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qwimchii · 7 months

Note

i was hoping to put forward a request, if that’s okay? 👉🏻👈🏻 angst (or hurt/comfort?) and smut with ghost? and i’m totally not projecting here but — reader has a hard time finishing, either by themselves or with someone? and when they’re with someone, they get so worried about taking too long and not being able to finish or even feeling good and they apologize for taking too long and it dissolves into them crying and apologizing more and mentioning how they think they’re broken and there’s something wrong with them and it kinda makes them think ghost will leave for someone else because that’s what everyone else has done and basically just ghost being soft and sweet and understanding and taking his time with reassurance and praise and yeah… gonna go hide now 🥲

𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯!𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘤 — 5k

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵/𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥…

note: omllllll!!!! 💞 i am so sorry for taking so long to write this request but this is so sweet and cute 😭 thank you sm for requesting!! ><

pt 2, pt 3

Simon Riley had been your boyfriend for maybe a month now. or maybe two weeks. or maybe three months, you decided finally, sipping your water with closed eyes, willing the frustrated bounce of your knee to settle.

of course, picking your head up and looking at the entrance of the restaurant one last time, that frustration redoubled, and you watched your knee bounce with a mind of its own.

setting the drink back on its coaster, you drew random patterns into the floral tablecloth with a pout. Simon had chosen this restaurant. Simon had initiated communication with you—mindblowing as it was—just last night when you were scrolling through instagram in bed.

the notification had ballooned over a post of an old friend from college traveling in europe, and immediately, you had squealed, pressing your phone to your chest to stop the race of your thrumming heart. you made yourself count out two minutes—at least two, before you responded.

— Dinner tmrw at the diner on 6th ave?

— sure!! good to hear from you :))

— what time??

— 7.

it was curt, it was short, it was sweet, but it gave you all the motivation you needed to power through the day and weasel your way into the diner, earlier to the occasion than usual. now, it was half past seven. now, you were playing with the tablecloth of the booth and feeling stupid and sorry for yourself.

stupid because you had sorely missed Simon since he went radio silent for over a month. sorry for yourself because you had thought you were at least close enough for him to text you beforehand.

definitively, you knew you had met the brit five months ago when he moved into the empty apartment adjacent to your own. he crowded every entrance he stood in, so massive and hulking when the elevator doors that you startled with a squeak, dropping the cardboard box and all the items scattering out over the carpet floor.

you had flushed with embarrassment, whole body heating up as you scrambled to stuff all the items back into the box with a string of apologies. he had dropped to your side without a word, putting back a pair of socks, your old band t-shirt from high school, and tennis shoes that had gone gray with discoloration. he hadn’t even bothered to one-over your personal items, but you were scrambling for an explanation anyway.

“donations for vets,” you said with nervous laughter. “i donate every year.”

“vets?” he reiterated, and you looked up into his face, eyeing the black surgical mask on his face carefully, brown eyes a murky kind of gray-ish beneath blonde eyebrows and his hood drawn up above that.

“mhmm,” you squeaked, suddenly wary of the stranger in front of you.

when he said nothing more, you asked him, “any veterans in the family?”

then he just stared at you and you blushed, feeling stupid for saying anything at all but—

“my grandfather,” he said slowly. “and my great grandfather.”

“nice,” you choked out, unsure what to say as you searched the carpet of the last of your remnants.

then, he added, “i’m in the military as well.”

just when you were about to bolt, intimidated by the sheer size of him and his eerie unfamiliar presence in your apartment complex, it was like he read your mind to introduce himself.

“Simon Riley. new neighbor.”

you nodded slowly, giving him your name back and edging your fingers under the cardboard box, heaving it up into your arms.

“nice to meet you,” you said, giving him a weak smile from over the top of the box. he tilted his head at you, eyes flitting from the box to you.

when a prolonged silence ensued, you turned on your heel and stepped toward the elevator before you jerked around again.

“thank you for your service,” you squeaked, scurrying toward the elevator and feeling awkward when he just watched you from the hallway. you waved as the doors closed, watching him slip his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

with one long look, he turned and prowled down the hallway.

that was five months ago. two months later, after endless awkward encounters of wordless greetings with him, the plumbing in your bathroom sink had exploded, flooding the floor in a puddle of water and spraying over the front of your white dress.

in a panic, you went to your next door neighbor Simon who opened the door upon your third set of rapid knocks.

you looked up to his massive form in the entrance, suddenly aware of how the front of your soaked dress had become sheer when you asked him to help you.

he helped. and then you asked him to get drinks at the bar around the corner as a thank you. then when that became a regular occurrence, things just got more confusing.

it felt exclusive. maybe. you thought it felt exclusive when a man approached you in the bar, gearing up for a casual conversation with a sly smirk, but Simon was always at your back in an instant, a large, warm hand on your waist and his words in your ear.

she’s taken.

your mind spun after the first time it happened. taken?

whirling around on your heel after the man left with a low grumble and scowl, Simon just blinked down at you from behind his surgical mask, squeezing your waist with both hands before he was sinking back down into his seat, hulking as he leaned over the bar.

when the same happened a few more times, you didn’t question it, thinking it was maybe just a perk of the friendship. he staves off a couple creepy men at the bar and you pay for drinks.

or at least that’s how you thought it worked until he started sliding his card across the counter to the bartender to claim the tab before you could even get a word out.

you were especially confused when he knocked at your apartment door one night. you opened it to find him void of the hoodie usually slung up and over his head, blonde hair hanging down his forehead, and a black shirt in its place. that’s when you saw the thick black ink winding down the tattoo sleeve of his arm, and your eyes darted over it with a blush, before you were inviting him in.

he had smelled something baking, he clarified, craning his neck into the kitchen. that made you giddy because you hadn’t taken him for someone nosy, but you entertained it nonetheless, assuming he just had an insatiable sweet tooth for cookies.

another part of you hoped he just had a sweet tooth for you.

then the baking became a regular occurrence. you’d bake him all sorts of sweets while he watched you from the little table in your kitchen, staring from behind that black mask of his while you prattled about your day and he took it all in silently. somewhere along the way, after so many nights of him chewing behind the mask, he ditched it completely, and you could watch him devour your brownies in a few bites without the annoying fabric in the way.

the new schedule had become very regular until it was baking night and he didn’t show up to your door. rolling the tenseness from your shoulders, you sent him a quick text, saying you would bring over the sweets in the morning to his apartment.

when he didn’t respond to that, a little nervous bubble of anxiety rooted in your chest. you found out from your landlord days later that Simon would be away for work, and that hurt more than you wanted it to. if he had taken the time to at least notify your landlord, he could’ve done the same for you… couldn’t he?

unless he didn’t think about you that way. but you were so sure—from the quick glances you shared, his gentle touches as he brushed past you in your kitchen, or the possessive grip on your waist at the bar, or just the way he was so relaxed around you meant something.

those were your thoughts that ran in circles as you sat at the diner booth. the waiter checked on your table every once and a while, sending you nervous glances ever since you said that you had a date… or a friend. or something like that.

you felt stupid for accepting Simon’s proposal so quickly, even after he had ghosted you for weeks. even then, you had dolled yourself up anyways, picking out the new dress you got last weekend and doing your hair and makeup. you buried your face in your hands, not looking up when you heard the chime of the diner opening.

when you heard a familiar, low and grating accent, your head snapped up to see Simon standing by the entrance and talking to the waiter, gesturing to you as the waiter just nodded.

Simon strode over to you, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and dressed in his military fatigues, half his face behind in a black surgical mask.

you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you when you reached your senses, heart soaring as you scrambled to stand. your hands twitched against the table when he stopped in front of you, dropping his duffle bag to the floor.

had he come straight from the airport? for you? you felt like your mind was spinning, but you forced it to still, desperately not wanting to jump to any strange conclusions…

swallowing down your thoughts, you said slowly, “it’s been a while.”

looking up into his murky brown eyes had never been so comforting.

“it has,” he affirmed, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides.

for a long moment, you both just stood there in silence, staring at each other and unsure what to do.

eyes darting down to his torso, you could feel the warmth of his body in the close proximity, and you felt so tempted to just touch him.

you outstretched a hand to brush over his clothing, and when he didn’t move away, you pressed your knuckles into his abdomen, amazed to feel him solid and real. then you wrapped yourself around his torso, giving him a tight hug, cheek pressed against his strong chest.

immediately, he engulfed you, squeezing you back.

“missed you,” you admitted, screwing your eyes shut.

you felt his nose press into the crown of your hair. “m’sorry m’late, love.”

“s’fine,” you sniffled, feeling stupid when tears pricked up in your eyes. when you pulled back, you swiped at them with the back of your hand, startled when he reached forward to brush his fingers across your wet cheeks, squishing the chub of your face lightly.

he looked at you with such a softness that you almost melted, feeling nervous because you had never seen him look at you like that before.

then, as you both slid into the booth, you chided him in between sniffles, “don’t do that to me again.”

don’t leave me in the dark again, was what you meant, and you knew he understood what you meant when he nodded curtly.

the dinner went smoothly. more than you could imagine. or maybe you were just overwhelmed with the exhausting joy that Simon was still just the same since before he left two months ago—lowly grunted non-verbal responses as he munched on a platter of fish and chips, stealing a couple of your fries after he devoured his plate at a startling pace, and some rumbles of half-sentences, leaning on his elbow as he watched you ramble with excitement and sip on your milkshake every now and then.

when you accidentally got a smidge of whipped cream on your nose, he reached across the table to wipe it off, cutting through your words mid-sentence. you thanked him with a blush, shifting over the booth, just blushing harder when your shoes knocked against his under the table.

leaving felt smooth too—walking back to the apartment complex just a couple blocks away. even in the darkness of the night, you felt safe tucked near his side, enjoying his presence so close to your side and feeling disappointed when you reached the hallway you shared in the apartment complex.

he stopped by your door and you fumbled with your dress, struggling for words.

“come inside,” you offered, though it sounded more like a plea. your eyes flitted from his face to the duffle bag on his shoulder, hands twisting into the fabric of your dress.

“i know you must be tired but—”

“m’not,” he assured, squaring his shoulders. you nodded dumbly.

“i can bake brownies?” you squeaked, and he blinked down at you.

“s’reason why i’m here, love.”

at that you blushed, opening the apartment and throwing your jacket on the couch, moving to rifle through the kitchen.

“it won’t take long i promise,” you called from behind the fridge door, snatching the butter and eggs from it.

closing the door to turn to the counter, you jolted when Simon materialized beside you, boots, mask, and the jacket of his fatigues off, reaching above you to open a cabinet. your eyes darted over the ink designs of his muscled arm.

“flour and sugar’s here, right?” he asked, and you squeaked a yes, ducking beneath his arm to put the butter and eggs on the counter before grabbing a mixing bowl and baking pan from a lower cabinet.

once all the necessary items were strewn across the counter, you measured out the dry ingredients, dumping them into the mixing bowl. beside you, Simon leaned back against the edge of the kitchen sink, arms crossed as he watched you.

you were hyper-aware of his presence, hands jittery, confused because he always sat at the kitchen table to watch you. he never got this close and personal, uncrossing his arms to slide a hand over the counter right by where your hip leaned against it.

from your peripheral, you glanced at him, finding him already staring down at you.

“can i help?” he asked, voice gruff, and you turned your head to stare at him in dismay. this was new. very new.

“sure,” you choked out, scooting over so he could help you measure out the ingredients. he filled the space easily, arm pressed against yours in the little space.

you blushed. this was very very new.

he cracked an egg on the edge of the bowl, and you watched the yellow glop plop into the flour.

playing off the whole situation as a joke, you laughed nervously as you mixed the wet ingredients into the bowl. “miss my baking that much?”

you bit down on your lip, unable to look at him, just focusing on the churn of brown batter in the mixing bowl. when you felt him lean in, his strong bicep against yours, you muffled a yelp.

“‘course.”

“really?” you asked, pouring the batter into the greased up pan.

for good measure, you dipped a finger into the batter and tasted it, eyes flickering up to Simon. it was sweet.

he stared down at you, an imperceptible, dark look on his face as he leaned over and dipped his thumb into the batter, then swiped the gooey brown substance over your cheek.

“oops.” there was a smugness in his voice that his face smothered, expression blank when he gripped your jaw tight.

you gasped when he turned your face and leaned down to lick you.

the textured muscle of his tongue pressed into the curve of your flesh, licking away the sweet taste from your cheek.

then, he leaned back with a hum. “i like sweet things.”

you clutched at his wrist keeping your jaw firmly in place, wide-eyed and heart beating out of your chest. you watched his finger dip back in the batter and reached up to your lips, spreading the sugary sweet batter over your lower lip.

you squeaked, unable to look anywhere but his bare face, rugged and handsome in the low light.

“may i?” he asked, eyes flitting down to your lips, and you couldn’t even nod in his hold, just a low, breathy yes on your lips that he swallowed, tongue sucking the traces of batter on your lips.

you whimpered into his mouth, clutching at his shirt as he angled your head with a soft touch, sliding his hand on your jaw to your neck, just resting there. that spurred on a familiar burn in your stomach, and you squirmed in his hold.

when he leaned back, you were breathless and panting with flushed cheeks.

