving down to your neck while you’re screaming his name, and an orgasm washes over you. Your inner muscles tighten and constrict around him, and he presses more of his weight onto you until it must be hard to breathe. You’re tightening around him, sucking him into your pussy.

He can’t fight his urges, he can’t fight the burning heat within him for a second longer. His teeth sink into your throat right where your pheromones would come from, and you screech either from pain or pleasure, he doesn’t know.

He’s cumming inside of you again, biting harder when you try to move beneath him, causing a whimper of pain to erupt from you. Nanami tastes your body in his mouth while he gives you short, hard thrusts that bury his seed inside and keep it there.

He breathes a sigh of relief with his teeth still buried in your skin, holding your body up even higher at an angle so that his cum can’t escape you. You’re finally his, he doesn’t have to be cold and brittle, he can let his burning warmth seep into your body and stay there, and then he can breed you just like this again and again.

Everything is better here in his arms. You’re happy, safe, warm, marked by your mate. Nanami sleeps soundly next to you, and he deserves it after the three days he’s been awake in his claiming of you.

With your ass pressed against his abdomen, he’s still buried inside of you, still hard even in his sleep. He doesn’t mind the mess of cum that’s between both of your legs, and neither do you. His strong arms are wrapped around your waist, and your body is just starting to cool down.

When your sanity returns fully, maybe you’ll regret it. Maybe you’ll wish you hadn’t stumbled forward to your door in a haze of lust and desire. The stinging set of teeth marks on your neck and shoulders feel like marks of pride this morning, but you aren’t so sure about tomorrow.

You don’t have much time to think about it, as your mate thrusts into you from behind again, feverish and burning, ready for more.

#jjk fanfic #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jjk #jujutsu nanami #septembersummerao3 #nanami x you #nanami smut #lemon fic #lemon #18+ fanfic #omegaverse #heat and rut #jujutsu kaisen

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