“sweet,” he rasped, like he was approving the taste as he licked over his lips.

from that point on, you didn’t really remember how you got to your bedroom, Simon’s hands edging up the hem of your dress beneath him, knuckles drawing a warm trail up to your hips as he sucked on the skin of your neck.

the only thing you could do was whine and squirm under his weight, legs and arms pinning you down as he did what he liked, giving you sweet kisses that made you feel all hazy.

you watched his head dip beneath the fabric of your dress and you gasped when you felt his lips against your thighs, skipping where you needed him most, and then against your stomach and the flesh of your breasts.

and all throughout the pleasurable haze, your fingers curled into the sheets, nails digging into the bed because you were beyond nervous.

you knew this would happen eventually—that Simon would end up in your bed or the other way around. kissing him was a dream. having him caging you against the bed with his heady weight was a dream.

sliding a hand over his back, his rushed movements slowed against your skin, taking the time to suck carefully around your pebbled nipples that had your hips bucking up with a whimper.

your mind spun. but you were so nervous.

it was all you could think about as he descended back down between your thighs, both of his big arms curling around your thighs to lock you in place against the bed.

words rung your mind loud and clear—what the hell is wrong with you?

when Simon dipped a thumb beneath the top of your panties, the words shook you again.

what the hell is wrong with you?

you hadn’t even noticed how still and quiet you had grown until his head perked up between your thighs, pupils blown wide. he swiped a thumb over the soaking entrance of your panties, drawing a whimper from your throat.

“what is it?” he asked, voice so throaty and rough that you shivered with want. you had wanted this for so long.

“nothing,” you whispered, tugging his head back down between your thighs, but he didn’t budge, frowning at you.

“tell me,” he probed, “m’not touchin’ you if you don’t, sweet thing.”

sweet thing.

swallowing hard, you shifted against the bed. “m’just nervous.”

“yeah?” he stroked the plush, soft skin of your inner thigh, before pressing his lips to it. “don’t worry. i’ll make you feel good.”

you nodded, biting down on your lip, though his words didn’t quell any of the raging anxiety thrumming within your chest, even when he kissed the wet fabric stretched over your cunt, nosing through your folds and his hot breath against you.

lifting up your hips with ease, he tugged a pillow beneath you.

“comfy?” he asked, hooking two fingers beneath your panties and sliding it down your thighs.

“uh-huh,” you gasped, back arching when he ducked between your legs and pressed the pink muscle of his tongue flat against your cunt.

“good,” he grunted against you, pecking your swollen clit before swirling his tongue around it, and building a steady, delicious pace that had you hiccuping moans.

your hands snaked through his hair, gripping the blonde curls tight and pulling, startling when he groaned in response, the tremors going straight from the back of his throat and into your clit.

you ground against his face and he purred in approval. “tha’s it, sweet thing.”

you took the pleasure and rode it, pushing yourself further and further to the edge, or at least you thought you were, seeing no end in sight for the sensations wracking your body. every passing moment felt too long, and you could practically feel the irritation roiling off Simon in waves.

even though you couldn’t see his face, just could hear his soft noises of approval against your cunt, it was like you knew he was growing impatient.

frustrated, you huffed a whine, that anxiety in your chest squashing half the pleasurable experience. he reached up and pressed down on the lower part of your tummy, intensifying it all over again, making you gasp as your head fell back.

“relax,” he mumbled, playing with your clit as he pressed his tongue into your cunt, humming as he tasted you.

it was overwhelming. too overwhelming, and you couldn’t help the tears that pricked up in your eyes as you were torn between finishing and feeling good and pleasing Simon and—

a little sob broke from your throat, and he went still between your legs.

you covered your face with your hands, digging your palms into your eyes and muffled the sounds falling from your lips.

why were you crying?

brows pinched together, you scrunched up your face. “sorry, sorry, just keep going—”

you cut off when a sob choked your throat, refusing to look at Simon and withering when he stayed silent, feeling really fucking stupid as you just cried in the bed.

“i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whimpered, feeling him tug your dress back down over your thighs and hike your panties back up your hips.

you expected him to leave, ready to feel the weight of him against you on the bed disappear, and his heavy footsteps through the apartment, then the slam of the door behind him.

and you did—the dip in the bed lifted and you heard his footsteps edge around the bed.

then, you gasped when he slid into the bed beside you, arm circling beneath your waist and pulling you flush to his chest, breath right against your ear.

“what’s wrong, sweet thing?” he sighed, though it didn’t sound irritated, just tired as he sunk into the bed beside you.

your breath stilled, the cries dying in your throat as you twisted to look back at him. his gaze was soft as he peered over your shoulder, squeezing you between both arms.

“what?” you croaked, and he leaned over you to press a kiss to your cheek, squishing you into the bed.

“what’s wrong?” he repeated, thumb drawing circles against your clothed tummy.

“nothing,” you said, and he made a low noise of disapproval, pressing his face against the side of your head.

clutching at his arms holding your waist, caging you to him, you choked out the words.

“i just…” you turned your head from him, tears spilling from your eyes and onto the sheets. “i wanna be good for you.”

he hummed against your ear, squeezing you tighter. “you are so good for me, love.”

“no, i meant…” you huffed, sniffling with a frustrated sound in the back of your throat.

“i take too long,” you squeaked, avoiding his eyes. “there’s something wrong with me.”

a sob pierced your chest. “i think i’m broken.”

you turned in his arms and buried your face in his chest, embarrassed as you soaked his shirt with tears, muffled the sharp noises of your throat against his solid body. he curled around you, hand rubbing down your back.

“who put those ideas in your pretty head?”

his voice was deceptively soft, though you heard the threat that lay under it, and you shivered.

“my ex boyfriend.”

his body went tense against you.

“look at me luvie.”

you lifted your head and let him kiss you, tasting salty and sweet from the slick of you still in his mouth, as he brushed away the tears on your face.

when he pulled back and you looked over the curves of his face, the depth of his dark eyes, you admitted to him softly, “i don’t want you to leave me.”

it was such a small whimper that you don’t think he would’ve heard you, but from the way his face crunched into a frown you knew that he had.

“m’not going anywhere,” he promised, pushing the hair from your forehead. “m’right here.”

you whimpered, pulling him back down for a kiss that was wet and hot, teeth knocking against yours when he pressed you further into the bed.

“lemme make you feel good,” he whispered, and you clutched at his arm wound tight around your waist, the other creeping up to cup your breast.

“please,” you whimpered, and he hummed into your lips.

“when’s the last time you touched yourself?” he asked, lips trailing down to your neck, his large hand edging down to brush over your pelvis.

“long time,” you squeaked, gasping when his hand snuck beneath your dress, rucking it up so it pooled around your waist.

“c-can’t do it myself,” you admitted, screwing your eyes shut when his fingers slipped beneath the band of your panties. “doesn’t feel good.”

“yeah? bet your ex couldn’t make you feel good either,” he mumbled, either to you or yourself you couldn’t tell, mind dizzy and somewhere up high when his forefinger gently brushed over the shell of your clit. “bet your he didn’t even know how to touch a woman. how to make her cum.”

you whimpered, hips bucking into his hand, and you could feel him smile against your neck.

“s’okay, baby. i’ll make you cum.”

his fingers circled your swollen clit, other hand fondling the sensitive plush of your tits. as you squirmed against his touch, little breathy noises leaving your lips, you could feel his hard cock pressing into the curve of your ass. you whimpered at the sheer size of it.

“please, Simon,” you gasped, clutching at his wrist as he played and flicked at your clit, speeding up then slowing down and dragging you through a slew of different body wracking sensations, leaving you so whiney and sensitive that your thighs started to shake and twitch.

your ex boyfriend had never given you so much attention like this—just honing in on his own pleasure, degrading you when you tried to chase your own. it became something you dreaded. something you didn’t want and forced yourself through, faking orgasms and artificial, pitched moans.

it was so different from Simon that you felt delirious, blissed out as real, loud whines broke through your throat, riding his hand just wanting more and more.

“more,” you sobbed, burying your face into the sheets, jolting when he played and pinched at your swollen nipples.

“want you to cum on my hand first, sweet thing,” he whispered, and you almost cried real tears.

he huffed a laugh into your ear.

“feel that good?” he cooed, and you nodded against the sheets, wiggling your hips in his hand.

“c-can’t,” you whined, shivering when he made a noise of disapproval.

“yes you can,” he said, low and throaty, licking over your ear. “i don’t care how long it takes, baby. i can play with this pretty cunt all night.”

you moaned, grinding down into his hand, eyes rolling back into your head as he abused your clit, crushing it beneath his fingers.

“you’re gonna cum on my hand, and then i’m gonna stretch you out with my fingers, yeah? then you’re gonna cum on my fingers, and i’m gonna fuck two more orgasms out of you. how does that sound, sweet thing?”

“Simon—” you choked, whole body going still when you finally reached a sharp peak, shaking and twitching and moaning softly through your whole orgasm that made you see a blinding white.

he groaned in your ear, so filled with pleasure it sounded like he came alongside you.

“there you go, baby, good girl. so good f’me.”

your hearing felt muffled when you resurfaced, blinking your eyes open, sleepy and muscles lax against the bed. he was petting at your naval, peppering little kisses and kitten licks along your neck and shoulders.

“see? that wasn’t so hard, luvie,” he whispered in your ear, making a shiver slither down your spine.

“mhmm,” was all you could get out, pliable as he slipped from your side and moved you to your back, tipping your knees open as he dove between your legs.

you looked down, watching him drink up the cum from your pussy, slurping loudly and sucking on your twitchy clit, your hips squirming in his hold.

“so sweet,” he practically growled, and you whined in response, trying to push his head away.

when he finally relented, he sat back, licking over his lips before tugging the shirt over his head. in the dim lighting, you could see scars littered over him, naval blessed with dark hair and a toned stomach that made your mouth water.

“think you can do that four more times, baby?”

when you shook your head, he only smirked, crawling back over you and pressing the crotch of his fatigues against your sopping pussy, grinding his painfully hard, big cock against your aching entrance.

“yes you can,” he said, low and throaty. “m’gonna make you, sweet thing. you’re gonna be coming on this cock all night long.”

taglist: @ivybeeloved

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

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incorrectbatfam · 5 months

Note

Do the batfamily members ever get too into their undercover work? (Undercover in an office and theyre worried about spreadsheets, working in a warehouse and coming home complaining about missing parts)

Bruce: Status updates on your undercover missions. Dick, you first. What have you got down at the docks?

Dick: I haven't confirmed the Killer Croc sightings yet, but more importantly, our catch hasn't been measuring up to last year's. Tuna we're doing okay on, but the salmon population seems to be on the low end. I've contacted the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries but it'll be another 3-5 business days before they can come down and check it out.

Bruce: At least you're doing something to help. Jason?

Jason: Class was okay. I think the kids are warming up to me as their substitute while Mrs. Maloney is out on maternity leave. The average on the last vocabulary quiz was 83.53% so either I'm doing my job right or they need to be challenged. I'm worried about Tristan Lancy, though. He's normally a good student but his grades have been dropping recently and his parents don't seem like safe people to tell. I'll talk to him tomorrow and try to pair him up with a peer tutor if he needs it.

Bruce: Also see if he has any alternate contacts besides his parents. Tim, any updates at the chemical plant?

Tim: If by updates you mean OSHA violations, I could go on all week. We got a batch of new recruits today and they were just thrown into the work—no PPE, no safety training, nothing. This is what happens when you place production over employee well-being. I'm gonna file a complaint after this meeting. Also, I think the union will have something to say about the manager cutting people's lunch breaks short.

Bruce: I see. Damian? Please tell me you found something volunteering at the zoo.

Damian: Depends on how you define "found." While I have not obtained evidence of a mutant larvae black market, I did help some of the animals at the sanctuary make progress with their recovery. Bobo the monkey is healing from his broken arms and we're gradually getting him re-acclimated to climbing higher surfaces. Suzie the black bear was born a little prematurely but seems to be catching up to her peers in terms of growth. Lastly, we got a grant for additional wildcat research and enrichment. As an aside, we are having an educational seminar on European mountain goats this Friday at 3:30 and I expect all of you to be there.

Bruce: I'll put that on our calendars. Steph?

Steph: It's not really undercover work for me, just work. Anyway, yes the newest Batburger location is being used for money laundering. But I really need to vent about the customers for a sec. We don't open until 10 and at 9:30 this morning some moron was banging on our door demanding Jokerized cheese fries. Then right in the middle of the lunch rush, Janie got sick so I had to fill in as the cashier and it was hell. After that, I had to step in between a fight at the drive-thru because the customer claimed we only gave him nine pieces of his ten-piece Robin nuggets and tried to beat up the kid who took his order. And to top it all off, an entire high school hockey team came in five minutes before closing.

Bruce: Cass?

Cass, blowing balloons: Can't talk. Arranging bat mitzvah.

Bruce: Duke, you're my last hope.

Duke: Margie's bringing a peanut butter chocolate cake to the bake sale. I swiped her recipe and we can easily beat her. Her ganache is way too watery and just runs off the top of the cake, which isn't even leveled. She's also trying to do something with a raspberry filling that isn't working at all. It's like she couldn't decide on what to bring. The bake sale committee also asked if we can bring some apple pies because the original baker has to go out of town for a family emergency. I think we'll win if we bring them with some ice cream and a touch of caramel, even though this isn't a contest.

Bruce: Thank you. At least our most critical case has been taken care of.

Barbara: ...I'll save my book launch for later.

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linopls · 7 months

Text

kinktober day five

first time jeongin x fem!reader summary: spending the night in your childhood bedroom with one of your members didn't go as you expected it. warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, mentions of underage drinking, oral (fem receiving), unprotected p in v 3.1k words (whoops)

they are both adults (18) here!

“you smell like a red, white, and berry smirnoff.”

jeongin giggles, “your childhood bedroom is cute.”

you never thought any of the stray kids members would visit your childhood home in the states until the boys suggested you come back home for your senior prom. you had committed to finishing your senior year online while still being a member of stray kids knowing that you would miss many of your senior traditions. but the boys could not let go of the idea of you missing your senior prom.

your defensive argument is you had no reason to go as you didn’t have a date, all the boys jumped on the opportunity to take you. chan, minho, and changbin were all too old, according to the permission slip. seungmin and jisung were too worried about not knowing enough english, and hyunjin and felix had both planned trips with their families during this time of break.

this left jeongin, who didn’t care if he didn’t know enough english.

“isn’t prom just dancing anyways?” jeongin asked you a month before the dance, both of you sitting in the JYPE cafe snacking between practices.

“it is,” you reply, taking a fork full of your salad. “but i’ll want you to meet and get to know all my friends.”

“then you can translate for me, think of it as korean practice!”

“pfft, i don’t need more korean practice, you can think of it as english practice.”

jeongin rolls his eyes at you while stuffing his face full of pizza. “i’m going with you to this out of the kindness of my heart, don’t be mean,” he says with his mouth full.

“you are literally the only one able to go.”

about two weeks before the dance, stray kids was finishing promotions for their comeback and you were walking back to the dressing room.

“wait here,” chan says, stopping you outside the door. confusion paints your face as chan stands in front of the door handle, blocking you from entering. you both sit in silence for a minute when there’s a small knock on the door. chan opens the door without saying anything.

you’re greeted with balloons and streamers. on your left hyunjin is holding out a small cake, on your right, felix, minho, seungmin, and changbin, jisung are holding signs that spell out “PROM?”, and in the middle of jeongin is holding a sign that reads ‘I have a QUESTION and I hope there’s no AWKWARD SILENCE but…”

you gasp, hands covering your mouth, and tears form in the corners of your eyes. you never had been asked to a school dance, and never thought you would be. but here’s jeongin, recruiting the help of all the members, to ask you with a cheesy sign.

“my prom research told me that boys usually ask their partners to prom with a sign,” jeongin says walking towards you. “so what do you say?”

you nod, afraid that if you speak you’ll start to cry. you run to hug jeongin and he drops the sign and envelopes you in a warm hug.

“i can’t believe my parents haven’t touched it since i left.”

“it still fits your personality, cute and bubbly.”

jeongin squeezes himself between you and the wall on your twin size bed. he pulls up the pink, polka dot covers over the two of you and cuddles up next to you.

“how much did you drink?” you ask.

“only one,” he says. “we can’t legally drink here.”

you laugh. “and that stopped none of us.”

your friends had encouraged you to host an after party at your house, since your parents were out of state. you and jeongin drink often in korea, being 18 and 19 accordingly. so he found it funny that none of the party goers could legally purchase alcohol but brought a ton of it to the party. both of you only drank one or two beverages, being the hosts of the party you both wanted to remain sober enough. and red, white, and berry smirnoffs being the drink of choice, jeongin claimed it would make him feel more american.

you both lay there in silence, scrolling through socials and updating the boys on how the dance was.

“oh my god,” you sigh.

“what?” jeongin says, trying to catch a peak of whatever you’re looking at on your phone.

“my friend abby, you know the one in the red dress you meant, just texted us that she’s getting laid tonight.”

“what?” jeongin exclaimed, “she seemed so sweet and innocent.”

“she is!” you laugh. “we all had placed bets on when we’d lose our virginities in, like, middle school, they all said i would be first. but now i guess i’m last.”

“its not a race,” jeongin says.

“i know, i know.” you pout. “but i’m sick of all the boys teasing me for it all the time!”

“they tease me about it too!” he says, sitting up on one of his elbows, turning to face you.

being the youngest two members meant you and jeongin got teased about not doing ‘adult things’ a lot. like neither of you were able to drive, neither ever bought a lottery ticket, or neither had ever had sex.

“what if we did it?”

“what?” you’re in shock, you feel like you can’t move. you had never thought about jeongin like that. you both had agreed that going to prom together was completely platonic, even though he made the sign, you wore matching colors, and you guys exchanged corsages and boutonnieres.

“i’m just thinking like, if we did it, neither of us would be virgins and they would stop teasing us for it.”

jeongin notices your shocked impression and quickly begins to apologize.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it like that, i was just saying that-”

“they would tease us for doing it with each other,” you say, turning your phone off and placing it on your nightstand.

you look over at jeongin and now he looks confused. “although,” you wonder aloud. “we wouldn’t have to tell them, we could just say we aren’t next time they bring it up. lie about who we did it with.”

“how?” jeongin asks.

“i dunno, say i reconnected with someone back here, and then you could say you met someone at the company and it was a fling.”

“they wouldn’t believe that, i don't have the ability to flirt with people like that,” jeongin laughs awkwardly.

the air feels tense. you and jeongin are sat in silence, both staring at each other looking for some sort of answer. jeongin scoots closer to you. you again can smell the smirnoff on his breath. he slowly reaches one of his hands up and places it on your cheek, gently caressing your soft cheek.

“can i kiss you?” he asks, almost at a whisper.

“yeah,” you whisper back.

his lips met yours and it feels like fireworks are going off in your brain. his lips are so soft and move perfectly in sync with yours. he moves his hand from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss. you move one of your hands up his torso, stopping at where his chest and neck met, you can feel the warmth of his skin on your hand and it feels like you both should’ve done this a long time ago.

he slowly assists you onto your back and he lays on top of you, his legs slotted between yours. he keeps one hand on the back of your hand and uses the other to grip onto your thigh and pull it up to wrap around his middle. his gentle ministrations send butterflies down to your core and you mindlessly move both of your hands to his hips and pull his body closer to yours.

you both uncontrollably moan at the sensation of your clothed centers coming in contact with each other. the kiss becomes more messy as jeongin slips his warm tongue into your mouth and you both unconsciously grind onto each other.

jeongin is the first to pull away, a line of spit still connecting your mouths, and both of you out of breath. “jesus y/n,” he said breathlessly.

you giggle as you pull his hips closer to you once again. jeongin smashes his lips onto yours, more hungrily this time. he continues to grind his hips into your clothed core, the sensation driving you wild. he begins to kiss down your jaw and neck stopping at the collar of your shirt.

“can i take this off?” he whispers against your skin and his hand moves from your thigh to the hem of your shirt.

you nod and jeongin slowly starts to lift your shirt up your body, you sit up slightly so that he can fully lift it over your head.

“wow.”

“what?”

“you’re beautiful,” jeongin says as he leans back down to kiss at your now exposed chest. as he kisses down between your breasts and down your stomach you interlock your fingers with his dark, slightly wet hair. when he kisses the spot right above the waistband of your pants he looks back up at you.

“do you want me to…” he trails off.

“if you want to,” you reply, barely a whisper.

“yeah,” he says unsurely. “i don’t know how to.”

you laugh and he places his forehead on your stomach in embarrassment. “y/n don’t laugh at me.”

“i’m not laughing at you. you’re just cute.”

he looks back up at you. “are you kidding me?”

“i’ll tell you what to do, okay?” you reassure him.

you reach for his hands and put them at the waistband of your pajama pants. you assist him in pulling down your pants and panties in one swift motion. the feeling of the cool air in the bedroom on your core sends shivers down your spine. the whole scene hits you now and you realize what you’re about to do with your bandmate. you close your legs in embarrassment and jeongin looks up at you.

“hey, are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, holding your hand in his.

you nod slowly. “i’m just nervous, i guess. never done this before.”

“it’s okay, it's me, your best friend in the whole world, i’ll never think of you differently,” he says, squeezing your hand gently.

“you promise?”

“yeah, i do.” he smiles at you, the cute smile you love to see plastered on his face. where his dimples come out and his cheeks are round and you just want to grab him and kiss him all over his face. “so please, open your legs for me.”

you could never dream about your innocent jeongin saying those words to you, his words send a wave of arousal to your core. you very slowly part your legs for him and he stares at your core in awe.

“wow, y/n, you’re fucking beautiful.”

“please,” you whisper, begging for him to touch where you need him most.

“tell me if i’m doing anything wrong, m’kay?” he says, moving his face closer to your core.

he sticks his tongue out and gently swipes it across your clit. the feeling is sent through your whole body and you whimper out in response. jeongin takes that as a ‘go ahead’ and presses his tongue flat against your sensitive bud.

“m-more, please,” you whine, lacing your fingers into his hair again.

jeongin giggles and starts to flick his tongue back and forth on your clit. he lays one of his arms across your stomach to support himself and uses his other hand to part your lips for him. he moves off your clit and gently runs his tongue over your sopping wet hole. you moan in response loudly before slapping one of your hands over your mouth.

jeongin looks up at you. “shh, you don’t want to wake your friends, do you?” he teases.

your mind had been so overwhelmed with the idea of having sex with jeongin that you forgot that all your friends were still in your house from the party. next door was your brother's room in which your brother and two of his friends were sleeping in.

you shake your head but keep your hand over your mouth and jeongin gets back to work. he teasingly pokes his tongue in and out of your hole and you moan out in pleasure again, this time it's muffled by your hand. jeongin moves his tongue back up to your clit and swirls the sensitive muscle in small circles. you tug at his hair with the hand you still have in his soft, black locks. jeongin groans in response and the sound sends shivers down your spine.

“m-more please,” you whine. “your-your fingers.”

jeongin quickly listens to your pleas and slides his index finger into your entrance. you whimper in response and without realizing it, you’re grinding down onto his mouth and fingers. jeongin begins to work his tongue and fingers swiftly at your core, flicking small circles on your clit and slowly fucking your hole with his finger. before long, he adds a second finger and curls them both until he finds the spot that has your back arching off the bed.

he begins working more vigorously, wanting nothing more than for you to finish on his fingers and tongue. he begins to rotate from gentle flicks at your clit to sucking on the bud gently. he adds a third finger and you begin to feel the knot form in your stomach. you’ve never felt like this before, only ever finishing by yourself, the feeling of someone else being in control of it has you seeing stars. as jeongin goes back to swirling small circles on your clit, you feel yourself leaking onto your bedsheets and that your orgasm is going to spill over.

“i’m gonna cum, jeongin please, please,” you whine at a whisper. jeongin doesn’t break his pace and soon you’re biting down on your hand, your eyes rolls back into your head, and you're pulling at jeongin’s hair like your life depends on it. he continues to work you through your orgasm, the sounds of your squelching cunt make jeongin moan.

“jeongin, jeongin,” you exclaim and you push his head away from your core just as he starts to overstimulate you.

he looks up and you see your arousal shine all over his face. he pulls his fingers from your hole and sticks them in his mouth, making a show of swirling his tongue around them to clean them off. he starts to crawl back up to be face to face with you and you find your hands moving to the waistband of his pajama pants and slowly starting to pull them down.

“y/n do you have a condom?” jeongin asks before you can free him completely.

“no,” you answer.

“then we don’t have to it’s-”

“its okay, i’m on the pill.”

“what?” jeongin looks dumbfounded, like you just asked him to hand over his firstborn child.

“i’m serious, it’s okay, i’m on the pill.”

“are you sure?”

“yes, i am so sure. i’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. jeongin please, i need you.”

jeongin could’ve came on the spot. he quickly pulls his pants down and throws them off the bed. you look down to his red and leaking member, begging to be touched.

“holy shit.”

“what?” jeongin exclaims, worry painting his face.

“you’re huge,” you say before you can filter yourself.

jeongin laughs. “i am not.”

“you are not going to fit,” you laugh, grabbing his hips to pull closer to yours.

his solid cock brushes your entrance and jeongin lets out a whimper-like noise. you gently grab his cock with one of your hands to guide him to your begging core. he’s staring at you, eyes wide, looks like tears could boil over at any second. the feeling of his tip at your hole makes both of you moan.

“jeongin, please fuck me.”

“jesus, y/n,” jeongin moans.

jeongin grabs the base of his cock and slowly pushes it inside of you. you grab at his shoulders, the stretch stinging in a pleasurable manner. you’re both staring at each other, eyes widening as he slowly pushes himself inside you. when he bottoms out, you’re both breathing heavy at the new sensation.

“you can move now,” you whisper after you have gotten used to the feeling.

“if i move, i’ll cum,” jeongin mumbles. you laugh, and jeongin moans.

“y/n don’t fucking laugh, it squeezes me,” jeongin whines.

you chuckle and grab jeongin’s hand. you guide him down to your clit, where he quickly understands and begins to rub small circles on it. you moan loudly, not caring about who hears you anymore. the feeling of jeongin playing with your clit and being so full as you seeing stars.

“jeongin, i need you to move please,” you whine.

he takes a deep breath and slowly slides himself in and out of your wet cunt, not stopping his ministrations on your bundle of nerves. the pleasure is overwhelming, you cover your mouth with your hand again and mumble for him to move faster. he begins to move faster and you can feel the knot forming again.

“fuck,” he moans softly. “you feel so good.”

you whimper in response. “jeongin, i’m gonna cum.”

“fuck,” he moans again, beginning to thrust faster. with each thrust you can feed the head of his cock hit your spot and your eyes roll back into your head. you dig your nails that are still on his shoulder into his skin. tears are beginning to form in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

“w-will you cum with me?” jeongin says, tears in his eyes and sweat dripping down his face.

you nod quickly and jeongin buries his face in your neck. you feel is cock twitch a couple times before he paints your walls with his release. you’re quick to follow and soon you’re both a moaning and weeping mess. both uncontrollably thrusting your hips into each other as you finish, leaking all over your bed sheets.

you both lay in silence for a minute, calming yourselves down and slowing your breathing. you’re gently running your fingers through his hair and his rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs. you’re the first to break the silence.

“are you okay?”

“i’m great, are you?”

“mhm, feel great.”

“yeah.”

“are you still hard?” you ask, realizing he hadn’t pulled out of you yet.

“maybe,” he chuckles. “wanna go again?”

i got way too carried away with this one hehe

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peterlorrefanpage · 1 year

Text

Peter Lorre in "Five Weeks in a Balloon" (1962)

Peter played Ahmed, a slave dealer.

Here's Peter with the awesome Billy Gilbert. (I love Billy Gilbert; he is also just as capable of stealing scenes. Watch him in "His Girl Friday." He has two tiny scenes and in the second one he made Cary Grant, king of the ad-libs, not only break character but be unable to say anything substantial during the elemental force that is Billy.)

"'From an actor’s viewpoint, the dealer wasn’t exactly an endearing character,' wrote screenwriter Charles Bennett. 'Yet in spite of his viciousness, Peter immediately established himself as "Mr. Adorable" and remained so until the movie’s fade out. Looking back, I’m not sure that the screenplay intended it that way.'" - The Lost One: A Life of Peter Lorre

Here's a close-up of Mr. Adorable:

Aw. Peter. Somebody bring this man into a nice, cool room (with dinner and a recliner).

Peter with Fabian and Red Buttons:

More scenes:

That stare!

Well. Even though they're calling him Mr. Adorable, I'm still hesitating about seeing this movie.

While you can always see glimpses of the Peter that was, the beautiful eyes, the furrowed brow, the way he angles his body, I personally find it hard to watch his films when I know he was in ill health, or unhappy, or just plain underserved by the damn plot. And in these later films, he was so often all three.

It's 100% to his credit that he could bring his spark, himself, to even the dullest of roles during this time.

"I think he missed his calling. He had a fantastic sense of humor, a comedy in his attitude that he carried along with him, a nonchalant attitude. He was a very iconoclastic person. I think they misused his talents. Had he been given the opportunity, he would have been known as a first-rate comedic talent. No doubt about it." - Red Buttons

#peter lorre #Mr. Adorable #Five Weeks in a Balloon #1960s movies #peter lorre movies #damn it Hollywood #you wasted the decades you had with this genius

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determinate-negation · 6 months

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An Israeli hostage released by Hamas has described her ordeal after she was kidnapped by gunmen and taken into a tunnel system in Gaza during the Palestinian militant group’s deadly assault in Israel on October 7, saying “I went through hell.”

Yocheved Lifshitz, a frail 85-year-old grandmother who was one of two hostages released by Hamas on Monday, recounted the moment that militants snatched her from her home in the kibbutz of Nir Oz and drove her away on a motorbike towards Gaza, a “painful act” during which she said she was beaten and sustained bruises.

Lifshitz said she was forced to walk on wet ground and descended into an underground tunnel system she likened to a spiderweb, where she was greeted by “people who told us we believe in the Quran” and promised “not to harm” her and her fellow hostages.

Lifshitz’s daughter Sharone, who helped convey her mother’s comments to reporters outside a hospital in Tel Aviv on Tuesday, called it a “huge network” of tunnels.

Lifshitz said she was initially grouped together with 25 other people before her captors separated her into a smaller group with four other individuals from her kibbutz. She said they slept on mattresses on the floor of the tunnels, ate the same food as Hamas fighters and received regular treatment from doctors during her incarceration.

“They really took care of the sanitary side of things so that we didn’t get sick,” Lifshitz added. Each of the five hostages in her group received their own doctor and there was a paramedic present who supervised medication, she said.

“They were very generous to us, very kind. They kept us clean,” Lifshitz said. “They took care of every detail. There are a lot of women and they know about feminine hygiene and they took care of everything there.”

Lifshitz also accused the Israel Defense Forces and Shin Bet intelligence service of not taking threats from Hamas “seriously” and said the costly Gaza border fence erected by Israel had done nothing to protect her community from Hamas’ attack.

“The lack of awareness by Shin Bet and the IDF hurt us a lot,” she stressed. “They warned us three weeks beforehand, they burned fields, they sent fire balloons and the IDF did not treat it seriously,” she continued.

#interesting what cnn chose for the headline #mine #palestine

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forlix · 5 months

Text

𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫・h.h.

— an impromptu drive to the airport at five in the morning rekindles conversations and feelings alike.

words・2.5k pairing・ex-boyfriend!hyunjin x gn!reader genres・angst, mutual pining, hurt w/no resolution, established (former) relationship, Airport Scene™ warnings・implied toxicity, strong language, Not a Happy Read

a/n・dear anon who asked where this went after i posted and deleted it a few months ago & dear other anon who requested mentioned hyune angst: this is for u, my loves

“I’m outside,” was how you were greeted over the phone earlier, in a tone so callous and cold that you barely recognized the speaker. Barely.

“Sorry, you’re what?”

“You have a flight today, right? I said I’d take you to the airport.”

One second, you were at a complete loss; the next, you thought you were going to erupt with how much you felt and how much you wanted to say, the weight of the situation hitting you with full force. Your ex-boyfriend, to whom you hadn’t spoken in nearly three weeks, had just materialized outside your home with no warning at the ass crack of dawn and suggested you get into a car alone with him for an hour.

As if that wasn’t the very last thing you wanted to do.

Briefly, you reflected on how you parted ways; you wouldn’t say the breakup was malicious, but it certainly wasn’t amicable, either. The longer your relationship went on, the more questions you raised—important and unavoidable considerations of your future together, none of which Hyunjin could give you substantial answers to. Whether it was because he couldn’t or because he simply didn’t care to try, you didn’t know. But the fact that you had to ask yourself that at all was enough for you to take a step back.

Distance morphed into passive aggression. That, in turn, precipitated constant conflict. The starlight that you saw in Hyunjin fizzled further with every biting word and slammed door. The resulting supernova was far from the beautiful spectacle you’d been promised in your astronomy textbooks.

Standing on the sidewalk outside your apartment was your fallen star in the flesh.

“Let me do this, Y/N."

You’d gone silent for what felt like whole minutes before Hyunjin spoke again.

"Please," he added. You perceived how the word weakened towards the end, some of the frost in his voice displaced by quiet exasperation.

It was these observations, plus the time displayed on the clock hanging above your bathroom door, that prompted you to take your luggage in hand and leave your apartment. You were going to miss your flight if you stood there, glowering silently, for any longer.

When you emerged into the frigid morning, you spotted Hyunjin’s silhouette immediately, and something inside you came undone, as though a knot had been doing itself over and over since you and him parted ways. Your eyes locked together, your gaze contemplative, his a little surprised, as if he didn’t actually expect you to accept his offer.

The first word that came to your mind was exhausted. You could tell that the shadows on his face weren’t just products of the lone streetlight above his head; he had his back curved in a slouch that made him look a few inches shorter than he was. You were reminded of a balloon with an indiscernible opening somewhere on its surface, gradually and inevitably deflating.

Much to your irritation, the second word to surface in your mind was beautiful. Hyunjin’s normally sharp features, from what you could see beneath his hood, were bare and smooth from fatigue; thick strands of dark hair, longer than you remembered, fell effortlessly over his forehead and his cheekbones; his figure somehow looked even broader, leaner when fitted in the loose material of a hoodie and sweatpants.

He was the spitting image of a man you used to know, who looked just like this whenever he wandered into your bedroom at the end of the day, whenever he wrapped you into his arms and littered kisses over your skin until sleep overcame the both of you like a warm, clear tide, whenever he greeted you with a smile that shone like the tropical sun the next morning.

You were standing in front of a ghost.

You broke eye contact first, averting your eyes to your luggage instead. Just in time to see and feel his hand brush against yours when he took your suitcases from you and loaded them into the trunk, all without saying a word.

Now, twenty minutes have passed since Hyunjin started driving, and forty remain before you reach the airport. The vehicle is deathly silent save for the drone of wheels against pavement and wind whistling against dusty windows. You haven’t looked at Hyunjin since you met him outside your place. Instead, your eyes are fixated on the lights of Seoul and the way they flicker out of sight one by one as you drive further away.

And you remember.

The different memories you have of this car blow through your mind like you’re skimming a flipbook. That time you burst into tears mid-drive and Hyunjin pulled over on the side of the highway, giving you his undivided attention as you ranted about the terrible day you’d had. That time you noticed a paparazzi van stationed around the corner and the two of you sank so low in your seats that you had to later unfold yourselves from beneath the glove compartments. The assorted dog-shaped air fresheners you bought for him, a new one hanging from the rear-view every month (except the one that resembled Kkami, which stuck around for almost a year). The caffeine-flavored kisses shared over the cupholders between the seats, one person tipping over the drinks precariously, the other moving to catch them with a soft huff of laughter. The extra hoodie he kept in his backseat for if you ever accidentally underdressed when you went out together. The playlist you curated together, always playing quietly in the background.

You never gave this car a second thought when you and Hyunjin were together, but it is only now that you realize the place felt a little like an extension of home, of him.

The silence becomes fucking excruciating.

You are not sure if Hyunjin is interested in speaking to you. You’re less sure if you even have anything to say to him. But you open your mouth anyway.

“Thank you,” you say, hardly audible. “For doing this.”

A pregnant pause follows. Hyunjin probably wasn’t expecting you to start a conversation—neither were you, to be fair.

Little do you know that he has been trying and failing to string together a sentence since the moment he started the engine, and hearing your voice feels like clouds parting on a foggy day, a singular ray of sunshine settling on his cheek.

“It’s no trouble,” he returns. He’s quiet for a while after this, and you’re beginning to think the conversation is already over when he clears his throat.

“How are you feeling? About the trip, I mean.”

“Good. I think it’ll be nice to get away from Seoul for some time.”

Your choice of answer is intentional, and you can tell by Hyunjin’s lack of immediate response that he picks up on this.

“And you?” You return. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine, thanks. The members and I went to the states a few days ago, finished up album promotions there.”

“Oh, right.” He’d told you about this; they’d been in Japan prior, if you remember correctly. “And everything went well?”

“Yeah. It was a lot of fun.”

“When did you get back?”

You don’t expect him to hesitate at such a simple question, but he does.

“Few hours ago,” he mumbles.

This takes you a few seconds to process. And then, so surprised at his answer that you can no longer help yourself, you finally lift your gaze to the side of Hyunjin’s face.

Your eyes comb over the fluorescent lights of the highway illuminating the slope of his nose; the weariness clouding his irises; his teeth latched gently around his lower lip, as if trying to prevent himself from saying another word.

Hyunjin turns his head to look at you, too, only for a few seconds and more out of anxiety than anything. But you have long mastered the art of reading the fine print of his facial expressions, and that brief interval is enough for you to catch what hadn’t been there the last time you’d looked him in the eye: the true reason why he’d hardly set his bags down on the dormitory floor before he was leaving again, piling into a car and going to you; the same entity that you know is etched all over your face, too.

Yearning.

He is the one who looks away first this time, with a soft snap of his head like he has to force himself to do it—but the damage has already been done.

“Idiot,” you mutter under your breath, and you mean it in every sense of the word.

And it’s so unexpected (and so damn true) that it wrests a laugh from Hyunjin’s lips, the sound every bit as light as it is dark. The bittersweet smile that it leaves behind on his face mirrors helplessly onto your own.

You don’t say another word to each other for the rest of the drive.

The sun has risen by the time Hyunjin pulls up to the curb of the international terminal, but there’s hardly anybody around at this time of day, so he doesn’t mask up before stepping out of the car. He places your suitcases in front of you, then holds up a finger as a silent gesture of wait right there—and he dashes up the curb, beelines towards the line of trolleys, and pulls one over.

You feel a helpless warmth in your fingertips as you haul your suitcases onto the metal platform together. Even now, he’s taking care of you, as thoughtlessly and naturally as respiring.

“Is that everything?”

“I think so.”

And the two of you find yourselves two feet apart and facing each other, examining your counterparts as if the answer of what the fuck to say now lies in the curves of their cheeks, in the purse of their lips.

But all you obtain from looking at Hyunjin is a glimpse of that wicked entity again, yearning, now in the form of eyes softened by the sunrise and lips parted by forbidden words, sitting readily on the tip of his tongue.

You feel a deep, hollow sadness within you, derived from knowing and hating that no amount of yearning will change the reality that he’s not yours anymore.

“Have a great trip,” Hyunjin says at last. “Be safe, okay?”

“I will,” you answer. “Thank you again. Get some rest today.”

Your arms move to push your trolley, but not before they nearly twitch in his direction with how much you want to hug him goodbye. The last thing you see before turning around is his hand in the air, and then you enter the airport, wondering vaguely if you will ever see him again.

You're in a bit of a numb state as you check in your bags and step into the line for security. The last hour has left you feeling like your heart and mind have filled with static—the kind that shows up when there are too many television signals in the air, all of them unintelligible and amorphous.

But then there is a shout of your name behind you, so urgent that the familiar voice cracks over the last syllable, like bone breaking upon boulder. You turn around.

The white noise clears.

The soles of Hyunjin’s sneakers echo as he runs across the mostly-empty airport; his hood has been knocked down and his long hair set free, combed backward by the wind; there are other eyes on him, but he is only looking at you, something else burning in his gaze now, something certain and familiar.

You move your suitcases aside and extend your arms, your pulse racing with anticipation—just in time for him to positively crash into you. He very well could have hurt you with how quickly he’s moved toward you, but the very instant his skin meets yours, he’s gathering you so tightly and securely in his arms that he cushions his own fall, costing you only of the breath in your lungs.

And the two of you fuse together like a cosmic collision, imperfect but quintessential. The moon’s craters themselves.

He knots one hand in your hair and cradles the back of your neck with the other; you form fists around the fabric of his hoodie, your face disappearing into the junction of his neck and shoulder. And you feel the tears come at last: tears of relief, of regret, of remembrance.

There are a billion things Hyunjin wants to say to you then. He wants to thank you for loving him. He wants to blame you for loving him. He wants to tell you that it was all worth it for him, so long as he was once the reason that you smiled. He wants to convince you—and himself—that nothing was meant to last forever, that the two of you were destined to burn out, the same way even the biggest and brightest of heavenly bodies have shelf lives too.

But there is one train of thought that overshadows the rest. It rings louder and truer than anything he has ever known and emerges straight from the chambers of his heart.

“I—” He sounds shattered when he speaks, his voice muffled where his lips touch your skin, his words a rasp that is only audible to you. “I still—”

“I know,” you whisper, squeezing your watering eyes. “Me too.”

And you think the shaky “fuck” that leaves his lips is an apt summary of the absolute mess that the two of you have found yourselves in: entirely and obtusely enamored with the person who has proven themselves to be incompatible with your love, time and time again.

You are only willing to pull away far enough from Hyunjin so that you can look at him, his cheeks now damp with saltwater and flushed with emotion, his dreary eyes swimming with adoration and sorrow. You cradle his face with both hands, and he drops his arms to circle around your waist. His fingers lace together against the small of your back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you murmur. You wipe at his tears with your thumbs, touch your forehead to his. “We’re gonna be okay, Hyun.”

His reply is so sad and so small that your heart feels like it’s being carved out of your chest with a blunt pocket knife. “When?”

You don’t know the answer.

You don’t know the answer when you finally go through security, the final boarding call for your flight booming through the intercom, Hyunjin’s face buried in his shaking sleeves.

You don’t know the answer when you return to Seoul a few months later, and Hyunjin is not there to give you a lift this time.

You don’t know the answer when your birthday passes and you still receive texts from Hyunjin’s parents, wishing you well, reminding you to take care of yourself. Nor do you know the answer on the birthday after that, or the birthday after that, which is when the texts stop coming.

You won’t know the answer for a very long time—so much so that you spend years of your life doubting there’s an answer at all. But you find it one day when you least expect it, and it congeals in your mind like expired milk, numbs your mouth like the strongest of anesthetics.

You have your answer then, but you don’t want it.

You never have.

🔖・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa

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keerysfreckles · 2 months

Text

time after time — steve harrington

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve's longing glance to y/n makes him decide to stay at the hawkin's middle school snow ball.

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, steve being a goofball, STEVE FLUFF!!!!!!

a/n: thanks cindy lauper for writing time after time and for my pookie wifey @keerysbrowneyes <3

masterlist !

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

steve harrington had a very interesting fall of 1984. he never thought he'd fight off inter-dimentional monsters again, and especially didn't see himself becoming friends with five middle schoolers.

so he wasn't too surprised while driving dustin henderson to his eight grade winter formal.

"you're gonna go in there," steve starts a pep-talk, "looking like a million bucks."

dustin nods in agreement, before flipping the passenger side visor down, examining his hair once more.

steve grunts while flipping the visor back up. he continues his pep-talk quickly, and makes sure to remind dustin to keep the lion purr out of tonight's vocabulary.

just as steve was about to pull out of the school's parking lot, a figure caught his eye. y/n l/n's figure to be exact. her light purple dress with slightly ruffle sleeves made steve's heart swoon. of course she was wearing her very worn out chuck taylor's to chaperone the dance. steve couldn't remember the last time he saw the girl wearing heels.

he watched for another moment as y/n handed two drinks to two younger girls. steve smiled when y/n did, and he knew he had to do something about it.

the whole time as he was parking his car and walking towards the gym entrance, he made a pro and con list of the decision.

pros; y/n might actually want to see him after he ignored her for a whole week, maybe he'll get to kiss her, and he just wanted to see how pretty she looked up close.

cons; she'd punch him in the face (again), she might not be ready to be face-to-face with the brunette, or she'll simply laugh once steve walks in the double doors.

what could go wrong? he thought, just as he opened the door and walked by mr. clarke.

an upbeat song was playing over the speakers while steve walked under the blue and white arched balloons. to his left, jonathan was taking pictures. in the middle were all the students, either milling around the sides, or dancing in more crowded area. and to his right, was y/n standing at the punch table.

steve felt his heart skip a beat before his feet drug him over to the poorly decorated refreshment table.

he looked over y/n's appearance once again before he was fully in front of her. her purple dress stopped just above her knees, and her hair was pulled back out of her face with a few pieces framing her soft features.

"steve!" y/n smiles once he walks up to the table, "where have you been? i haven't heard from you in a couple of days."

steve chuckles while hiding the truth, "yeah, it's just been pretty busy with senior year."

y/n nods in agreement before steve speaks again.

"how's the drink table going? anybody try and spike the punch yet?"

y/n lets out a laugh, "it's going, and i haven't seen anyone with a hidden flask yet."

a moment of comfortable silence passes before a slower song blares over the speakers and into the gym. most students grab a partner and start slowing swaying back and forth. a lightblub appeared above steve's brown hair.

"do you want to dance?"

the question immediately caught y/n off gaurd. the steve harrington, the boy who she has liked since third grade was asking if she wanted to dance with him.

"i- uh- what about the drink station?" y/n's face grows hot as she stammers out an answer.

"nancy's got it," steve gestures his head behind y/n, making her turn to see nancy walking up behind her.

"go have fun," nancy talks softly after patting y/n away from the table and towards steve.

she lets out another laugh as steve simply holds out his hand. she gladly takes it, and her heart skips at the feeling of his skin on hers. his warm hand encasing her cold one.

steve leads y/n out to the crowd of seventh and eighth graders. she can't help but laugh at how out of place she seems in the middle school gymnasium, but she couldn't care. because she was with steve harrington.

"cmon don't go all stiff on me l/n," steve teases after putting his hands on her waist. the girl's face only grows a darker shade of red while placing her hands on his firm, broad shoulders.

at the same time, the pair subtly look over each other. steve looks over y/n's simple makeup, just blush and mascara. he didn't know how she looked even more beautiful than before. y/n chuckled slightly at his attire, consisting of a red longsleeve, jeans, and of course his red nike's.

"i'm sorry i haven't reached out this past week," steve admits.

y/n shakes her head, while the two were now slowing swaying in circles as the song continued.

"it's okay steve, really. i get it, senior year has been stressful for everyone."

steve wishes he could tell y/n the truth. but he doubts she'd believe him if he said he fought of monsters the past two years, got his ass beat by billy hargrove, and became close to dustin henderson.

steve and y/n both got lost in each other's eyes. she could look into his chocolate brown eyes for hours on end and not get bored. her eyes drifted to his other features. the small creases around his eyebrows while he seemed focused on something, she wanted to run her fingers over the skin to smooth it out. the freckles on his cheeks and moving down his neck, she needed to kiss every single one. the slight smirk he always had adorning his lips, she wished she could just kiss the smirk off his face.

y/n got lost in her daydreaming, she could've sworn steve was leaning closer to her than before.

she didn't want to believe it, but she was leaning in closer as well.

"steve," y/n's voice is quiet, she fears no sound even came out of her mouth.

steve's lips were now centimeters away from y/n's. their foreheads were almost touching, and the thought of steve kissing her only made her dizzy.

however, she knew steve would catch her, feeling as his grip hardened on her waist. he leaned even closer, touching his lips to hers.

his lips were softer than y/n ever imagined. her hands move to the back of his neck, running her fingertips over the soft curls while her thumbs were on his cheeks. steve's hands held y/n so tightly, even if she did fall, she wouldn't have noticed. he held her close, deepening the kiss slightly before pulling away.

both of their lips were a darker shade now, and both teens were slightly out of breath.

to try and seem cool about the whole ordeal, y/n leans forward to place her head on steve's chest. she could hear his heartbeat, as it seemed to pick up slightly at her action.

steve smiled to himself. he actually kissed her. y/n l/n, the girl he's adored since the fifth grade formal actually kissed him back.

steve kissed the top of y/n's head, and internally thanked his younger self for the growth spurt, now making him at least seven inches taller than the girl in his arms.

the song was coming to a close, but steve didn't want this moment to end.

"do you want to get milkshakes?"

#shelbi writes #keerysfreckles #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x fem reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things #steve harrington st #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things imagines #stranger things headcanons #stranger things netflix

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daytaker · 4 months

Note

Hello! I’ve viewed your blog a few times and i really really like the way that you write, so when I learned that asks were i couldn’t help but make a request. Can we get some headcaons of the brothers meeting MC’s family for the first time and already Mama MC doesn’t like any of them because “they took away her baby.” Sorry if this is a little cringe.

But of course!

(Part 2: The Dateables + Luke)

"Mom, Dad, meet seven of my boyfriends."

...is what you want to say, but you know better than to panic your parents and fluster your totally platonic demon friends at a time like this.

And what a time it is. Here you are, surrounded by your parents, an aunt, your grandpa, and your sister, trying to calm your mother down from yet another diatribe about how you can't just get up and leave for a year---I mean, God, the police were looking for you! The police! You realize we thought they'd find your body in the woods somewhere? How could you do this to us?!---when suddenly:

Knock, knock. Knock knock knock knock knock knock. Thud. Thud. Thud.

"MC! Hey MC!"

"Mammon, if they hear you, you'll ruin the surprise!"

You and your relatives stare at the door. Then they all look at you. You give an awkward smile.

"Just give me a minute... I think those are some friends of mine..."

You really wish you lived somewhere besides a one bedroom apartment, but honestly, impossible in this economy. So you don't have anywhere remotely private to tell the brothers to scatter until the dust clears. In fact, the instant you open the door, Asmodeus flings his arms around you and kisses you on the cheek---in full view of your family, mind you!---and Beel shoves a box of half-eaten chocolates into your hand. Then seven voices are all clamoring for your attention at once on one end, and another five behind you. There are thirteen individuals in this tiny apartment, you realize, and you don't even have enough seats for your family to all sit. Your sister's seated on the floor.

"Heyyyyy guys, now's....not a great time...." A smile is plastered to your face as you tip your head in the direction of your extremely concerned parents. "And...seriously? It hasn't been two weeks yet."

Mammon looks confused, then indignant. "What? ...Hey, what the hell? You're already makin' new friends?! We really that replaceable?!"

Lucifer, who stands in the back holding a balloon bouquet with a jarringly serious expression on his face, speaks up. "I believe those are MC's relatives, Mammon. It seems we came at an inopportune time after all."

"Relatives?!" Asmo and Mammon hurry on over to give them all a good look-over, the others curiously observing.

"You're MC's mom, aren't you! Oh, MC! I see where you get your cheekbones!" Asmo gushes as your mother stares at him like he's from another planet. Which he sort of is, in a sense.

"MC? Who are these people?" your grandpa asks with bewilderment and not a small amount of concern.

"They're, um..."

"They're hot." Your sister waves her fingers at the group, and you wish you had perma-died in that attic.

You need to explain yourself quickly. On the spot. You'd already told your family you'd had a bit of a quarter-life crisis and gone backpacking across the country for the year, working through the mental collapse that living in the 21st century inevitably caused, so you ride off of that. These are a ragtag bunch you met on the road, you explain. You'd spent the better part of last year roughing it from the hills of Kentucky to the forests of Washington with these guys, and you'd become incredibly close as a result. You'd lived together, laughed together, loved together, and some of them even tried to kill you on a few occasions.

("'Tried'?" mutters Satan, and Belphie gives him a death glare.)

Under the leadership of the charismatic eldest brother, Lucifer, you'd become so close that it felt as if your very souls were somehow tethered---

"I'm sorry, 'Lucifer'?" Your mom has had just about enough of this. She approaches you with a look of heartbreaking concern in her eyes and cups your face. "....Baby, did you join a cult?"

"Who does she think she is, callin' 'em that?" seethes Mammon under his breath.

"Mammon, she's my MOM."

"Alright, I think I've seen enough." Dad gets up and eyes the boys sternly. "I dunno what you've been doing with my child, but it's gonna stop, you understand? I've got a homicide detective on speed dial because of you clowns."

"Is this where they get their assertiveness from?" speculated Levi to Beel, who simply shrugged.

"Listen, I think you're all just...misunderstanding each other!" Son of Gardonus, where are you even supposed to start? You grab the nearest demon---

(Individual brothers are below the cut!)

Lucifer

"This is Lucifer."

He gives you a look that says 'you really are as stupid as I've sometimes feared'. Why didn't you come up with a fake name?

"That was a joke."

Good, things are still salvageable.

"Because following his instructions is a lot like being in Hell."

He hates you.

"If that's the devil, then call me a sinner," your aunt says, sipping her third glass of wine.

"His real name is Boris."

He hates you so much.

"Pretty well-dressed for a man who spent a year on the road," observes your Mom with undisguised distrust. "Let me guess: while you were out gathering food and panhandling to survive, he stayed indoors doing whatever the hell he felt like doing, and at the end of the day, you'd take everything you'd earned and hand it over to him, and he'd toss you some pittance in return."

"How does she know that?!" Mammon gasps.

You try explaining to your mom that there was no cult, but she hushes you remorselessly.

You beg Lucifer with your eyes not to kill your entire family please. It seems to work.

Mammon

"Mammon, these are my parents. Mom, Dad, this is Mammon. Mammon, say hello."

"Hello. Agh! Dammit! You're really gonna use that now?!"

Oops. Pact magic. It can be a little unpredictable at times. You ruffle his hair apologetically.

The two of you were pretty much inseparable over the last year, you explain. "Best buds, pretty much." He was the first of the group you got close with. Mammon seems extremely proud of this.

"Please tell me 'best bud' isn't a euphemism, MC." Your dad gives you a pleading look. "I don't know how many more surprises I can take today." You two seem far too affectionate and touchy-feely for his liking.

Your sister grins at him from her seat on the floor, which seems to embarrass and confuse him tremendously. He's refusing to look at her. Poor guy. The two of you do look a lot alike...

Levi

"This is Levi."

"Ah, that almost sounds like a normal name. Why Leh-vee, though? Why don't you pronounce it LEE-vie?

"It's short for Leviathan," he says before you can stop him.

Your sister starts cackling and Levi is very embarrassed and indignant but mostly confused.

"Is this like a cult thing?" your aunt asks. "Naming everyone after biblical demons?" She nods and raises her eyebrows, impressed, and lifts her glass in Lucifer's direction.

"And you've been out roughing it in the great outdoors?" your grandpa asks.

"Errrr..."

"Yes, he has."

"Hmm...." Grandpa stares at Levi without a word, and your sister cackles again, and Levi looks like he'll either start bawling or go full demon and kill everybody in a sort of panicked rage. You return him to his brothers.

Satan

"This is---"

"I'm Derek. Nice to meet you."

You side-eye Satan. Apparently he was not taking any risks of you straight up calling him 'Satan' in front of everyone.

Your sister and aunt both look disappointed by this name, which seems to please Satan a whole lot.

"So," your mom says, thinking this little introduction has gotten off to way too friendly a start, "you're another one of MC's... 'friends', are you?"

"Yep," you say, refusing to acknowledge that there was any innuendo to read into.

"How the hell did you get wrapped up in a cult, Derek?" your aunt asks incredulously. "You look like you came straight from a prep school... Or the Ivies, or something. Kid, let me tell you what." She points a finger at Satan without giving him an opportunity to respond. "Let me tell you, you're gonna kick yourself when you're old and ugly and you realize you wasted your time in a cult looking like you were headed to a game of polo."

"You should've given yourself a cool name like those other guys," your sister throws in.

"Guys, please."

"What? At least the other guys had character. Lucifer, the sexy vampire prince, or something. Mammon, the... Is he a himbo or a bad boy?" ("A himbo," you confirm.) "Mammon, the hellish himbo! Leviathan, a literal fish out of water! But him? This guy's just Derek from IT." Your sister blows a raspberry and gives a thumb down. "Next."

Behind you, you hear Lucifer mutter, "Mammon. Levi. Hold Satan back."

Asmo

"This is Asmo. Please don't tear him a new one, he's---"

Your sister shakes her head. "I would NEVER. This guy looks like so much fun. Like, I'm getting shopping all day, clubbing all night vibes, am I right?"

Asmo winks at your sister, and she blushes. She blushes. You're in awe.

"Hellooooo~! I'm Asmodeus, and it's wonderful to meet you all!"

"You're the one that kissed my grandchild," Grandpa recalls, raising an accusatory finger at him.

"But MC loves when I give them kisses! Surely you all understand, right?"

....

"Right..."

....

Motherfucker, Asmo just charmed your family.

Beel

"This is Beel. Beel, this is...everyone."

"Hi. Good to meet you." Beel is very polite, if a bit uncomfortable.

"Well aren't you a drink of water and a half." You hate your aunt so much sometimes.

Beel frowns. "I'd rather have something a little more filling than water."

You see a look in your aunt's eyes and you jump before she has the chance to strike.

"If you say you're on the menu, Aunt Gina, I swear--"

"What's 'Beel' short for?" your mom asks sternly.

"Beelzebub," Beel answers with an adorable but also infuriating level of innocence.

Your sister is cackling again.

Belphie

Hey, where'd Belphie go?

You look around, confused.

Oh. He wandered to your room while everyone was distracted.

He's sleeping on your bed, hugging your pillow. And drooling on it.

Your relatives stand behind you, observing the scene somberly.

"What's he on?" asks your sister in a whisper. "Like... he's definitely on something, right?"

"Freeloader. That goes for the whole lot of 'em. At least this one is honest about it. Just walks in and treats the place like it's his." Your dad is very annoyed.

"He's got narcolepsy," you insist. You don't know enough about narcolepsy to be sure if that seems like a reasonable excuse, but you're counting on your family not knowing either.

"How the hell did you all get around with a narcoleptic?" your aunt asks, elbowing Lucifer in the ribs. "Hah! Oh, MC, sweetie, I need a refill."

When you manage to get the brothers out of your apartment, you turn around and face your family. They're staring at you.

Your sister breaks the silence. "So like... how many of them have you--?"

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greensagephase · 8 months

Text

Nonviolent Communication - Part Five

Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader

Summary: You join Miguel for the first time on a mission.

Word Count: 8,185

Warning: None. Unless you count Miguel's subtle changes. This is on the lighter side again... for now.

Music inspo while writing:

"Another Dimension" - Pop Money (for the last portion of this part🤭)

"Nonviolent Communication" - Metro Boomin, James Blake, A$AP Rocky, 21 Savage

Part Five

Another birthday came and went for Peter. The first two years were especially hard as his death was still very fresh. As you walk towards the conference room for a meeting, you think about how you felt better about this year’s. You felt more in control of your emotions and even though you cried, it wasn’t as bad as the first two years had been.

You remember the first year was particularly hard, being the first one. It had only been a few months since Peter’s death, and everything felt dull. Your world looked gray. The hours went by without you even realizing it. It felt like you had stopped moving while the rest of the world moved on. You had spent the entire day crying in bed until you decided to bake a cake, crying the entire time. You cried yourself to sleep. You didn’t know how many tears were possible to cry in a day until then.

You also spent the entire day alone at the apartment. There were no people arriving for a dinner celebration the way you usually planned. There were no balloons. There was no lively music playing in the background or Peter’s comments about how you shouldn’t have bothered to cook such an elaborate dinner but adding that he loved and appreciated you for doing so, hugging you from behind as you cooked before he offered to help. There was no trace of his laughter as he talked with friends. There was nothing and no one.

That’s how your life was since Peter’s death. You moved day by day, only talking to acquaintances or colleagues when you still had a normal job, but you eventually left that, too, as you had and continue to have, the privilege to take some time off. You focused on taking care of your city, protecting it from villains that showed up every week. You fought against petty and organized crimes. It was the same thing. Over and over again. Life moved around you.

But your life changed when you joined the Spider Society, which you can’t help but think now how you almost didn’t join. If it wasn’t for Jess Drew, you would’ve probably still been the same. You sigh softly as the truth stings. No matter how much you hope, you feel that your life would’ve remained the same had it not been for the Spider Society. Had Jess not persisted, had she not mentioned Peter and what he would’ve thought about it… You would still be very lonely. As you walk towards the conference room, closer now, you think about your friends who you love and trust. Your days and nights no longer bleed into each other. You no longer feel paralyzed in place as the world moves.

Your life has changed in the short amount of time that you’ve been a member of the society. So much, that you had someone show up to Peter’s birthday celebration this year. Miguel. It makes you feel happy. You feel silly as you think about this but the fact that someone was a part of the celebration this year gives you a good feeling that you’re moving in the right direction. You know you still have some work to do but you’re moving, again. Plus, a few weeks ago you concluded that you were open to the idea of a relationship again. Yes. You were indeed starting to pick up the pieces of your life.

You didn’t expect Miguel’s presence to do so much for you, but it did. Not only does it make you feel like you’re taking a step forward, but it also makes you feel happy that you opened up to someone. You haven’t done that since Peter.

You also feel happy for Miguel. You know what he has been through and how it has led to his current life, but you feel as though he has opened up to you. A little bit. He has shared some things with you, the way you have shared some things with him. It might not be much, and it might not mean anything but you’re glad he’s done that with someone. You don’t expect the man to change overnight. You don’t expect anything from him to be honest. He doesn’t owe you or anyone anything, but you just hope that one day, he’s able to regain a small part of his old self, for his own happiness.

It's been three weeks now since Peter’s birthday. The following day you arrived at HQ, feeling good. You remember how you ran into Miguel at the cafeteria. He returned your container and thanked you once again. Just as the previous night, you felt that his “thank you” was meant for more than the cake but you didn’t know what else he could be thanking you for. Was it for letting him in during such a personal moment? You didn’t know. You also noticed that he looked rested that day, which made you wonder but of course, you didn’t question anything.

And so, you didn’t know that the founder and commander of the Spider Society had slept at his own place for the first time in weeks the previous night. Or that he hadn’t had nightmares for the first time in years. Or that, that morning when he woke up and got in the shower, he thought about making it a goal to try and sleep once a week at his penthouse.

As the days go on after Peter’s birthday, you do your duties at HQ. You patrol your city. You go on missions and catch anomalies. You meet up with your friends. You attend the Friday dinners at Peter’s universe with Mary Jane and Mayday. You organize the lab. It all seems the same, but things feel different, and you can’t explain it but it’s there, in the air. A shift, and it’s good.

You enter the conference room at last. You arrive earlier than anyone with two cups of coffee, as usual. Miguel sits at the head of the table already. His brows are furrowed as he looks down at a tablet, so thin it’s like a hologram. You walk over to him and place the cup on the table.

“Good morning,” you say, hoping you don’t startle him as he looks fully concentrated on his screen.

He looks up, his brows unfurrowing. “Y/N. Good morning,” Miguel says meeting your eyes before he looks down at the coffee cup. “Thank you.”

That’s the new thing. Ever since Peter’s birthday, Miguel says more when you give him his coffee during these meetings. You nod at him. “You’re welcome,” you say before you walk off to your usual seat, with a small smile on your face. Of course, you hide it once your face is in his view.

The reports are already passed out, as always, so you pick up the one in front of you and begin to go through it. You’re always in awe at how put together the reports are. It’s not like you expect them to be bad but Miguel and Lyla always go far and beyond to make sure the reports are perfect. You skim through it as Miguel will cover everything anyway.

The report is always split into three parts. The first part focuses on any anomalies that were dealt with last week, including everything that was discovered about it like powers, personality, how it had ended in another universe, and then basic information like its appearance. The details are always specific and concise as an effort to help all Spider Society members learn more about the anomalies.

Miguel often talked about how important it was to learn about them, as it could equip members with precious information that could aid in catching an anomaly faster in case they left their universe again. You quickly scan this part, always finding it interesting to read as there’s so many variants of one single person throughout the multiverse, but always differing in small ways.

The next part of the report includes tasks that people are assigned to do. The Spider Society is pretty much run by Miguel and Lyla, but some departments do require the aid of other members. For example, you can see Margo’s name listed with the task of running maintenance on the Go Home Machine. It’s little things like these that help the society run smoothly. You turn to the final part of the report, which is where members find out if they have any assigned missions for the week. These don’t mean missions with anomalies, of course. Missions dealing with anomalies are unexpected, so whoever is available usually gets those assigned on the spot.

The assigned missions are a part of the learning and surveillance plan Miguel has implemented, though. The society has increased in size over the last months, you being one of the newest recruits, though a few more have joined after you. Since it has grown in size, Miguel wants to make sure that all members are well acquainted with at least a few universes. These missions help with that in addition to helping with the surveillance part by tracking any anomaly matter, or as some members called it “anomaly dust,” with Miguel’s advanced technology, allowing members to know if any anomalies have randomly popped up in universes, even if it’s for a few seconds. Your eyes move down the list, trying to see if you have any assigned missions this week.

“Mierda,” Miguel mutters, taking your focus off the report. You look up at Miguel, his brows are furrowed once again as he looks down at his screen, his fingers sliding over it. It seems that he feels your gaze because he looks up. “Sorry,” he says, relaxing his face for a moment before he looks down again.

“Everything okay?” you ask as you put down the report, you’ll eventually find out if you have any assigned missions anyway. You grab your cup of coffee and take a sip, relishing the taste of it as you didn’t have the chance to have any earlier. This morning you were rudely awakened by your personal crime radio, notifying you there was a jewelry store robbery taking place. It sounded pretty serious, as it was one of the largest jewelry stores in your city, so you rushed out of your apartment only to come across the most stupid thieves you have ever encountered. The thought alone brings a slight ache to your right temple. Some of the petty criminals you came across sometimes were just plain stupid with their plans. Today’s thieves were the perfect example of that but at least it had been an easy situation to handle. Either way, you weren’t able to have coffee, or breakfast for that matter.

Miguel sighs, putting his tablet down. “I’m working on a new suit, but I can’t get the back right.”

You nod, wondering why he wanted to change it again as you have seen his previous suit in his lab before. His current suit, which is black, red, and white, is a new one. Or at least you had heard it was new as you had been intrigued by the fact that Miguel’s suit is holographic when you were first recruited. You remember being so in awe with everything about Nueva York. Your dimension was on the advance side when compared to other universes, but it was still nothing compared to Nueva York’s technology.

“Oh, that’s exciting,” you say as you put your cup down. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” You think about your own suit. It’s been ages since you designed a new one and you haven’t even thought of changing your current one because Peter helped you design it. You briefly look down at it, remembering how you had spent the evening sitting on the couch while music played. The two of you had notebooks and had talked about random things as you drew. In the end, you incorporated so many of his ideas, loving them more than your own. You blink and sigh softly, picking up the coffee cup again and staring at the wall, trying to ease your mind of any memories before a meeting.

Your actions don’t go unnoticed by Miguel. He watches as you look down at your suit, sighing softly. He wonders what changed your mood and his mind immediately goes to Peter. He suddenly wonders if your suit has something to do with him, and Miguel almost feels certain it does when he sees a faraway look on your face as you stare at the wall. Before he even realizes it, his mouth opens, and he begins to talk.

“It’s still a work in progress but you can come look at it, if you want,” he offers, making you turn to face him. There’s a bit of surprise in your eyes but you nod slowly.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you say, pushing away your surprise and standing up but not before grabbing your coffee cup.

You walk over to him, planning on just standing nearby as he shows you, but it seems that he has other plans because before you fully reach him, he slides the nearest chair to him on your side away from the table with his leg, opening the seat to you as he looks down at his screen. You pause for just a second before you continue walking.

Miguel keeps his eyes on the tablet as you approach the chair, noticing your slight pause. He doesn’t know why he pushed the chair out for you to take a seat next to him, and he doesn’t allow himself to question his actions.

You take a seat, placing your cup on the table again. Miguel then angles the tablet so that the two of you can see the screen before he starts changing slides.

You watch as he swipes past slides, making you assume he’s sliding to the beginning of his project and as he does this, you immediately feel his body heat. You have felt it before of course, in passing but sitting so close to him now, so close that your arms could touch, you feel his warmth envelop you slowly. As it envelops you like a blanket, you have the sudden thought that you don’t mind it at all. Your unexpected thought makes you freeze for a second and thankfully Miguel is still swiping through slides, too busy to notice your embarrassment of having such a thought. You blink as an effort to focus and stare at his tablet again, your eyes landing on his hand, always covered by his suit, as he swipes.

Except that one time, you suddenly remember, as you feel his body heat radiating into you. Your eyes flick to the slides for a second, briefly making you wonder how many slides he has, as you remember the day he visited your apartment to check on you. Yes, you remember it now. You had been so in and out of it, but you had felt his bare, large, and warm hand on your forehead.

“No fever,” Miguel had said.

You pick up your cup of coffee and take a sip to help you focus as you’re still thinking about the fact that Miguel O’Hara had indeed pressed his bare hand to your forehead that day. Miguel, the same man that cannot handle physical touch. You place the cup back on the table, still feeling Miguel’s body warmth wrapping around you like a blanket and will yourself to focus on what Miguel is about to show you. Miguel finally stops swiping. He clears his throat and turns to you at last.

“I didn’t realize I have that many slides,” he says as he angles the tablet better for you. “This is the overall vision,” he continues as he looks back at the tablet. Your eyes fall on the image, though it’s more of a simulation. You nod. It seems that Miguel is trying to go back to the blue and red colors. You look at his current suit, noticing slight changes to the design.

“The back of it is – shit,” Miguel states, sounding annoyed as he swipes through some slides. “But everything else is good. Or at least to my liking so far.”

You watch the simulation as it shows close up details of the arms, then hands, and every other part, feeling in awe that he can design his suit like this. Your mind goes back to the evening you designed yours with Peter on some old notebooks you had lying around that you refused to use because the covers were too pretty, and you didn’t want to “ruin” them. Now they were packed away in a memory box. You push your thoughts away, wanting to give Miguel your full attention. It’s not like the man shows his work to others often, or at least you’re pretty certain he doesn’t.

“It looks great to me. What’s wrong with the back, though?” you ask curiously.

Miguel sighs and then swipes through some more slides, some of which just have detailed notes regarding the suit. “It’s… I just don’t like it,” he admits, as he finally reaches a slide showing the back of it. You lean a bit closer, inspecting it. It doesn’t look bad at all, it’s just more on the plain side when compared to his previous suit and even the current one.

“I think it looks good. Maybe you’re just thrown off by…” you start, and he turns to you.

“Yeah?” Miguel asks, giving you his full attention, with a slightly raised eyebrow.

You meet his eyes before you turn to the screen.

“Well, your current suit has these lines running through the shoulder parts and I’ve seen your older one. It also had some details on it. Maybe you’re just used to that?” you suggest, meeting his eyes again. Miguel nods before turning back to the tablet. His fingers move quickly on the screen, but you can’t see what he’s doing until he angles the tablet to let you see the new version. He added some symbols similar to those from the old suit. You nod with a smile. It does give it a different perspective.

“I like this better,” Miguel mutters as he stares at the screen. “I think you were right. I’m so used to having some kind of detail.” Miguel stares at the tablet for a few more seconds, nodding and feeling like it was finally making sense. “I’m going to work more on it now that I have this idea. Thank you,” he says turning to you, his tone laced with appreciation.

“I’m glad I was able to help even a little,” you reply, with a small smile.

Miguel hums at your response before he picks up his cup of coffee and takes a sip just as other members start showing up. You look up as the sudden sound of conversation fills your ears and see fellow spider members begin to sit. You’re about to get up and return to your usual seat when you see someone else take it. You frown a little, but your attention is brought back to Miguel when you hear his voice.

“Looks like someone stole your seat,” he mutters quietly, as if his comment was just meant for your ears.

You nod. “I guess I’m sitting here today,” you say, picking up your coffee cup.

You watch Miguel finish his, and you notice his neck muscles move as he does so. You watch, kind of surprised at how he finished it in basically two gulps. You look down at your own, still half filled.

“Your new seat, I guess,” Miguel says, placing his empty coffee cup on the table, giving you a look you can’t quite decipher and don’t have enough time to as he gives you a small nod before standing up, his sign that he’s about to start the meeting.

You sigh softly and pick up the report, ready for the meeting. The sound of conversation is still going strong but eventually ceases as Miguel initiates the meeting. He begins to cover the report, asking everyone to turn their attention to the first portion on anomalies. Everyone’s attention is on him as he covers the report, listening intently to the information discussed. You look up at him as he talks but because he’s literally in front of you, just a few feet away, you must crane your neck. You nod as he talks, looking down at the report to read the specific data he references when necessary.

Miguel covers the rest of the report, finally reaching the assigned missions. Your eyes scan that portion as he reads names and the universe assigned. You’re still scanning when you hear your name at last.

“Y/N, Jess, Ben, and myself. Earth-42. In one hour,” Miguel says, surprising you.

You look at the report, searching for your name and finally find it. Surely enough, your name is listed with them. You try to hide your surprise at this. You have never been on assigned missions with Miguel. You have been on plenty with Jess as she was the one that recruited you and she was your mentor in a way. You have been on fewer missions with Ben Reilly but even then, you have worked with him. Just not Miguel. You hear Miguel continue to read names and naming the universes assigned to your colleagues as you stare at your name listed in the same line as Miguel’s. You look up at your colleagues, trying to not give this importance but it is kind of a big deal as you know Miguel only goes on missions with those that have been a part of the society the longest. As far as you know, he doesn’t take new recruits into his missions. You look back down at the report, thinking Jess must be putting in a good word. Or, you think suddenly, he’s going to evaluate your work today.

“That concludes the meeting for today. If you have any questions, please ask,” Miguel says, making you look around the room as your colleagues nod, heading out with their reports in hand.

You turn to Miguel, who is suddenly approached by a colleague, asking him something about an anomaly. You get up, grabbing your report and both coffee cups. Yours to finish and his to dispose of. You head to the trash can, seeing Jess as she’s about to leave the room. You throw away Miguel’s empty cup discreetly.

“Y/N, you’re joining us today,” she says, as you follow her out of the conference room.

You fall into step with her as you both head to the cafeteria.

“It seems so,” you reply simply, still somewhat shocked by this fact.

“Well, it’s about time. I’ve been telling Miguel you’re a reliant team member,” Jess says with a small smile, making you smile, too. So, maybe it wasn’t an evaluation but really Jess’s good word, you think.

“Thank you. I’m glad I’m meeting your standards,” you say as you enter the cafeteria, which is buzzing with energy already despite how early it still is.

“You’re more than meeting my standards. Believe me, some of the pupils I’ve had and still have… I’m not even going to get into it,” Jess says waving her hand as if she’s physically waving away the thoughts of her other pupils. You try not to smile as you remember Gwen, who is one of her mentees, once sharing that she pushed Jess’s buttons too much in the past.

“Glad to hear that. I don’t want to disappoint the person that recruited me,” you say, looking around, trying to find your friends but you can’t see any of them.

“I doubt you will,” Jess replies, giving you a look that you fail to see as you’re looking around but it’s one of respect and appreciation. “Well, I’m going to head to my universe. I want to check up on my kid,” she says, making you turn to face her.

“Alright, I’ll see you again in a bit then,” you answer. “Say hi to Gerry and your husband for me.”

“Will do,” Jess says with a nod, giving you a smile and a wave before she heads out.

You turn your attention back to the cafeteria, there’s no sign of your friends. You check your gizmo, realizing there’s some messages from them. Apparently they are busy in their own universe. You finish drinking your coffee and throw away your garbage. You decide to head back to your universe to make sure everything is alright since you have a mission in less than an hour now and those usually take some time as members scan multiple parts of the city to ensure there’s no anomaly matter present, meaning it will be a while before you return to your universe.

You head back to your universe, not expecting any trouble but you end up stopping another robbery attempt that was easy to control, if you don’t count fighting the thief, of course. Once dealt with, you swing through your city, scanning the streets below. You look at your gizmo, noticing that you have about twelve minutes left. You land on a rooftop and open a multidimensional portal, heading back to HQ.

You quickly head to the meeting area, finding Miguel and Ben already there, talking. Or rather, Ben is talking to Miguel, who just stands there listening. He is the only one that notices you as Ben’s back is to you and he’s eagerly talking. You approach them slowly, keeping some distance to give them privacy and giving Miguel a nod of acknowledgement. You look down at your gizmo again before you take off your mask to fix your hair as you feel it’s a bit messed up from the robbery attempt after fighting the thief. Ben continues to talk to Miguel, only stopping when he notices the boss’s eyes are on something else. Or rather, someone else.

“Y/N – you fought someone just now or something?” Ben suddenly asks, startling you.

You turn and nod. “Second robbery attempt of the day.”

“Sick. When was the first one?” Ben asks, turning around to face you, too. Both men watch as you finish fixing your hair.

“Earlier this morning. Before the meeting,” you reply, holding your mask in your hand, standing there now.

Ben nods, looking impressed. “Two robberies in one day and it’s not even midday. Busy day for you.”

You chuckle and nod. “You could say that. Hopefully there are no more for today,” you say with a sigh and Ben nods, while Miguel just stands there, watching you.

“Hey everyone, sorry for just showing up. Gerry has been in a mood today,” Jess says suddenly, appearing out of nowhere. “Are we ready?”

“We are,” Miguel responds after he clears his throat.

You put your mask back on as you see Miguel click on his gizmo to open a portal to get to Earth-42. The light from the portal immediately shines on all of you. You turn to Jess who seems ready to go.

“Alright, we are scanning the city to make sure there’s no anomaly matter,” Miguel informs you, suddenly showing the three of you the small device that operates like a spider to scan an area. Ben, Jess, and you step closer as Miguel extends his arm out. He hands each of you one, leaving one for himself before he steps into the portal. Ben follows as he puts on his mask. Jess and you enter together and are quickly transported to Earth-42. The two of you step out onto a rooftop, finding Miguel and Ben already looking out into the city.

Jess and you walk closer, looking around. Earth-42 has changed a lot from what you learned from Miles. As your eyes scan the city, you recall bits and pieces of the story. Miles managed to leave Nueva York and thought he was going back home to his own universe to save his dad, only to find himself on this Earth because of the shenanigan with Johnathan Ohnn and the misplaced radioactive spider, leading the Go Home Machine to send Miles to the incorrect universe because of his dimensional signature. He ended up meeting the version of himself that was supposed to be bit, who instead of becoming Spider-Man like he was “supposed” to, became a vigilante as an attempt to stop the Sinister Six, who kept the city under their control and corruption.

But as you look around now, you can see the change in the city compared to how Miles had described it. The city is no longer under the control of the Sinister Six as Miles helped his variant and uncle get rid of them. The city looks peaceful now and as you step closer to the edge of the rooftop to look down at the streets, you see the people walking peacefully. Long gone are the days under a curfew. You wonder briefly what this Earth’s Miles is doing now as the last thing you had heard was that he was still a vigilante, protecting the citizens from petty crimes with the help of his uncle. Even though you have never met him, and probably never will, you hope that this Earth’s Miles and his family are doing alright after what they went through.

You turn back to the group as they are still scanning the city, probably also admiring the fact that the city is different compared to what they saw since they have been to this Earth before, unlike you. Everyone turns around to face each other. You notice Jess looks over at you, looking like she’s about to speak.

“Jess, Ben. You two will take the North side of the city to scan. Y/N and I will take the other side,” Miguel says before his mask covers his face. “We’ll meet back here. If anything happens, call for backup.”

The three of you nod at Miguel’s instructions, preparing yourselves. Ben, Miguel, and you fail to see the look on Jess’s face at the assigned teams. She usually works with you when the group needs to split up and she also knows Miguel usually heads on his own on missions like these, but she says nothing, chalking it up to Miguel wanting to see you in action during a mission since she has talked highly of you after all. She says nothing about it as she and Ben swing off the rooftop saying goodbye.

You turn to face Miguel, who stands a few feet away from you. You look down at the device he gave you earlier to scan the city before looking up again.

“Ready?” you ask, as you put the device into a secret pocket in your suit.

Miguel nods and walks to the edge of the rooftop. You follow him and sensing you’re near him now, he jumps off, swinging into the air. You follow quickly, looking down at the city as the two of you swing to the starting scanning location. Neither of you say anything, allowing you to hear the sounds of traffic and music playing from different establishments from below perfectly. It doesn’t take long to reach the location as the two of you swing fast through the city and soon enough you are on another rooftop but this time on the Southside.

You turn to Miguel who turns to you at the same time. “You take East. I’ll take the West. We meet back here, okay?” he says, looking down at you, unable to see his face.

You nod. “Got it. I’ll see you in a bit,” you say before you swing off, leaving Miguel alone on the rooftop, watching as you swing effortlessly from building to building before you disappear from his sight.

You swing from building to building until you reach the end of the city on your assigned side. You get to work quickly, pulling out the device to scan the first section of many. You do this countless times, as you move closer and closer to the meeting location for Miguel and you. You keep a close eye on the device, making sure there’s no anomaly matter present, but you also look around the city as this is your first time visiting. It’s about an hour later that you reach what appears to be the last section to scan as you spot the building Miguel and you separated from. As the device scans the area, you notice Miguel on another building, standing there as his own device scans, also about to be done with his side. You turn back to the device, keeping a close eye and reading the data.

Miguel turns around, finding you on another building’s rooftop. He sees you looking at the device closely, presumably reading the data. He remembers Jess’s comments about your meticulous work on these missions, always ensuring something isn’t overlooked while trying to learn as much as possible.

“She’s the perfect pupil, Miguel,” Jess had said only one month after recruiting you.

Miguel remembers nodding at her, finding it odd that a new member was already receiving compliments from his second in command, who didn’t pass out compliments too often to her mentees. “She sounds promising,” Miguel had simply said as he worked on his screens.

Miguel turns away now, checking his own device. No anomaly matter detected. He picks up the device, putting it away before he flies to the building the two of you are supposed to meet at. He lands just as you grab your own device, putting it away into your secret pocket before swinging to the other rooftop. You walk over to him.

“All done,” you report, standing in front of him.

Miguel’s mask disappears and he looks down at you with his face visible now. “Anything?”

You shake your head. “It was all clear.”

Miguel nods. “Same on my end. Jess and Ben haven’t said anything, so it’s safe to assume nothing popped up on their end either.”

You nod, still standing there. “That’s good,” you softly reply before your eyes scan the city again.

Miguel watches you, remembering this is your first time visiting this universe. “First time on Earth-42,” he says, making you face him. You nod. “You know what I always say. It’s important to learn about the universes.”

You nod, knowing that it’s part of his surveillance and learning plan. Miguel looks down at his gizmo, checking for any messages. You do the same but there’s nothing from Jess or Ben. Miguel looks at you. “It seems we have some time. Let’s swing around so you can see more of the city. If you want, of course.”

“Yeah, I’m up for it,” you say, sounding excited, which Miguel notices. He motions for you to follow him as his mask covers his face again.

The two of you jump off the rooftop, swinging between skyscrapers above the busy city. Your eyes explore everything as you follow Miguel, who’s slightly ahead of you. You notice he looks back a few times, as if making sure he’s not going too fast for you. Birds fly past the two of you as you scare them with your movement. You see your reflections on the skyscrapers’ windows as you swing by, so fast that the people inside of them don’t even notice your figures. The sun shines from above as the two of you make a right turn. Miguel slows down a bit, swinging almost side by side with you now as you look down at the city.

The two of you continue to swing past buildings until you spot a figure some hundred feet away from above, a man following a woman. You turn to Miguel, who also turns to you.

“He’s going to try and steal her purse,” Miguel says, thinking the same thing as you.

“Mind if I take care of it?” you ask, looking at the man.

“Go ahead,” Miguel says, and you don’t need to be told twice.

You swing past Miguel, heading straight for the man just as he makes a lunge for the woman’s purse. He begins to run with it, and the woman tries to go after him, yelling for help. Miguel, still in mid-air, watches as you shoot your webs and easily trap the man from the ankles, making him collapse on the floor. You land on the ground with a soft thud next to the thief, taking away the purse from him. You return the purse to the woman, and she thanks you before you secure the man to a wall with your webs. You tell her to call the police on the thief before you launch off the ground. You meet Miguel again in mid-air. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you continue to swing but he’s thinking about what just happened.

You swing some more, with no clear direction as this is meant for you to explore the city and become acquainted with it but soon after you see Miguel is heading for the tallest building. You reach it in a minute and the two of you climb it, reaching its rooftop in no time. You stare out at the city, admiring the view. You take off your mask, wanting to feel the fresh air on your bare skin. As you take a seat on the edge of the rooftop, you notice Miguel walks closer to the edge, too. He, however, doesn’t take a seat but his mask disappears, too, as he looks out at the city just a few feet from you. Unlike earlier when you were able to hear the traffic and other sounds perfectly, you can hardly hear anything from your current location as the building is incredibly tall. The only sounds you hear are some birds here and there, apparently the height being too much even for birds.

You swing your legs gently as your eyes continue to scan the city. The rooftops of other tall buildings peek out here and there. The sun shines on the skyscrapers’ windows, casting reflections of other buildings. In other parts, the sun hits the buildings just right, creating shiny spots that give the city a glimmering effect. You wonder what this universe looks like at night as each universe varies in color. You imagine it probably looks pretty. Even more now that the city is clean from organized crime. Below, you can see traffic moving thousands of feet below. Tiny figures move on the sidewalks as they head in different directions. You look at your gizmo, it’s almost midday now so people are probably heading out for lunch, hence the traffic and high numbers of people on the sidewalks.

“Third robbery,” Miguel says next to you, breaking the silence.

Your thoughts are interrupted by his statement. You turn, processing what he said and then you finally nod. “Oh, yeah. I guess I jinxed it when I said I hoped that was it for today,” you say with a low chuckle.

Miguel continues to stare out at the city. “It happens,” he says, not looking at you.

You look at his face, so serious. It looks like he’s thinking about something, but he doesn’t reveal anything. You turn away, looking at the buildings again. You stay like that for a few minutes in silence until a voice breaks it.

“Miguel? Jess and Ben are done. They’re waiting for Y/N and you at the designated location. Are you guys, okay? Where are you?” Lyla asks, suddenly popping up from Miguel’s gizmo and looking around.

“Tell them we’ll meet them in a few minutes. We’re fine, don’t worry,” Miguel says swiping Lyla away, not answering her question about your current location. Miguel stares at his gizmo, remembering that the two of you are supposed to meet up with the rest of the group. He almost forgot he had asked the others to meet up in the same location. You turn to him as you get up, sliding your mask back on.

Miguel’s own mask covers his face again, feeling appalled that he had forgotten about meeting the others, but he pushes his thoughts away and looks at the city one more time. He has the brief thought that this building has a nice view. He clears his throat, finally turning to you.

“Alright, let’s head back,” Miguel says and motions for you to follow him.

You don’t say anything as you take one more look, thinking about the beautiful view before the two of you lunge off the building and head back to meet Jess and Ben. In a few minutes you are back on the same rooftop you stepped out on initially. Ben is perched on the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the streets muttering something about a perfect pose. Jess on the other hand, stands in the middle of the rooftop, arms crossed but with an unreadable look on her face as Miguel and you land on the rooftop.

“Something happened?” she asks, eyeing the two of you.

Miguel shakes his head, “No anomaly matter detected.”

Jess nods even though she already knows there is no anomaly matter detected. She was asking about anything else happening but neither you nor Miguel bring up the purse robbery you stopped or that the two of you explored the city.

“We can go back to HQ then, right?” Ben asks, walking over to the three of you.

Miguel nods and opens a portal. “Right. I’ll take the devices now. I’ll upload the data,” he says and the three of you hand him back the small spider-like devices. The four of you travel back to HQ, stepping back out where you met earlier.

Almost immediately, Ben tells the three of you goodbye, saying he must go back to his own universe to check up on it. You take off your mask just as Jess turns to Miguel and you, with a raised eyebrow.

“Well? How did my pupil do?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest once again.

Miguel’s mask disappears as he looks at Jess before he turns to you for a few seconds, turning back to Jess. “Y/N is a good team member.”

Jess nods with a smile. “You can thank me for recruiting her.”

Miguel now stares at Jess with an unreadable look on his face as you stand there, feeling somewhat awkward as they’re talking about you… in front of you. You decide to speak.

“Well, it was great going on this mission. I hadn’t been to that universe before, so it was great to explore it while I worked on my assigned portion,” you say, trying to dispel whatever the leader of the Spider Society and his second in command are saying to each other through eye contact.

Jess gives you a knowing smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed it and did well on it. Maybe you’ll join us on more missions,” she says, saying the last statement to Miguel, who continues to stare silently. “Well. I’m going to go check up on my other pupils and see what they’re up to,” Jess says and with that she says her goodbye, leaving Miguel and you alone.

The two of you watch as she disappears from your sight. You turn to him, finding him staring right ahead.

“Thank you for the opportunity,” you say as you know that not everyone goes on missions with him. Plus, he allowed you to go explore the city - and he went with you.

Miguel nods. “No problem.” He looks down at the spider-like devices, holding all four of them in his large palm. “I must get going on. To upload this data,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah, of course. I’m going to-” you pause, checking the time on your gizmo. You suddenly remember that today you must organize the lab, around this time to be exact. “Oh. I’m heading to your lab. It’s organization day. Unless you prefer for me to go later?” you ask as the two of you start walking now.

He shakes his head. “No. It’s fine, you can come now.”

You nod and the two of you walk towards his lab. You walk silently together until you hear your stomach grumble, reminding you that you didn’t eat breakfast this morning and it’s now past midday. You keep silent, hoping Miguel didn’t hear that.

“You should go eat,” he says as he walks next to you, breaking the silence as other spider members walk past the two of you.

You look up at him. “I’ll eat afterw-” you start.

“You can organize the lab afterwards,” Miguel interrupts, sounding like you have no option.

You continue to look up at him, wanting to argue that you can eat afterwards but he gives you a look that immediately makes you reconsider.

“I’m guessing the first robbery kept you from having breakfast. It’s past midday and all you had was coffee. Go eat. The lab and the clutter will still be there when you’re done,” he says, looking down at you.

You nod slowly, somewhat in surprise at his attention. Before you can think more about it though, your stomach grumbles again, prompting Miguel’s eyes to drop to your abdomen. You feel heat rise to your cheeks.

Thanks stomach. Way to embarrass me, you think to yourself.

“Okay. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes,” you say before you walk away, heading to the cafeteria.

Miguel doesn’t say anything as he watches you walk off in the cafeteria’s direction. He feels his mouth move in an upward motion, but he catches himself, shaking his head slightly as if to clear his head before he heads to his lab to do what he said he was going to do.

Thirty minutes later, you call Lyla’s name and ask her to ask Miguel if you can enter the lab. Instead of bringing coffee like you usually do, you brought Miguel some empanadas and a drink. You enter the lab once Lyla clears you and head to him, finding him typing something before he turns around, his eyes falling on you.

“Hey. I’m back. I was heading out when I saw the cafeteria staff pull out a fresh batch of these. I think Miles – or was it Pav – I can’t remember who said it, but they said you like these,” you say as you approach his platform.

You hand him the food, bottle and eating utensils even when you notice his furrowed brows. He takes the items from you, and you meet his eyes.

“Unless you don’t like them… Maybe I misheard,” you say, starting to question if you had heard Miles, or Pav, or whoever had said he liked empanadas right.

“Aw, Y/N. You’re so sweet. Miguel definitely likes them,” Lyla reveals popping up in front of you, assuring you.

You nod with a smile at her and then face Miguel. “I thought you could use some lunch, too,” you say before you turn away and head to the first surface to begin organizing it.

Miguel stares down at the items in his hands before he finally replies, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

You hum in response as you begin separating the pieces. Miguel turns around, placing the bottle on his desk. He looks at one of his screens, his work taking his attention for a moment before he finally opens the box. The delicious, and comforting, scent of freshly made empanadas fills his nostrils immediately. His stomach growls, incited by the scent of food. He picks up one empanada with his fork, seeing that you brought him four in total, and takes a bite as his eyes fall on his screen again.

The two of you, or three if you count Lyla, spend the next hour in the lab alone. You organize the lab quietly, not speeding through it like you did three weeks ago on Peter’s birthday. Miguel eats the empanadas and works on his monitors. Lyla hops from you to Miguel. She asks questions about your life recently when she’s with you and helps Miguel when he calls for her.

Neither you nor Miguel notice the little, sneaky glances that the bubbly AI assistant gives you as you both work on your own thing. She silently thinks about the two of you on that building on Earth-42 and everything that has happened so far between the two of you. She grins and hopes as she pops up in front of you.

“Favorite season?” she asks.

“Autumn,” you reply instantly.

“Hey, Miguel loves autumn, too.”

You smile. “It’s the best season.”

“You hear that, Miguel? You’ve said that before, too,” Lyla calls out.

Miguel rolls his eyes at Lyla though she cannot see his face. “It is the best season,” Miguel replies, agreeing with you.

“Boo! I like summer better.”

“You can’t even feel the seasons, Lyla,” Miguel says, turning around to look at you and Lyla.

“If I was a human, I would love summer.”

-----------------------------

Translation for italicized words:

Mierda - Shit

I'm sorry for how long this is. I'm going to try and cut back on the last parts, unless you guys are okay with them being this long? Please let me know if you guys mind. I could try and do shorter parts but the story would be a few parts longer than what I was planning.

I hope to have the next part out sooner. I took longer with this one because I had some things going on but I hope you guys enjoyed it. I loved Miguel telling the reader to go eat, like AHH! He's so 🤭I love him! Anyway, thank you for the support so far. Your comments and asks make my day 🥹 If you guys have short writing requests for Miguel that you'd like for me to do, send them my way.

I love Miguel O'Hara.

Tag List:

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @rootin-tootin-morgan @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274 @vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues

@mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah @mandodinstuff @muzansucker

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 10 months

Text

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker.

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s.

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage.

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley.

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you.

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind -

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door.

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper.

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile.

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen.

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit.

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls.

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug.

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity.

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat.

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar.

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights.

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours.

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t.

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes.

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust.

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion.

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio.

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late.

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

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